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ctrlhope · 3 days ago

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Chasing Tornados (m)

synopsis: Ever since you were young, you found solstice in the clouds. Found haven in their winding winds, their chilling storms. Monsters of the air meant to destroy became your love— your safety. You know everything about the skies, yet you only want to know more about him. Wish for him to love you just as much as you do him. Your best friend. Your scorpion. Your impossible. Your Yoongi. -> part of the rest, relax, reserve series

m.yoongi x f.reader

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : wc: 21.0k+

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : genre: hybrid au, storm chasers au, soulmate au, friends/coworkers to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : content: scorpion hybrid!yoongi x human!reader, storm chaser!yoongi+reader, angst, semi-public sex (bathroom), fingering, p in v, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, bratty!reader a lil, rough sex, thigh riding, sex under the influence (alcohol), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, one mention of a breeding kink, yoongi has a tail, mates, misunderstandings, fights, jealousy, non-linear storytelling, reader and yoongi are both kinda stupid idk, but also v cute, angst but a happy ending <33

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : notes: heyyyyy it’s ur girl, back with another mc let’s play video!! kidding lol, sorry this took so long to write, life has been really hectic. trust me on this fic lol. but i rlly fell in love with these two nd I hope you do too <33 and i hope u enjoy my attempts at comedy! remember!! my requests are always open nd you can always feel free to send asks to characters <33

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Wind wraps in your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in your ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person.

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon.

The world acts as something greater- something more than yourself. A collective that has not a care for you or the people in it. A system acting for its own desires. A storm that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left to give.

You love it. Love every second of it.

Even if you should be scared, even if you should be terrified– look for cover just like everyone else. To hide and cower away from the winding beast that destroys homes, takes down power lines. That kills. You can’t. Not when you feel this– this calling deep in your bones. This calling to know more. This calling to conquer a monster.

To chase the impossible.

You have always lived for that very thing. Have constructed your entire life around finding answers for beasts that are beyond reason, to construct something real from what can only be construed as fake. To look the storm in the eye, to live within it rather than to be consumed.

And that is exactly why you stand where you find yourself now. Tornado Alley. A storm brewing just in front of you. Warm air meeting cold, finding breath, coming to life.

Maybe you should be scared. Maybe you should let panic set you alight and carry you far, far away from the death spirals. Maybe you should do a lot of things, yet you can't. You can only stare in wonder as rain hits your flesh. As the wind tries to take your clothes, battering them in the breeze. As electricity cracks above your head, light debris flying past your form to entertain the forming tornadoes fury.

Bang, Bang, Bang.

Now that sound isn't from the storm, it can’t be. Sounds too much like metal, like a fist hitting it. Oh right, the car.

“(Y/n) get your ass in here, now!” His voice is loud, forced to so you could hear him above the storm. He would never yell otherwise. Never raise his voice a single decibel against you.

Your body turns to face him, a smile breaking across your cheeks without a second thought. Eyes turning to crescents, rain dripping down your cheeks.

Right, Yoongi.

The impossible.

You don’t know when it happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But you knew it did. Felt the shift in your soul whenever you looked at him, felt your blood pumping just a fraction faster whenever he was close. Felt yourself yearn to smell his signature Yoongi scent whenever you sat in his car, whenever he drove you around on one of your little escapades.

Maybe it was a year ago. Maybe less. Maybe more. You could never be sure– emotions never were your strong suit. But he knew that, and he didn’t care. Never pressured or pried, always just let the two of you be. Act in co-existence in a way you doubt two people could.

Your partner in crime, your solace among the disarray perpetuating every second of your job– your life. The only person you knew crazy enough to chase the storms with you. To risk their life driving you into the eye. Your right hand man. Your friend.

None of it should have happened. But it did anyway. Isn’t that always the way life goes? The same way the storms control the skies, he found himself controlling your heart with no will of his own. No knowledge of the underlying flutter that found its way into your guts the second he looked at you, nor any knowledge of the way your eyes fell into adoration when they fell on him.

Why did you have to fall in love with the storm?

You weren’t sure– never cared to look deeper into the fact. Never cared to think about why you couldn’t fathom a future without him. Never dared to dip into why the scrawny kid from your college has suddenly become a man before you. Never even thought to challenge the pre-disposed ideologies that held your friendship by its core.

No. You would never do anything as stupid as that.

Yes, you were a creature of impulse. Never the type to take into account the consequences your actions disclosed. But you like to chase the impossible. You would never think to actually attempt to change it. Especially when you could lose everything in the process. Lose him.

In more ways than one.

Plus, you know where he stands. Know he could never see you as anything more than a friend– a little sister. The hair ruffles, the slight glares he gives when men talk to you in the bars, the way he puts up with your ‘overly affectionate’ cuddles– as much as you wish the simple actions meant more, you knew they simply didn’t.

A big brother. Unfortunately for you, he knows that’s the role he plays in your life too well.

But he’s not your big brother. He's a man, you’re a woman. It’s not like you ever asked to get caught up in the stringers that tangled you together. Not like you ever asked for this crush to form.

“For fucks sake! (Y/n)!” His voice is louder now, a harsh yell pulling you from the thoughts that sunk you under the waves. His body forcing itself through the wind to get to you, arm raising to shield his face. “We have to fucking go!!”

He would admonish you later for getting too caught up in your own thoughts again– something you knew all too well. But when the storm was raging around you, it was almost easier to think. To get lost in the recesses of your brain until you drew the conclusion you had been looking for all along.

His hand grips your wrist now, dragging you back to the safety of your company truck all while scolding you harshly with words he never actually meant. Just his salt-coated concern peaking through the surface. And well, his concern about getting swallowed up by the storm. Yeah, most people worry about that kind of stuff. At least that’s what you suppose.

“Are you that fucking stupid?” He shouts roughly at you, forcing you to get in the passenger seat. His touch is gentle even if his words are strong. He always has been strong. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

He slams the door closed before you can say anything back– frustrated but not mad. Never mad at you. And for that you can’t help the giddy feeling on your lips. Your eyes watching him as he quickly walks to his side of the car, tail curled close to his back almost as if to protect himself.

Right, his tail. You forget about it a lot of the time– but at the same, you are so very fond of it. Smile whenever it moves in response to his emotions, giggle whenever he forgets about it himself, tripping over the thing.

You often forget Yoongi isn’t a full human. But it’s never played much of a role in your life, in your friendship. So you don’t really see the point to care. Choose to ignore the scorpion blood that runs through his veins and view him as any other person walking the face of the earth. It’s never bothered you.

Most people around you call you a fool anyway, it’s not much to add another reason to it.

“Ah~ Don’t worry, King Yoongi. I don’t plan on getting myself killed anytime soon.” You let out a gentle giggle as he finds his way into the car, pressing on the gas almost immediately and driving as fast as he can away.

His body is so rigid, so stressed. Yet you can’t be further from it. Your legs propped haphazardly on the dashboard, your body sinking deeper into the seat. You trust him. He always gets you out. Something about his special senses, probably. Maybe.

Actually, you don’t know. You should ask him about it later– how he can see in such horrid conditions.

“You will if I just leave you there.” He rolls his eyes, glancing over to you for only a second before managing back to the road, “Don’t think I won’t.”

“You won’t though.” He only scoffs, but you can see the smile at the corner of his mouth. It warms you almost as much as the sound of the rain– or maybe it's hail now, pelting the roof of the car.

“I could and I will.”

“But you won’t.”

“Just put your fucking seat belt on.” He grumbles, his voice getting a fraction louder as he turns the wheel harshly, a last second manoeuvre. A stick flying through the air past your window. A narrow avoidance.

The car bumps harshly as it drives, the roads narrow and in disarray. Swerving to avoid debris that litters the ground and jumping as it dips into potholes. It feels like a race. Makes you feel alive even as you click the belt into place– as he moves his tail across your frame to act as a second one.

You should be scared. Should be terrified of getting caught in the storm. But you trust Yoongi. You know he’ll always protect you.

“Did the other teams drop their equipment on time?” You ask, reaching below your seat and grabbing the computer. He sends you a pointed glance.

“According to the sensors we were the last ones.”

“Well we always are~” You mumble back, a little sing-song in your voice while your head tilts towards your chin. Eyes scanning the array of measurements that pop up on the screen– reading them, taking in their meaning.

It is your job, anyway.

“Who’s fault is that?” His words don’t perfectly cross your ears, never do when you're trying to focus. An input of too much information at once and a computer might explode! Aka your brain, aka he’s known for years you have selective hearing when trying to understand complicated things.

“Mhmm…” You quietly mumble out, fingers moving quickly to type as he finally drags the car out of the storm. Slows down to a more human speed as you type out a few observations, input pieces of code to make your readings more sensible.

You completely miss the small smile he sends your way, the tilt of his head trying to check. “Anything interesting?”

“Mmm… Nothing we haven’t seen before. Got a couple of cool 3D models of the storm your screen, though…” You tilt the laptop in his direction, showing him the model of the storm. Exactly how big it was, how fast it was moving. “Just an E2, but still pretty.”

“Yeah, had to’ve been to almost let it eat you.”

You roll your eyes, shutting the laptop as he pulls over to the side of the road, “Of course, I’d let anything as pretty as that take me out.”

He scoffs, “Anything, really?”

“Yeah, you know that guy on Attack on Titan that's like ‘oh i’d let a pretty female titan eat’-- Wait a second it is not my fault!” You suddenly announce, his words before finally registering in your mind, “You’re always tinkering with the the the bits!! That’s why it takes so long!”

You grump, crossing your arms. A fond smile finding its way to his lips.

“Yeah, cause the ‘bits’ are the real issue, aren’t they? Not you playing out music videos in your head while a tornado is hurrdaling at us?”

“Okay! That was one time! And totally not my fault!” You huff, not in any real annoyance, just simply banter. Yoongi always seemed to like your over-dramatic reactions anyway. “You said we could play Hurrcane!! By my girl Bridget Mendler! You know what that song does to me!”

He can only laugh in response, the gums of his mouth showing as he tilts his head back. Long black hair falling lower against his shoulders. Tail falling lax for the first time in forever. Crests shown in his eyes.

You like giving Yoongi your reactions if it means he can smile like this.

When he looks in your direction for a breef second, you can’t help but puff out your cheeks and stick out your tounge in pestilence. The action only causing him to shake his head, eyes returning to the road a little brighter than before.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. How could I possibly forget.” A thousand words are said behind his tone that you could never pick up on. Never notice. “You get so excited, like a kid. It’s funny.”

Your head jerks to look at him, a pointed glare in your eye, “She makes me feel things you can’t even hope to understand, Min.”

He rolls his own, “Uh huh. I’m sure.”

College. Senior Year. The perfect hell it bestows on all of its captors.

The combined effort of senior thesis’s, grad school searches, advanced level course work, and the unyielding need for money after graduation, as it turns out, is the best possible combination for stress any one person can find! How wonderful. Especially for you, with a stupid gpa you need to upkeep to keep your stupid scholarships, so you can get your stupid degree and get your stupid job–

Well, okay. Now you’re just spiralling.

Annoyed and tired has never been a good combination for everyday dreamers. Especially those that have been working their entire lives for a single goal. To chase their every last dying hope since they were a child. To become the very person they could only wish to be in their youth.

But in all fairness, your ass has been handed to you on a silver platter after your last exam grade was horribly, terribly slid to you face down against the table. A quiet note of “see me after class” listed on the top without reverie. Your thoughts a sudden cyclone vortexing you inward and onward, wishing you could tell the sweet summer child of your adolescence that you had failed her. That you were never going to be able to live inside a tornado as she had wished.

Oh. The monster that you were.

That was, at least, until you did meet with your professor. And, apparently, he wasn’t going to drop you from the class and (somehow) get you removed from the college like you had thought! Even better, he saw how hard you worked– how much you truly care. Deciding to lend a hand rather than pull it back. Giving you a building and a time to meet with a tutor he specifically picked out.

Someone he would apparently trust his life to. Your life– okay, academic career, to as well.

That’s how you found yourself now. Walking through a library that had to be older than your great grandparents– the scent of mildew filling your nose as you moved farther and farther into the recesses of the building.

Why, exactly, you had to meet in the deepest, darkest corner of the library at an absurd hour of the day confuses you even now. Annoys you a little, quite frankly. Leaving your dorm past 8pm feels like a nightmare.

But you trust your professor, you trust that he wouldn’t steer you wrong. Well, hope is probably a better term. One that more accurately portrays your inner conflicts as you make your way to the back conference table nestled deep within walls of encyclopaedias. Dust entrapping the air you sit in– age and memories baked in the walls.

At worst, that’s all you shall make. Memories. Call the whole thing a bust and look online for some tutors or go to a used bookstore and buy a few more outdated textbooks. At best, you’ll pass the class and become one of the best meteorologists the world has seen. No pressure on Mr. Mystery Tutor or anything. Obviously.

None at all.

Your fingers find themselves tapping against the table as you think; seat already taken, items already spread out as you wait. Just your ring finger over and over in a repeated motion– the beat of wind speeds picking up on a desert plane. The bubbling of magma under the surface of the earth. The–

“(Y/n)?” A husk of a voice breaks your almost monotonous silence, your tapping suddenly ceased as a chill travels down your spine. A chill from the tone of someone's voice alone– can you believe that?

Somewhere, once, when you were little, you heard that a chill runs down your spine whenever a serial killer passes by. But this isn't that. No, this is something entirely different. More familiar. More recognizant.

Your eyes shoot pitifully fast up at him, almost tilting your head as you take in the features. Black hair– maybe brown, baggy hoodie, slouched shoulders. One hand supporting the shrap of his bag that hangs over his shoulder.

No, you don’t know him. Maybe a future you does– one where a timeline passes over this exact spot. Where you’re friends already, maybe something more. Something safe. Though, that isn’t a very scientific explanation. One colleagues and professors may make fun of you for. You disregard the notion, only nodding your head to confirm.

He only mirrors the motion in return, seemingly not one for conversation himself. Finding himself pulling out the chair across from yours, setting himself inside of it. Wasting no time in pulling out his own belongings.

Laptop, textbook, notebook.

“The professor said you were having trouble with qualitative analysis of…” His voice trails off, and you can’t help but wonder how someone's voice can almost sound like a well-loved record. A tune that can’t quite find its sink– almost too rigid to hope itself melodic.

You listen to the same voice as it sings out the songs of your lessons. As he goes over the failed exam beat by beat. Explaining the first few questions in such simple terms anyone could understand them. Not in a way that felt condescending, no. Again, it just felt so warm that you couldn’t do anything but listen to him quietly. Absorbing everything without a single interruption.

Well, until question 7 at least. That is when you feel two synapses connecting in your brain reminding you of an ultra-important task that absolutely cannot be forgotten. A handshake. Your small hand cutting him off, reaching across the table without a second thought.

He stares at the pervasive hand as if it is something he’s never seen before. Never been offered in the first place. Something offensive to hurt rather than anything else.

Interesting.

“My dad always said you have to shake hands when you’re meeting someone. Or else it’s bad luck down the road. So…” You explain away simply, like it should be obvious to every person on the Earth. It should, honestly. But you’ve been told you have issues with thinking that way– that things obvious to you should be obvious to everyone else. That everyone else lives within the same bubble you’ve found yourself residing in your whole life.

You know it isn't true– that the bubble you’ve created is something you simply live in alone. Periphery finding itself resident to everyone else. But that’s awfully lonely, isn't it? You choose to think the former.

His shoulders slowly unfurl, defences slowly lowering as he meets your hand in the middle. Rough palm meeting yours, shaking slowly up and down before both sides pull away. A magnet short of attraction of two bodies as you pull away.

“Good.” You nod, pulling your knees up to hover off of the ground. Resting them against the edge of the table instead. “I don’t like bad luck either.”

There's a beat of silence, one that you don’t mind.

“Do you not like black cats then either?” His tone has an edge of pessimism to it. His defences considering a raise.

You, on the other hand, feel immediate offence. How dare he! “What?! Are you crazy! Or course I like them.”

You miss the crook of his lip into a light smirk, defences gone once more, “Well, normally they’re seen as bad luck…”

“That’s just a stereotype!” You instantly defend. Your body leaning over, moving your face closer to his.

He holds his arms up in defence, pencil still wedged between his fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My bad completely.” He lets out a quiet chuckle at the end, you only puff out your cheeks.

“Entirely.” You huff quietly, almost sounding like a petulant child, “I would never judge something just off of how they’re born.” At that, he almost perks an ear.

“Really?” He asks, his eyebrows slowly raising, “Not even hybrids?”

Ah, hybrids. A common discussion other people find themselves having, one that you never really found the purpose of. Arguments on their rights, the ethics of keeping them as pets, on if they should even be classified as intelligent life. You hated all of them. Didn’t understand for a second why people kept themselves concerned with class divisions or keeping others subservient at all.

As far as you care, they’re the same as humans. Think like humans, act like humans. Another creature just as deserving the right to live and exist as all others. You don’t concern yourself with the difference in their existence– seeing them, treating them the same as you would any other person.

You can’t stand that others find different opinions than yourself. Cutting them off entirely for treating another living, breathing creature with the capacity to think for itself as less. Reminding you desperately that you live on the periphery.

“No, why should I care.” You scrunch your nose up at the notion you’d think otherwise. He takes the action differently. “They’re the same as everyone else.”

You surmise your ideologies simply, though you’re never sure if your words construe correctly. His results are inconclusive as well, letting out a quiet grunt. Dropping the subject. Keeping his words from revealing what is true.

“What else is bad luck then?”

You don’t notice the quick subject change, “Walking under ladders, whistling in the woods, doing your laundry on a sunday. …I can’t imagine saying Bloody Mary in a mirror 3 times is much help either.”

He pauses for a second, his eyes just looking at you. They’re sharp things– knives against a grinder maybe. Could even be too sharp to be human, if you cared to look a little closer. Cared to notice the differences between you and him.

But you don’t, nor will you probably ever. Just allow him to shake his head simply, let him return to your test questions without a single other thought leaking into that brain of yours. Only this time, you feel comfortable enough to ask a few more questions. Let him delve more deeply into the work without the threat of your mind wandering off to useless things. Allow the clock to tick later, later, later into the night– moving from your exam, to the most recent concept your class has been working on. Carefully treading the water, staying afloat as you finally begin to understand.

You hate to admit it, you really do for the sake of your pride alone, but he really is a good teacher. He doesn’t seem upset when you ask questions– no matter how stupid you are. He stays calm whenever you start to get frustrated, carefully talking you through it instead of getting upset himself. He seems so peaceful you almost want to hate him for it.

Almost, because between the gentle instructions and messy handwriting as the hours tick late into the night, jokes begin to crack freely between both of your tongues. Gentle jabs that mean nothing, topics construing into obscurity flowing into something more entertaining to discuss.

Though– he did seem to have pause when you told him you don't trust fish. Something about them thinking they’re better than you– of which he agreed. Not that they’re better than you, of course not. But that yeah… they do seem to have that kind of look in their eyes.

He feels the same way about birds, you learned. Interesting.

It isn’t until midnight that he calls it, a time you didn’t even think was plausible. You thought it was 9:30, 10 at the latest! There’s no way midnight could have come so soon! Just the idea of it sounded fake. But then you checked the clock in the library, then your phone, and now you don’t know what to think.

Time has never flown so simply with another person.

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” He has that stupid smirk on his face, the one you’ve decided means he’s feeling cocky and amused.

“You could… you could have changed all of them when I wasn’t looking! To trick me?”

“Yeah.. mhmm.. And what would that do.. For either of us..?”

“. . . I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Right.” He smiles, a real smile that shows off his gums. You can’t help but reflect a smaller one back at him.

Once again he moves first, standing after he’s collected all his belongings. Tossing his bag over his shoulder while you hurry to catch up. Sliding your laptop inside before making sure your pens know their correct homes in the case–

What was that?

It was something so subtle anyone could have missed it. A mouse scurrying between cases, a piece of trash floating by. Something brown moving quickly in the corner of your eye. Something you neglected to notice. How could you not notice something so obvious?

When you look up at him– finally take the man you’ve spent the night with in his entirety, you see it. You missed it while he was sitting down, obviously trying to keep the thing from view, but now there was no hiding it. It was impossible to hide the thick brown tail that hung behind him in such a relaxed posture you wonder if he forgot about it, too.

You couldn’t help the instant fascination as you took the form of it in. The pretty segments it appeared to be broken into– 5 if you counted them correctly, all stacked neatly upon one another. All leading to a stinger resting at the end, gently curled inward rather than held in defence.

The gentleness of the man himself contrasted so nicely with the firmness of the tail.

So pretty.

It was only then that he must’ve realised his mistake. Must’ve noticed your silence, followed your eye line to see exactly where it was laying. Realised that he let his guard down too quickly– understood too quickly that you didn’t already know about his… condition. His state of existence.

The professor must’ve not told you. Probably thought it was a negligible factor even though it never is. Maybe when he came in you missed it, you didn’t actually look up at him until he sat down anyway. Until his tail was already tucked deep under the chair for protection.

Without realising it, his tail raises. Curing behind his back, the tip looking even sharper than it normally does. Meanwhile his body tenses up entirely. Defence utterly encasing his form.

Fuck, and then your eyebrows are raising– and next you’re gonna start screaming and he’ll have to run so he doesn’t get taken in by hybrid services and–

“Can I touch it?” Your voice brings him back to reality, back from the ‘end-of times’ it found itself careening towards. Now he’s just, he’s just confused. Did you just ask him if you could touch it? Why aren’t you acting like he’s suddenly the scum of the earth? That’s how hybrids are treated anyway.

Even if you said otherwise earlier, that doesn’t mean much to someone who's never experienced otherwise.

“. . . oh… or maybe that’s rude. Forget it. Sorry.” You rush out instead, taking his appearance softly. Honestly, you don’t know much about what could be considered ‘rude’ to hybrids… you don’t have much experience with them at all, actually.

“You’re not…” He fumbles with himself, his tail remaining raised like a predator. He forces himself taller, forces himself to appear more together. More ready to ‘strike’-- figuratively. He clears his throat, “What, you have something you want to say?”

You cock your head back sharply, rising to your feet, “No, why would I?” You feel just as confused as him. Maybe asking to touch a hybrid’s parts is more taboo than you thought…

“Look I didn't mean any offence it was just pretty and–”

“Just fucking run off and report me if you’re going to–”

Both sentences are said at the same time from each party, the response mirroring exactly as well. Both faces twist into that of almost confusion and offence, upset that the other would dare say something like that for entirely different reasons.

“What are you talking about?” Your question comes from annoyance, almost anger that he would think you would do something as nasty as reporting him when he was just trying to live his life.

His comes from the simple word pretty. Why would you think his appendage was anything of the sort? The one thing his entire life that’s set him back– the very blood in his veins betraying him. The reason he can’t be accepted by normal people. The reason he has to take stupid night classes at this university with any professor that is actually willing to accept him. To accept his under the table payments.

The very reason he’ll never get a real job– just hope to be adopted by someone who will let him do what he wants. Just hope that the authorities don’t find him, or that his own landlord won’t turn him in before he can do that.

And you think it’s pretty? No fucking sane person would.

“Why would you think I’d report you?” Your tone is hurt, the pang in his heart hurting just as much. He hates that he feels it, and he hates that he wants to comfort you more than anything else. Stupid fucking scorpion genes.

“What else would you do?” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Literally nothing. I would do nothing.” You glare at him slightly, “I don’t care that you’re a hybrid, why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” His tone is accusatory, but he doesn’t quite know what else to make it.

“Okay, let’s go down the list, yeah?” The spite in your tone lets the both of you know this night is taking a sour turn, “You can think, you can feel, oh right, you’re your own fucking person.”

You roll your eyes, “I know words don’t mean much, probably, but I view literally every creature as equal.” He still stands firm, your words and his life experiences battling in his mind. You sigh, this isn’t going anywhere. “Listen, I know it probably doesn’t mean much, and like, we both just met so I know it doesn’t hold much value. But I’m really sorry for whatever you’ve gone through in your life. It couldn’t have been easy. But I really, truly don’t care about whatever laws are in place. As far as I’m concerned, you’re equal to me.”

Your tone had gone soft, more gentle. Trying to dispel the hostility that hung fragrant in the air. But it looks like he can’t move. Doesn’t really know how after all of that. You probably wouldn’t either– though you’re not sure, you’ve never been good at putting yourself in other people's shoes. You just hope he believes you… that’s all you can do.

“I’ll head out first. You have my number, text me if you want to meet again.” You start towards the door, the ball left in the other man’s court. You wish you could’ve at least got his name first but.. He never introduced himself. Hmm, maybe you did the handshake too late, that’s why the bad luck kicked in.

“You think it’s pretty?” You almost don’t hear his words, too far away.

You turn your body back to face him, a gentle smile crocheted onto your lips, “Of course I do. Exquisite.”

The two of you stand in silence for a minute longer, trying to navigate the confusing energy moving between both of your forms. It’s only when you turn back around again to leave that he finally speaks. The simple word of his name.

“Yoongi.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Yoongi.” You say softly, tilting your head to look at him once again, “I really do hope we can be friends.”

But that was years ago. Friends came and went; now you want so much more. More than you could ever quite articulate. You know it now as you sit with him, an after-chase ritual in whatever cheap roadside bar you can find. Never finding yourselves regulars, always on the move– save for the presence of each other.

“I don’t think luck is real, you know.” Yoongi drawls into your ear, the scent of alcohol heavy on his tongue. His body leaning against yours in the crowded bar, hair dancing against the side of your neck all while his tail finds itself curled around your back. A simple motion that could only be described as protective, possessive.

“What?!” You dramatically slap your hand against your mouth, an action you picked up from him. Alcohol inhibiting both of your minds only slightly, letting words flow a little easier than they otherwise might. Letting touch feel a little more commonplace.

An afterwork tradition, if you will.

“You’re insane!” You announce, slapping his shoulder playfully, “You’re gonna make bad luck get us Yoongi!! Take it back!”

Your voice is almost a whine, and he wants to fold because of it.

“You say that like you aren’t a stem major!” He laughs, his eyes shining like crescent moons you want to live on. Wait, does that even make sense?

“That doesn’t matter! We're like– the least scienc-y!! Our whole job is practically based on luck! Oh my god!” Now you’re stopping your foot a little, and his tail finds itself pulling you closer.

“Yeah, but you have no idea how many ladder’s I’ve walked under and you still say I have the best luck.” He giggles– fucking giggles!! Can you believe the audacity of this man?!

“Yoongi!! How dare you!! Do you know how many E5s’ you’ve cost us?! Probably like.. Like 20!”

“Mm, maybe yours just keeps it up for the both of us. Huh?” You humph, you fucking humph, and maybe– just maybe, Yoongi feels himself going a little insane. Forgetting himself– what you are meant to be to him.

“That’s the only plausible explanation… obviously…”

He hums, “Obviously.”

There’s a brief moment, a flicker in the air of something indescribable. Something that makes your skin feel a quiet, humble flame strumming under the surface. That makes you feel as if there's electricity pulsing through the space left between your noses. That makes you feel almost invincible as your eyes meet his warm brown tones.

You’ve come to love earthy hues since meeting Yoongi. He’s full of them, after all.

But, the flame of the match is blown out far too quick for you to truly comprehend what that moment was. Why it felt the way it did. Instead, your left sputtering with the absence of Yoongi, the slow withdrawal of his form.

“I’ll go get us more drinks.” His gravelly voice mutters just loud enough to hear over the music. You can only nod along, already missing the security of the tail curled around your back.

At least he isn’t so shy about it’s presence anymore. At least not like he was back then– trying to hide it, trying to make the rest of the world forget about it. You never understood why, no, how could you when you love it so much? Find it just another integral part of Yoongi for you to love.

You can even smile now, thinking back to how cute he got the first time he let you touch it. How he turned red to his ears, the chill that travelled down his spine. The flick of it as it chased after your hand when you retreated. It was too fucking cute back then… mm. Maybe that’s when you first started to grow a crush on the man.

Or maybe it was always how struck he was when you complimented him. Pushed it aside like it meant nothing, yet he always seemed a little out of it for the rest of your time spent together. You suppose Yoongi has always been reticent to your gaze; but then again, he was always aloof when it came to his feelings as it was. Nothing to dwell on, honestly.

You’ve never tried to hide your feelings– have never wanted to, really. You don’t think you even know how. But you’re not going to force them on him either. If he wants to act, the door has always been open. And it will remain open to him, probably forever.

“How’d the chase go this time?” A voice carries you from your head, your feet returning to the solid ground. Jisung, a fellow chaser finds himself in the seat next to yours– the seat Yoongi used to fill. A friend in the industry, you could say. Though, you take to thinking he probably wants more.

“Mmm… ‘bout as good as any other this late into the season…” You hum, taking a sip from your half-full glass, “Never as good around this time of year.”

Your sigh makes a gentle smile grow onto his plush lips, “Really? I thought you fell in love with every storm.” He lets out a quiet snort, swirling his own cup. His eyes seem to remain focused on you, though.

“Of course I do. Everyone is perfect and special!” You declare a smile stretching back, “However, like every caring mother, I do have favourites.”

“I don’t think– that’s not–” He laughs, “Aren’t parents not supposed to have favourites?”

“You really believe that Lie, Sung? Bold of you.”

“Well, do you have favourite pets?”

“Of course not!! How dare– okay, yeah. It’s the goldfish. His name is Guppie and he is my pride and joy. Named after my first love in elementary school~ imagine I let out a dreamy sigh here.”

His laugh makes your own come out as well, “Your first love was a… fish?”

“What, no?”

“They were named Guppie? … Like a fish…”

“Nickname, of course.” You giggle, girlish and cute.

“Do you give nicknames to everyone then?” He moves his face closer in wonder, excitement, “What’s mine? You have to tell me.”

You hum, tapping your chin in contemplation, “I don’t know ‘Sung, nicknames are reserved for extra special people in my life…”

“Ah!” He clutches his chest, looking down before popping his head up. Puppy dog eyes, “I’m not extra special? You wound me (Y/n)! You really do! And I really thought we had something, I can’t believe this.”

You laugh loudly at the dramatic act– emotions on the sleeve are so much more fun to display. You know he probably means none of it, but it’s still adorable. You can’t help but lean in closer, slapping his chest gently.

“Shh! Shh! You’re too loud! Too loud! You’re extra special!” The conversation is easy, just as it always is with Jisung. Though it isn’t the same– you can’t help but notice that fact. It feels easy, smooth… though like there is a wall in the way of true connection. Like there is a way you are meant to act. Just like there always is.

Always is with everyone but Yoongi.

It’s strange. But something you’ve grown attached to. Fond of.

He clears his throat behind you– think of the devil and he shall appear. Or however the saying goes. You’ve never been good with them, anyway. Your strengths and your faults, the simple facts have become all too aware of over time. Not that you mind them, of course. You just accept them as a fact of ‘you’. Just like your bubble, just like your impossible.

“Oh, hey!” Jisung is bright as always, giving a gentle wave to the man behind you.

“Poongie!” You smile, your inebriated mind already attempting to wrap itself around his torso. It’s not your fault you already missed him!

Jisung erupts in a fit of giggles, “Poongie?! That’s his?!”

“Yep! Mixture of Pookie and Yoongi. He loves it.” He certainly does, but he would never admit it. Actually, he feels kind of odd right now. More… stiff than he was before he left. Like something… darker? Is radiating off of him. Though, it’s not actually dark. Just kind of… displeased. You can't seem to find the right word.

“I can tell.” Jisung rolls his eyes, “He looks thrilled.”

That only seems to further upset the man, his tail slowly curling around itself on instinct. Moving to find purchase on your waist. To pull you closer. To claim you. Sober thoughts slipping into a drunk mind, his actions freer than he normally allows them to be.

Jealousy. That’s all he feels. Jealous that you just called someone who’s been openly hitting on you the entire season ‘extra special’. How fucking childish of him. He knows that even now, but he doesn’t want to stop. Everything that normally does feels as though they’ve gone into hibernation at this very moment.

He just wants you.

The next thing the Scorpion knows, he’s setting the drinks on the counter while you gaff away. Lifting you by your hips, sliding his form underneath yours with a grunt. Placing you on his lap and finally, making sure you’re secure to him with a hug of his tail around your midsection.

He almost feels proud at your little squeal of surprise. At the blush on your cheeks. That’s right. He’s the only special one to you. This other man– other predator should know it.

He knows he’ll regret this display in the morning. That he’ll feel utterly embarrassed by the whole thing. But right now Min Yoongi feels on top of the world.

“Yoongi! What are you doing!” You hiccup out in surprise, trying to turn to face him. But he holds you still, holds you secure. Holds you safe just like he always makes sure you are. Gives you a response only by the shrug of his shoulders, his chin finding purchase in the crook of your neck.

“W-well.. Fine then!” You huff, puffing out your cheeks just a little, “I’ll stay, but… just for a little! I’ll stay here for a little…” You grow a little quiet near the end, a little nervous. But you couldn’t feel more warm than in this moment. So heavenly.

Jisung only laughs, what else is he meant to do anyway? A small, petulant part of Yoongi was hoping he’d run for the hills– he would with such aggressive scent marking. But then again, the other man is a human, probably doesn’t know anything about such a thing.

The other part of Yoongi almost wants him to watch. Wants the other man to watch you drown in your own blush, watch as you learn more and more into the firm chest behind you. Feel the connection you two have that–

Oh, you’re laughing again too, what a pretty sound. The conversation picking up once again– Jisung is a conversationalist isn’t he. Yoongi almost wishes he was the same. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. It makes people do drastic things. It makes Yoongi want to do even more drastic things.

If only he was human.

If he was human he'd do so much more. Would have already done so much more. But now, in his current state of being, he couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection. He knows it. Knows it in the way mother’s comfort their children after one look at his tail, and knows it in the way you look at storms.

Yoongi isn’t a tornado. You would never look at him the same way you look at them. With such love and light in your eyes.

But god he wants you to, he wants you to more than anything. He wants to be an option. He wants to be the center of your universe just like those dumb fuck storms are. He wants to be the wind that plays with your hair, the rain that kisses your skin. He wants to be the very thing that envelopes your entire consciousness just like those storms do.

And maybe, just maybe if he presses himself close enough to you he can. He can pretend with the poison in his blood that you like him. He can be yours, even if it's only for a night.

He would always be yours. You never his’.

And as the night ticks on, venom bubbling up every second that ticks, he feels himself becoming looser. Feels you melting into his grip as pretty drinks and florals fill your mind. Feels your scent starting to overpower his nose as his mind blurs with thoughts of you. Almost feels the tangle of souls joining in the way he’s always wished them to.

“Yoonie..” You hum, fingers coming up loosely to move through his hair in a way they only do when the two of you are alone, “He went to get a drink, can let me go now…seats open.”

He almost feels annoyed at your words, and you can’t help but let the disappointment of them bubble, too. You don’t want him to let you go. In fact, you’d be happy staying like this forever. But you know Yoongi, you know he doesn’t like to be so… affectionate in public. He’s one to show his love quietly, something else you’ve come to find endearing over the years you’ve spent by his side.

Only, you don’t feel relieved movements like you expected to, no. While his arms go lax, his tail almost pulls tighter. The two sides of him fighting, arguing over what to do next. And next, next you feel something so warm. So soft against your neck that you don’t know what to do.

Lips. His lips are against your neck. A gentle press to the side of the column robbing you of your ability to breath, ability to think. Normal affectionate pecks are common, sure, when the two of you have spent too long reaserching and analysing the your brains are working a little slower than they normally do, they might even be seen as common. But this kiss, this kiss was slow. It was languid. It was so much more. Everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Have to?” His words are quiet, gruff. Lips moving against your neck as he talks. Spoken to you alone in the world, emboldened by the alluring mix of jealousy and alcohol.

You shake your head, much emboldened by the same. He never has to let you go.

“Good.” You feel your heart in your ears, ready to explode as he moves his arm back around you, back to your hip to hold you steady, “Mine.”

Neither of you ever expected that single, life altering word to ever leave his lips.

“Y-Yours?” You can’t help yourself, you need to make sure you heard him right. Needed to make sure this whole thing wasn’t a dream. That his lips, slowly kissing along the ridge of your shoulder are real and not a figment of your imagination.

Though he doesn’t say it again, doesn’t will himself to. Instead the sound you hear is something low, one you’ve never heard him use against you. A gentle growl lodged in the back of his throat, confirming it. Confirming everything for your head and your heart to hear.

“Yours…” You try again, tilting your head to the side, giving him more room. He hums in assurance, in want.

You think you could die happy.

The impossible. The impossible is claiming you for himself. Is holding the heart of the love struck college student, the nervous new-hire, the assured scientist all in the palm of his hand. Is confirming your affections. Confirming the fire brewing deep in your belly. The coals that have been slowly and tenderly cared for over time.

Yoongi and the storms– they’re both your impossible, your fate finding reality.

“Y-Yoongi I—” He tilts your chin, cutting you off mid sentence. Passion alight beneath the subtle glow of amber that robs you of your words. Lets you know exactly what you need to. Makes the fire burst into flames as his fingers gently dig into your hip, makes your entire body heat as he rubs in gentle circles.

“I don’t like him.” He grunts, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Keeps you from me.”

“No one can keep me from you.” The reply is instant, your lips barely missing his. “You’re for me.”

God, and at that moment you know that the prettiest noise in the world is Yoongi’s quiet groan. The way his eyes close, the way he practically pulls you down into his lap sends you into overdrive. The way he slowly rolls his own up is enough to send you into a puddle of your former being.

The rest of the world is gone, entirely melted away from reality. Now, now it’s just you and Yoongi. Cornered away from the rest of the bar, out of sight. Out of mind. Just his hands slowly moving your hips to be seated on just one of his thighs, his tail making sure you’re secure. Just your scent driving him crazy.

He can tell how wet you already are. He can tell how much you want him, just as he wants you.

The contact is rough, a little maddening. His jeans pressing up against yours, the thin cotton of your panties not doing much to stop the harsh heat. But you don’t want it to stop. You want him to do whatever he wants.

“You’re wet.” He isn't shy to admit it. Isn’t shy to admit the smell invading his nose. Isn’t shy to let you know exactly what it’s doing to him with the rock of your hips. Letting you feel something hard pressed right against your back.

“Shut up…” You instantly complain, whining as you lean your back against his chest, further into his touch. He cracks a soft smile at your words, rocking you back and forth so slowly, so carefully. Letting you feel every flex of the muscle, every rough movement of the jean against your clit. Savouring every second now that the threat of the other man has dissipated. Taking his time in case all of this is a dream and he will have to give you up tomorrow.

“Why? Not cute when I say it?” He chuckles, jumping his leg slightly off the ground, sending a wave through your body. A shock of pleasure to the system that has a gentle moan tumbling from your lips. That has your hips sending a gentle buck back. That has your brain feeling as though it might become mush.

Yoongi is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

“Hey guys I…” Yoongi’s eyes find Jisung before your own do. Before the flushed expression on your face can quell and certainly before you can find a coherent thought. And suddenly the lazy foreplay in the corner of the bar is gone. Suddenly Yoongi is no more than an animal once again.

“O-Oh! Jisung! S-sorry let me just–” You try, but there isn’t any use. No, Yoongi is pissed you even said his name. Pissed you tried to move away from him. Why would you try to move away from him? A predator with his m– prey being stolen right out from under him. A predator that has everything to gain and everything to lose.

Yoongi isn’t thinking anymore as he stands, just barely keeping you upright as he pulls you away. Grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom, locks the door once you’re both inside.

Sanity is no longer present. Only the jealousy he feels inside. Only annoyance at the other man for trying to take you away from him. You said he was yours, that he was made for you. And the other predator dared try to take you? Take you from him when you were about to share something so sweet?

Yoongi knows he isn’t thinking right. Knows he might regret it in the morning– but he also knows if he doesn’t do something now he’ll regret it even more. For once, for once in his life he wants to be selfish. For once in his life he wants to forget he can’t ever have you because he’s a hybrid. For once he just wants you.

You’d let him have you. Over and over again. For the rest of your lives.

“Yoongi what are you–” He cuts you off with his lips against your own for he doesn’t know the answer. He’s letting himself just exist for once. Exist in the way he wants to without care. And all he wants right now is to kiss you.

You couldn’t want anything more. Have been waiting your entire life to feel the press of his lips against your own. Kiss him back without a second thought– without reprieve. Let your mouth slip open easily for him, let everything get as messy as he wants.

The time for gentle foreplay is over. No, now is the time to consume.

Without a second thought he lifts you by your hips, your hands falling into place against his shoulder. Letting him lead, letting him take control as he fits his body against yours with such perfect harmony. Nobody would doubt you’re two pieces of the same puzzle, ready to fit together for the rest of eternity.

He groans when he feels your hips press against his, as he feels your heat seep through layers of clothing. Cusses when he finally pulls back, sees the saliva collected at the corner of your lips. The hazy look in your eye that tells him you need him just as much as he needs you. That you want him so terribly you can’t help but fall against him for love, for safety.

It’s just the alcohol.

Yoongi practically growls at his own thoughts, his tail rising in defence, in defiance against his own brain. Forcing the thoughts away, forcing everything away other than your body in the room. Other than your desire in the room.

When his mind is no longer clouded he can come to terms with all of this, come to terms with his feelings and shove them so far back down they’ll never see the light of day– but now, right now he needs this. Needs it more than anything.

“Want you.” He grunts, his knees falling onto the dirty bathroom floor. His hands splay against your thighs, feeling them. Worshipping the skin as if it is an altar. As if you’re his religion. “Can I?”

He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t need to. He would never have to ask you. Every single time you’d fall for the storm that is Min Yoongi. Over and over again. As if it’s as easy as breathing, as easy as thinking.

The answer is even easier now– as your heart beats in your ears, as arousal pools in your gut. As his blunt fingernails dig themselves ever so slightly into your flesh, begging for entry. Begging for you to just give in. His cheeks a flush, his hair already a wreck. His chest rising and falling and thinking just for you.

He looks like a god.

“W-want you.” Your stutter makes you feel meak, but his groan of approval makes you feel strong. Makes you feel like your bubble has been popped, like the world finally has meaning past tornados and cataclysms.

He takes your approval without any grace. Without a second to even think before he’s pulling your pants down with such hunger, such carnal need. His throat releases a groan of desire as your scent hits him at full force, as you give yourself to him.

He can’t help himself as he presses his face against your panties, his nose right against your clit as he inhales. Takes in all of you for himself. Lets himself be greedy.

“Y-Yoongi!” You squeak in surprise, the noise tapering into a whine. How could he do something so embarrassing! What is wrong with–

You can’t even finish the thought before his fingers pull your panties to the side, his eyes focused directly on your wet, needy cunt. “Smell good.”

If you weren’t entirely red before, you certainly are now. There is no way you couldn’t be. Not with the hunger in his eyes. The fire in your belly.

His tongue darts out, licking your pussy directly without a second thought. Parting your lips, collecting your arousal on his tongue. Tasting you, basking in everything you. Listening to the pretty little moan that comes from your parted lips. Falling apart without a second thought.

And suddenly he’s hungry. Hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life. Hungry in a way that he’s sure can only be satiated by you. By making you his.

“Fuck, (Y/n)...” He almost sounds more affected than you are, like he could cum from your taste alone. But he can’t, he won’t let himself. He wants, needs to be inside of you more than everything. Needs to fuck you, consume every part of you like he so selfishly craves.

“Gotta get you ready…” He’s talking to himself more than to you as he stands again, trying to keep himself from succumbing to the scorpion screaming at him to just claim you as his. He can only be selfish for tonight. This night. “You gonna be quiet for me? Can’t get caught.”

“Please…” Your voice is practically a whimper, practically begging him to just do something, anything. And who is he to deny you of such simple pleasures? Especially when you whine just for him, moan just for him. Jut your hips out ever so slightly to present yourself just to him.

His thumb finds your clit almost instantly as you call out to him. Rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves with quick, fast precision while another digit presses against your leaking hole. Preparing you, getting you ready for the intrusion.

Your voice is a siren’s song, and Yoongi then knows why pirates used to get lost at sea. Used to become entrapped by the mermaids that sang for them. He feels himself going crazy now, as your head tilts back. As your cunt flutters around nothing, begging him to slide his finger inside just as you both desperately crave.

A buck of your hips is all he needs to fuck the digit inside, trusting it in and out slowly. Making sure it goes as deep as it can before curling and slowly retracting. Increasing pace with the volume of your sounds, with the circle of your clit. Combining sensation, driving you further and further into the clouds with every movement.

It is then you know that his hands are a deadly poison, one you know you will fall apart to. Especially with the gentle sounds of his grunts, with the push of a second finger into your hole. With his heated gaze focused on nothing but how well you’re taking him, how you’re stretching so prettily around his fingers.

You place your hand over your mouth, try to keep your moans to a minimum. Try to suppress every little sound that threatens to spill past your lips. Yet you can’t help it, how could you when he knows exactly where to curl his fingers? When they press right against that little bundle of nerves inside. When they rub against you so perfectly.

“Y-Yoongi!” You accidentally shout, your hips bucking in surprise. The band growing tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your eyes clouding with pleasure as your head feels lighter and lighter.

He only smirks, gentle and sinful. “Found it.”

He thrusts his fingers back in the exact same way, their pace hurried. Concise. Locating that exact same spot over and over again, curling his fingers up just right. Timing the strokes perfectly with a roll of your clit. You feel like you could scream, you’re going to scream.

“Y-You’re so mean!” You whimper, the hand on your clit moving to hold your thighs down. To resist your messy bucking. Resist your adorable begging for more. This other thumb moving to press against your clit instead.

Then you see it, see the pretty brown thing that had you so enamoured to begin with. Remember just how sensitive it was when you touched it first, and just how mean he’s being to you now.

With all the clarity you have left in your little brain you reach for his tail, hold it in your tiny hands. Whimper at how big it is, how strong it feels. How much it protects you. And without a second thought, you wrap your lips around the tip of it and moan. Using it as a gag, using it to stop your cries.

Yoongi suddenly tenses below you, his entire frame shifting as your mouth sucks on the tip. Your eyes closed in concentration, little tears bubbling up in the corners as you whine around him. Fully focused on your pleasure, the feeling of his fingers inside of you– so close to falling apart.

He thinks he could cum at that second. He’s sure of it.

A choked groan leaves his own lips as his fingers resume their pace, his senses going into overdrive. No longer thinking, no longer able to do anything but act. But take and take and give and give until there's nothing left.

And god he wants to burn this picture into his brain. Wants to cement it into the rest of his thoughts, his very being. His movements are messier, faster as he fucks his fingers into your cunt. Doesn’t care about the noise as his tail moves on its own, slowly thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your g-spot battered, you clit burning with pleasure.

Sounds that resemble words fall deaf on your tongue as the band finally breaks, as the world around you spins. As you find euphoria from Yoongi’s fingers. The eye of the storm befalling your very being as electricity moves down your spine as the winds subside.

You’re left panting in front of him, your walls tightening as he slowly coaxes you through it. Helps you feel every ounce of pleasure that you deserve. Kisses your shoulder gently, softly, watching you come down from your high.

You can only whine at the affection, the fog lifting for a brief second as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You feel so empty– too empty. You still want him. You still want so much more.

You try to say his name, try to vocalise but it only sends vibrations down his tail. A groan leaving his lips, heat still heavy in his eyes. You realise his tail is still moving, still slowly moving in and out of your mouth. You know he isn’t finished.

You know you never want him to be.

You raise your leg up, kicking, trying to push his pants down. Begging them to just drop a little lower. To get his cock out so he can fuck you properly. So he can make you feel so much more full of everything him.

He lets out a chuckle of a scoff, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he shakes his head, “Needy.” He grunts, yet he feels the exact same way. Removing his tail from your mouth, finally letting you speak. Ignoring the way his heart hammers at the sight of your puffy, glossed lips.

“Shut up.” Is the only reply you can muster, hands quickly moving to try and shove his pants down. To try and get him inside of you. He just smiles, the predatory glint never leaving his eyes. The dig of his nails never leaving your thigh.

Finally, with your messy attempts you urge them down, force the annoying material down his thighs, his boxers moving right along with it. And fuck, you can’t help but gawk. Can’t help but whine because shit, you’ve never seen a cock so pretty! What the hell! That isn’t fair! None of this is fair and he hates you!

“You hate me.” You whimper, letting him take the lead once again. Following as he slowly leans you back, manoeuvres your hips in exactly the way he wants. Presents your puffy, fluttering cunt just for him. Messy and aching, desperate for more.

“Maybe.” He smiles, teasing you. He’s teasing you! Can you believe that! You certainly can’t, a whine and a gentle smack to his chest telling him everything he needs to hear. Yet you’re forgetting about it all too quickly as you feel the head of something hard gently press against your lips.

In your hazed stupor, you completely missed the action. The way he gripped his cock in his hands, the languid strokes he’s made up and down the length. The way he flicked his thumb over the head just before he decided to so sinfully trace it along your slit. Teasing himself, tracing around your hole with the head. You think he might kill you.

He thinks much of the same.

“I’m on birth control.” You messily squeak out of the blue, eyes trained between your bodies where he’s so close. So very close to fucking himself inside. Into being exactly where you want him. Snapping that final line you two could never come back from.

His eyes dart up to your face, something dark in the iris. Something neither of you address as he finally lets go of his last bit of reserve. As his lips slam into yours, consuming your very being.

His hand finds your leg, pulling it up, resting it against his hip to draw you closer. In one single thrust drawing all the air out of your lungs, removing all thoughts from your head as he thrusts his entire length inside. Filling you, stretching you in the most perfect way. In a way you never imagined another person could do.

Your cries are drowned by his lips, his own curses lost in the same. The stretch, the burn is subtle, yet you could never want anything less. Anything more than the euphoric feeling of Yoongi feeling your ever being.

“Shit…” He finally lets himself breathe, let himself have a moment to feel you. Feel your plush walls wrapped around his length, feel you fluttering around him so perfectly. You’re going to make him insane.

He pants softly, trying to wait– trying to hold himself back from fucking you so hard you can’t walk. So hard he’ll have to carry you out of this shitty bar. So that everyone will know what the two of you did. Just who you belong to.

You give an experimental wiggle of your hips, a signal to move. A signal to stop holding back. The only signal that he needs.

“Yoongi!” The cry is loud, but he can’t seem to care anymore. The pace he takes is anything but slow. It's fast, hard. Rushed. Like he can’t wait a single second longer. Can’t waist a fucking millisecond doing anything else other than laying claim to your soul.

His hips snap against your own, his cock practically hitting your cervix with every thrust. His cock pressed against that same bundle inside every time he draws back, every time he fills you again and again. It’s messy– messy and so wet. So perfect.

“Fuck, fuck.” He mutters to himself, damp hair falling into his eyes, “Have to be quick, gonna fuck you hard, okay?”

He drawls, scratchy. Rough. Pressing his hips fully against yours, fully feeling your slick heat. The lewd noises bouncing against the walls, filling the space. Sending a symphony into your strumming ears. Into your already worn out frame.

You nod in agreement quickly, almost dumbly as you try to fall into a rhythm. Try to meet his movements the best you can. It feels pointless, all of it does. Trying to do anything feels so pointless when he’s fucking you so relentlessly. Like he’s waited his entire life for this moment and he’d rather die than waste another second.

Fucking you like it means something. Like you mean everything.

“Shit, (Y/n). So fucking wet.” He groans, his head rolling back, no longer able to look at the mess between your legs, “So needy.”

You whine, shaking your head. Trying to gain a semblance of reality when it feels like it has been shattered in the most beautiful way.

“Sh-Shut up!” You whine, your walls clenching around his cock, “A-Am! Am not!”

Your denial sends a wave of something through Yoongi. Something that makes him growl, that makes his sight darken just a bit more.

“You’re not?” He scoffs, his eyes finding your own, reading you like an open book, “Little fucking liar.”

His pace changes, taking shape into a different beast entirely. Something new. His thrusts turn from messy, hurried to sharp and precise– the pace never changing. Every single thrust knocking the wind from your lungs, changing the very shape of your DNA to scream for him and only him.

“Y-Yoongi what the fuck?!” You whine, your head knocking back, hitting the glass behind you. Even more of your brain cells scrambling, trying to stay in reality. Trying not to float off in the great beyond where Yoongi wants you to stay.

“Hmm?” He grunts, his eyes focused back downwards. Right to where your slick coats him, to where a pretty white ring has formed around the base. He won’t last long. Even if he wants to keep fucking you forever, he knows he’s done for. “Thought you weren’t needy.”

You whine, unable to stop the band from pulling tight in your gut once again. Unable to stop the pleasure from coursing through your veins. Already a wreck– your body warm with sweat and your hole fluttering uselessly around him. Trying to draw him back in over and over.

Never get him to leave.

His voice is suddenly in your ear, far closer than you remember him being. Far closer than you can manage him being. Fuck, and now his thumb is pressing against your clit again. You don’t know what you can do, what to do.

“You can cum if you just admit it, human.” You’re going insane. “Tell me how fucking needy you are for me. C’mon, do it. I know you can.”

It’s over for you. You had no clue Yoongi could ever be like this, no clue just how much you’d want it. How much you’d love it. Even as tears bubble in the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, even as your hips buck up weakly to meet his thrusts. As his cock makes you feel like you’re about to enter the pearly gates.

You know you love it.

“Y-Yoongi!” You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders with so much strength you think they might bruise. Hell, you’re sure he’s bruised your hips. There isn’t much difference. “I-I!”

“Mhmm..” He hums, sounding entirely unaffected on the surface, yet it’s clear he’s falling apart just as much as you. Clear in the way his hips stutter so slightly, losing their pace. Clear in the way he holds you tighter and tighter. The way his tail curls possessively around your leg. “You can do it. Say it, human.”

“I-I’m needy!” You whine, forgetting your volume, “I-I need you, Yoongi!”

Just like that, he’s tumbling off the edge. Your words acting as an anchor, as the very thing he’s wanted to hear for years. His hips stuttering inside of you, filling your cunt with his cum without a second thought.

“Cum, pretty thing.” His voice is guttural. A command as your legs lock around him. His thumb never giving your clit reprise. while he doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb. Your own release finding you the second you feel his cock twitch inside of you, the moment you feel his cum leak inside.

Winds swirl at your very being. Lifting you higher and higher into the clouds as your walls clench around him. Milking him for everything, for all he’s worth. Making sure every drop lands inside, making sure you stay nice and full of him while your head wanders into the clouds. While every bit of your being feels fireworks.

Your legs don’t even let go as the two of you slowly begin to calm down. As your heart rates try to return to normal and air returns to your lungs. As Yoongi’s length slowly begins to soften inside of your cute, worn little cunt.

You don’t want to let go. You never want to let go.

His grip slowly softens on your hip. Thumb working to rub slow, gentle circles in their place. His lips finding the column of your throat once more– gentle, nipping kisses find home over the marks he left while sitting at the bar. Not any real bonding marks like his scorpion may have wanted, but pretty red things that claim your skin in a human way.

Your fingers find his strands, knotting themselves in them. Keeping his head where it belongs. You’ve never felt more loved, more wanted in this moment.

You never want it to end.

“Needy…” He smiles to himself, shaking his head softly. His hair tickles your ear. “Can’t believe you actually said it.”

“Y-you!” You try, realising how severely you’re still out of breath. You hate how quickly he’s bounced back. “You made me! You ass!”

He only smiles, shaking his head. Still in complete and utter disbelief that this is real, “I wanted to hear it. You were cute.”

Your legs finally relax when you whine. They easily fall on either side of him, kicking slightly in petulance as he pulls away from your cunt. Removing himself from you, smiling as his cum starts to collect at your opening.

This still all has to be a dream for him, it has to be.

“You hate me!” You repeat again, warmth coming to your cheeks once more as his hands find your cunt. One thump pulling your lip open, letting him see just how much of a mess he’s made you. Letting him watch as his cum drips from your core.

“Maybe.” He can’t help the fond glow in his eyes as he kisses your cheek. A thought coming to the forefront of his brain that he forces back. Another thought he could never let surface, not even now as you’re stuffed with his cum.

His scorpion still preens all the same, though. Filled with thoughts of kids. Thoughts Yoongi, the human, not the scorpion, would never say aloud. Drunk, tipsy, or sober.

He reaches for the dispenser, grabbing a few paper towels before turning on the sink and running them under. Not the best tool, but it will do.

“Well, I don’t hate you…” You’re blushing as you say the words, almost embarrassed without real reason to be. What you just did, it was so much more than ‘I don’t hate you.’ At least, it wasn’t to you. You hope it wasn’t for him either.

You help him with his pants, reaching your hands down and pulling them up slowly for him, “I don’t hate you either.” He rolls his eyes, gently cleaning the space between your legs.

“Awkward if you did.” You huff, lifting your hips as he moves your underwear back in place. Stay hovering as he slides your jeans back up as well.

He leaves a gentle press against your temple, offering you a hand as you hop off the counter. Hips and legs already entirely too sore, a whine shedding your throat as you let him know the pain. All while he only laughs, patting your butt as he helps you walk.

The picture of domesticity.

Neither of you address the elephant in the room, both for entirely different reasons. For radically different realities. The morning would be better anyway, you surmise. With fluid thoughts and no liquor in your system.

You assume Yoongi feels the same way as you both walk home. Gentle shoulders and banter thrown around as casually as ever. The only solid thing the both of you know: you can never go back to that bar again.

God, your fucking head hurts. Maybe?? Maybe everything hurts? When the hell did the sun get so loud?! Since when did light feel like fucking screaming, man?! This isn’t fair! Nothing is fair and the world hates you! Exclusively you, and no one but you!

No, that’s not true. That’s completely illogical, actually. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when your head is buzzing and your stomach is already growling for some kind of food.

Oh god, food would be so good right now. Warm steamy pancakes, eggs, some kind of potato with a dash of Yoongi to eat it with like you do every morning.

Suddenly, the other side of the bed feels entirely too cold. Freezing. A void empty where the warmth you felt last night should reside.

He fell asleep there, you're sure of it. You remember the feeling of his arms around you, the soft snores that left his lips after you both stumbled into bed. Barely getting undressed before falling into your bed. You remember everything about last night. So much so that you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at the memory. The thought of everything done in that dingy bathroom, all the words spoken, the care professed.

Even if you were tipsy, you would never forget it. You would never regret it. Were waiting to wake up in his arms to make everything official– a long overdue conversation that would finally set in motion your lives together.

So where the hell is he?

A pout forms on your lips as you stretch, your body too tight for the morning and even more so for your search. The soreness in your hips, the bruises he left from his grip a brutal reminder of his absence as you sit up, your eyes squinting as you scope the scene.

You don’t think you like what you see– it’s a weird feeling, honestly. His bag is gone, his shoes are gone, his clothes are gone. For the first time in all the years you’ve known him, he feels utterly gone. Not a speck of him in your room, not a single sign he was even on this trip with you.

Does he regret…

The frown pulls deeper as you reach for your phone. You definitely don’t like this feeling. Like he wasn’t even there to begin with after everything that just happened.

“Ah, stop it.” You say to yourself, one of your hands coming up to gently pat your cheek. You hate where your brain is going so quickly. Maybe you’re just a sop that needed more aftercare than he knew about– yeah, that's probably it. He probably just wanted to go back to his own room and shower before you had to work today. See, that makes much more sense, doesn’t it? You nod your head, almost in agreement with your thoughts. Set on your decision, on the most-likely-possible solution.

[9:27am] To: Poongie

> Goodmorning :> I hope you slept well

> Did you wanna go get breakfast at the diner? I think I’m dying and only hashbrowns can fix me unfortunately

You wish you could say you weren’t affected– wish you could say you weren’t sitting there, waiting for a response. Heart beating out of your chest like a schoolgirl in love. It’s silly, isn’t it? What emotions can make you feel inside and out. How they can seem to affect every part of your being without even trying.

You suppose storms are the same way. Suppose all natural forces are– the sun, the moon, the stars. They all have their own cosmic power that distils someone at their very core. Leaving them waiting, abating in agony over a simple text back from the man you like.

You toss your phone to the side, choosing to get ready instead of imagining anymore fantasies. You live in reality, a woman of science. There’s no sense in trying to explain everything you feel, only accepting that you feel it.

Mmm. As you get dressed, you wonder how long you’ll be able to go on like that for.

[10:02] From: Poongie

> gm

> i already ate

Oh. You don’t like that. In fact, you hate it so much you want to start making a powerpoint presentation on how to text just for him. But, you give him the benefit of the doubt once more. Yoongi has never been a good texter, anyway. You’re lucky if you can get more than a two word reply from him. He prefers phone calls.

[10:03] To: Poongie

> So u hate me okay

> Come sit with me tho, I don’t want to look like a loser

> Meet me down there in 5 ;P

You give a soft smile as he reacts to your final text with a thumbs up. It doesn’t leave you feeling the best, but he’s not avoiding you entirely. And he never has been a morning person. Plus, he’s probably hungover too and doesn’t wanna look at his phone screen. You two are fine and last night was amazing. And soon you could make everything official.

Your smile grows. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes perfect sense.

You know what doesn’t? A lot of things, actually. Too many to count, but you try anyway.

One.

Yoongi walking in 10 minutes late acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t happen. Just sliding into the seat across from yours, the thick plastic of the booth squeaking while he does so. His hands stuffed in his pants, nothing but a nod in your direction to acknowledge your existence. His face utterly blank, entirely neutral.

Never once has Yoongi greeted you with less than a gummy smile. A ruffle of your hair. A jab at your tired appearance. But you ignore it– ignore the sense of unease, of dread already building inside. He must really have a bad hangover, poor guy.

“Goodmorning!” You chirp brightly, a smile of a thousand suns cast in only his direction. Your usual greeting, of course. Maybe just a little extra chipper to balance him out. To try and prepare yourself, maybe to get a little excited for the conversation to come. Pull him out of any awkward tension he may be feeling.

“Goodmorning.” He simply replies back, his eyes following the waitress as she places a cup of coffee, extra sweet, in front of him. His usual order. Something you’d never forget. Something he knows you’d never forget, but the way he stares into the warm liquid says otherwise.

His eyes never stray from the cup, like he's thinking. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how. Like he isn’t sure whether to ignore it or bring it to light.

You know that look well, and you don’t want to ignore it.

Two.

He calls the waitress back and orders another coffee. Black.

He hates his coffee black. You know this. Everyone does. He hasn’t had the stuff since before he met you. You opened him to the world of how delicious sweet drinks can be. So why the hell is he planning on pretending to like something he doesn’t? It makes no sense to you– your expression shows it all. Eyebrows quirking together, lips pushing outwards slightly.

“Wow, the great Min Yoongi is changing up his order?” A creature of habit never does, you would know yourself, “Hangover that bad?”

You try to lighten the mood, raise the cloud that hangs above the booth. Or maybe it’s a cloud only you feel, you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it?

“Mmm, you could say that.” He grunts, his chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail curling closer. Almost defensive. Almost.

“God yeah,” The conversation feels stunted, and you hate that even more. “My head has been throbbing since I woke up. I don’t know if I drank too much or not enough.” The banter isn’t flowing as easily, and he curls in on himself even more. Almost like the mere mention of last night rings alarm bells in his mind.

Oh! Okay, yeah. Maybe he’s just nervous about everything that happened, you know? Maybe he’s worried that you don’t remember, or that you’re having different feelings about it. Maybe his brain is playing the same tricks on him that trickled into your consciousness that morning!

Yeah, okay. That makes so much more sense now that you think about it. You have to stop beating around the bush, just come out and say everything you think. Everything you feel and you can talk about it. You’ll just bring it up– he obviously isn’t going to, but then you’ll be in a relationship by the time your pancakes come out! Perfect!

Yet as you look up at him, find his face utterly void of anything, your confidence wanes.

Three.

He’s refusing to look at you. Another thing he never does. You’re always the one to avoid eye contact, never him. You’re always the one to stare out the window, not him. He normally looks at you. Normally basks in you.

You feel your mouth drying, all words becoming lost on your tongue the longer you stare at his disposition. You don’t break it as the silence becomes awkward, as he doesn’t try to do anything to fix it. Simply sips at his coffee. His disgusting coffee.

Drinks it until it empties. Until the pancakes now in front of you remain nearly untouched and cold. Until the world stops spinning and time freezes. As the comet hits and the world ends. As society descends into chaos yet you can’t do anything but look at him.

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. But that’s exactly how it feels for some strange reason. How it feels to be unable to reach him.

It isn’t until he grabs his coat, sliding $30 across the table that you finally gain the courage to speak. Finally blurt out the words sitting on the tip of your tongue for the last 20 minutes.

“We should talk about last night.” You didn’t expect to say anything honestly, shocked at the air leaving your lungs.

And finally, finally he looks at you. The diner is still frozen, yes, but now he’s looking at you and for some reason that’s all that matters.

A deep drag of air fills his lungs as he sags his shoulders, rigid disposition weakening in attempt to show signs of aloof. His tail gives everything away. Sharp and pointed. Unnerved.

“What is there to talk about?”

Oh.

“What?” You feel blood leave your face, “Everything. There’s everything to talk about.”

He sighs, his eyes almost rolling at your words. Everything he does is ten times louder. Ten times greater than any storm, any power in the entire universe.

Four.

“Listen, (Y/n). Last night was a mistake, okay?”

Oh.

Is it possible for the Earth to stop rotating around the sun? For the moon to find home in another planet? Is it possible for the rings of Saturn to disband, to crack and shatter, leaving the planet feeling hollow? No more than a gaseous ball floating around an unyielding core forcing it to stay together?

It has to be. Because if it’s possible for Yoongi to say those very words, say the very words that are able to rip your soul from your body, you think anything is.

You feel something in you crack. Something so fragile and innocent that you want to protect it with your everything. Run far and hide. Nurse it alone until it stops kicking and screaming for its unending pain to yield. For it to have rest in a world that only seems to take and take and take.

“What?” You don’t even care that your voice cracks.

He sighs again, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just don’t think there’s anything to talk about, okay?”

“There’s a lot to talk about.” Your eyebrows crinkle, your mouth moving into a frustrated frown. Red isn’t a colour you feel often, but your walls are up. Your bubble now a sphere frozen in time– a place with room for no one but you. Your body curled around that innocent glow. Protecting it. Keeping it warm. “For one, calling it a mistake.”

He’s rigid again too, maybe red glowing around his form as well. But you can’t seem to care. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Not able to sense the danger. The tail pointed in your direction. Venom dripping from his lips.

“Wasn’t it? We’re friends (Y/n). One stupid night shouldn’t change that shit.” It changes fucking everything. Especially with your pining. Especially with your heart on your sleeve. With your affections for him always oh-so-fucking obvious.

“Like hell it–” He cuts you off.

“We’re done with this conversation. Just forget last night ever happened.” He stands, not planning on waiting around anymore. Not waiting for you anymore. “Just act like it never did. Nothing has to change. We’re not talking about this anymore.”

With that he leaves without letting you speak. Without letting you talk. Shutting you down entirely in a way he never has before. In a way he promised he would never do to you. And for the first time since you discovered your crush on him, you feel something negative simmering for Min Yoongi.

Q/Hybrids_Humans

U/YGS_Min • posted 5y ago

Can Hybrids and Humans actually fall in love? -> Advice

> Hi. I’m new to this page so I might get things wrong with this post. Sorry in advance if I do.

> I am a Hybrid and I recently met a girl who I think is my mate. I get all the classic mate feelings someone does when I’m around her. When we first met, a few days ago in the library, I automatically felt a pull towards her. Like I needed to be close to her. Everything in my body, my hybrid side especially, was begging for me to make her my mate right away. She even complimented my tail. Does she even know what that means? What it did to me?

> After that, she gave me her number (I’m helping her with a few things) (we're both ‘in’ college) and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Whenever I open my phone my brain automatically fries and moves to open her contact so I can text or call her. It actually feels a little crazy.

> She said she wants to be friends and I don’t know what my brain is going to do if we actually get closer.

>The issue is that she's human, though. So I already know she doesn’t feel the same way about me. She doesn’t feel the bond or the pull to get closer. And she already knows I’m a hybrid so there’s no way to avoid it.

> I’m also not the most friendly Hybrid, I guess. People don’t like my species. My mom doesn’t even like the way I was born. And I’m lucky enough to get away from where I was before and am living my own life now. Trying to do good things with it. Maybe be human with it, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway.

> Point is, I’ve looked online and while I know legally it is possible to be mates with a human, I haven’t found anything about Human’s with more odd species. And I really just want to know if this could be possible, or if I should give up before things even start. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Her mannerisms kill me– I love them. She’s so cute. And she acted like I was just like everyone else.

> I don’t know. I want her to be my mate. But I just want to know other peoples experiences. I know she’d never be able to love me in the way I automatically do her, but if I told her she was my mate would she feel forced into it? Would she feel like I actually care? Could she ever actually care? Should I do anything about it or just pretend that it was never there in the first place?

> I never thought my mate might be human. I never thought I'd find my mate. Any advice would be appreciated. Thanks.

6 am.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s slept. He’s not sure he’s ever slept with the exhaustion weighing on his bones. His consciousness. His very being. In fact, all he’s had is his thoughts as the hours have ticked by, unrelenting. Unwavering. As the sun starts to shine through the curtains and the reality of everything that transpired rushes to the surface. Past the alcohol. Past your adorable soft snores.

He had you. He fucked you. For one night, you belonged to him.

The first thing he felt after he held you in bed was peace. Complete and utter satisfaction with life, with you. Everything itching at him, pulling him towards you was, for once, content. He no longer felt the burning in his heart or the pulling at his skin to get you closer. The fuzziness in his brain whenever you smiled. All of it was gone. There was nothing but happiness in his being.

Nothing but the ideas of his dream being true. Of getting to hold you like this every night. Getting you to smile for him, only him. Getting to belong to you in ways humans could never understand.

In ways you could never understand.

Something else starts creeping into his consciousness, then. Something starting in the pit of his stomach, rising until it feels like he's choking. Until not even the scent of your shampoo can calm the race of his heart. Not even the pull of his tail drawing you closer to his body– his hybrid side trying to calm him down in ways it only knows how.

How could Yoongi let himself live in such a sick dream?

You’re a human. He’s a hybrid. You would never actually love him.

Your words were drunk– of course they were. Influenced by the alcohol and the idea of a warm body next to your own. Maybe you didn’t even realise it was him, maybe it could have been anyone and you would have been satisfied.

It’s such an ugly thing, the words he thinks. The ideas that form behind his skull, twisting and turning. Forming an amalgamation of tangles and death defying drops to nothingness. Of the reality of things, his reality that is. One where he’s worthless. One where you are the sun and he is nothing but an asteroid following the orbit of someone else.

Hybrids are never meant to be with humans.

He knows that for a fact. Has read all the history books, looked at all the articles, scoured for any sign that the two of you could be together in a society that hates him only to be left with mockery. Left with anonymous strangers telling him that scorpions are meant to kill. Meant to destroy. How could a human ever care about him when his entire life he’s been told it’s the worst parts of himself? How could you care about him?

Well, he knows that isn’t all true. He knows you care in some ways. But they aren’t mate ways and–

Fuck. Fuck Yoongi, he knows he’s not supposed to think of those things. He’s never allowed to think of you and that word together. He forbade himself of it. Promised himself it couldn’t be true. That he would never admit it to you or anyone else.

You are not his mate.

But you are.

But–

He wishes he could get his head to shut the fuck up for a fucking second so he could think. Think about anything other than those two words together, even if he knew them to be true from the moment he met you in the library. When he agreed to be your tutor. When he fell in love the moment you looked his way.

And even then he thought that maybe, just maybe if you didn’t know he was a hybrid he would have a chance. That if he could keep it hidden for long enough, if you saw him as a human and not a terrifying creature bred only to kill, that you could fall for him. That he could be your mate– boyfriend. That he could be your boyfriend.

But then you saw it. Saw the fucking thing he wishes he never had, wishes he could live without. The very thing he has been hated for his entire life. His genetic abnormality, originally bred to be used for attack, used by the government to kill. The very piece of his being he rejects time and time again to try and just feel a little more normal, a little more human. And you… you said you liked it.

And no, you didn’t have any clue what those words meant at the time. Of course you didn’t. Didn’t know what they implied– didn’t know the true meaning they held. The acceptance of courtship behind their very tone.

A nice tail to a human? Nothing. A nice tail to a scorpion? The very thing used by the hybrid to attract mates? To show their viability and strength as a partner? Everything.

In that moment, you were everything.

But you didn’t know the meaning behind those words. You didn’t love him the way he so implicitly did you. And while you accepted him as a friend, you would never accept him as more. He would never let you.

That night was the night he promised himself you weren’t his mate. Promised himself he had no mate.

Last night was the first time he ever broke it.

Last night he could have killed you.

You had his tail in your mouth. His tail. The tail that carries his venom. The venom bred into his cells meant to kill others. If he let any of it out by accident… if he…

Fuck.

The heaviness that realisation brings is what finally makes him get out of bed. Finally set in motion reality. Stop himself from living in whatever dream he was playing with. Stop playing house with a girl that would never be his. That would probably think the entirety of last night was a mistake.

Who gives a shit what you thought. He could’ve killed you. He could’ve killed his fucking mate.

Societally, he could’ve never had you. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if you had to face the same things he did on the daily. What others thought of you. What they would say about you if they saw you two together. What would happen with your kids. How much hate and fear you would receive by being with him.

He could sacrifice his own life for you a thousand times, but he would never let you do the same for him.

And last night. Last night his venom could’ve been your end.

He doesn’t need to think anymore. He knows what he’s going to do. Even if it hurts him. Even if the grenade is set to go off and destroy his very being, it’s worth it to keep you safe. To keep you content. To keep you away from him.

Best case, you don’t remember last night or don’t bring it up. Worst…

Yoongi knows the ship he’s boarding is bound to sink– that he’s destined to drown. But if it means your happiness, he’d do anything.

The car feels cold. The heat is blasting, but it still feels frozen. Decrepit. All fireplace memories hazing into ice as you ride next to him.

Him.

Fucking him.

Fucking Min Yoongi. The fucking asshole that tore your heart out and stomped on it. The fucking asshole that didn’t even have the decency to talk to you. To explain why the fuck he was being so cold. The fucking asshole that made you feel loved. Like you weren’t alone in the entire universe, only to make you realise you were trapped in a metal box– steaming. Bubbling.

Maybe you aren’t cold. No, you definitely aren’t. You’re steaming. Burning up– ready to explode at the slightest thing. Still a burning blaze because he didn’t fucking let you talk. Just shut you down without a second thought. Without fucking anything.

Not that he owes you anything– he doesn’t owe you a relationship. He doesn’t owe you love, of course not. You’re not dumb enough to think that. But you do know he owes you an explanation. A chance to speak. Years of friendship tell you that much.

Promises tell you that much.

And you can’t fucking stand broken promises. Can’t stand acting like strangers after years of friendship. After all the time spent together. After all of the memories formed, all the bonds created. You don’t deserve to be treated like nothing.

Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even come with you today if you hadn’t texted him. Probably assumed you’d rather go alone or with one of the other people on the crew. Probably– shut up, you decide in that moment to stop making excuses for him. To stop giving him the benefit of the doubt when he treated you as no less than a one-night-stand. A fuck that meant nothing.

Were fucking years of friendship just for that? Just so he could fuck you? This fucking–

You scoff to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. Shaking your head. An outloud reaction to the continued spiral that started this morning, that will continue to brew until it inevitably boils over. Until the pot filled with too much water gets too hot and just boils over.

You never have been able to keep your opinions in. Open book pages laid out for the world to see. Another reason you’ve always been alone– should have stayed alone in your bubble.

“What?” Oh, he wants to talk to you now?

Your eyes shoot over to his figure from the corner of your eye. You can’t believe that yesterday you were smiling at him. You hate that today a piece of you still frets at the trapping of his fingers against the wheel. At his apparent aloof demeanour is automatically disillusioned by the simple movement indicating his nerves.

He always does that when he knows a big storm is coming– when he’s worried about safety, your safety. When he's concerned about whatever events are going to follow. A tick tick tick, fingers tapping delicately one after the other. Not a harsh grab against the wheel, not an unease of temperament. Yoongi, even when nervous or agitated, has always been gentle.

Well, every time except for this morning.

You roll your eyes.

As much as you hate how self destructive you become in times like these, you hate the bubbling feeling even more. Hate the strong emotion that floods your veins, the same one that makes you feel oh-so weak. The same one that makes you need to be strong. Need to be more.

Maybe you wish you could be more like Yoongi– be entirely unaffected by the strong feelings that permeate your being. Maybe you wish you could act as ‘chill’ as him. To separate how you feel from who you are. To be calm even if you want to be brash.

But you can’t. Not when it's about him. Never when it’s about him. Almost like a piece of you continues and will always pull you towards Min Yoongi.

You turn away from him, back to the laptop resting in your lap. “The PAR says a tornado is forming north-east. Head North so we can drop the doppler in the right position.”

“Mm.” He grunts. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything.

You don’t know what you expect him to do anyway. You didn’t give him anything to work with. Yet it doesn’t seem thinking logically is on the table, and you can’t help but get more mad, more frustrated by the second.

“Are we really not going to talk about this?” You’re quiet, almost vulnerable when you ask the question. So quiet he might not even hear. Hanging on the precipice, two winds twisting against each other in equal strength.

Never have you felt this way about another person before. Dejection and anger weigh equally on the soul. You don’t quite know how to handle it. Don’t know how to combat what you’re feeling inside, just knowing the kettle is set to boil.

He doesn’t answer your question.

It was probably a bad idea to text him. Probably equally bad for him to answer and take you. An even worse idea to let the words slip out of your mouth without holding them back.

“Asshole.” The wind starts to pick up speed around the car, sucking you in. Pulling you deeping into the void. It’ll be no time at all before the tornado hits.

“What?” His head jerks backwards, chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail coiled firmly behind him, acting like it isn’t even there. Trying to pretend he isn't there, maybe.

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” You can’t help the rumble that forms in your heart, the twisted words that spew from your mouth. The subtle ache from every insult you fling.

Almost like you’re attached to him. Like you’re attempting to sever a chain never meant to come undone.

“What the fuck?” Why he’s acting so scandalised, flinching at every word, leaves you almost confused. Almost. Because he has no reason to be confused, at least not in your eyes. Not in the storm's eyes either.

The rumble of thunder hammers outside, deeper into the freeze. Deeper into ash.

“I thought we were going to move past this, (Y/n). We need to be adults here.” He sighs that stupid fucking sigh that you hate. The same one he used in the diner. The same one he used to brush off your feelings. Your chance to speak.

Maybe later you would reflect on how selfish you’re being. Maybe later you would realise how childish you actually are acting. But right now all you can see is red. Right now all you can feel is a part of yourself trying to rip away.

Maybe later you would find out Yoongi is feeling the exact same thing.

But right now, right now all you see is red. All you hear is the beating of hail against the car roof, the image that it is your own heartbeat set in your own mind. Right now all you know is the soul crushing weight of the only man you ever loved pulling away.

Your soulmate– if such things were real, breaking the bond.

“Are you serious? I’m the one that needs to be the adult here? Me?” You scoff, indignant. “You’re the one playing pretend, acting like nothing happened!”

“I told you that we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“You said it was a mistake.” Your eyes are set firm in a glare pointed at him and no one but him. Petty and Spite are your new best friends. Congratulations! “Just tell me if you fucking regret it Yoongi, just tell me.”

“(Y/n).”

“Was it a drunk accident? Did you think I was someone else? Please! I rather you say fucking something than nothing at all! Please just let me be selfish for once! I’m begging for something! Anything!”

…

“We have a job to do. Focus on it rather than us.” You hate that he paused before he spoke, that it gave you some sort of hope. You hate even more that his tone has not once changed– settling from incredulous to neutral. Almost like he exists as nothing but a robot reciting lines. You hate it. You hate it. You hate it.

He makes you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. He makes it feel like your feelings mean nothing. Like everything you trusted him with was all for naught. Are you not expressing yourself well enough? Are you a complete idiot? What the fuck are you doing wrong?! What's wrong?!

“You’re serious?” The logical side of you says he’s right, your job is more important than anything else. But the piece of you falling apart, pulling away and leaving an empty hole inside feels otherwise. You’re convinced you’ve never felt any emotion other than frustration and annoyance.

The car rolls to a stop as a clearing hits– hail ceasing, wind slowing even if it's just a fraction. A calm before the storm. Where you’re meant to ‘dO yOuR jOb’-- fucking asshole. Does he really think you don’t know that? Does he really think that little of you?

“Fucking joke.” You can’t help the dry laugh that exits your lungs as you step out of the car. Your peace, the time you love to spend most in the world set askew, your feelings anything but. You love your time in the storms, but the tornado brewing inside casts a much larger shadow than the one overhead.

Your hands fumble as they move the DOW out of the trunk– an action you’ve done time and time again feeling entirely foreign. Your body clumsy as it carries it to the front, your mouth spewing annoyed half thoughts all the way.

“What?” Yoongi’s window is rolled down, his head leaning out of the front as he asks.

Your eyes circle your skull again, “Fucking joke!” You call, trying to set up the radar. Your body only half in the moment. Half in the clouds.

“This whole thing is one big joke!” You shout, foot kicking the dirt beneath your feet. The storm beginning to dissipate, a swell of rain forming behind your eyelids instead.

“(Y/n) are you serious?!” You hate that his own frustration feels like a punch to the gut.

“I have been this whole time!” You shout, brain finally working to kick the last pieces of the radar in place. In good time too, the wind is picking up again. The tornado will be coming soon.

“Are you?! Are we seriously not going to talk about this?!” Your voice doesn’t feel like your own. It feels foreign, like something deeper inside is speaking for you– like it’s taking control. “Am I seriously just a cheap fuck to you?! Was I really a mistake, Yoongi?! Please, please just tell me.”

“(Y/n), don’t do this to me…” Don’t do this to him? Don’t do this to him?! Does he realise what he’s doing to you? Does he even fucking care? You told him you want him! That nothing could keep you from him– and he doesn’t even have the decency to reject you properly.

Maybe you're the bad guy– the villain for forcing this. For the path of destruction it might cause. But you truly can’t stand this. And maybe, just for once, the consequences mean as little to you as getting swallowed by the storms you’ve always cared for.

Yoongi is your impossible, remember? “But it’s always been about you! Don’t you get that, Yoongi?! It’s always! Always been about you from the second I met you!” You yell, not holding back your shouts. Letting them echo with the thunder coursing through the skies, coursing through your veins. “I’m not asking you to love me! I’m not asking for any of that shit! I just want a rejection!”

What? What the hell are you saying? Why are you asking him to do that? Why are you asking him to do the one thing he can’t do?

He loves you. He loves you so much it keeps him up at night. That it infests his days like a parasite. You’re not asking him to love you? Are you crazy? Do you not see how he looks at you? Do you not see that you’re the person that’s hung all the stars in the night sky?

He can’t reject you. He can’t. His brain won’t let him form the words– his lips never to curl in the right shape to let them out. He can’t reject you because he doesn’t want to– because it would practically kill him to.

He loves you. You’re his mate.

Why couldn’t you just make this easy? Why couldn’t you reject him? Why did you have to look so broken this morning? Why did you like him back? What does it mean? What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to keep fighting when he knows he could have you for himself, for real?

How is he supposed to protect you from him when it feels like he’s ripping a part of himself out when he tries to? He doesn’t want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt you. He just wants to keep you safe. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t he just have you?

‘No one can keep me from you. You’re for me.’

Your words from last night ring in his ears. Existing as the only thing he can hear, the only thing that matters. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe–

A sharp beeping suddenly penetrates his ears, a sound resonating from your laptop. A map laid out of the tornado's path.

It's formed– its body barrelling straight for you.

Yoongi looks scared, nervous. His tail uncurling from behind him. Reaching out the window, reaching out to you. “(Y/n)! Get in the car!”

“Shut up!” You’re not listening to him, not listening to a word he says, “I’m not even worth a rejection?! Our friendship means nothing, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” His breathing is accelerating, his heart rate going crazy. He needs to get to you. He needs to protect you. To get in the car and drive as fast and as far as he can so nothing bad happens. “Get in the car!”

“Why does it even matter if I do or not?!” You yell over the sounds of rushed winds, ignoring debris that begin to fly past. Ignoring everything but the man in front of you, just like you’ve done time and time again. “If I get in, you’re just going to pretend nothing happened! You’re going to– you’re going to–”

Tears begin to clog your vision, your words welling up in your throat. Scratching the inside, making you feel like you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Where you want to be strong, you are weak. And where you want to be weak, you feel strong. It’s a strange sort of feeling.

“I can’t just fucking pretend like nothing happened last night, Yoongi!” A sense of peace washes over you, a complete contrast to the storm surrounding, enveloping the world. Acting as a monster, not caring about your feelings, swallowing everything whole. You finally feel at peace, oddly enough.

“I can’t– I can’t just act like everything’s fine! I’ve always been so fucking shit at that, you know that!” You throw your arms up in defeat, standing right in the path of the storm. Almost ready to watch the tornado come into view, to become the storm yourself. “But it feels like– it feels like you’re killing a part of me! Like you’re, you’re pulling out a piece of my very being and I don’t know why! It doesn’t feel real! And I don’t know if I can live without it!”

What? It feels like– it feels like that for you?

Yoongi steps out of the car, his tail curling almost too pleased at his human side’s actions. If it was anyone else, they would think you’re crazy. They would think you’re just being manipulative without a care in the world– but to Yoongi, to hybrids, he knows exactly what you're talking about. He knows the exact same thing. Has felt it every day of his life since he decided he couldn’t have you.

The mate bond. The soulmate tie that will always lead two halves of a conjoined soul together over and over again.

You feel it. Humans aren’t meant to feel it but you do. You feel the same pull, the same bone crushing heartbreak upon rejection from your mate. The same– the same everything Yoongi feels.

He’s the one that's been hurting you like this, the one hurting himself by acting the same. In his bid for protection, he did the opposite. What kind of fucking mate is he? Why didn’t he just listen to the bond? Why didn’t he just let himself follow his heart?

Everything he’s dealt with in his past no longer carries any point. The comments under his stupid post to that stupid forum mean nothing. The words of his “family” are jack shit. The societal implications of him being less than human mean even less– you never saw him as less. His mate cares. His mate sees him.

This is what having a mate feels like? Yoongi thought he would never know. Never understand. But the warmth that feels him now, the subtle yearning he’s suppressed rises to the surface. His feet carrying him automatically, urging him to find you. To take care of you. To keep his mate safe.

“We have to go!” He rushes, his legs moving quickly to try and meet your form. To try and find you.

“No! No!” You shout, your foot stomping into the Earth. In any other scenario, he’d be shaking his head. Laugh at your antics. But right now, all he cares about is getting you to safety, and working on both of your communication skills. “I need you to tell me I’m a mistake! I need you to say I meant nothing!”

There you stand, arms open. Wind rushing past you, eyes closed yet looking straight ahead. You could never mean nothing, you mean everything. It’s his own stupid fault he ever let you think otherwise.

“I just said what I needed to say!” He shouts, his body finally meeting yours in the open field. His hands land on your shoulders, trying to ground you. Hair blowing around him, sticks flying past but never hitting the two of you. Almost like this needed to happen, like fate was set in stone for this very moment.

Your eyes slowly open, and Yoongi thinks the world freezes around him. Misty watersheds sit in your tearline, your eyebrows forming together in confusion with his words. Your lungs raising and falling quickly, chest panting with effort held back. Emotions yet to be unraveled.

If you feel the bond now, how long have you felt it? How confused you must’ve been. Yoongi feels awful.

“Wh-what?” Your voice cracks, cheeks warm and irises searching for an answer. What is he doing? Why is he saying this now? Why does some part of you feel whole again?

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite know how to articulate his words. But his body does. His body does what it’s been begging to do since he met you in that library. That he’s been holding back from every day of his stupid, (Y/n)-lacking life.

He leans in, his lips pressing against yours roughly. Trying to tell you all the words he never said, trying to put everything, all of him into one measly kiss. One that means something. One that tells the story of the two of you.

You, you can’t do anything but listen. Your eyes closing, your body returned whole. The piece of you pulling away settling back into your heart like stone. Warmth flooding your veins, home filling your very being. Making you feel safe, making you feel cared for.

And when he finally pulls away, you hear the words you’ve always longed to know, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

Yoongi feels free upon their utterance. A ball chain holding him back breaking– reality setting the world into motion once again. The earth that needs to keep spinning, that needs to keep the two of you afloat.

You should feel mad, but you can’t feel anything but peace. But feel like your soulmate has returned home from a voyage you would never understand.

Before anything else can be said, Yoongi snaps his head to the left. His eyes going wide as the winds begins to form in front of him. Looking as if they’re not moving. As if nothing is moving. “Fuck, fuck.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you back to the car as it starts to take focus in front of your mind, too. Fuzzy feeling fading, eyes going wide as you scramble from his door into your seat. He follows in quickly after you, not even thinking to buckle before taking off. Driving as if his life depends on it– your life depends on it, too.

Sticks flying past the windshield, hitting against the body. Thunderous roars of the world being consumed outside. A tail pressing against your frame, holding you steady. Keeping you in place.

It’s only when you come to safety that all the words needing to be said finally spill out from both of your mouths. When everything is set ‘right’ again instead of feeling oh-so-wrong. It’s only then that he explains everything. That he explains his logic, that he explains how hybrids have soulmates. Don’t forget the scolding he gave– the promises made to each other that the other would never do something so stupid again.

He knows you meant them.

He’ll never forget the way you smiled at him then. When the heaviness left the air and the freedom surrounding the car became almost overbearing. He wishes he could tattoo the places you playfully slapped into his arm. Where you scolded him for keeping this from you. When you told him you would never have a second thought about rejecting him.

When you told him you could never think of a life where he isn’t your mate.

“...Or boyfriend. Or partner. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You’ll never forget his gummy smile in that moment, when he has a possessive hand on your thigh.

“I don’t care. I just want to be yours.”

Wind wraps at your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself a messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in his ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person.

And Yoongi? He can’t help but think you look like an angel enthralled in the storm. One that came to earth. One that was meant to find him. One that was created just for him.

He can’t help but bask in you– bask in his mate as you live in your freedom, your happiness. Gets to be one of the lucky few finding sanctuary in your world. In your bubble made just for you.

He smiles to himself as he watches. Shakes his head like a stupid boy in stupid love that couldn’t be happier. He’s so happy.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening a familiar app that he once looked to for advice all those years ago. Going to the same post he read the replies to over and over again– convincing himself that his impossible couldn’t be reality. He shakes his head as he reads them now, almost feeling foolish for believing him in the first place. Why should he have asked on a human forum anyway? It’s like he was asking to be let down.

As he scrolls, his thumb comes to a stop above a comment he’s never seen before— a recent one. Posted just a few months ago.

RMB_Joon

> Hey! This post is being talked about a lot on another forum specifically for hybrids! :-) I left the link for you as I think it would be a lot more helpful getting perspectives over there! :-) PM me if you ever want to talk.

Yoongi feels a curl of interest grow in his gut. Other hybrids? Interest in his post? He almost wants to know more. Almost wants to follow the inkling leading him to delve deeper into the world of others.

“Yoongi!!” You shout, waving his attention over to where you stand. And suddenly, he doesn’t care about anything else anymore. How could he when he has the whole world in front of him?

He chuckles to himself, marking his post as ‘resolved’ before tucking the device into his pocket. His legs catching into a jog, joining you at your side. Exactly where he should be. Where he’s meant to be.

⋆𐙚 WAHH THERE IT IS!!! I hope you all enjoyed <\\33 pls let me know any of your thoughts!! this is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I put a lot of myself into this piece so I hope u all love it and it isn’t too skdhsksks yk?? MWAH ily © all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

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azure-tiamat · 2 days ago

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I see your great story and, as a writer, add 3 more people into this chaos:

What would also be hilarious is if, during this, Jazz Fenton uses the Family's Pseudo-Spaceship to crash into the Watchtower like 'how are you guys so incompetent you have at least 10 more years of experience with illegal affairs than them!'

Superman would try to calm this frazzled redhead down while the rest are a) trying to find out who she is, b) why she is there, c) where she got that ship from.

The reason for why makes some sense but it raises more questions instead. Like, it's a throwback to the 'aliens have lived amongst us for decades' conspiracy theory, and the one that makes the most sense.

60% of the JL are now convinced that the villain accidentally kidnapped a bunch of aliens, if not metas, that hid on a school trip. It would also explain why that leader of theirs (the redheads younger brother) said 'not again' as alien/ meta kidnapping would be more likely than a repeated kidnapping of some normal teenagers.

They don't figure how they are right and wrong with that assumption, except it's the grey line in between all that that counts as truth.

Anyways, Jazz not only bypasses their repeated attempts at authority (roasting them for not having preventive measures against a known threat while also making a list of signs of mental illnesses in the JL on her phone - yes, she plans to make them the target of her graduation paper) she groans at their work so far before getting a weird boomerang out of her backpack. When asked whatever she's gonna use that for they got this: "I've raised or helped that Class survive a pirate mutiny and school, I will find them and there's not a force in this world or the afterlife that will make me stop!!"

She throws it for Danny and finds Dani, much to Superman's mounting horror cuz that kid looks like the leader and is that villain secretly cloning-

Jazz asks Dani if she could go home and look for Skulker. She figured if someone wants to hunt her brother they should at least meet the guy who'd tried before them.

Yes, the red flags keep increasing to the steadily rising confusion and horror of the JL, not counting the group currently in-charge of watching the life feed of the trapped kids- The PDA kid just smacked a scorpion with a stone and ate it!! Why, cuz he wanted to die? No. He and the goth girl were arguing cuz there were only berries, nuts and green vegan options her scavenger hunt brought and boi said "I crave meat".

Long story short: Tucker's signal brings the JL and Jazz, while Dani has Skulker give their kidnapped a lesson on "you did a terrible job, and how DARE you steal my prey you mortal himbo!"

There should be a dp x dc ver of Danny's class stranded in the middle of nowhere and they are unaware that they are being recorded live for the entire world, with the superhero communities pressured to find them.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #rereading stranded with my class #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #batman #batfam #danny fenton #mentioned Vlad #kidnapping #leader danny #none of it is nornal #everything is fine

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misaerabl · 1 day ago

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Rock My World

MINORS AND MEN DNI / Word Count: 3.5k

SUMMARY: After a grueling concert, Vi, a tired but popular rock guitarist, and vocalist, retreats to her hotel room seeking solitude. Her plans are interrupted by a knock at the door, where she finds you—a mysterious stranger draped in a long fur coat and boots. Initially assuming you're a groupie, Vi learns you were sent by her drummer to help her "de-stress."

WARNINGS: oral sex (vi receiving), riding a strap, prostitution (?), short-lived bottom Vi, THIS IS ACTUALLY NASTY

A/N: sorry guys, I got a bit lazy with the cover pics lol I might replace them soon (I don’t have time to edit rn) Also, my first Vi fic! (This might be the filthiest thing I’ve made)

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

The roar of the crowd still buzzed in Vi's ears as she staggered into her hotel room, the adrenaline that had carried her through the encore now fading into bone-deep exhaustion. The stadium had been electric tonight—screaming fans, pounding drums, the lights casting their shadowed silhouettes across the stage like gods. It was the kind of night that should’ve left her floating, but all she wanted now was to crash.

Her guitar case thudded onto the couch as she kicked the door shut with the heel of her boot. She tugged her jacket off and let it fall to the floor, too tired to care. Grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar, she unscrewed the cap and downed half of it in one go before collapsing onto the edge of the bed.

The bedspread was crisp and uninviting, another impersonal feature of the chain hotels they’d been hopping between during the tour. She let herself sink into the mattress for a moment, leaning back on her palms as she stared at the ceiling, counting the hairline cracks in the plaster.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps, cutting through the quiet like a drumbeat. Her brows furrowed as she sat upright. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and the rest of the band had their own rooms. Maybe it was management with some last-minute schedule update—or worse, a fan who’d somehow managed to charm their way past security.

Dragging herself to her feet, Vi padded to the door, her steps heavy with reluctance. She cracked it open, intending to tell whoever it was to come back tomorrow.

Instead, she found you.

You stood there in a long fur coat, the kind that swished when you moved, and boots that clicked against the polished hallway floor. Your hair fell around your shoulders, catching the low hotel lighting, and you were wearing a smile that hovered somewhere between coy and self-assured.

For a moment, Vi just blinked, her tired brain struggling to process who—or what—she was looking at. You didn’t look like staff, and you definitely didn’t look like someone who belonged in a place like this.

“Uh…” she started, her voice hoarse from the set. “Can I help you?”

Your smile deepened, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Depends,” you said smoothly. “Can I come in?”

Vi’s brow arched, and she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. This is new. She scanned you from head to toe, noting the confident tilt of your chin, the way you didn’t flinch under her scrutiny. Still, she’d seen enough to jump to the obvious conclusion. The coat, the boots, the audacity—it all screamed groupie.

“Look,” she began, voice low and tired. “I don’t know how you found my room, but I’m really not in the mood for—”

“Relax, Rockstar,” you interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m not some random fan.”

That caught her off guard. Her arms dropped to her sides, and her confusion only deepened as you gestured casually over your shoulder.

“Your drummer sent me,” you explained, your voice calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Vi blinked, her brain short-circuiting for a second. “Wait, what?”

You stepped forward before she could stop you, brushing past her into the room. She turned to follow you, watching as you tossed your coat onto the back of the chair like you owned the place.

“Apparently,” you said, turning back to her with a sly grin, “he thinks you need to unwind.”

Vi folded her arms again, her eyes narrowing as she leaned against the door she’d just closed. “So, what are you supposed to be? My babysitter?”

You tilted your head, letting the question hang for a moment before you shrugged. “Not exactly. He didn’t give me a lot of instructions.”

Vi’s lips twitched into a smirk, though her exhaustion dulled its usual sharpness. “So, what are you here for?”

“That’s up to you,” you said, your grin widening as you met her gaze. “I’m just here to help.”

Vi hesitated, one hand still on the door, the other brushing through her hair as she considered the absurdity of the situation. Her instinct was to send you packing, but something in the way you stood there, so calm and unbothered, piqued her curiosity.

“Fine,” she said, stepping aside and motioning for you to come in. “But if you try anything weird, I’m calling security.”

You walked in without hesitation, your boots clicking softly against the floor. She closed the door, watching you carefully as you scanned the room, your eyes lingering on the scattered clothes, the guitar case, and the empty water bottle on the nightstand.

“This your idea of post-show luxury?” you teased, glancing back at her.

She rolled her eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “What did you expect? Champagne and roses?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a smirk, making your way over to the bed. You sat down at the edge, the mattress sinking slightly under your weight. Despite the heat of the room, you kept your coat tightly wrapped around you, the fur brushing against your cheeks as you adjusted it.

Vi’s gaze narrowed. “You cold or something?”

“Not exactly,” you replied, your voice light, almost playful. You shifted slightly, the coat parting just enough to give her a hint of your bare collarbone before you tugged it closed again.

Her brows furrowed as suspicion crept in. “You’re acting weird,” she said, moving closer. “What’s with the coat? What are you—”

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing as realization dawned. “You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

Your grin widened, and you tilted your head. “What if I’m not?”

For a moment, she just stared at you, caught between disbelief and amusement. Then she laughed, a low, raspy sound that filled the room. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

“Relax,” you said, leaning back slightly, your coat slipping just a little to reveal the curve of your shoulder. “I’m not here to seduce you… unless you want me to.”

Vi snorted, shaking her head as she sat down on the armchair across from you. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone casual. “But your drummer seemed to think I could help you de-stress. I figured I’d give it a shot.”

She leaned back, arms crossed, her lips quirking into a smirk. “And this is your idea of helping?”

You shrugged, the movement making your coat slip again, the edge of it brushing against your thighs. “You tell me, Rockstar.”

Vi leaned back in the armchair, her head tilted against the cushion as she watched you with a tired smirk. “Look, I don’t know what my drummer told you, but I’m too exhausted for… whatever this is supposed to be.”

You leaned forward slightly, your coat shifting again, though you still kept it clutched around you, the edge brushing against your thighs. “That’s okay,” you said, your voice low and teasing. “You don’t have to do anything. I can handle all the work if you like.”

Her eyebrows shot up at your boldness, a short laugh escaping her. “Wow, you really don’t quit, do you?”

You shrugged, letting a sly smile play on your lips. “I’m just saying… It looks like you could use a little help relaxing. Why not let me take care of it?”

Vi rubbed a hand over her face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied you, her exhaustion briefly forgotten. “What’s your deal, anyway? You always this bold, or am I just special?”

You grinned, leaning back on the bed with an air of casual confidence. “Let’s just say I have a knack for reading people. And right now, I think you need someone who’s not afraid to take the lead.”

Vi’s lips curved into a smirk, her eyes gleaming with both amusement and curiosity. “And what makes you think I’d even let you?”

You tilted your head, your grin never faltering. “Because you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

She doesn’t know how exactly you got in this position. Your face was buried between her legs, her head tossing back as you grip her legs tighter and pull her closer.

Vi wasn’t used to being on the receiving end—she was always the one in control, the one calling the shots. But tonight, something had shifted. The exhaustion from the show, the tension in her muscles, and your bold confidence all combined to strip away her usual defenses.

What you were doing to her wasn’t just unexpected; it was better than anything she’d ever done herself. The way your hands moved, the way you seemed to know exactly what she needed, it left her disoriented, and vulnerable in a way that felt unfamiliar.

It should’ve made her uneasy, the thought of giving up that control, of letting someone else take the lead. But with every deliberate touch, every calculated move, you silenced her doubts, replacing them with waves of sensation that she couldn’t resist.

It felt strange—wrong, even—to enjoy it this much, to let go of her need to be the one in charge. And yet, nothing could override the sheer pleasure coursing through her. For once, she didn’t mind surrendering; in fact, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Vi suddenly sat up, her hands gripping your shoulders as she pushed you away. The abruptness of her movement left you momentarily stunned. You knelt there, catching your breath, and when you looked up at her, your lips were glistening, your eyes searching hers for a clue.

“Did I… do something wrong?” you asked softly, your voice uncertain as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, the vulnerability in your tone cutting through the tension in the air.

Vi’s chest rose and fell as she steadied her breathing, her gaze flicking down to you briefly before she shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice low and a little rough. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Without another word, she slid off the bed and strode toward her suitcase near the dresser. You stayed where you were, still on your knees, watching her with a mix of curiosity and unease. The rustle of the zipper broke the silence as she opened her bag, rummaging through its contents with purposeful movements.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice hesitant, unsure if you should move or stay where she left you.

She didn’t respond immediately, her back to you as she dug through the suitcase. When she finally straightened, something big and made out of rubber was in her hands. The faintest smirk played on her lips as she turned back to face you, her eyes holding a flicker of mischief that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

Vi turned back to the bed, the faint clink of the buckle in her hands drawing your attention. She slid it on with practiced ease, her movements fluid and unhurried. Once she was done, she laid back against the pillows, her head tilted slightly as she looked at you with a smirk that sent a jolt through your chest.

“Come here,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding as she extended a hand toward you.

You hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto the bed, your coat slipping open slightly as you moved. As soon as you were close enough, she pulled you down, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, yet left no room for misinterpretation.

When she pulled back, her hands slid down your arms, guiding you into position with firm, unyielding pressure. She placed you exactly where she wanted, her touch both gentle and assured, leaving no doubt who was in control now. The anticipation in the air was almost tangible as she leaned back, her gaze locking onto yours with a heat that made your breath hitch.

Vi’s hands settled firmly on your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin as she began to guide your movements, up and down her strap. Her smirk widened, a glint of mischief lighting up her eyes as she stared into yours, her confidence practically radiating off her.

“Now this,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry drawl, “is more my speed.”

Her grip tightened ever so slightly as she took control, her movements deliberate and unrelenting. The shift in her demeanor was electric; gone was the hesitation, replaced by the Vi you’d always imagined—the one who thrived on being in charge, who owned every moment with unapologetic dominance.

She watched your every reaction, her smirk deepening whenever she saw the telltale signs of your unraveling. “That’s better, isn’t it?” she teased, her tone both playful and commanding.

And as she continued, guiding you with an intoxicating mix of precision and care, it became clear: this was where Vi felt most at home—leading, controlling, and leaving you utterly captivated in her wake.

At this point, Vi’s hair was messed up and sticking to her forehead, her tank top almost completely drenched in sweat. Her eyes were half-lidded and darkened as she watched. All the while, her mouth was slightly agape as she let out small grunts of pleasure every so often.

She leaned up, resting her back on the bed frame instead. The sudden change made you gasp, as she penetrated you deeper, hitting that oh-so-lovely spot. You grab on her shoulder for balance, the other hand on the bed as you bounce up and down on her like the good little doll you are.

Vi’s free hand gripped on the bedsheets, gripping on the fabric. She looked up at you, smirking, her breath coming out in gasps. “Fu-F-Fuck… s’good for me… Taking me so well… I-... mmmfffff…”

The sound of moaning was the only thing that could be heard in the once-silent room.

She let go of your hip, letting you move on your own, now both her hands on the mattress and supporting her weight. You move even harder, deeper. This time you both let out a gutteral moan, her head falling against the bed frame.

Vi let out another moan and shifted up on the bed, now seating up instead of leaning on the bed frame. She wrapped her arms around your waist and held you against her chest, while at the same time, started to lean forwards. She brought you down with her hand and gently laid you on your back. “Mmmm… f-fuck… I-... nnng… I can’t get enough… of… y-you…”

She leaned down on the bed, holding herself above you, shifting again to get a better angle, her movements now more desparate and less gentle than before. She planted her hands on either side of your head to support herself and leaned down to start leaving trails of kisses on your neck and shoulders.

“S-Shit… You feel… s-so good… I-... mmmnfff… I don’t want to stop… You’re so good for me… So perfect…”

You continued to gasp and moan as she nipped and sucked your sensitive skin. Every once in a while, you would let out a high-pitched whine of pleasure, your body arching to press against Vi as much as possible. Your hands tangled themselves up in her hair, your nails scraping on her scalp. “Ahh… Vi… yes… nnn… don’t stop… don’t fucking stop… ah…”

Vi groaned as she felt your nails scratch her scalp and shivered in pleasure. She bit and sucked at a specific part in your neck hard enough to leave an already prominent bruise behind. Once she was satisfied, she pulled away and took in the mark she left behind. It’s a good thig you had a coat to cover it up with later.

She continued her assault on you skin. With each new one, she would take a moment to admire the mark before continuing to leave another. Her grip on your hips got progressively tighter with each mark left behind. “You’re… mine…”

Both of you knew the truth, even if it lingered unspoken in the air between you. You weren’t hers—not in the way she might want to believe. This was a transaction, a carefully arranged arrangement where your role was clear.

You were here to let her let go, to help her unwind, and—ultimately—to serve a purpose, not to be hers. The money exchanged, the boundaries set. There was no mistaking the professional line drawn between the two of you.

And yet, in the heat of the moment, there was a fleeting whisper of something more, something that made you both question the labels you’d placed on this. But even as the room pulsed with tension, the reality of what this was hung like a veil, unyielding and undeniable.

As the tension finally snapped, both of you collapsed against the bed, your bodies still trembling from the intensity. Vi, breathless and sweaty, eased herself off you, her movements slow and deliberate as she pulled away. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of labored breaths and the lingering warmth between you.

Vi settled herself on top of you, her weight pressing gently against you as she let out a satisfied sigh. Without warning, she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, her lips lingering there for a brief, almost tender moment. The gesture was unexpected, but it somehow felt more intimate than anything that had come before.

Her gaze met yours, a quiet understanding passing between you both. You weren’t hers. You knew that. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the room. Vi slowly stirred awake, her muscles still sore from the night before, the memory of it lingering in the back of her mind. The bed was empty beside her, the absence of your presence felt immediately. For a moment, she just lay there, the silence of the room almost deafening.

She glanced over at the clock, realizing she was running late. She had a meeting with her bandmates downstairs, and the last thing she needed was to be late after everything that had happened.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed, the sheets rustling around her. She grabbed her clothes from the corner, the remnants of last night's whirlwind still hanging in the air. As she dressed, pulling on a leather jacket over a simple band tee and dark jeans, her thoughts wandered back to you. She didn’t regret what happened, but the whole thing felt strange now that the adrenaline had faded.

Vi quickly finished getting ready, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. She paused for a moment in the hallway, then shook her head. No time to dwell, she thought. She had her bandmates to meet, and business to attend to. The rest, whatever it was, could wait for later.

Vi walked into the lobby, her bandmates gathered around a table, already talking. As soon as their drummer spotted her, his usual mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he teased, clearly trying to hold back a smirk. “So, did you enjoy your night, Vi?” His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Did she do the trick? You know, the one I sent your way?"

Vi raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing as she met his playful, probing eyes. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice calm, though the tension in her posture suggested otherwise.

He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know. I figured you’d like her—Babette’s finest, right?” He lowered his voice slightly, eyes glinting. “She’s known for strictly... serving women, and I thought, well, you’d definitely vibe with her. Guess I was right.”

Vi froze, her heart skipping a beat as his words sank in. She hadn't expected the drummer to be the one who’d arranged it, or that he’d been so open about it. Her curiosity piqued, she tried to keep her expression neutral, but her mind raced.

“What do you mean by ‘Babette’s finest’? And where exactly can I find her?” Vi’s voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her—there was an unmistakable gleam, a hunger for more.

He smirked, clearly enjoying how much this was affecting her. “I knew you’d want to know,” he said with a chuckle. “You can find her at Babette’s, of course. But she only works for women. I guess that’s what makes her special, huh?” He gave her a wink. “And don’t worry, I’m sure she’d be happy to see you again.”

Vi’s eyes glistened as the realization hit. The curiosity and something deeper—something she hadn’t expected to feel—washed over her. She nodded slowly, her thoughts already moving towards the next step.

“Thanks for the info,” she said, her voice steady, but there was a faint excitement hidden just beneath the surface. As her bandmates continued talking, Vi's focus shifted inward. She now had a clear direction—one that would lead her right back to you.

#arcane #vi #vi arcane #arcane smut #vi x reader #smut #fanfiction #vi smut #arcane league of legends #arcane s2 #league of legends #lol #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane smut #vi x you #vi x y/n #vi x fem reader #lesbian

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muletia · 1 day ago

Note

First of all I LOVE your fics!! Thank you for feeding my delusions (like its totally normal to be obsessed with a robot)

I just keep imagining this scenario where the reader and optimus are kinda in the flirting stage, and she has to attend an office party, so after saving her ass from cons, he drops her off at the venue, and she has to change. She does that in the truck and checks herself in the mirror, and he compliments her. She then gives him a kiss on the dashboard and the hood and leaves. Ratchet notices that optimus is in a daze and asks why does he have red splotches on his face and chest (reader kissed him with red lipstick on).

What do you think his reaction would be like and if the kids notice its kiss marks

thank you <33 and dw i'm feeding my own delusions, no thoughts, head full of giant obsessed robots (let's pretend that opti knows what lipstick is for this, okay??)

word count: 730

He feels the warmth of your lips on his armor long after you’ve parted ways. You delivered your blows swiftly, yet precisely, and above all, skillfully—because Optimus cannot stop thinking about them. It was a small gesture, perhaps left by you in a rush of emotion when he directed a compliment your way, or maybe it was intentional, meant to torture him just a little, to leave a mark behind, ensuring he’d think of you constantly until your return. For him, however, the implications of your action were enormous, hinting at a quiet passion. And perhaps his fantasies seized control of him immediately, but he was convinced they meant far more than just a goodbye. They implied something else. Something closer, more intimate. Were you trying to tell him something? Prove something to him? As a leader, he needed to be certain at all times, but you were someone he could never quite figure out. How could someone so noble also torment him so much?

He drives into the base and transforms, though his thoughts remain with you—your warm lips, the boundless trust you showed him, the gentleness you displayed toward him. He vividly remembers the texture of your soft, warm lips against him. He’s even convinced they’re still there, infecting him with their heat, awakening desires he tries not to entertain. For they are unclean and unworthy of you, and, above all, unworthy of him.

"Optimus?"

But oh, how much he would give to once again be the center of your attention. For you to honor him with another kiss. It could be imprecise, unclear—it could leave him pondering its meaning for ages, as well as searching for the reason you chose to bestow it upon him in the first place. The pretext wouldn’t matter when it meant your focus was solely on him.

"Optimus?"

He returns to the real world. Ratchet greets him, clearly displeased that the leader of the Autobots was lost in thought instead of focusing on reality. In this case, Optimus is forced to push you to the back of his processor, though he is disheartened by the necessity. He wonders how long he can last—how long until you envelop him in your warmth again and he finds himself dissecting every gesture, every glance, wondering if this particular interaction was more romantic than the rest.

"My apologies, my friend. It seems I became lost in my thoughts."

"This has been happening more and more often lately. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Did something happen during your journey?"

Optimus arches a brow, surprised.

"No, I reached the base without any issues. Why do you ask?"

"This."

Ratchet points to a spot on his chassis, just beneath the left windshield, on the freshly polished red paint. Then, oh Primus, to his faceplate. Optimus doesn’t need a mirror to know what specifically the medic is pointing at. And for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels embarrassment creeping in, exposing a sliver of his emotions to the world.

He subtly turns his head and covers his mouth with his servo, for at this moment, he has no excuse for this situation.

“Ooooooh, I know what this is, I know!” Miko shouts, having been bored out of her mind just moments ago.

“Miko, calm down,” Jack scolds, noticing Optimus’s discomfort.

But Miko couldn’t care less.

“It's lipstick and the marks mean that boss bot has someone who really likes him.” She emphasizes "really" and giggles. The situation becomes even funnier as Ratchet rolls his optics.

“Ah yes, I forgot you were dropping [Name] off,” he sighs. “Just get together already, I beg of you.”

“It is not that simple,” Optimus clears his throat.

“Mhm, sure.”

Prime leaves the hangar, metaphorical tail between his legs, intent on erasing the evidence of his “crime.” He should have expected that your affections would eventually be noticed (they were, long ago), but he would have preferred for it not to happen under such humiliating circumstances.

He touches the spot Ratchet pointed to with a digit. He can still feel your lips there—their warmth, the sparks you shared with him. And if it were up to him, he would never get rid of your marks, the proof of belonging to you, of being yours alone. But the world around him was not ready for that.

#transformers #transformers x reader #optimus x reader #be silly #optimus prime x reader #obsessed!optimus

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strnilolover · 3 days ago

Text

.✦ ── She’s Not Mine, She’s Not You ── ✦.

♡ Prince!Matt x Maid Reader au

⚠︎ Warmings : Arranged Marriage, Angst, Fluff, Forbidden Love/Relationship, Sneaking around and More.

♡ In which … prince matt and maid reader have been in a secret relationship for a little bit now. But, they’ve had to keep it behind closed doors because of his royal status and family. What happens when he’s placed in an arranged marriage he doesn’t even want to be in?

The air in your small quarters felt heavier than usual this evening. The flickering light of a single candle cast soft shadows on the stone walls as you meticulously folded linens. The familiar routine was meant to keep your mind occupied, but tonight, it couldn’t quiet the gnawing unease that had settled in your chest.

Matt had been distant all day. Normally, he’d find a reason to slip into whatever room you were working in, whether it was the grand library, the kitchens, or even the stables. He’d offer smiles and some heated actions that made your heart race. But today, he was nowhere to be found.

You told yourself it was nothing — that he was simply busy with royal duties. Yet the anxious pit in your stomach told a different story.

But then a sudden, forceful knock at your door startled you. Before you could answer, the door burst open. Matt stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt slightly wrinkled as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. His expression was a storm of frustration and anguish, a stark contrast to the gentle, confident prince you knew.

“Matt?” you said cautiously, setting the linens aside and stepping toward him. “What’s going on?” you whisper, cautious not to upset him farther from what ever it was.

He didn’t answer right away, instead closing the door behind him with a heavy thud and locking it. His hands rested on the doorframe for a moment as he let out a slow, shaky breath. When he finally turned to face you, the fire in his eyes made your heart skip.

“They’ve done it,” he said bitterly. “They’ve made the decision for me.” his words were rough — it sounded like he just ate something that wasn’t good, whatever this was — wasn’t good.

Your brows furrowed slightly, unsure as to what he meant — but you had a feeling. “What decision?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you already knew you weren’t going to like the answer he was going to provide you.

He took a breath, his body visibly shaking. “My parents,” he began, his voice tight with anger. “They’ve arranged a marriage. To Lady Evelina.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You felt the air leave your lungs as your knees wobbled slightly. You gripped the edge of your desk for support, your fingers digging into the wood.

You stood there, the words on the tip of your tongue — but it felt like gravel running along your mouth. “When?” you managed to ask, though your voice trembled.

“The engagement is to be announced at the ball in five months.” he spat, pacing the small room like a caged animal. “They didn’t even ask me. They didn’t give me a choice.” he voice raised, hands coming up to point at his chest as to get his words across more clearly.

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. The weight of it pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “Lady Evelina…” you said softly, as if saying her name aloud would make it less real. “She’s… she’s beautiful. She’s noble. She’s—”

“She’s not you,” Matt interrupted, stopping mid-step to look at you. His gaze was fierce, almost desperate. “She’s not the one I love.” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was, to you both.

“Matt…” You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. “You’re a prince. You were always going to marry someone like her. I knew that.” you said, voice cracking as you forced them through your teeth.

“No,” he said firmly, crossing the room to stand in front of you. “I told you from the beginning — I don’t care about any of that. Titles, politics, expectations — they mean nothing to me. You’re the only one who matters.”

His words, spoken with such conviction, brought tears to prick at the corner of your eyes. “And what about your kingdom?” you asked, your voice breaking even more. “What about your people? They expect you to marry someone who can strengthen alliances, someone who can stand beside you as a queen-“

“I don’t care what they expect!” he exclaimed, cutting you off as his frustration started to boil over. “I care about what I want. And I want you.”

“You think that’s enough?” you said, tears streaming down your cheeks now. “You think you can just tell your parents, your court, your entire kingdom that you love a maid, and they’ll just… accept it?” your chest twisted.

“I’ll make them accept it,” he said stubbornly, his jaw set. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Your hands trembled as you stepped away from him, needing distance to think clearly. “Matt, you’re being reckless,” you said, your voice barely steady. “You have a responsibility — to your family, to your kingdom. I can’t let you throw all of that away for me.”

He followed you, closing the space quickly between you with a few long strides. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He reached for your hands, holding them gently despite the storm of emotions coursing through his veins. “This is my life. And I’m choosing you.” he whispered, gripping your hands tighter as he brought them up to place a small peck on your knuckles.

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his words. A sob escaped your lips as you shook your head. “You shouldn’t have to choose,” you whispered. “You shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything for me.”

Matt shook his head, “Don’t you see?” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m not sacrificing anything. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt right. Without you, none of it matters.”

And you stared at him — your tears falling freely now. His love for you was undeniable, but so was the impossible weight of the world he lived in.

“And Lady Evelina?” you asked bitterly. “What about her? She’s being forced into this, too. She deserves someone who loves her.”

“She does,” Matt admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “But that person won’t be me. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her the truth.“ he says.

“And what if she wants you to be that person?” The question hung in the air like a dark cloud, the unspoken reality neither of you wanted to face.

Matt’s hands tightened around yours once more, his grip almost desperate. “Then I’ll find another way,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to my parents, the council — whoever I need to. There has to be another way.” his voice was almost a plea now — the once storm was still there, but muffled now.

“Matt…” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Sometimes there isn’t.”

He pulled you into his arms suddenly, holding you so tightly it was as if he thought you might disappear. His chin rested on the top of your head, and you could feel his chest rising and falling against you.

“I won’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the tears you could hear in it. “No matter what it takes, I won’t lose you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace for what you feared might be the last time. “I love you, Matt,” you whispered. “But this… it’s bigger than us. You can’t fix this.”

“Yes, I can,” he said softly, but there was a crack in his voice that betrayed his own doubt. “I have to.”

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no Lady Evelina, no arranged marriage, no impossible expectations. There was only Matt, his arms around you, and the love you both felt but couldn’t hold onto.

But reality had a way of creeping back in. And as you pulled away, the weight of what lay ahead settled heavily in your chest.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this fight,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, no matter what you have to do — don’t lose the part of you that I fell in love with.”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks. “I won’t,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “But I can’t promise that I won’t fight for you. Because I will. Until my last breath.”

a/n : holy shit balls y’all. i have been thinking about this for so long and now i have finally, FINALLY, written the first part. i’m not sure how many parts there will be after this or what direction it’ll go in, i’m just building as i go. BUT — i hope you all enjoy this first part 😛

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reigns-devotee · 3 days ago

Text

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!reader

Warnings: language, p in v, oral (male receiving), body fluids, smut smut and more smut, MINORS DNI

Summary: He's been your bodyguard for two years now. two years of pent up frustration on both ends. As your suppressed feelings ignite, you must face the dangerous consequences of crossing professional boundaries.

Word Count: 3,678

The bass thumped relentlessly through the crowded club, vibrating through the soles of your feet and into your chest as you sipped your cocktail. Neon lights painted the room in shifting hues, and the air buzzed with electric energy. This was your night. Your chance to slip away from the polished façade of your public life, the endless rules, and the constant vigilance of your ever-present shadow. Tonight, you craved freedom—a taste of life without the suffocating weight of expectations.

But Roman was there.

He always was. His towering frame lingered near the bar, a monolith of power and authority. His perfectly tailored suit molded to his body, the dark fabric clinging to every hard line of his physique. The sharp angles of his face—his high cheekbones, square jaw, and intense eyes—cast him as both protector and menace. He didn’t blend in; he didn’t even try. Roman stood apart, his presence magnetic, commanding attention without effort.

You knew why he was there. To keep you safe. It was his job, his obligation, his duty. But after two years of his smoldering glances, his clipped commands, and his unshakable presence, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Tonight, you were going to live.

So you’d chosen the dress—that dress. Sleek, shimmering, and designed to turn heads. And it worked. Dominik Mysterio’s gaze had been glued to you since the moment he saw you. His flirtations were harmless, his smile easy, and his touch light when he brushes your arm while talking to you. You didn’t care that you weren’t particularly interested in him. He was fun, simple, uncomplicated. For a moment, you felt like a normal woman—not a celebrity under constant scrutiny.

But Roman saw everything.

You felt the burn of his gaze across the room, sharper than the strongest drink. He wasn’t subtle, not when it came to you. Every time Dominik leaned in, Roman’s jaw tightened. When Dominik dared to touch your wrist, Roman’s grip on his glass became white-knuckled. By the time Dominik invited you to the dance floor, Roman was already pushing through the crowd, parting people like waves with a single look.

You barely made it to the center of the floor before Roman reached you.

"Enough," his voice cut through the music, low and deadly, as he wrapped his fingers around your elbow. His touch was firm, unyielding, and filled with authority that made your stomach flip.

“Roman!” you hissed, yanking your arm from his grip, but it was useless. He leaned in, his lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, "We’re leaving. Now."

The command in his tone left no room for argument. His hand settled on the small of your back, steering you through the crowd as if he owned the place. No one dared stop him.

The ride home was unbearable. Roman didn’t speak, but the air between you crackled with tension. His jaw was tight, his fists resting on his thighs as if restraining himself. You, on the other hand, were fuming.

When you finally stepped inside your home, your anger boiled over. Tossing your purse onto the counter, you spun on your heel, glaring up at him. "What the hell was that?" you demanded.

Roman closed the door with a quiet click, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. His expression was thunderous, his dark eyes sharp as a blade.

"You know exactly what it was," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t back down. Turning on your heel, you stormed upstairs, your heels clicking against the hardwood. You made it to your room, determined to slam the door in his face, but it stopped short. Roman’s shoe was wedged in the gap.

You whirled around, your chest heaving with anger. "You know I’m a grown-ass woman, right?" you snapped, yanking off your heels and tossing them aside.

Roman stepped into your space, his presence filling the room. "We need to talk," he said, his voice deceptively calm, though his eyes burned with something primal.

“No, we don’t,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

But Roman didn’t back down. He never did. Instead, he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. His towering frame loomed over you, his gaze pinning you in place.

“You think I’m going to stand by while some punk puts his hands on you?” he demanded, his voice low and cutting.

Your breath caught, your pulse racing as you glared back. “Dominik is harmless. He’s a friend.”

Roman scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “He wasn’t looking at you like a friend. And you damn well know it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and charged. You hated the way your body reacted to him—the way his possessiveness both infuriated and thrilled you.

“And what if he wasn’t?” you challenged, lifting your chin. “You’re my bodyguard, Roman. Not my keeper.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing. Then he leaned in, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re right,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and dangerous. “I am your bodyguard. Which means it’s my job to protect you—from threats, from danger... and from making reckless decisions with men who don’t deserve you.”

Your heart pounded, the air between you crackling like a live wire. This wasn’t about Dominik anymore. This was about you. About Roman. About two years of tension finally reaching a breaking point.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off with a look so intense it stole the words from your lips. “You can’t keep pushing me, sweetheart,” he warned, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “One day, you’re not going to like what happens when I push back.”

The room felt suffocating, the tension between you and Roman thick enough to cut with a knife. You pulled off your earrings and set them down on the dresser with deliberate precision, your movements sharp and filled with barely restrained anger. "Maybe I’m tired of living the life I should and not the life I could," you snapped, your voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip.

Roman leaned back against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his towering presence as unrelenting as his glare. His brow arched, and he let out a dry, humorless scoff. "So you decide to do that with *Dominik fucking Mysterio*?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

You turned to face him fully, fire blazing in your eyes. "You don’t even know him!" you shouted, your voice rising.

Roman pushed off the doorframe, closing the space between you in two long strides. "I work with him!" he barked, his voice thunderous, echoing through the room.

You square your shoulders, refusing to back down despite the sheer intensity of his presence. "Please! Every time I so much as smile at a man, you’re there, staring daggers at him like you want to rip his head off!" you accused, your chest heaving.

His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking beneath the skin, his fists curling at his sides. "Why is that, Mr. Reigns?" you pressed, your voice dripping with venom. "Two years ago, you told me you don’t get involved with your clients’ personal lives."

He didn’t respond, but the tension in the room grew palpable, the air charged with unspoken words. His jaw continued to tick, the movement rhythmic and ominous, like the countdown of a bomb ready to detonate.

Mistake number one.

"Maybe," you said, your tone turning sharp and competitive, "you want to take their place." You stepped closer, your eyes challenging as you tilted your head, studying him. "Do you want me, Mr. Reigns?" you asked, your voice a sultry tease that belied the storm raging in your chest. "The celebrity singer and the professional wrestler-slash-bodyguard?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, but the haunting look in your eyes betrayed you. Mistake number two.

Roman’s dark eyes flicked over your face, his expression unreadable, yet there was something dangerous in the way his gaze lingered. He stepped closer, his sheer size towering over you, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. "Do you want to stop talking now, Ms. Y/L/N?" he asked, his voice low, velvety, and laced with warning. "And be very careful about what you say next."

"Why?" you countered, your voice defiant as you stepped closer, until the tips of your toes nearly brushed his. The heat between you was almost unbearable, your breath hitching as you stared up at him, daring him to make the next move.

"I’m not afraid of you," you whispered, your hand moving to his chest, your palm pressing against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. "Everyone else might be, but I’m not."

Mistake number three.

The gasp barely escaped your throat before you found yourself spun around, your chest pressed against the cool surface of the dresser. The movement was so quick, so precise, you barely had time to register it before you felt Roman’s large hand grip your chin, forcing your head back. His other hand closed firmly around your throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine as he asserted complete control.

You couldn’t suppress the small gasp that left your lips when you felt him behind you, his cock pressing hard and insistent against your ass. He was furious, but it was a fire that burned hot and electric, one that ignited something deep within you that you couldn’t ignore.

His breath seared against your ear, each exhale sending a shiver coursing down your spine. Roman leaned in closer, his towering frame pressing against your back, his grip on your throat firm but controlled—a reminder of the raw strength he held in reserve. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as his voice rumbled low, dark, and dripping with unrestrained intensity.

"You wanted my attention, sweetheart," he growled, his words slow and deliberate, the kind that made your pulse race and your knees tremble. "Well, now you have it."

The room felt smaller, suffocating under the weight of his presence. His fingers flexed around your throat, not painful but enough to let you know who was in charge. His other hand splayed against the dresser beside you, trapping you in place as he loomed over you, his heat sinking into your skin.

"I do want you," he admitted, his tone dipping lower, rougher, each word laced with unspoken restraint. "Not in the way I should." His eyes flicked up to meet yours in the mirror, the raw hunger in them making your breath hitch. "I don’t want to make love to you. I don’t want to give you some fairytale ending, some sweet little dream you tell yourself at night."

Your lips parted, your chest rising and falling as his words washed over you, as unrelenting as the man himself.

"I want to fuck you," he continued, his jaw clenching as though saying the words aloud was a battle within himself. "Hard. Animalistic. I want to make you feel what you do to me every time you push, every time you mouth off, every time you so much as look at another man."

His voice grew rougher, deeper, the restrained violence in his tone matching the tight grip of his hand. "I want to yank up that tiny little dress of yours," he growled, "and pound into you so hard you won’t be able to walk for weeks. I want you to feel me everywhere, every time you move, every time you breathe."

Your eyes met him again in the mirror, dark and smoldering with desire. His hand tightened slightly around your throat, and the control in his grip sent a dangerous thrill down your spine.

"But I can’t have that," he said, his jaw working as though it physically pained him to admit it. "I shouldn’t have that."

Your breath hitched, and his gaze hardened as though daring you to test him further.

"But if you don’t stop looking at me like that," he hissed, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt more like a threat, "I might just take it anyway."

His grip tightened for a brief moment, his jaw ticking as he held your gaze through the mirror, the tension between you poised to snap like a taut wire. "And trust me," he murmured, his voice low and lethal, "if I do, I won’t stop until there’s nothing left of you to give to anyone else."

With a commanding tone, you instruct, “So do it.” In response, he firmly presses his hand against the back of your neck, forcefully guiding you downwards until you are kneeling before him. You offer no resistance as he hastily unfastens his pants, freeing his erect cock. “Tap me if it becomes too much for you,” he murmurs. You give a slight nod of acknowledgement, then part your lips. Slowly, he eases his thick, rigid cock into your waiting mouth, allowing you time to accommodate his full length.

Small, whimpers escape your mouth as he slowly thrusts his cock into your mouth, over and over. The sensation is both foreign and overwhelming. Your breathing grows rugged and uneven, punctuated by the rhythmic intrusion. He tightens his grip on your hair, using it to gently guide your head, maintaining control of the pace and depth of his movements.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. Summoning your focus, you lift your gaze to meet his, your lashes now wet with a mixture of tears and saliva. Your eyes, once filled with anger, have taken on a look of submissive obedience. "Good girl," he praises, his tone laced with a hint of possessive pride. "You're going to take all of it for me, all of it," he growls, his hips quickening their pace. "And then, I'm gonna fuck you, so hard," he admits.

You watch him intently, captivated by the raw, primal energy that radiates from his every movement. His expression is one of intense focus, brow furrowed in concentration as he begins to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful and unrelenting. The sensations washing over you are a dizzying blend of discomfort and pleasure, your body and mind struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions.

He lets out groans, and he takes one last long thrust, “fuck!”. He pulls out of your mouth and as soon as he does, his cum splashes ropes onto your face.

Roman’s hand shot out, tangling roughly in your hair and pulling you to your feet with an almost effortless strength. The sting at your scalp sent a gasp spilling from your lips, but you didn’t dare look away from him. His dark eyes burned with a feral intensity, pinning you in place as though he could see right through you, see every thought racing through your mind.

“P-please, Roman—” you stammered, your voice trembling, a mix of desperation and anticipation spilling out before you could stop it.

He cut you off with a low growl, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp again. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you want,” he promised, his voice deep and laced with a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process his words, he grabbed the hem of your dress and tore it clean off, the fabric shredding in his hands like it was nothing. The cool air hit your bare skin, making you shiver, but the heat radiating off Roman’s body was all-consuming, overwhelming every other sensation.

“Roman—” you started, but his sharp, commanding tone cut through your words like a blade.

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” he ordered, his voice steady but harsh, a warning in every syllable.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly as he moved with deliberate precision, his hands now at the waistband of your pants. He didn’t bother with gentleness or finesse—he yanked them down in one swift motion, leaving you standing before him in nothing but your underwear.

His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, his chest rising and falling as though he was barely keeping himself in check. “You want my attention?” he said, his voice dangerously calm as he stepped closer. “Well, now you’ve got it. Let’s see if you can handle it.”

Without warning, he pushed you forward, guiding you down until you were on your hands and knees in front of him. The hard floor pressed against your palms, but the sharp thrum of adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out everything else.

“You look good like this,” he muttered, his tone low and almost to himself, as though the sight of you was breaking through his carefully constructed control. “Right where you belong.”

His hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, forcing you to arch beneath his touch. The position made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but the heat in his gaze only made you shiver with anticipation.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice a taunting growl. “You wanted it so badly you had to throw yourself at some boy to get it?”

You turned your head slightly, your lips parting to respond, but he was already shaking his head, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Don’t even try to deny it,” he snapped, his tone brooking no argument. “You knew exactly what you were doing, and now…”

His hand slid from your back to your hip, his grip firm but not painful, a silent promise of what was to come. “…you’re going to face the consequences.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung heavy in the air. Roman’s presence behind you was overwhelming, his dominance filling every corner of the room. And in that moment, you knew there was no going back.

Roman’s large hands moved with an agonizing slowness, tracing over your hips before curling around the waistband of your panties. His fingers dug in just slightly, his grip a silent promise of what was to come. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled them down, the soft fabric sliding down your thighs and pooling at your knees. The cool air hit your bare skin, making you shiver, though it wasn’t from the temperature.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with a dark heat that made your stomach twist. “So wet, sweetheart.”

His words sent a bolt of electricity through you, your breath catching as his eyes darkened, locking onto the undeniable evidence of your arousal. You tried to steady yourself, but your arms trembled beneath you, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear.

“Roman…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of need and hesitation lacing the syllables.

He let out a low growl, the sound vibrating in the space between you. He positions the head of his cock at the entrance of your slick heat.

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing back just slightly, your body aching for more of his touch.

He stilled behind you, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. Then he let out a low, dangerous chuckle, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he rasped, his tone both a warning and a promise.

“Roman…” you tried again, but this time, he cut you off with a sharp thrust into your cunt.

“Quiet,” he snapped, though there was no true anger in his voice—only a deep, simmering hunger that made your pulse race. “I’ve let you run that mouth of yours long enough tonight. Now, you’re going to listen.”

You moaned hard, your body trembling as you felt him bury himself inside of you, his hips slapping against your ass.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmured, his tone softer now but no less commanding. “You wanted my attention. You wanted me to lose control. Congratulations, sweetheart. You got it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he destroyed you, his presence overwhelming. “You’re so.. Big,” you whimper, your mouth dropping open with each thrust.

You grab onto his ankles for support as he continues to thrust into you. “Fuckkk, youre so fucking warm for me,” he moans. His moans made you wetter and more slippery.

“Th-thank you,” you whimper. He continues to fuck your tight hole as you squirm under him. He speeds up and his thrusts become more sloppier and animalistic. He took his time fucking you crazy, and that was enough to drive you over the edge.

“I know you like to play with that little pussy when you're alone… in your room, fuckk,” he moans. The room filled with the sounds of your wetness and the sound of him crashing into you over and over again. He was balls deep into your cunt, and the only thing that was able to escape your lips were your muffled cries.

The feeling became more powerful and you became more needy, pushing your ass back to meet him halfway with every thrust. “Thats it, sweetheart, just like that,” he moans in agony. “Im sorry, im- ugh,” you could barely get your words right, but he understood.

He hiked your hips up so now your feet wasnt touching the ground. “Gonna cum for me? Hm?” he asks. “Y-yes, please let me cum,” you beg. He slides his hand towards you clit, rubbing it crazily. “Cum for me, sweetheart,” and with that being said, you came. You came so hard your arms lost balance and you fell to the floor.

Despite all of his dominance, he still cared pick you up. He carried you to the shower, wanting to get you cleaned up. You looked up at him through your now drenched face and was about to speak. But, he placed a finger on your lips, “i got you, sweetheart.”

#wwe #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut

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thefreakandthehair · 8 hours ago

Text

snowfall.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles & @steddiemas | prompts: snowfall and cold | wc: 989 | rating: teen & up | tags: mutual requited pining, post-canon, eddie pov, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, winter fluff, smoking weed

Eddie used to love the cold.

He could layer up tee shirts and jackets with his vest comfortably; could disguise the smoke in his mouth as just his breath in the icy air. But then he nearly died shivering on the frigid, unforgiving ground of the Upside Down and the cold lost its luster.

Now, as he stands outside of his trailer smoking a tightly rolled joint— he’s a professional, thank you very much— he shivers again. Normally, Eddie would just smoke in the trailer, all the way in the back and blow smoke out of the window, but the kids are over and even Eddie understands that that’s probably not the best idea. Dustin is a blabbermouth and if Claudia or Hopper found out… well, now he shivers for a different reason.

Smoke coils its way down his chest and he looks up at the sky, staring at the flickering stars and crescent moon. The Upside Down had been an empty, angry place devoid of light, but the real world— his world— is peppered with blinking points of light that only disappear temporarily when they’re obscured by fluffy clouds. For a moment, he closes his eyes and lets his shoulders sag, head dropping with his chin to his chest and the joint still smoking between his fingers.

It’s fine, he reminds himself. It’s not the same. It’s just December in Indiana.

“Hey,” a familiar voice interrupts the silence, footsteps crunching over frosty grass and dried leaves. “I was wondering where you went.”

Eddie clears his throat and slaps on a smile before he turns around.

“Didn’t wanna hear it from Hopper if I exposed the innocents to Satan’s lettuce, y’know?” He wiggles the joint between his fingers and offers it to Steve. “Wanna share?”

Steve rolls his eyes— a fond gesture, Eddie’s come to learn— and accepts, taking a hit and passing it back.

“Thanks,” Steve says, a mixture of smoke and breath puffing out like the clouds passing above them.

“Just got a little…” Eddie trails off and waves his hand, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once, dropping the joint to the ground. It was almost done anyways, he sighs to himself as he stomps it out.

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose and nods knowingly. It’s far from the first time that Steve’s found Eddie hiding somewhere, collecting himself. Steve’s admitted to the same, that he loves when everyone gets together but it can be a lot all the same.

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve agrees, stepping closer and leaning up against the tree, just arms’ distance from Eddie.

Something symbolic there, Eddie thinks to himself. As close as they’ve gotten, as catastrophically in love with Steve as Eddie’s fallen, he always feels like this: just out of reach.

Under the translucent glow of the night sky, Eddie tries not to stare at the pink flush of Steve’s cheeks, his nose rosy from the cold. It’s hard not to reach out and close the distance. It’d be so easy— just stretch out a hand and rest his equally chilly palm against Steve’s cheek— but he shoves them into his pockets instead and digs his fingernails into his palms as he curls them into a fist.

Something cold hits Eddie’s nose, and then another, and another. He looks up to find big, fat snowflakes falling from those puffy clouds, a shower of white, frozen flakes.

“Oh shit, it’s sno—” Eddie starts, but his words die on his tongue when he looks over at Steve.

The falling snow loves Steve almost as much as Eddie does, sticking to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair, melting against his cheeks and clinging to his bomber jacket, to his lips as he tilts his head up towards the stars. They part just slightly, just enough for Eddie to lose himself in what it might feel like to kiss him, to press his own lips against Steve’s— perfectly pink, welcoming.

Steve’s never looked so beautiful and Eddie has never been more in love, never been so worried that his heart might crack a rib. He’d done enough physical therapy for one lifetime, but if this is how he breaks another bone, then so be it.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

And maybe it’s the weed, or the magic of the moment, or the precarious levee rupturing that was never going to hold anyways, but Eddie doesn't hesitate, doesn’t even blink.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and I’m so in love with you.”

His lips part and his eyes widen, Eddie freezing in place. Despite the snow, his skin burns with the acknowledgment of what he’s just done.

“Shit, just— y’know what, just ignore me, man. Super strong weed, that’s all. I didn’t, uh—”

Steve steps forward, closing the distance and leaving mere inches between them, just enough for the snow to fall between their jackets.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah, I do. That’s— that’s what you got out of that?” Eddie sputters.

“Just making sure I heard that right. And the part about being in love with me? You meant that, too?”

“More than you know.” Eddie swallows and shrugs, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he chews on his bottom lip.

Steve closes the distance, eyes bright and a smile blooming from one corner of his mouth. He smooths over Eddie’s lip with his thumb and traces his jaw up to his ear, cupping his face like Eddie’s dreamed of for as long as Steve’s existed in his orbit.

“Well, that’s a relief. Now I finally get to do this,” Steve breathes.

The snow falls faster over their heads as Steve closes the gap and presses their lips together, soft and warm despite the bone-chilling cold. Steve’s lips slot against Eddie’s, and it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel novel, or unfamiliar.

With snow beginning to pile up at their feet, Eddie feels like he’s come home.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddiemas2024 #myblurbs #i haven’t read this over so ignore any typos etc please and thank you

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wolvietxt · 1 day ago

Text

𝓒HAPTER 𝓞NE !

series masterlist taglist form pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : injury detail, heavy angst, trauma, reader has a flawed regeneration mutation, arguments, reader has lots of scars (mentioned throughout), a lot of time shifts wc : 5.3k 😈 a/n : chapter one! hope you guys enjoy, will try and get chapter two out before the end of the week, fill in my taglist form (liked above) to be tagged in the rest of the series :3

the scars never really faded, no matter how much time passed. your regeneration didn’t work like the flawless kind you’d read about in comic books - clean, seamless, leaving no trace behind. instead, your body mended itself in a patchwork of silvered lines and raised ridges, crisscrossing your skin like a roadmap of every mistake, every fight, every loss.

people stared. even when they didn’t mean to, their eyes would flicker over your arms or collarbone before quickly darting away. you could feel it in the way they shifted uncomfortably, their gazes tinged with pity or fear.

you didn’t blame them, not really. you had grown used to it, the way your appearance seemed to speak for you before you ever opened your mouth. it was easier to keep your head down, let people think whatever they wanted, than to explain everything.

your mutation first showed itself when you were thirteen. it was a normal school day, one you barely remember apart from the incident that changed everything.

gym class had always been your least favourite. the whistles, the shouting, the echoing clang of equipment - it was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that you dreaded every week. that day, the teacher had insisted you try the balance beam.

you climbed up reluctantly, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. your arms wobbled as you stretched them out for balance, your breath shaky with concentration. step by step, you made it across, relief flooding your chest as you stepped down.

you never saw the edge of the metal bench sticking out.

your foot caught, sending you sideways. the fall was fast, the sharp edge of the bench catching your side before you hit the ground hard.

at first, all you could feel was shock.

then the pain hit.

it was searing, white-hot and sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs. your hand flew to your side instinctively, and when you pulled it away, your palm was slick with blood.

the gym teacher’s whistle blew sharply, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of your classmates. someone screamed your name, but the sound barely registered. the world felt muffled, far away.

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a soft, panicked wheeze.

then it happened.

at first, the pain dulled - not completely gone, but less overwhelming. a strange warmth spread through your side, accompanied by a tingling sensation that made your skin crawl.

you looked down, and your stomach flipped.

your skin was shifting, the torn edges pulling themselves together in jerky, uneven motions. the bleeding slowed, the exposed muscle knitting itself back in place.

it wasn’t clean or seamless. the new skin was raw, red, and puckered, the kind of scar that looked like it belonged to a battlefield, not a middle school gym.

“oh my god,” someone whispered.

the gym teacher rushed over, her face pale as she knelt beside you. “stay still,” she said, her voice trembling. “help is on the way.”

the ambulance ride was a blur, your parents' faces even blurrier when you saw them in the hospital waiting room.

your mom hugged you tightly, her arms trembling, while your dad stood stiffly in the background.

you thought the worst was over. you were wrong.

later that night, sitting at the kitchen table, you tried to explain what happened.

“it wasn’t me,” you said quietly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of a napkin. “it just… happened.”

your mother didn’t respond right away. she looked at you for a long time, her expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“you’re one of them,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

the words hit like a slap. your father didn’t say anything. his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the back of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

“we’ll figure this out,” your mom said eventually, though her tone was more for herself than for you.

but they didn’t.

at school, the whispers started almost immediately. someone must have told.

“mutant,” a boy sneered as you passed in the hallway, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

the word clung to you, sticking like glue no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

your classmates avoided you like the plague. even your closest friends began to drift away, their excuses flimsy and half-hearted.

“my mom says i shouldn’t - ” one girl began, then stopped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

you stopped asking after that. stopped trying.

instead, you withdrew.

your parents weren’t much help, either.

your mom tried, in her own way. she asked how school was, offered to drive you to and from classes, but there was always a tension beneath her kindness, a stiffness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

your dad barely spoke to you at all.

he would sit at the dinner table, reading the paper, his face hidden behind the rustling pages. when you tried to make conversation, he would grunt in response, his answers clipped and distant.

you knew it wasn’t anger. it was fear.

the scars kept coming.

every time you tripped, every scrape and bruise, every accident - they all left their mark.

your body healed itself instantly, sure, but not without a price.

you stopped wearing short sleeves altogether, the constant stares too much to bear.

you spent most of your time alone after that. books became your solace, a way to escape into worlds where people like you were heroes instead of freaks.

fantasy novels, mostly. you devoured stories of knights and sorcerers, of battles and triumphs.

but no matter how many books you read, you couldn’t escape the weight of your own reality.

some nights, when the house was quiet and the walls felt like they were closing in, you would cry softly into your pillow, the ache in your chest too much to hold back.

you learned to hide your emotions, too.

the last time you’d cried in front of your dad, he’d winced, like the sight of your tears was physically painful.

“you have to be stronger than this,” he’d said gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “people like you don’t get to be weak.”

it wasn’t fair, but you listened.

by the time you were eighteen, you’d learned two important lessons.

first, people would always see the scars before they saw you.

and second, no matter how much you tried to hide them, the world would never let you forget what you were.

🌀 a few years later…

you never understood why they did it. your parents - the people who were supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally - were the very ones who handed you over.

it happened when you were still too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, too naive to know the horror you were about to face. they’d told you that it was for your own good, that it was necessary. they said the facility would make you better - make you stronger. they promised you’d be safe there, that they’d be right outside the door if you needed them.

but when you reached the gates of the compound, you saw their faces - familiar but distant - before the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind you. they didn’t even try to fight it. they didn’t look back.

you were a child, small, innocent, and vulnerable. you couldn’t have known what was coming.

they called it the program. they never told you exactly what it was - never explained the tests, the injections, or the experiments. but you could feel it all. every sharp prick of the needle, every invasive procedure that left you raw and trembling. it was all about control, about making you something they could manipulate, bend to their will.

they trained you like an animal. they broke you down piece by piece, until you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror. the pain of the experiments became a constant hum in your body. your mind, too, slowly dulled as they erased the parts of you that once made you human.

they kept you in a cage, a box that was your world. your only companions were the cold walls and the sterile air, the only sounds the occasional voices of the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hallways.

in those dark moments, you questioned everything. who were you, really? what were you becoming? you couldn’t remember your life before the compound, couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t a part of their twisted plan.

then, one day, something changed.

you’d been in that sterile room for weeks, if not longer. and when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, you thought it was just another round of tests - another round of pain. but when the door swung open, it wasn’t a scientist or a guard standing there.

it was a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a harsh, unreadable face. he wasn’t one of them. he was different.

he was here to take you.

he told you his name, though it didn’t mean anything to you. he said they were going to break you out, that you were free now, that they had no more hold over you. but nothing was ever that simple. nothing was ever as easy as it sounded.

he led you down cold, metal hallways, past security, and through doors that felt like they might be your last. every footstep echoed in the silence, and with each one, you thought maybe it was a trap. maybe they were going to drag you back to that cage.

but it never came. instead, the man pushed you further into the complex, until you found yourself standing in front of an exit - a set of heavy doors, marked with nothing more than a simple code on the screen.

this was the moment, he told you. this was your chance to run.

you ran.

your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the feeling of freedom was overwhelming, and it was all you could do to keep your mind from drifting back to what you’d been through. you pushed it away - the fear, the anxiety, the voices in your head telling you that you were still a prisoner in your own skin.

but when you reached the gates of the facility, there was no escape. no one was there to help you.

just when you thought you were free, the men in black uniforms emerged from the shadows, surrounding you in a circle, blocking every exit. you knew then that this was never going to be over. they weren’t going to let you go.

and in the middle of it all, your mind flickered back to your parents. why? you wondered. why did they do this to me?

their faces were cold in your memory now, distant like they had been the moment they handed you over to the program. you weren’t their child anymore. you were just a project.

but you didn’t have time to think about that now. the fight wasn’t over.

you’d escape this, too. you had to.

the compound was chaos - loud, frantic, and disorienting. alarms blared in every corner of the facility, the sound nearly overwhelming your senses. everything felt too bright, too sharp, the noises too jarring. you had learned to block out most of it over the years, but in this moment, it all rushed back, drowning you.

you barely had time to process what was happening. everything had gone sideways far too fast. guards ran in every direction, chasing after people - some fleeing, others doing what they could to stop the chaos. the entire building felt like it was falling apart.

you knew you couldn’t stay here. you had to move.

you had to finish what you started.

you stumbled through the hallways, barely able to keep your feet beneath you. the pain from the wounds you’d sustained was a constant companion, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was distracting you. it was the memories - the flashes of everything you’d been through - the tests, the injections, the cages.

but now wasn’t the time for weakness. now wasn’t the time to look back.

when you reached the lab, you couldn’t believe it. everything was laid out in front of you - files, plans, even test results. everything you needed to finish your mission. but before you could move toward them, something shifted.

the door slammed open with a deafening crash. instinctively, you dropped to the floor, fingers scraping against the cold tiles as you slid behind a metal table.

shadows danced in the doorway.

the x-men.

you’d heard of them - everyone in the mutant world had - but never in person. and now they were here, a group of strangers entering your nightmare, bringing their own kind of chaos with them.

you peeked cautiously from behind the table, watching as they quickly overpowered the facility’s security. each member of the team moved with precision - beast’s large form barreling through walls, cyclops’s visor flaring with every blast, and storm summoning lightning with a mere flick of her wrist. the room seemed to come alive with their power.

“she’s the one,” one of them called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “take her down.”

you held your breath, eyes widening as they closed in on you. they weren’t just here for the facility. they were here for you.

but you weren’t some damsel in distress.

you’d spent years training, escaping from countless situations far worse than this. you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. so, you moved.

swiftly, you darted from your hiding spot, catching the man off guard. you weren’t sure who he was - just another one of their team - but the shock in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you’d caught him off guard.

but that split-second advantage wasn’t enough. before you could get another strike in, a powerful force slammed into your side, sending you crashing into the floor. you winced at the impact, your vision blurring as you tried to push yourself up. someone was kneeling next to you now - someone strong and familiar - but everything felt hazy.

“hold still,” a gruff voice ordered. “you’ve been through enough.”

you wanted to snap at him - wanted to tell him that he didn’t know anything about you - but the words wouldn’t come. and as you fought against the darkness creeping in, you realised that you couldn’t fight anymore. the exhaustion from days of running, fighting, hiding, it all caught up to you.

you didn’t even remember when you lost consciousness.

when you awoke, everything felt wrong. there was an unfamiliar weight in the air, a soft, sterile smell that clung to your senses. you tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your head, forcing you to stop.

you were in a bed.

the bed was unfamiliar. it wasn’t like the hard floors you had grown used to, or the metal cots they’d kept you on. no, this was soft - comfortable, almost too much so.

you blinked, your vision clearing as your senses slowly returned. you were no longer in that hellhole. no longer in the compound where they kept you.

but where were you now?

the room was quiet, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. the bed beneath you felt like a luxury. everything about this place was different. warmer. safer, almost.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. a figure stepped inside - someone you didn’t recognize at first, but then, as he moved closer, you could see him more clearly. tall, with dark hair and a rough, scruffy face. his eyes were intense - calculating, like he was studying you from the moment he walked in.

you didn’t trust him. you didn’t trust anyone.

“you’re awake,” he said, his voice low, rough. “good. you’re safe for now.”

you tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, as if you hadn’t used it in days. you coughed lightly, but still, the words wouldn’t come.

he reached for something beside you - a glass of water - and held it out to you. “drink. slowly.”

you didn’t want to take it. didn’t want to trust him. but you were parched, and the dry feeling in your throat was unbearable. so, you reached out and took the glass, drinking slowly, careful not to spill. the water was refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the dread building in your chest.

“where am i?” you finally croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

“the x-mansion,” the man answered, not missing a beat. “this is where we bring people who need help. you’re safe here.”

you didn’t believe him. you didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

but before you could respond, the door opened again, and another figure stepped in. this one was more familiar - his posture rigid, his presence commanding. a man who seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

“logan,” the first man said, a note of caution in his voice. “she’s awake.”

logan��s gaze flicked to you, sharp and unyielding, as though he could see right through you.

“how long?” logan asked, his voice tight.

“a couple hours. she’s stable.”

logan didn’t respond. he just kept staring at you, his eyes narrowing. there was something about him - something dangerous and cold. and yet, beneath that, there was a flicker of something else.

you couldn’t place it, but it made your heart race.

“you,” logan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “we don’t know what you’ve been through. we don’t know if you’re a threat.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“we’re not going to let anything happen to you,” the other man said quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “but you need to understand. this is just as dangerous for us as it is for you.”

you wanted to argue - to tell him that you weren’t the one to be scared of, that you weren’t the one who was dangerous.

but you couldn’t find the words. instead, you sank back into the bed, your thoughts spinning, your body heavy with exhaustion. you couldn’t escape this life. not now. not yet.

but maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to survive it.

as the hours stretched on, your body ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical injuries. the weight of your past pressed down on you with every breath you took, and you couldn’t escape it.

you closed your eyes again, letting the darkness take over.

for now, at least, you were safe.

but you had no illusions about your future. nothing was ever truly safe.

and logan? he wasn’t about to let you forget that.

you could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your own breath, the steady rise and fall of your chest as the darkness pressed in on you. the world outside felt so distant now - no longer the chaos of the compound, no longer the sound of explosions and gunfire. here, in the safety of the mansion, you almost felt like you could relax.

almost.

your limbs were heavy, your body aching in places you didn’t even know existed, but it was the exhaustion that wore at you most. it wasn’t just the physical toll, though. the ghosts of your past were still there, just out of reach but always lurking in the back of your mind.

you had done things. horrible, unspeakable things. and it didn’t matter where you were now - whether you were in the mansion with strangers who couldn’t possibly understand or back at the lab where they had made you into something else - it didn’t matter. you were still that person. the monster. the killer.

and yet, here you were. safe. for now.

but there was no such thing as true safety. not for someone like you. not for someone who had been broken and remade by those who had no mercy.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

a knock at the door.

you stiffened, the muscles in your back tensing instinctively. it was probably one of the x-men, maybe hank or scott, checking on you. but a part of you - the part you didn’t want to acknowledge - hoped it was logan.

you didn’t know why. maybe because he was the closest thing you had to an anchor in this strange new world. maybe because, despite the bitterness and the anger in his eyes, he was the one person who seemed to understand the weight you carried. not because he wanted to understand, but because he knew pain. he knew darkness.

but you couldn’t trust him.

you couldn’t trust anyone.

“come in,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

the door creaked open, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of surprise in logan’s eyes when he stepped into the room. it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the usual guarded expression that always made you wonder what he was thinking behind that hard exterior.

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he stood there in the doorway, his posture tense. it was almost like he didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you wondered if he had come to check on you because it was what was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

it was probably the latter.

you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against the headboard. “what do you want?” the question came out harsher than you intended, but it was too late to take it back now.

logan stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “just checking,” he muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges. it almost sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t sure why he was here. but the way his eyes kept flicking to your face made it clear he was still trying to figure you out. maybe you didn’t make sense to him.

“checking on what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he hesitated for a second, looking away. when his gaze returned to you, it was guarded again, the walls firmly in place. “you’re not dead yet.”

you snorted despite yourself, the bitterness bubbling up in your chest. “what, you think i’m going to fall apart just because i’m here?”

he shrugged, the movement quick and dismissive. “didn’t say that.” he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still studying you. “but you don’t exactly look like you’re in one piece.”

“and you’re not here to help with that,” you said, your voice sharp. “so what do you want?”

logan’s eyes flashed for a brief moment - something unreadable, something buried beneath the layers of his hardened exterior. you could almost see the frustration behind his eyes, though he hid it quickly, masking it with the usual indifference. “look,” he muttered, “i didn’t come here to babysit you. but if you wanna go out there again, you better be able to hold your own. i’m not gonna coddle you. i’m not here to make you feel better.”

his words stung more than you expected. was that what you wanted from him? no. you didn’t need anyone to “coddle” you. but something about his tone - cold, dismissive - made the weight of everything feel heavier.

"i can handle myself," you said quietly, looking away from him, hiding the sting in your eyes.

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “you should’ve said that to yourself when they were doing this to you,” he muttered under his breath. but it was loud enough for you to hear. it felt like an accusation, like a slap to your face.

you flinched, but tried to cover it. "don’t pretend you care,” you shot back, your voice breaking just a little.

logan didn’t flinch. in fact, he didn’t even react at first. but you saw the tension in his body, the way his fists clenched by his sides. he opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it, brow furrowed.

“i don’t give a damn about what you think about me,” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost like a whisper. “but i can’t stand seeing people throw themselves away without a fight. you can fight. but you gotta decide whether or not you wanna keep doing it.”

he turned on his heel, heading for the door. "we’ve got a long way to go before this is over. don’t think you’re gonna get out of it that easily."

and with that, he left, leaving you alone once more in the still silence of the room. the door shut with a soft click, but you could still hear the echoes of his words rattling around in your head. the weight of them sat heavy on your chest.

he didn’t care about you. not in the way you wished he would. but he cared about one thing: survival.

you hadn't expected much from logan. you never did. but you still couldn't shake the bitter taste his words had left behind. they gnawed at you, even though you told yourself it didn’t matter. you'd been through worse. you could handle it.

but there was something about the way he'd spoken to you that made your stomach twist. it wasn’t just what he’d said - it was the way he said it. like you were nothing but a problem to be solved, a task to be managed. his words were cold, sharp, like they were meant to cut deeper than they did.

he didn’t care. he never would.

you were sitting at the kitchen table, the bright, sterile lights of the mansion making everything feel even emptier than it already did. it was one of those rare moments where the mansion felt... silent. as if it, too, were waiting for something. maybe it was waiting for you to break.

you hadn't seen logan since he’d left your room earlier that day. a part of you was glad for it, even if you hated the reason why. the truth was, you didn’t know if you could look at him again without that biting edge creeping back into your voice.

a voice - someone's voice - cut through the silence.

"you alright?"

you flinched, startled. you turned to see scott standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. of all people, scott. you didn't want to talk to anyone, but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. he was trying to be kind, but it felt too... loud.

"yeah," you said, your tone flat. you pushed the empty mug in front of you away, suddenly too aware of the quiet surrounding you. "just... tired."

scott didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it. instead, he took a seat across from you, looking like he had something else on his mind. it wasn’t a long time before the door opened again, and the last person you wanted to see walked in.

logan.

you didn’t even look up. the instant you heard his boots on the floor, you felt the walls come up, higher than before. you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret. you knew he’d seen your face, the way your mood had shifted earlier, but he didn’t care. nothing you felt mattered.

logan didn’t even acknowledge scott as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. he looked disinterested, almost bored, like he was doing this out of obligation.

you focused on the mug in front of you, trying to ignore him. you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but the words he had said still hung in the air, suffocating you. maybe you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help it. he’d made you feel small.

"what’s up with you?" logan’s voice was rough, breaking the uncomfortable silence. he was looking at you now, and the gaze sent a shiver through your spine, though not in a way that felt good. it felt like an accusation.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

instead, you picked at the edge of your sleeve, the fabric worn thin, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. why did you care?

"you’ve been acting off since we got back," logan continued, his voice a little more insistent. “you’re not some porcelain doll. quit pretending like you are.”

you couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. the way he always saw you as fragile - it made your blood boil, and you hated how much it stung when he said things like that. porcelain doll? you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protection. you weren’t weak. but the more you tried to convince yourself, the more the truth settled on you like a heavy weight.

"i’m not pretending," you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. your hand clenched into a fist, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay calm. you didn’t want to get into it with him. not now.

but logan wasn’t letting it go. his eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was searching for something. it didn’t feel like concern; it felt like judgement.

“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking. “because from where i’m standing, you look like a damn mess.”

you sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to sink with each word. a damn mess.

it was like a slap across the face. you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, a deep, gnawing sensation that told you to shut down, to stop caring. but the words, those words, kept echoing in your mind, getting louder with every breath.

you look like a damn mess.

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t defend yourself because it felt like there was no defence to it. what could you possibly say to that? the worst part was, you were starting to believe him. maybe you were a mess.

but in that moment, the anger bubbled up - anger you didn’t even know you had - and you didn’t care about anything else except getting him to stop. to stop seeing you like that.

"maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself," you muttered under your breath, but the words were brittle.

logan didn’t back down. “you’re not fooling anyone, kid. if you can’t even keep yourself together long enough to pull your own weight, you don’t belong here.”

the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, harsh and unforgiving. it felt like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the sting that followed.

you looked up at him then, your eyes burning with the anger and hurt that had been building up. “you don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

but logan wasn’t done. he never was.

"you're damn right, i don't," he said, his voice still biting. "and i'm not interested in learning. all i know is, you’re a liability. and i don’t need one of those around."

the room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. a liability. that’s what you were to him. that’s what you’d always be.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. it was as if your body had made the decision for you, your legs shaking with the force of the emotions swirling inside you.

"i’m done," you muttered, turning on your heel. you didn’t care if he was still watching you. you didn’t care about anything anymore.

you just needed to get away.

the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence and the distant echoes of the words that had broken you.

liability. a mess.

and somewhere deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. it was only the beginning of something much worse.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @bbittenapples, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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the-real-dannix · 2 days ago

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There are degrees of shipping people with the Batfam. Like a spectrum even for established relationships.

And each non-bat can be anywhere from full civilian to other JL to someone turned this character into a bat by proxy.

My favorite is bat by proxy because it's a hilarious thing to me.

I mean, the ships that come to mind where the later works really well are Birdflash and TimKon. Which makes it better. Because Wally is a Flash and Kon is a Super. Two of the other rather large clans of themed leaguers with two of the other more recognizable family heads. I mean, throw in JayRoy and it's three of the others and adds in the Bruce v Oliver fun.

And the Bat by proxy thing.

I don't mean they just side with the Bats over the rest of the League. I mean they start becoming Bats by virtue of always being around them.

Like Wally just accidentally learning to be better at hearing people sneaking up on him because if he's gonna go to brunch with Dick at the Manor he has to be able to dodge these near silent people. Especially Damian, who will stab him if he fails a vibe check, and Tim, who will steal and solve your cases or hack your phones ringtone to be stuck at the loudest setting and playing Barbie world for every notification and there is no in between our way to tell which kind of day it is. So none of the League can sneak up on Wally. And he's smiling and capable like Nightwing but has also picked up that steal slightly crazy smile and no other flash is quite as scary as Wally.

Or Kon, after being constantly threatened with kryptonite by Steph, Jason, and Duke at various points just gives up and learns how to fight through the weakness and goes through enough bat training to be able to survive when he and then he's one of the best trained Supers in hand to hand and no one understand how. And because he's always around Tim, he gets really good and reading people. Because his life can and will depend on being about to tell if Tim is approaching someone at a gala for WE business or for RR business. Even the other supers are confused at how quick his is to pick up in the slightest shift in body language.

And Roy. It was easiest for Roy, going from Arrow to Bat. But that doesn't mean he didn't have to just get used to casually collecting blackmail as some kind of twisted way of showing love. The first time Tim gave him and Jason a photo of them on a date where neither of them knew Tim was watching or talking pictures Roy is shook. By the tenth he's finding it endearing and hoping that Tim manages to get around Jason's traps to get done candids of Lian. No other arrow is quite as stealthy, despite the red of his costume.

And the JL, even the 'families' they came from, know that they have the ability to appear normal. To blend with the rest of the League, but the longer they're with their Bats the more cryptid they become. Until Flash finds himself unsettled by Wally in the same way as the other Bats. And Big Boy Blue refuses to train with Kon for a different reason than before, no longer because of the clone thing but for the same reason he avoids training with any of the Bats. And Green Arrow finds himself looking over his shoulder for Bruce and Roy on the Watchtower.

And their secrets are more and civi identities locked down. No names in my the field and they never slip these days. Like any good Bat.

New Leaguers meet these converts and can't tell the difference between the Bats Batman chose and the ones the other Bats brought into the fam.

And the rest of the League starts to wonder: is being a Bat contagious?

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eu-nicola · 12 hours ago

Text

not yours part 4

summary: Rafe Cameron is the perfect boyfriend… but not yours, but Sofia’s. However, fate plays against you when you become the only person capable of understanding him in his darkest moments. What begins as a dangerous friendship soon becomes an attraction impossible to deny.

warnings: nothing i think

word counter: 8734

author’s note: english is not my first language, final part

tags: @immyowndefender @luannemarureis @xcinnamonmalfoyx @fallout-girl219

The trip was over, and with it, you returned to the reality you had wanted to avoid. During the journey back, a mix of nervousness and anxiety had accompanied you. Rafe had promised you that he would leave Sofia. But now, days later, that promise seemed to have been forgotten.

Since they returned, everything had returned to normal for him. Or at least, that facade of normality. Sofia was still by his side, as always, smiling and unaware of everything that had happened. And Rafe… Rafe was still the same as always. Attentive to her in public, but seeking you out in private, as if nothing had changed, as if his life could be divided between both worlds without consequences.

At first, you wanted to give yourself time, to believe that maybe he needed a few days to sort things out. But every time Sofia posted a photo of them together or talked to you enthusiastically about how things were working out again, you felt a pang in your chest, a mix of anger and disappointment.

That day, after ignoring several of his messages, you ended up going to his house. Not because you wanted to, but because you needed answers. The atmosphere was tense from the moment you walked through the door. Rafe greeted you with a light smile, as if everything was fine, as if he didn’t know what you had come to tell him.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said casually as he led you into the living room. His tone was carefree, as if the last conversation you had hadn’t happened, as if the world wasn’t falling apart between you.

You sat on the couch, crossed your arms, and stared at him. He noticed your serious expression, but tried to ignore it, moving closer to you like so many other times. However, this time you didn’t allow it. You moved away slightly, keeping your distance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feigning innocence, but you knew he understood perfectly.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, feeling frustration begin to boil inside you. Rafe, are you really asking me that?

He shrugged, as if he had no idea what you were referring to. That gesture bothered you more than it should have.

“You promised you would leave Sofia when we got back,” you finally said, your voice firm but restrained. You didn’t want to lose control, even though everything in you screamed for you to do so. “You told me this was going to end.”

Rafe sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and dropped into the chair in front of you. He looked tired, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

“Things are more complicated than you think,” he finally answered, as if that sentence could justify everything. “I need time.”

“Time?” you asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. “You had time. Days, weeks… and in the meantime, she still believes that everything is fine, that you are with her.”

Rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his intense gaze locked on yours.

“It’s not that easy. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Those words hit you. He didn’t want to hurt her, but apparently, hurting you was a much easier option.

“You don’t want to hurt her?” you repeated, this time with a colder tone. “And what do you think you’re doing with me?”

Silence settled in the room. For the first time, Rafe seemed speechless, unable to respond.

“You promised me something, Rafe. You told me that I was the person you wanted, that all of this was going to change. And here we are, days later, and everything is still the same. You’re still the same.”

He stood up, as if he couldn’t stand the conversation from the couch. He paced the room, frustrated, but you couldn’t empathize with him. It was his decision, and so far, he hadn’t done anything.

“It's not that simple…” he said again, but this time his voice was softer, almost a whisper.

“Yes it is” you said firmly, standing up too. “If you really loved me, you would do the right thing. But it seems you'd rather stay with her, where you can have both of us.”

Your words hung in the air, raw and painful. Rafe looked at you with his lips pressed together, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the right words.

Finally, it was he who broke the silence:

“I don't want to lose you.”

It hurt you to hear it. Because he didn't want to lose you, but he didn't seem willing to do what was necessary to keep you either.

“You're already losing me, Rafe.”

You turned your back on him, ready to leave, because you knew that if you stayed, you would end up giving in, like so many other times. And this time, you didn't want to be the one who always forgave.

The air in the room was thick with tension, and your words still echoed in your mind as you began to walk towards the door. But before you could take another step, you felt a firm hand grab your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Without saying a word, Rafe turned you towards him, his face filled with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on: desperation, frustration, desire… maybe all of it.

Before you could react, his lips met yours in an urgent kiss, as if he needed to feel you close, as if he was trying to take back everything he had just said. It was a kiss full of contradictions, almost as if he wanted to ask for forgiveness and, at the same time, claim something he knew he had no right to ask for.

Your mind fought against your body, which responded with a mix of rage and desire. You were angry, yes, but you couldn’t deny what you felt when he touched you like that. Every part of you screamed to stop him, to pull away and not let things happen again, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. The desire was stronger, and before you could make a conscious decision, you found yourself beside him, back in his arms, kissing him with an intensity that surprised you.

He guided you towards the couch, and as upset as you were, you couldn’t pull away. The anger was still there, but somehow, that didn’t stop you from moving forward. Maybe it was the exhaustion of constantly fighting what you felt for him, or maybe it was the hope that things could change after this moment, but when the barriers you still held were stripped away, everything else fell away.

Anger and resentment mixed with the passion of the moment, an emotional chaos you couldn't escape. You knew it was wrong, you knew it was a surrender, but you didn't say no. As emotions and bodies intertwined, reality faded away, leaving you lost in desire, in the contradiction of being furious but unable to reject him.

When it was all over, silence settled in again, heavier than ever. You were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. He looked at you with a mix of guilt and satisfaction, and even though you knew what had just happened wouldn't change anything, you couldn't help but feel something inside you breaking.

And so, in the midst of that confusion, the words you hadn't wanted to say continued to float between you, without an answer that could ease what you felt. You got up and changed and before leaving you told him:

“Next time you look for me, make sure you've made a decision. Because I'm not going to continue being the option you keep in the shadows.”

And you left, leaving behind a Rafe who, for the first time, seemed to understand that things couldn't go on like this.

That same night, anxiety continued to vibrate in your chest. Every word you had said to him still echoed in your head, and although you knew you had done the right thing by facing him, you felt restless, uncomfortable, as if something was about to break.

You arrived home, exhausted both physically and emotionally. You didn't want to think about him anymore. You lay down on your bed and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. The silence was almost oppressive, and your mind kept replaying every detail of the conversation with Rafe.

Just as you were beginning to fall asleep, the sound of your phone lit up the room.

A message.

You reached out, feeling the cold of the device on your skin, and as you unlocked it, Sofia's name appeared on the screen. Your stomach immediately contracted. It was too late for her to text you something casual.

With a mix of nervousness and curiosity, you opened the message.

“Rafe dumped me.”

Three words that froze you completely.

You read the message over and over again, making sure you hadn’t misunderstood. But no, there it was, clear and direct. Sofia, your best friend, had just been dumped by Rafe… and with no explanation.

Your heart was pounding, and you felt a surge of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was relief. Relief that Rafe had done what you had asked, what you had demanded of him. But there was also guilt. Because you knew you were the reason, even if Sofia didn’t know it.

Another message came seconds later.

“He didn’t say anything. He just… left me. Just like that, suddenly.”

Your mind filled with images of Sofia, alone, confused, wondering what she had done wrong, not knowing that the truth was much darker than she could imagine.

You wanted to respond, but you couldn’t find the right words. What could you say? How could you comfort her when you yourself were so involved in what had happened?

Several minutes passed before your fingers finally moved over the screen.

“Sof… I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

You knew it was an insufficient answer, but you had nothing better to offer. You felt like anything you said would be a lie or a betrayal.

Her response came quickly:

“No. I’m not okay. I don’t understand anything. We were okay… or at least I thought we were.”

You read her message with a heavy heart. You knew exactly what she felt. You had seen how Sofia struggled on the trip, how she tried to save a relationship that, for her, still had a future.

“I want to see you.”

The next message took you by surprise. Sofia wanted to see you, now. Your first instinct was to refuse, to look for an excuse, something that would allow you to avoid the inevitable confrontation. But how do you say no to your best friend at her worst moment?

“Of course. Tell me where you are.”

In less than fifteen minutes, you were at her front door. Sofia greeted you with swollen eyes and a tired face. There was no trace of the girl who just a few days ago was excited to save her relationship.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered as she let you in.

You entered the living room, where the atmosphere was as heavy as Sofia’s gaze. She sat on the couch and you sat next to her, feeling the weight of guilt in every fiber of your body.

“I don’t understand what happened,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “We were fine… at least I thought we were fine.”

The sincerity in her voice broke you. You wanted to tell her the truth, but you knew that doing so would destroy everything: your friendship, your trust, everything you had built together. So you stayed silent, letting her vent.

“She didn’t even give me a reason,” she continued, nervously playing with her hands. “She just said she couldn’t go on. I don’t understand…

And you didn’t understand how you had gotten to this point either. How had you allowed everything to fall apart so quickly?

“Sof…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. What could you say that didn’t sound hollow? “Sometimes… people are cowards. They don’t know how to handle things and they end up running away.”

She looked at you with eyes full of tears.

“Do you think that’s it? That she just… didn’t know how to handle it?”

You nodded slowly, even though you knew the truth was much more complicated. It wasn’t just that. It was Rafe, it was desire, it was everything they had both done behind each other’s backs.

“Sofia, he doesn’t deserve you if he can’t be honest with you.” It was the most sincere thing you could offer her without giving yourself away.

She sighed, letting her head fall on your shoulder.

“Maybe you’re right. But… it hurts. It hurts so much.”

And as you comforted her, you felt your own heart break in two. Because you knew that Sofia’s pain was, in part, your fault.

The weeks following Sofia's breakup with Rafe became an emotional whirlwind that seemed impossible to escape. Sofia, devastated and confused, sought your comfort constantly. And you... you were there for her, like the loyal friend you had always been. But guilt slowly consumed you.

Every time she cried on your shoulder, every time she asked for advice, a part of you was torn apart. Because while you offered her words of support, while you told her everything would be okay, that she deserved better... you continued to secretly see Rafe.

Rafe, who had promised to leave her, who had said everything would be easier once he did. But nothing was easy. The guilt, the tension, the constant lying... it all weighed more than you had imagined.

One afternoon, Sofia showed up at your house with swollen eyes and a broken voice.

"I don't know what to do, I still love him. I can't stop thinking about him."

You stayed silent, biting your lip, trying to contain the torrent of emotions that was overwhelming you. You loved her so much, but you loved him too. It was a paradox that was tearing you apart from the inside.

“Maybe… maybe it’s best that you try to move on,” you finally said, your voice shaking.

She looked at you with eyes full of despair.

“Move on? I can’t. How do you move on when everything you wanted was with him?”

You didn’t know what to answer. Because you were living that same contradiction. You were trapped in something you didn’t want to let go of, but you knew it was destroying you.

Later that night, your phone vibrated on your nightstand. You knew who it was before you looked at the screen. Rafe.

The message was simple, direct.

“Come see me.”

You hesitated. You wanted to go. You wanted to see him, to feel the fleeting relief that being with him gave you, even if it was only for a few hours. But every time you did, the guilt sank deeper.

Finally, you gave in. You arrived at his house when the sky was already dark, and the warm light that illuminated the entrance seemed to mock you. You entered with a divided heart.

Rafe was waiting for you in the living room, leaning on the edge of the table, with that look that always managed to disarm you. The air tensed as soon as your eyes met.

“How is Sofia?” he asked, although he didn’t seem really interested in the answer.

“Bad,” you said frankly. “I have a hard time being around her… knowing what we’re doing.”

Rafe took a step towards you, his blue eyes fixed on yours, intense and challenging.

“Why do we keep hiding?” he asked, his voice low but firm. “She should know.”

The weight of his words fell on you like a stone. You took a step back, shaking your head.

“No. She can’t know. Not now. She’s broken, Rafe. If she finds out now… I’ll lose her forever.”

He frowned, frustrated.

“So what? Are we going to stay like this forever? I want you, not her.”

Your heart stopped for a second. There was something about the way he said it, with such certainty, such conviction, that for a moment you almost let yourself go. Almost.

“I can’t do that to her, Rafe,” you whispered, almost begging. “I can’t be the reason for her pain.”

“What about you?” he replied, moving closer, his hands finding yours.

You looked at him, caught between desire and guilt. Yes, you wanted to be happy. But at what cost?

“I can’t be happy at her expense,” you said, your voice breaking.

Rafe watched you in silence for a few seconds, his eyes assessing you, as if trying to understand the internal battle you were fighting. Finally, he sighed.

“I don’t want her. I want you.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You knew it. You had known it for a long time. But hearing it out loud, said so clearly, made it more real… and more impossible to ignore.

“It’s not that easy,” you murmured, looking away.

“It doesn’t have to be hard. Just tell me you love me too.”

You couldn't answer. Because your heart that was beating wildly, the way your hands trembled in his, and how, despite everything, you kept coming back to him, had already said it all for you.

"Don't make this any harder," you begged, your voice almost inaudible.

Rafe came even closer, his lips brushing your cheek in a gesture that was both soft and desperate.

"Sooner or later, he's going to find out. I can't keep pretending that I don't want to be with you."

The following days you felt trapped between the happiness of finally being with him and the anguish of what was to come. You knew that nothing good could come of this, but Rafe seemed to be in a different reality.

He wasted no time in integrating you into his world, a world that until then had been foreign to you. The first time he took you to one of those meetings with his friends was completely unexpected. He had insisted that you accompany him, assuring you that it would be something casual, just a relaxing afternoon. You had no choice but to accept, even though a part of you screamed that you shouldn't.

When you arrived, the atmosphere was full of laughter, music, and carefree conversations. Rafe's friends, the same ones Sofia used to hang out with, greeted you with smiles and greetings as if everything was perfectly normal. But the most shocking moment came when, almost casually, Rafe introduced you as if nothing had happened:

“She's my girlfriend.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. You hadn't even talked about what you were. You hadn't defined anything. But he said it so naturally, with such confidence, that his words hung in the air. You felt everyone's gazes on you, evaluating you, judging you. Some seemed surprised, others simply accepted the information without further ado.

You tried to stay calm, smiling slightly as your mind raced. He had crossed a line without consulting you, and it left you baffled. However, you didn't say anything at that moment. You didn't want to make a scene, not there, not in front of everyone.

For the rest of the evening, you stayed out of the way, watching, analyzing every move, every glance. Rafe, on the other hand, seemed comfortable, unconcerned, as if there was nothing left to hide. Every now and then, he'd come up to you, put his arm around you, or give you a kiss on the cheek, marking his territory without caring who was watching.

But you knew this wasn't going to go unnoticed. Sofia and those friends shared circles, rumors spread quickly in that environment. Sooner or later, she was going to find out.

That night, when you returned home, you couldn't help but confront him.

"Why did you tell them I'm your girlfriend?" you asked, your voice tenser than you had planned.

Rafe looked at you calmly, as if he didn't understand your concern.

"Because you are."

“But we hadn't talked about it. You didn't ask me.”

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

“I didn't see the need to talk about it. You and I are together. That's all that matters.”

His words, though simple, didn't ease the anxiety that was eating away at you inside. Because you knew that for him it was easy to say it, easy to act as if there were no consequences. But for you, for Sofia... none of this would be easy.

That night, as you lay in your bed, the weight of the situation kept you awake. You wondered how many more days could pass before everything exploded, before Sofia discovered the truth and your whole world fell apart.

And as you had said, Sofia found out. You didn't know exactly how, if it was because of the rumors that spread like wildfire in that closed circle or if someone, perhaps with malicious intentions, decided to tell her the truth. But the result was the same: your friendship with her, the relationship you valued so much, was about to break.

It all happened one afternoon when Sofia, with a dry and direct message, asked you to go to her house. "We need to talk." Two words that already gave you an idea of what was to come. You felt a knot in your stomach as you headed to her house, as if every step you took brought you closer to the edge of a cliff.

When you arrived, Sofia was waiting for you in the living room. There was no trace of the kind and warm Sofia who always greeted you with a smile. Her eyes, usually full of sweetness, now shone with a mix of pain, anger and betrayal.

“How long?” she asked you without preamble, her voice cold, sharp.

You tried to stay calm, but your hands were shaking slightly.

“Sofia, I...”

“How long have you been with Rafe?” she repeated, this time with more force, her eyes fixed on yours as if they wanted to pierce you.

The silence that followed was deafening. You knew that lying was pointless, so you took a deep breath and confessed:

“For a while now… after the trip.”

Sofia’s expression changed in an instant. The pain turned into anger, an anger you had not seen in her before.

“After the trip?” she blurted out in disbelief, taking a step towards you. “While I was trying to save my relationship with him, you were with him behind my back?.”

You tried to explain yourself, but every word felt empty, useless.

“It wasn’t planned, Sofia. I didn’t want it to happen.”

“But it happened!” she interrupted you, her voice breaking. “You were my best friend, I trusted you. I thought you were on my side, that you supported me… and all this time you were with him.”

You felt her pain stab you like a dagger. It was true. You had betrayed her trust, something you never thought you would do, but now it was impossible to deny.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you said in a whisper, knowing that your words wouldn’t be enough.

Sofia laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh of joy. It was a bitter laugh, full of disappointment.

“You didn’t want to hurt me, but you did. You took away the person I loved, and not only that, you also took away my best friend.”

The truth of her words hit you hard. You had lost something irreplaceable: her friendship.

“Sofia, please… can we talk, can we…”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she interrupted you again. “Everything has already been said. I don’t know who you are. I don’t want to know anything more about you.”

Each word was like a stab. You wanted to hug her, to ask for forgiveness, but the wall that had been raised between the two of you was too high, too thick. Sofia looked at you one last time, her gaze full of resentment and pain, before turning and walking away.

You stayed there, alone in that room that had previously witnessed so much laughter, now empty of everything you had shared with her.

When you left her house, the weight of guilt and sadness became unbearable. You had lost Sofia, and the worst of all was that you knew there was no turning back. The lines you had crossed with Rafe had broken something that could not be repaired.

That night, Rafe texted you, as always, asking how you were. But this time, you didn't reply. Because nothing was right.

The next day, everything felt different. The breakup with Sofia still weighed on your chest, like an open wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. You'd barely slept, and when you finally opened your eyes, the first thing you felt was that emptiness that your friendship used to fill.

Rafe noticed it right away. You weren't the same. Your answers were short, your eyes avoided his, and your every move seemed laden with a sadness you couldn't hide. Still, he was there. He texted you early that morning, offering to spend the day with you, to which, after a moment's hesitation, you agreed.

When he got to your house, he didn't say much. He simply looked at you, understanding that there was something broken in you, something that he, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't fix. But that didn't stop him from trying.

“Come on, get out of here for a while,” he said softly, taking your hand with a gentleness unusual for him.

You went out together, and even though you didn’t feel like doing anything, he didn’t leave you alone. You walked along the beach, that same beach that had witnessed so many moments between you two, but that now seemed laden with a silent melancholy.

Rafe tried to distract you. He bought you coffee, he took you to a secluded place where you used to escape from the world, he even tried to make you laugh with jokes that normally would have worked. But not today. Today everything seemed out of place.

At one point, as you walked along a deserted path, you stopped.

“I shouldn’t be here with you, Rafe,” you murmured, looking at the ground, as if the words hurt to come out. “Not after what happened.”

He looked at you in silence for a few seconds, his face serious but not losing that touch of tenderness that he rarely showed.

“I know you’re sad,” he said finally. “And I'm not going to pretend that this isn't complicated… but I'm here because I want to be here. Because I want to be with you.”

You didn't know what to say. His presence was comforting, yes, but it was also the reason for your loss. You felt a constant struggle between guilt and desire, between what was right and what made you feel alive.

Later, when you both sat on the sand in front of the sea, the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. Rafe put an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. You let yourself go, resting your head on his chest while you listened to his heartbeat, strong and constant, as if he were trying to transmit some of his own calm to you.

“You're not alone, you know that?,” he murmured.

“I feel alone.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't respond immediately. He just held you tighter, as if that was enough to keep you whole, even if inside you felt like you were broken.

You spent the rest of the day together. There were no big words or extravagant gestures, just the silent company of someone who wanted to be there, even if he knew everything was strange, complicated, almost impossible.

When you finally returned home, Rafe walked you to the door. Before saying goodbye, he looked at you with an intensity that made you tremble.

“If I could, I would fix everything for you,” he said, almost in a whisper. “But for now, just let me be here.”

And even though you knew that relationship was built on a fragile foundation, that night you decided that, at least for one more moment, you would accept his company.

As the days went by, things calmed down. Rafe was more present than ever, and even though you felt like your world had fallen apart, he was still there, constant, firm, and increasingly involved in your life. But the void that Sofia had left was still there, reminding you of everything you had lost.

One afternoon, while you were at his house, lost in your thoughts on the patio, Rafe appeared with that confidence he always had, as if everything in his world was under control. He sat in front of you, looking at you with a seriousness he rarely showed.

“We need to talk.” His voice was low, but firm.

You looked at him, somewhat nervous. There was something in his expression that made you tense.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, crossing your arms, trying to prepare yourself for whatever was coming.

Rafe leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.”

The air seemed to have suddenly become thicker. You looked at him, surprised, not knowing how to react.

“Your… girlfriend?.” you repeated, as if you hadn’t quite understood.

He nodded, not looking away.

“Yes. I don’t want to keep hiding, I don’t want this to be something half-baked. I want you to be mine, and I want everyone to know it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had waited for this moment, somehow, but now that it was happening, a mix of emotions flooded over you. There was a part of you that wanted it, that wanted to accept and leave all the guilt and fear behind. But there was also that other part, the one that knew things weren’t that simple.

“Rafe… this isn’t easy.” You tried to find the right words, but he interrupted you.

“It doesn’t have to be easy,” he said, with that characteristic confidence. “It just has to be real. I love you, and you love me. What else matters?.”

You stayed silent. You knew he was partly right, but you also knew that accepting meant definitely giving up any chance of regaining your friendship with Sofia.

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, you took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay.” The words came out softly, almost shakily. “I accept.”

Rafe smiled, that smile that always made you feel like everything would be okay. He leaned in and kissed you, a soft kiss, full of a silent promise. You were his now, and he was yours.

The next day, you decided it was time to try something you had been avoiding: talking to Sofia. Now that you were with Rafe, you thought it was the right thing to do, to make things clear. Enough time had passed since everything fell apart, and although you knew it would be difficult, you wanted to, at least, try to fix things.

You called her first, but she didn’t answer. So, gathering your courage, you went straight to her house. When she opened the door for you, her face reflected surprise, but also a coldness that you had never seen in her before.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, without inviting you in.

“Sofia… I wanted to talk to you.”

She looked at you in silence for a few seconds, before crossing her arms.

“I don’t know what else there is to say.”

You felt the weight of her words, but you didn’t give up.

“I know I screwed up, and I know you probably don’t want to talk to me again, but… I miss you. You were my best friend, and I don’t want this to end like this.”

Sofia looked at you with a mix of hurt and anger.

“Do you miss me?” she repeated, her voice full of sarcasm. “Because I confided everything to you. I confided my relationship to you, I confided my problems to you, and you…” Her voice cracked a little, but she quickly recovered. “You were with him behind my back.”

You tried to explain, but she held up a hand to stop you.

“I don’t want to hear excuses.” She said it with a cold calm that hurt more than if she had shouted. “What you did… can’t be fixed with words.”

You stood there, feeling how every attempt to get closer was rejected. You knew you were right about many things, but you also knew there was no turning back.

“I just wanted you to know…” you said finally, your voice breaking. “That I’m sorry.”

Sofia didn’t answer right away. She simply looked at you, as if she was evaluating how sincere you were.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.” Her voice was firm, but there was a trace of sadness in her eyes. “But for now… I’d rather you didn’t come back.”

The words were a final blow. You turned around and walked out, feeling the door close behind you, marking the definitive end of something that was once important.

When you returned home, Rafe was there, waiting for you. He welcomed you with a hug, as if he understood without you saying anything.

“How was it?” he asked softly.

You didn’t answer. You just held onto him tightly, feeling the tears you had been holding back finally come out.

You had lost Sofia. But at least, for now, you had Rafe. And that, at that moment, had to be enough.

Despite everything you had lost and the pain that the breakup with Sofia had left you with, there was something that was beginning to heal inside you: your relationship with Rafe. Against all odds, he had become someone who made you feel safe, wanted, and, above all, loved.

The days with him were different. It didn’t matter how much chaos surrounded your lives, because when you were with him, everything seemed to make sense. Rafe, the boy who had previously seemed unattainable, focused on himself and his own world, was now yours completely. And he didn't just show it to you with words, but with constant actions that spoke louder than any promise.

There were the small, everyday gestures: he would show up at your house unannounced, with your favorite coffee in his hand, or some flower he had plucked from who knows where, just because he knew it would make you smile. The text messages at any time of the day, reminding you how much he loved you, how he thought of you even in the middle of his routine. He was always there, making sure you knew you were the most important thing in his life.

But there was something you never imagined he would do. Rafe Cameron, the boy who had always been reserved, even in his way of expressing himself, had gone above and beyond.

One afternoon, while you were at his house, both of you lying on the couch, he began to play with your hand, tracing soft circles on your skin. There was a calmness in the air, a peace that you both shared. Suddenly, he sat up and looked at you with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“I have something to show you,” he said, with that spark in his eyes that always intrigued you.

You looked at him, curious, as he stood up and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt a little, revealing the inside of his arm. And there it was: a small, delicate tattoo, just below the crook of his elbow. Your name. It wasn’t big or flashy, but it was perfect. The typography was simple, clean, elegant, almost like he was whispering rather than shouting.

You were speechless. You knew tattoos weren’t his thing. Rafe had always been more of a minimalist, averse to anything that could permanently alter his appearance. But there he was, with your name etched into his skin.

“You did it for me?” you asked, still taking in what you saw.

He smiled, that soft, genuine smile he rarely showed.

“For you,” he answered without hesitation. “Because I want you to know this is forever.”

You felt a warmth in your chest, a mix of happiness and excitement that you couldn’t contain. You gently stroked the skin around the tattoo, admiring the way it looked. It was something subtle, but meaningful, like he had found the perfect way to show you how much he loved you without losing his essence.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, still in disbelief. “You… weren’t into tattoos.”

Rafe shrugged, downplaying it.

“It wasn’t,” he admitted. “But some things are worth it. And you… you’re worth it.”

The words hit you hard, but in a sweet way. You hugged him, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his heart beat against your chest. At that moment, you knew that, despite everything, you had made the right decision.

From then on, every time you saw him, your eyes inevitably returned to that tattoo. It was a constant, a reminder of what you had built together, of how he had decided to bet on you. Even in his busiest moments, at meetings with his friends or in the busiest places, that little detail made you feel special, as if you were always present in his life, even when you weren't physically by his side.

You were fine with Rafe. It had been weeks since everything changed, since you crossed that line that you had so feared, but that now seemed to have been the best decision you had made. The relationship was moving at its own pace, neither too fast nor too slow, just the way you liked it. You didn't want to force anything, and Rafe seemed to understand that perfectly.

The days with him were a mix of tranquility and passion. They had found a balance. They went out together, shared moments in the privacy of their home or walked around the city, but always with that complicity that made them feel unique. There was no rush, nor expectations beyond what both of them could handle. You were fine, really fine.

You had tried to talk to Sofia again on more than one occasion. You tried because, despite everything, she had been your best friend. You knew you couldn't erase the shared history or the memories you still treasured.

The first time you looked for her, it was complicated. She didn't want to see you. She didn't answer your messages or your calls. It didn't surprise you, but it still hurt. The second time, you managed to meet her at an event that you were both invited to. You approached her, with every intention of explaining, of asking for forgiveness, of trying to save what little was left between you.

"Sofia," you called her cautiously, trying to get her attention. "Can we talk?"

She looked at you, her eyes cold, distant, nothing like the warmth they used to have when you were her confidant.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said bluntly, making it clear that there was no room for second chances.

You accepted her decision. You understood that some things simply couldn't be fixed, that there were wounds that wouldn't heal, and that the price you had paid for being with Rafe had been high. But, for the first time, you didn't feel guilty. You had done what you could, and now you just had to move on.

A few days after that last conversation with Sofia, you spoke to your mother. You needed to talk to someone, to get advice, or simply to feel the comfort that only she could offer.

You told her everything: how you had tried to repair the relationship with Sofia, how Rafe had become a fundamental part of your life, and how, despite everything, you were happy with him.

Your mother listened to you attentively, with that wise look she had always had. When you finished speaking, she put her cup aside and looked at you seriously.

“Did you do all this for a man?” she asked you, her tone firm but without judgment.

“Not just for him, Mom,” you answered. “I did it for me too. Because I love him.”

She nodded slowly, processing your words. Then, with that frankness that had always characterized her, she challenged you:

“So, if you love him so much and you have come this far, you better marry him.”

The phrase took you by surprise, but it didn’t bother you. It was typical of your mother to be direct, and deep down, you knew she was right. You stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking.

“You know what? I think I will,” you said with a soft smile. “I’m sure I’m going to marry him.”

And you were. Because, despite everything you had been through, the losses and the difficult decisions, Rafe was the man you wanted to build your future with.

Since that conversation with your mother, the idea of marrying Rafe stopped being just a fleeting thought. It became something tangible, something you saw in every gesture of his, in every look, in every moment you shared.

Rafe showed you that day after day. He was there for you on good days and bad, taking care of you, protecting you, making sure you knew how much he loved you. And you reciprocated that love with the same intensity. You had found in him a stability you never imagined having, a peace that made you feel complete.

You didn't know when or how it would happen, but you were sure that when the time came, you would be ready to say "yes."

And after so much, a year had passed. A year since everything changed, since you crossed that line you never thought you would cross, and since, with Rafe, everything took a new shape. You had learned so much in that time. Not only about him, but about yourself, about what love and complicity in a relationship meant. It had been a year full of intense moments, of ups and downs, of doubts and certainties. But now, looking back, you could only smile at everything you had experienced with him.

After a while, you had gone to live with him. Your parents had helped you move in and, strangely, they had gotten along very well with Rafe, being that your parents were somewhat peculiar and he was too. Now they were on the beach, a quiet afternoon, just before the sun set. The sound of the waves gently breaking on the shore and the fresh air caressing your face created the perfect atmosphere. They were sitting together on the sand, enjoying the peace, each other's company, without the need for words. Everything seemed to be in place.

Rafe, who had been looking at the horizon, looked at you with a different, more intense expression. He gently took your hands, as if he wanted to make sure you would feel it. His deep gaze left you speechless, and your heart beat faster at the seriousness on his face.

“You know I love you, right?” he asked you, as if he needed to confirm it, even though you knew you did.

You nodded, smiling tenderly. There was no doubt that you wanted him, that you loved him.

But what happened next took your breath away. Rafe stood up, gently put you down, and walked over to a small backpack he had left nearby. From there he pulled out a small box, and your heart skipped a beat. It had been a year full of hints, of little moments in which the two of you talked about the future, about the possibility of taking the next step. But you never thought it would be so soon, not so soon after everything that had happened.

Calmly, he walked back to your side, opening the box with a shaking hand, and inside, a ring gleamed in the evening light. It was delicate, perfect for you. It had a soft glow, but what made it truly special was its story: his mother’s ring, a jewel that had been passed down through generations of his family.

Rafe looked into your eyes, waiting for you to process what was happening. The sound of the waves was the only thing breaking the silence, but at that moment, everything else disappeared.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, his voice firm but charged with emotion. “I’ve asked you to be my girlfriend, and now I want you to be my wife.”

Your heart raced. Everything you had imagined, everything you had felt during that year, everything you had experienced with him, was condensed in that very moment. Rafe wanted to be with you, not just now, but always.

“Yes,” you answered, almost without thinking. Yes, because you loved him, yes, because you couldn't imagine your life without him, yes, because he had spent a whole year showing you what love really meant.

The sun was beginning to set behind him, tinting the sky in warm tones. At that moment, there was nothing more important than being there, next to him, knowing that the future they both dreamed of was within reach.

And even though it wasn’t the first time he had proposed to you, this was the most special. Rafe had done it before, a couple of times, but always in spontaneous moments, almost as if he said it without thinking. Each time, you had responded with a smile and a nervous laugh, because deep down, you knew you weren’t ready yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him, it wasn’t that you didn’t feel completely happy with him. It was just that, sometimes, the idea of getting married so quickly scared you. You wanted to be sure that it was the right thing to do, that you were both ready to take that step.

But as time went by, everything started to fall into place. You had shared moments so deep, so intense, that the commitment to get married didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. You accepted Rafe’s proposal not out of obligation, not because he was asking you to, but because you knew it was what you really wanted. You had been patient, and in those moments when you had questioned yourself, you had found the answer.

It was several minutes before you said anything. You just stared at him, the ring on your finger, feeling the weight of what it represented. Finally, you hugged him. You didn't need words, because everything was clear between the two of you. You knew that the rest of your life would be with Rafe, and that made you happier than you ever thought you would be.

You had lost a friendship, and although at first the idea of losing Sofia had torn you apart, as time went by you realized that you no longer regretted it. Everything that had happened between you, Rafe, and her was behind you, like a page in a book that now had nothing but scars and memories. It wasn't easy to say it, but in the end you knew that it had been necessary. The decisions you had made, although painful, had brought you to a place where you felt complete, to a place where you knew who you were and what you wanted.

You looked back only to realize that you had grown. The weight of loss no longer crushed you, not the way it once did. You had gotten over the pain of losing a friend you once considered almost a sister, but now you knew that in life, people change, and sometimes, those same people have to let you go so you can move on. Love, decisions, the paths you take... all of that comes with a price.

With Rafe at your side, you had found something new, something that completed you in a way you never thought possible. And what you had lost with Sofia, as much as it hurt, allowed you to open the door to what was yours, what you deserved.

You were there, sitting on the sand in silence, watching the waves gently crash against the shore. The sun was already beginning to disappear on the horizon, dyeing everything in orange and pink tones. Rafe broke the silence, his voice soft but full of intention.

“Do you know what I want most in life?” you asked him.

He looked at you, smiling softly.

“What is it?” he asked, curious.

“I want children. I want a family.” You took his hands, looking at the horizon as if you were visualizing that future. “I want our children to grow up and look like you, like us. And I want to be the best mother I can be.”

“And I want that,” he answered sincerely, squeezing your hands gently. “I want a family. I want our children to be more like you than me. I want to be the father they need, always.”

You looked at him tenderly, caressing his face with your fingertips.

“And I'm going to help you with that. We're going to do it together.” You smiled, feeling your heart beating hard, sure of what you were saying. “I already have everything planned in my mind. And I know it's going to be amazing. No matter what happens, we're going to do it together.”

Rafe smiled, a sparkle in his eyes, grateful and hopeful.

“I never thought I'd find someone like you” he said, his voice low, but full of emotion.

“Just you and me.” you said before giving him a kiss.

He hugged you, and for a moment, the world disappeared. There was only you and him, the sound of the waves, and that future that now felt so close, so real.

Now, standing there, with the ring on your finger and the promise of a future full of love and adventure, you knew that what was coming would be the best for you. The past was behind you, with all that it entailed. You no longer felt resentment or remorse. You had done what you thought was right at the time, and you had done it for yourself, for the love you had found.

Now you were going to do something new. It wasn't just a new beginning with Rafe, but a new chapter for yourself. You were no longer just the girl who had been caught in an emotional triangle, or the one who had had to choose between two people. You were now someone who knew what she wanted, who had learned to make difficult decisions, accept the consequences, and move forward with her head held high.

With Rafe, and with the commitment that your ring now represented, you were going to create something completely new. Something that didn't depend on what had happened, but on what was to come. No looking back, no regrets. Because in the end, only you knew what made you happy, and now you had the chance to live it.

THE END

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