#but like. I know I'M pissed but why are YOU pissed??

[carisa-ironfell]

If you're going to church just for the "sermon" and want to get pissy about getting "lectured" instead, you're not actually listening to what's being said (or your pastor isn't saying the right things) and you definitely aren't going to church for the right reasons. It's just autopilot at that point, just a pointless ritual that doesn't mean anything. And I know this from experience because that's WHY I stopped going to church. I wasn't getting anything useful out of it, and the environment was taxing my mental health instead of helping me heal. I wasn't growing, I was just miserable and angry and bitter.

The point of church, as I've always understood it ever since I was little, is to connect with the other members of your community and help each other learn and grow and continuously become better people, to follow Jesus' teachings and LOVE people. You go to church to LEARN, and when needed, to be guided back to the right path by your pastor and/or your peers. That's literally their job. For example, most of Paul's writings. (Paraphrased: Y'all are acting crazy, stop doing that. Here's how to fix it.)

You don't have to agree with others' choices in order to love them, and something that a LOT of Christians seem to miss is: if you're not getting through to someone and you can't change their mind, let it go. The seed is planted, and there's a chance that years down the line, God will speak to that person and they'll be ready to listen. Shouting in their face (literally or figuratively) is only going to make them get defensive and shut down and push that time further away.

Anyway. No one who claims to be Christian or any kind of servant of God should be rejoicing in mass slaughter. And I've had to listen to "Christians" rant about how great and amazing the nightmare in Palestine and other Middle Eastern conflicts are, and it makes me sick. Whether you agree with them or not, people don't deserve to die like that. And if there's a member of a church who tries to implore the president to do something positive about that whole disaster, don't get pissed off with them, because they seem to understand the teachings better than you do.

I don't really consider myself Christian. I want nothing to do with that (generalized) group of people, because I have yet to meet any of them who make sense to me and can help me grow. I believe in God, I do my best to act in ways that reflects Him, but until the church starts shaping up and actually behaving with love and compassion instead of hatred, I'm not involving myself with them. It's dismal to watch and it makes my heart ache. And I can only imagine God probably feels the same way in a lot of cases.

I wasn't expecting to say this much ._. Uhh, sorry if anyone actually reads this lol Be safe and well! With love, Reggie 🤍

The lack of self-awareness is truly astounding.

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I think?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

[impish-baby]

Did you get enough love, my little dove? - platonic yandere! Captor x reader - 🤍🩹 (cw: threats, injured reader)

"The fuck do you mean!?" Wren can tell Elijah is ready to pull his hair out if this deal doesn't go through, he's been pacing since the call started. "We already showed you the pictures of them all busted up, we're serious about killing the little shit!"

He feels bad. Normally he can will it away, convince himself that the rich families they exploit deserve it, but from the start you've said over and over and over again that your father wouldn't give them anything, that he didn't care. It seems like you weren't lying.

"Bastard-" the phone smashes against the wall, sending shards of glass and plastic scattering across the floor. "Dammit! What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Wren doesn't get a chance to say anything before a gun is aimed at their latest victim's head.

They look so scared. He can feel his heart constricting in his chest when they start to sob again, God they're young.

"Elijah, wait a minute-" He doesn't know why, but he can't just let this kid die. "We can figure out a new plan, right? Don't do something without thinking it through."

"Like what?" Elijah scoffs, he's so pissed his hands are shaking, he can't even keep the gun straight. "You know what we should do? Send their corpse wrapped in a pretty bow to that asshole."

"The boss should have a say," Wren smiles nervously, desperation seizing his heart. "Yeah? Give it until he's back before we do decide." It's his best bet and it works, the other man storms out of the basement with a slam of the door.

"God.." He sighs, slumping against the wall before glancing over at them. They're still crying, he's going to have to get them to drink something. Wren can do that, a glass of water and some kind of snack.

"I- I'll be right back.." They don't acknowledge his departure, not that he expects them to.

Elijah must have gone off to smoke, the older man isn't around when he comes up the stairs. A good thing, Wren really doesn't really want to explain what he's doing.

The kid doesn't look up when he returns, nor when he kneels down in front of them. "Hey, sweetheart.." he feels so awkward, "I'm gonna untie you for a bit, ok? Don't try to get up though."

Their wrists have been rubbed completely raw, probably rope burn. He's seen much, much worse but he still winces. "Ow, kiddo..I'll get you patched in just a minute, you need to get something in your system first."

He delicately places his hands over theirs when they try to hold the cup, partly because he isn't just going to give them a potential weapon and partly because their hands shake so bad he's scared they'll drop it. "There you go, try for a few drinks, you can do it.." Wren has never thought about being a father, but he has the inexplicable urge to be gentle with them. "Good job, baby. Can you try to eat a little for me?"

The answer is no apparently. They get one tiny nibble of an apple slice before they look like they're about to puke, all the fear and adrenaline is probably making their stomach upset. A few sips of water is good enough for now, he'll try them again with some crackers later.

"Alright, alright, I'm going to bandage your wrists up now. I'll be careful, I promise." They've been shaking the entire time, but it hurts a little when they tremble more as he holds their arm delicately. "I know, I'm scary, huh? It'll be quick, just so you don't get a yucky infection or something." Their tearstained face is pitiful, Wren wants to wipe the dried lines of tears away and tell them it'll be ok. He doesn't want to be a liar, though.

(a/n: sorry for lack of posts!!! This week has been kicking my ass qwq I'll be back to posting regularly soon!!)

[chrissleftshoe]

"it's not right and you know it."

Includes: use of y/n and ma.

This part is short because part 3 will be longer (yes I'm making part 3 it will be out by next Wednesday)

Pt.2

As you walk in the room the glow of purple from the LED lights shine down, revealing Chris is not there.

I start panicking, searching, everywhere, before noticing the bathroom door is locked "Chris" I say knocking on the door "Chris please," I can hear the heavy breathing on the other side.

"Chris I'm sorry, I fucked up, I know I did and I feel really bad, just please open the door." I say shaking the door handle, and then

Click

I'm finally able to open the door as Chris unlocks the handle, when I walk in I see him sitting on the floor hyperventilating, a nervous and scared expression on his face.

I immediately knew down next to him grabbing one of his hands while the other cups his face "look at me, breathe." "I can't ma."

Chris leans his head into my hand "I'm sorry y/n" "No don't apologize you didn't to anything wrong" "just please breathe for me" Chris's breathing slows down but his nervous expressions stays "what's wrong why are you making that face" "he's-"

"who is he, you have to talk to me Chris"

"After we argued I called Matt and I lied a little, and now he's pissed off and he's on his way."

"You lied, that's not right and you know it"

"I know I know, but what you need to focus on is hiding ma, because he did not sound happy at all."

"Well shit"

Hope y'all like it ok it's short, I'm just edging u for part 3😈😈🫶🤫

Taglist: @trevorsgodmother @pr3ttylittleslutt

@mattswrinkleton @lyingonchris

@kissesfromkitty @sturnshood

@sturniolostars @sturniololuvz

@bernardsbendystraws @chrisisadilf

@chrepsi @chrislilcumslvt

[nottriddlethis]

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Ravenclaw!reader

summary: Mattheo has always been annoying you. So since when did the things change?

warnings: smut, oral (male!receiving), dirty talk, language, 50/50 soft!Mattheo🤷🏻‍♀️, use of pronoun 'I'

author note: dedicated to all these tiktok creators, I love you with all my deepest💞🔥 Green - Mattheo, pink - you.

. ✦ 「 ✦ me ✦ 」 ✦

It always pissed me off how Mattheo Riddle could be so perfect without trying. No, the fact that he was related to a bloody villain who had practically built a new world on bones certainly cast a shadow on him, but he handled it masterfully. He was perfect at Quidditch: dexterous movements, strong back and arm muscles. (all these girls surely were delighted, and that made me even more irritable) And if only that! He had not only strong magic, but also a bloody sharp mind. I bet he would have been the best in grades if he had cared even a little bit about it. As a Ravenclaw, the squandering of such a gift infuriated me almost from our first meeting. And I probably would have let it slide over time, if he hadn't looked at me so condescendingly, so relaxed and so… his way. If he hadn't always inserted his idiotic phrases and smiled so annoyingly wide.

He's been around all the time, barbarically stealing my peace and thoughts.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Mattheo ✦ 」 ✦

Your name is the first thing that would come to my mind if I were asked about pleasure. The pleasure of seeing those brows drawn together in anger. The pleasure of making those lips purse in irritation. The pure pleasure squeezing my cock when you scream at me, your cheeks flushing and your chest heaving wildly. Up and down, up and down. Just like my hand, which would give me pleasure much later.

Because teasing you - is the sin I'm going to die with.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Potions project ✦ 」 ✦

"If you wink at that Gryffindor one more time, I'll brew you into an impotence potion," I whispered sharply, pressing the Potions book hard to the table. His arrogance is unbelievable.

Mattheo chuckled faintly and leaned back lazily in his chair. "Are you jealous, beauty?"

I swear, I've never rolled my eyes so hard before. "I'm annoyed. That's not the same thing."

Mattheo pretended to be deep in thought, tilting his head to the side.

"So, I annoy you?"

"Wow, how did you guess?"

I continued writing, not interested in the conversation anymore. Mattheo, of course, didn't let up. He lazily ran his fingers over the pages of the book. I glanced at how his arm muscles flexed at the motion. Big and strong. Big and strong? I slap myself out of these thoughts. Mattheo then leaned closer, as if he was about to say something really important.

"You know," - he lowered his voice a little, so that I felt the warmth of his breath on my fingers, and I even cocked up my ears, "I think you spend too much energy resisting my charm."

I looked at him from under my brows, my lips pursed involuntarily. “No, I'm just too smart to be seduced by you.”

Mattheo froze, looking at me, and then… smiled. Widely, slyly, with some strange, deep interest. I kept my gaze on him longer than usual because... I've seen him smile many times but now something hot spilled from my chest. The rest is required. Let’s finish this finally. I stood up, collecting the books and getting ready to put them back in their places.

“I know,” - he said quietly behind my back. “That's why I'm crazy about you.”

I felt the heat spread even more and blossomed in my cheeks. I was about to say something harsh, but for some reason… for some reason my lips trembled slightly in a smile. I walked further to the shelves to hide my confusion. Flawless bastard. I felt his self-confident grin behind me.

"Still," he yelled, leaning back in his chair, "Impotence potion won't break me, not after I've seen you."

The students turned to snicker at his shout, and I smacked him over the head with my Advanced Potions Course.

"Keep it up, Riddle, and I'll brew you something else."

"Like a love potion?"

"Oh, aren't you already in love with me?"

I rolled my eyes, but the lack of his usual humor gripped my heart in a vice.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Charms project ✦ 」 ✦

"Is it some kind of ancient curse bringing you to be my partner in every possible project?" you muttered, and as my own ritual, I was enjoying your narrowed eyes, the beautiful wrinkle on the bridge of your nose. Right up until the moment when you slammed your bag on the table and threw off your robe. Damn Merlin would have turned around in his grave. Pure Witch.

I overheard you mutter something like "barely made it after a shower" and deservedly praised the creator of muggle clothing. The blue top with wonderfully thin straps hugged your rounded breasts and outlined your waist. Do you think it's not enough for a rock hard cock? Think again.

You sat down at the table and the mounds of your breasts were almost next to my drool-filled mouth. Just an arm's length away. Bin-go.

"You know, you could work at Mungo's…", you looked up warily at my words, and I continued, "well, treat impotence, for example." "Mattheo…", here was a beautiful blush on your cheeks and liquid fury in your charming eyes. Pleasure when you always switch to my name when you are furious. I watched you leaned on the table and bent over. Breasts pressed against each other from the pressure. And my cock definitely felt it too. "So, judging by how much you mention this disease, it is something personal, right?"

"And will you help me?"

You demonstratively sat back and pulled out a parchment from your bag. This project will be just as long.

***

"… you still double-check my every word. So what's the point of writing?" I tore my gaze from your thin fingers clutching the quill and moved it to your eyes. Of course, stopping my gaze on the cleavage along the way. An absolute gorgeous.

"I just won't include your name in the work," you said seriously. And a smirk determined my next steps. One wave of my hand, and I leaned closer to inspect my work. Your quill, which had just been supposed to write down a list of counter-curses, wrote in my handwriting: Mattheo Riddle.

You frowned. Crossed out the name and tried again.

Mattheo Riddle.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you turned sharply to me. "You." How I missed your attention, beautiful.

"Me?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what" I leaned closer, looking at your scribbled sheet. "Oh, my. Apparently your body recognized me before your brain did."

And for about 10 minutes, you tried to disenchant the quill. With each unsuccessful - literally all - spell, the quill wagged its tip and its feathers slapped your cheek.

"If only you'd used half that power of yours to study…" you threw your hands up in indignation. I watched as your breasts jumped with the movement. How loudly would you scream if I bit them now? How deeply would you blush if I pulled that damn top down? How angry would you be if…

A sly smile spread across my face. I looked up, catching your movement. Just as your fingers closed around the quill, intending to break it, I jerked my hand, whispering a spell.

And I was ready to undo in my pants as soon as the tip of the quill rested against your round breasts. You froze, looking at it. It came letter after letter, and it felt like a measured jerking of my cock.

Mattheo Riddle.

Black on your breasts.

And the last thing I remember before I managed to run away from the rage in your eyes is your sweet open mouth, incredibly red cheeks and neck, and the most fucking hard nipples sticking out under the fabric of your top.

. ✦ 「 ✦ Astronomy project ✦ 」 ✦

I had washed off the ink long ago, but for the second week in a row, every time Mattheo Riddle looked at me, my chest burned and I felt every letter of his name. It burned in a way I would never admit, as behind the closed curtains of the bed, I ran my hand over my chest, shuddered, and went lower and lower. And only when I came silently on my hand - imagining his broad forearms, muscular back, and dirty whispers - did the burning calm down.

Tonight, the Astronomy project was separate for everyone and everyone finished closer to 1.30 am. We were sitting at low round tables with food, specially organized for late practices.

The damn feeling that Mattheo knew everything tickled me from the very beginning. He sat at the next table, constantly smiling at Blaise and completely ignoring me. Worse, his body was clinging to a single black T-shirt. And then, as if sensing my gaze, Mattheo stretched - invitingly, slowly - flexing his muscles, and exposing a strip of skin above his belt. For Merlin's sake! I turned away, but only to notice unpleasantly that I was not the only one who appreciated his actions. The girls were devouring him with their eyes. I pursed my lips. Don't you look at him. Just for a second I imagined if Matteo became tired of all these jokes for me, and one of these girls would capture his attention instead. Jealosy washed all of my feelings off.

I came to my senses when I was poked in the side and I heard Mattheo calling. He was looking at me attentively and holding a bowl in his hands. "What?" I whispered with my lips only and managed not to smile.

There were strawberries in the bowl. "Damn delicious. Just like you." Mattheo saluted me with the bowl and groped with his other hand on his desk. I felt the usual tension in my chest, my thighs moved together, my pussy clenched. But I didn't have time to answer him.

"And this is me," Mattheo raised his other hand and deliberately slowly poured thick white cream into the bowl. I watched without blinking as the viscous liquid dripped, came into contact with the pink strawberries, mixed and filled everything.

Gasps of surprise and confusion came from all around, and I could literally feel the girls staring at us.

So keep your eyes open then. I reached for the bowl and snatched it from Mattheo. I looked only at his eyes - blackened and insolent - and brought the bowl to my mouth and took a few sips. Pink drops ran down my chin from the edges of the wide bowl.

It was pure pleasure to watch his eyes open, devouring my movements. His mouth parted and a heavy breath escaped it. He couldn't help but understand my hint, as I did his. I would have given him 100 points for his clenched jaws, and all 1000 for the bulging veins on his tense hands.

Only one thought was troubling me at that moment - if only after the lesson there wouldn't be wet traces left on the fabric pouf under my panties.

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch? ✦ 」 ✦

The irritating tension of the final cup match almost reached the level of irritation at the lack of you. Malfoy doubled the training, Zabini scheduled free time to study strategy. Although the only strategy that worried me was 'how to finally get you'. Undoing three times in a row that night only because of the thick drops on your chin didn't seem enough. The cock throbbed to be inside your throat.

Two hours before the match the mood was furious. I last saw you at breakfast, talking to Nott about something. That's where the rage started. Well, that's pretty nice fuel for an important game, I decided, walking last to the team's locker room. The last thing I expected was to be suddenly pushed into a spare and dark room. The whisper of a locking spell reached for my ears. My cock recognized that whisper before I did and twitched. The whole world went off as I watched you go down on your knees. Am I already the winner?

. ✦ 「 ✦ - pre-quidditch. ✦ 」 ✦

I saw how Mattheo's eyes widened in surprise as I suddenly pulled him to the wall and sank to my knees before him. A light blush spread across his pale cheeks, highlighting his shock at my bold move. Perfect. Perfectly Mattheo Riddle in his tight quidditch uniform towered over me distracted and vulnerable. His breath hitched in his throat as my gaze met his, a flicker of desire mixed with confusion in his dark eyes.

"D..don't think I don't like it but now.., beauty?" he stammered, his usually confident demeanor cracking slightly. Despite his words, his hips twitched forward almost unconsciously, drawn to my proximity. I rolled my tongue over my gums in anticipation and studied him.

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, itching to reach out and touch but hesitant to some reason. The dim candlelight cast shadows across his toned chest and abs, visible through his partially unbuttoned team shirt. Merlin help me, he is so flawless. Puppy eyes for such an arrogant nature.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. The air between us was charged with a new kind of tension, a mix of flirtation and vulnerability. I licked my lips slowly and almost approach them to his pants' zipper. Mattheo let out a heavy breath, his hands clenched into fists. I ghost the zipper outline with my lips, feeling his groin was already rock hard. I licked it with a tip of my tongue. All along.

His primal groan sent shivers down my spine right into the already soaking pussy. His hands flew up to grab me but..

"Touch me and I'll stop, Riddle"

"No, you bloody witch..." Mattheo pleaded but obeyed. His hands fell to his sides, and he closed his eyes to seek some control.

A pleasant choked moan escaped his swollen lips as I boldly undid his pants in few swift motions, freeing his hard, throbbing cock. Sweet, so fucking sweet finally. It sprang up, already leaking precum from the purplish head. He shuddered, seemed to fight the urge to guide my head down.

"Fuck, please, beauty... if you keep this up, you're going to be the death of me," he panted, his voice strained with desperation. His hips twitched with the need to thrust into hot mouth.

As my hand wrapped around his thick shaft and stroked him, Mattheo couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. His cock pulsed and jumped in my grip, the veins along the underside throbbing with his racing heartbeat. Despite his desperate moaning his words still raw and seducing, "Ohhh fuck... ur fuckin little fingers feels s' good...but bet your little pink pussy is tight even for them."

My pussy clenched in responce, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. "So think about how your cock will be tightly squeezed inside", i teased him.

His only answer was my groaned name.

That's when I reached forward and took him fully into my mouth at once. Mattheo threw his head back and let out a desperate, whining sound that echoed through the empty room. His cock hit the back of my throat, and he had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from rocking into this heat.

"Shit, ur mouth...'s every lustful thought I had," he panted, his hips rocking slightly as he tried to restrain himself. I loved how his moans are mixed with bold words, "Suck me just like that, you naughty little minx... Fuck, I want to touch you so badly, to grab your hair and fuck your pretty face until you choke on my cock... but I'll be good, I promise, don't stop beauty.."

I enjoyed. Enjoyed as...

Mattheo was practically sobbing with need, his voice a desperate wreck as he fought to obey my rule. "Please, I've been waitin so long for you girl.." The sounds of his moans and whimpers bounced off the walls, a lewd symphony in the dim light. He was utterly at my mercy, consumed by lust and craving my touch. So good, Merlin, so good. What took me so long to fall for him? So noisy, so desperate, so pleading.

So, I sucked him off so boldly and fast, taking him all for myself. Enjoying every inch of his arousal, touching his pelvis with my nose. Damn Mattheo Riddle was finally getting what he was crazy about. And it made me even more wet between my legs. I tortured him even more, gulping him fully far down. Then licking only his swollen head. Repeated that. Repeated. Mattheo's eyes rolled back in bliss as I focused my attention on the sensitive head, swirling my tongue around it and lapping up his leaking precum. The teasing was driving him absolutely mad with lust. "yes, beauty, 'es... just for once 'm gonna be a good one.."

Then I finally whispered those two magical words - "Touch me" - and Mattheo didn't hesitate. His hands flew to my hair, gripping it roughly as he finally allowed himself to thrust widely into my eager mouth. He set a fast, almost punishing pace, his heavy balls slapping against my chin with each pump of his hips.

"Hell yeah, fucking witch.. my little hussy," Mattheo growled, his voice ragged and desperate. He pulled my head up, forcing his cock deeper as he chased his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"'m gonna fuck ur mouth 'til you can't breathe, 'til all you can taste 's my cum. Drink it all down like the greedy hussy you are." And then his hands were more rough in my hair, his hips thrusting more wide.

I was suffocating. But it was nothing because I had not eaten anything since yesterday evening, I could now take him without any particular obstacles. I plot it enjoyably. The gag reflex perfectly bypassed his cock. The small room filled with the obscene sounds of his flesh slapping against mine, mixed with his guttural moans. Wild, desperate, whining my Mattheo. A few more furious thrusts later, Mattheo let out a long, low groan that seemed to come from the depths of his being. His cock pulsed and throbbed violently before he slammed deep into my throat and came abundantly. Sticky, warm, lovely seed flowed down my throat while he trembled and cursed non-stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, ma beautiful chippy...fuckin long s' fuckin long 've been waitin for you" His voice, his body were shaking after orgasm, mouth spitting out unconscious links of words.

As the last spurts dribbled out, Mattheo collapsed down to the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosened "Ohhhh fuck... only dreamt abou..." he stopped mid-word because I kissed him fiercely, licking and marking his lips. I was so horny, so needy for his touch but he had to win this match, so I pulled away and stood up.

His eyes watched as a thin, shiny thread of my juices hung from under my skirt to my knee. And he, still sitting on the floor, reached up and licked it off my knee with his hot tongue. The shiver of subsequent events after the match made me bite my lip.

"The winner will take all." His voice was low and confident. I knew - he would do both:

Win this match right now.

And take me then.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 09

˗ˏˋ rules ˎˊ˗

"Rules are funny things. You make them thinking they'll keep you safe, keep everything contained. But sometimes the person you're really trying to protect yourself from… is you"

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 6.5k

content: candle shop shenanigans, friend group dynamics, rules and boundaries

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY FIRST OF ALL—who absolutely LOVES Yeji? Because ME. The way she clocked Jungkook within seconds and had NO filter??? Like, I'm obsessed. Mans was genuinely SHOCKED that someone told him to sit his ass down. The audacity of this woman to not immediately melt under his smirky, tattooed menace energy?? I respect her so much. A feminist icon, if you will.

And IRYA. Ughhh, my precious girlie. The way she’s just casually vibing with Jungkook? Like?? They are NOTHING alike, and yet she’s over here just mingling with him, being friendly, unbothered, meanwhile Yeji is foaming at the mouth in the background. I love that contrast so much. It’s like, she doesn’t see him as a threat, just another guy in the room, which makes Jungkook (who is used to either being hated or obsessed over) lowkey confused. You can see the gears turning in his head like “Wait. Why aren’t you scared of me. Or pissed at me. Or flirting with me.” HAHAH POOR BOY.

And let’s talk about Jimin, because HELLO, my quiet support KING. He’s not even saying much in this chapter, but he’s there, next to Y/N, just in case. That kind of silent loyalty? The “I know you can handle yourself, but if you need me, I’m already here” type of presence??? I eat that up every time. Their friend group is everything to me.

Speaking of menace behavior—Jungkook. Are we surprised? He’s so unserious about everything. I loved giving him Kuko as a contact name for Y/N because in every fic, it’s always Kook or Kookie or Koo and I just—I wanted something different. Something slightly sharp and weird. Like, why does it sound like a pet name and an insult at the same time 😭😭 It’s PERFECT for their dynamic.

And finally, Y/N. My messy, mouthy, disaster baby. She is THEE representation of someone who’s barely entered adulthood, fresh into uni, kind of immature, kind of figuring it out, but loud as hell about it. Like, I KNOW some of y’all are probably reading this chapter thinking “girl, seriously??” but THAT'S THE POINT. She’s got so much personality, she’s a walking contradiction, she’s flawed, but she’s HER. I love her for it.

I also stuffed this chapter with SO many Easter eggs. Like, the foreshadowing is right there at the end, but I know y’all aren’t catching everything yet. You’ll come back later, reread it, and be like “OH MY GOD, KIKI???” And I’ll just be sitting here like 😌✌️ I love when a plan comes together.

Anyway, here’s Chapter 9, babes. Enjoy the mess. I’m off to go prep for my therapist session because, let’s be real, I probably projected a little too hard in this one LMAO.

⋆｡°✩ read on ✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

You don't know why you agreed to go shopping with Yeji. 

She texted at ass o'clock in the morning about "needing your expert opinion," and honestly? Your sleep-deprived brain just went sure, whatever without processing the implications. You just mentioned having to buy something for Emma — her birthday's in two weeks — and it was downhill from there.

"This place smells like a Pinterest board threw up," Yeji announces as you enter the third candle store of the day. Some fancy boutique with mason jars everywhere and prices that make you want to cry. "Who names a candle Whispers of Moonlight?"

"Someone getting paid way too much," you mutter, checking the price tag. Jesus. "Forty dollars for—is this supposed to smell like grass?"

"Rich people grass." Yeji picks up another one, face scrunching. "Autumn's Last Kiss. What does that even mean? Like, trees making out?"

"Pretty sure it's just pumpkin spice trying to be fancy."

"Capitalism is wild." She moves down the aisle, combat boots squeaking against the polished floor. "Oh shit, look at this one. Midnight Jasmine's Secret Rendezvous. That's not a candle, that's a Mills & Boon novel."

You snort, trailing after her. "Speaking of reading material—"

"We are not starting a book club book chat right now."

"I'm just saying, if you actually showed up to Victorian Lit—"

"And listen to Professor Stevens cream himself over Dickens for two hours? Pass." She picks up another candle, this one in black glass. "Dark Temptation. Bet you five bucks it smells like axe body spray."

She's not wrong. You wrinkle your nose as she waves it under your face. "Why does everything 'dark' and 'masculine' smell like a frat house?"

"Because the straights are not okay." Yeji sets it back, wiping her hands on her jeans like the scent might be contagious. "What did Emma say she likes again?"

"Anything except roses." You pause at a display of seasonal scents. "Her roommate burns those generic rose ones from the dollar store. Pretty sure she's traumatized."

"Valid." Yeji's already moved on to the next shelf, picking up random ones and reading their names in increasingly dramatic voices. "Summer's Sweet Embrace. Woodland Mystery. Oh my god, Bachelor's Button? What the fuck is a bachelor's button?"

"It's a flower," you say, distracted by a actually nice-looking sage and cedar one. Still overpriced, but... "My mom used to grow them."

"Sounds fake, but okay." 

She’s quiet for a second. Then:

"What about this one?" Yeji holds up a purple candle, squinting at the label. "Lavender Dreams. Sounds pretentious as fuck."

"Put that down before you break it," you mutter, scanning the shelves. The prices are criminal. “And aren't you supposed to be in Art History right now?"

"Professor Wang's doing that thing again where he talks about his divorce for two hours." She shrugs, setting the candle back with surprising care. "I've already heard all about Karen three times this semester."

You roll your eyes, picking up a sage-scented one. And no, you're not lingering in the candle section because you love them, okay? Emma likes candles too. It's completely reasonable research for a birthday gift. Nothing to do with how your apartment could use some—

"These are boring anyway," Yeji declares, already moving on. Her attention snaps to something across the street. Barnes & Noble, its windows displaying the latest bestsellers. 

"Wanna check out some books?" she asks, hands stuffed in the pockets of her worn-out grey zip-up. The one she definitely stole from Irya's closet.

"Since when do you read?" You snort, following her out of the candle store. Because you know damn well Yeji's idea of "reading" is skimming SparkNotes twenty minutes before class.

"Woah, judging a book by its cover?" She gestures to her whole aesthetic: combat boots, ripped jeans, that stolen sweater. "Just 'cause I look like this doesn't mean I don't read."

"You told me last week that Romeo and Juliet was, and I quote, 'straight people nonsense.'"

"It is straight people nonsense." She pushes open the bookstore's door, a blast of air conditioning hitting you. "But we need books for the club."

"You mean the chat group you named 'Fuck The Patriarchy Book Club' that's basically just for rambling and complaining?" Like how you ended up here today, victim to Yeji's class-skipping schemes. "That club?"

"Yeah?" She flashes that smile that you’re starting to associate with trouble. "C'mon, I need to check if they have Pride and Prejudice."

You trail after her into Fiction & Literature, past towering shelves and that distinct bookstore smell. "Pride and—hold up. Weren't you just shitting on romance classics?"

"Yeah, and?" She's already scanning the 'A' section with laser focus. "My girl wants to read it, so we're reading it."

"You're buying it because Irya mentioned it once in the group chat."

"And?" Yeji doesn't even pretend to deny it, moving purposefully through the aisles. "My girlfriend has taste. Unlike some people who waste their time reading..." she picks up a random book, "The Art of Corporate Finance."

"That's not even—"

"Found it!" She pulls out a leather-bound edition, definitely not the cheapest version available. "Look at this fancy shit. Irya's gonna love it."

You're about to point out how whipped she is when something catches your eye. A "Now Hiring" sign at the front counter, clean white letters against dark wood. Huh. You've been meaning to look for a job, something to get you out of the apartment more. And to help your finances. too. God knows you’d rather avoid having to ask mom and daddy for more money. 

"Earth to Y/N?" Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Yeah, just..." You gesture vaguely at the sign. 

Working at a bookstore wouldn't be the worst thing. Plus, employee discount.

"Oh shit, you should totally apply." She examines the sign with newfound interest. "Then you can hook me up with discounts on all the books Irya wants."

"I haven't even—"

"Excuse me?" she calls to a passing employee, ignoring your attempt to shut her up. "My friend here wants to apply for the job opening."

You're going to kill her. Slowly. With one of these hardcover books.

But the employee's already turning around—young guy, probably another student, name tag reading 'Mark'—and you can't exactly bolt without looking insane. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Oh, yeah?" Mark brightens. "We're actually pretty desperate for people who can work weekday afternoons. You have any retail experience?"

"I—"

"She's great with books," Yeji cuts in, because apparently she's your agent now. "Like, literally will fight someone over their trash literary takes. You should hear her rant about Hemingway."

You shoot her a death glare, but... well, she's not wrong about Hemingway.

"That's actually perfect," Mark says. "We get a lot of students asking for recommendations. Here—" He heads to the counter, returning with an application form. "You can fill this out now if you want. Manager's still here."

And somehow, because the universe hates you, you end up at one of the reading tables, filling out your work history while Yeji "helps" by suggesting you list your special skills as "roasting bad authors" and "setting pretentious men straight about their Joyce opinions."

Your phone buzzes. Group chat.

6B Hell

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜? 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚗

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚆𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚝𝚑𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚗

You're about to reply that you'll grab some later when another message pops up.

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑��? 𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

What the actual fuck?

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚌 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 

You let out a disbelieving sound. Yeji, who's been "helping" by pointing out every minor spelling mistake in your application, peers over your shoulder.

"What's up?"

"My roommate being a jerk as usual." You know for a fact Jungkook's probably sprawled on the couch right now, doing fuck-all except maybe killing brain cells on his PlayStation. But sure, you should get the coffee.

You: 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

You: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚊𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝?

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚝 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎? 

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. That asshole.

You: 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗? 

You: 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝…

You: 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎?

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚈/𝙽.

Something about Yoongi’s message makes you pause. That's... weird. But before you can think about it:

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 :)

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠?

"I'm assuming he means video games," Yeji says, still reading. "Not the fun kind of grinding."

You elbow her in the ribs.

You: 𝚔 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

You: 𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘

You: 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎? :)

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚗𝚊𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡? ;) 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜? 

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 :)

You're going to murder him. You're actually going to commit homicide, and Yoongi's going to have to find a new roommate, and you know what? He'll probably thank you.

You: 𝚛𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕

You: :)

"So," Yeji says as you aggressively save his number under 'Kuko🖕🏻', "this is fun."

"I hate him so much."

"Uh-huh." She glances at your phone, where he's still sending coffee emoji spam. "You know what this means though, right?"

"That I need better roommates?"

"That you're definitely getting this job." She taps the half-completed application. "Can't spend all your time at the apartment if you're working retail hours."

She... might have a point.

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘 

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚢 

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚈/𝙽, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛. 𝚆𝚎,𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.

Your phone buzzes again, but this time it's the other group chat. Thank fuck.

Fuck The Patriarchy Book Club 📚

Irya 🌸: 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜?

Irya 🌸: 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

Jin ☕️: 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

Jin ☕️: 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜.

Jin ☕️: 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝟻𝟶𝚔𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝟻.

Jin ☕️: 𝙶𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎.

Your phone keeps vibrating with notifications from the other chat. You peek at it. 

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Jesus fucking Christ.

Yeji 🖤: 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊 𝚊𝚝 𝚢/𝚗’𝚜?

Yeji 🖤: 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 

Your head snaps up. "Excuse me?"

"What?" Yeji doesn't even look guilty. "You keep complaining about him, might as well know what we’re working with here."

You: 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Irya 🌸: 𝚘𝚘𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚜!! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗??

Irya 🌸: 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 

Irya 🌸: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎?

You let out a loud sigh, now considering Irya’s question. Because part of you thinks about bringing unwanted guests to the apartment, about how that could disturb the peace, especially for Yoongi.

But also? Also, Jungkook brought his friends last time. No warning, no group chat message to let you know you’d meeting random dudes in your pokemon PJs.

So he can suck it, honestly. 

You: 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

You: 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘

Jin ☕️: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙹𝚘𝚎’𝚜.

Jin ☕️: 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎.

Jin ☕️: 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗.

Another cascade of coffee emojis floods your notifications. You switch back to the apartment chat.

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚡

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟿𝟶% 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚎

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

You hit mute so fast you nearly crack your screen.

You: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎

You: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚁𝙴 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚎𝚓𝚒

Yeji 🖤: 𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚘 𝚗𝚘

Yeji 🖤: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟻𝟶 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔

Yeji 🖤: 𝚒𝚖 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎

Irya 🌸: 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔? 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎? 👀 

Irya 🌸: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔?!?!?! 💘

Jin ☕️: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐.

Jin ☕️: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜.

Yeji 🖤: 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢

Yeji 🖤: 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜

"So," Yeji says, watching you aggressively fill out the availability section of your application. "Should we warn your roommate about pizza night or...?"

You think about the endless coffee emojis. About how he's probably still spamming them, the notifications piling up in your muted chat.

"Nope."

She grins. "Chaos it is."

You make it to your apartment after what feels like the longest trek ever, juggling the coffee capsules bag and your dignity. And no, you didn't buy them because of him, okay? You bought them because Yoongi deserves his caffeine fix. Yoongi, who actually helped you carry boxes up flights of stairs when you moved in. Yoongi, who warns you when the hot water's acting up. Yoongi, who—unlike some people—doesn't blast music at 3AM.

"Still can't believe you actually bought them," Yeji says for the fifth time, trailing behind you up the stairs. "Like, you're really just gonna enable his bratty ass?"

"They're not for him." You dig through your bag for your keys. "I got the regular ones for Yoongi. The vanilla ones are mine."

"Uh-huh." She's got that look again. "And you got the vanilla ones because...?"

"Because I like vanilla coffee." Your keys jangle aggressively as you search. "Not everything is about him."

"I offered to spike them," she reminds everyone, way too loudly for a hallway. "Could've made it look factory-sealed and everything."

Jimin looks slightly concerned. "Do I want to know why you know how to do that?"

"Probably not," Irya says cheerfully. "But that's why I love her."

You finally locate your keys, jamming them into the lock. It sticks—because of course it does, these old-ass doors—and you have to do that weird wiggle thing to get it open. "The last thing I need is a lawsuit for attempted murder by coffee."

"It wouldn't kill him," Yeji argues. "Just, you know. Mild poisoning. Character building."

"Pretty sure that's still illegal," Jimin says.

"Only if you get caught."

The door finally gives, swinging open to reveal... nobody. The living room's empty, thank fuck. No sign of Yoongi or—more importantly—no sign of him. Maybe they're both out. Maybe you'll actually get through this pizza night without any—

"Yo, this is actually nice," Yeji says, already making herself at home on the couch. "When you said 'bros' cave' I was expecting, like, beer pong tables and stolen street signs."

"Those are in Jungkook's room," you mutter, dropping the coffee bag on the kitchen counter. Not that you've seen his room. You haven't. Obviously.

Irya's examining the vinyl collection by the TV. "These are good albums. Your roommates have taste."

"Those are Yoongi's." Probably. You're like 90% sure they're Yoongi's. You've never actually asked.

"The place is surprisingly clean," Jimin notes, still hovering politely by the door. "Need help with anything?"

"Nah, just—" You pause as something orange streaks past. "Oh, shit, wait—Griffin, no—"

Too late. Your cat roommate's already winding between Jimin's legs, purring like the attention whore he is.

"You have a cat?" Irya drops to her knees immediately. "Oh my god, he's gorgeous."

"He's not mine." You dump your bag on the counter. "He's Jungkook's emotional support menace."

"Like owner, like cat," Yeji says, watching Griffin charm his way into Jimin's arms.

"True." You roll your eyes. "Demanding, dramatic, and constantly in the way."

Griffin headbutts Jimin's shin, purring louder.

"Should I..." He looks uncertain. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, he does that." You start unpacking the coffee capsules. “He's harmless. Just attention-starved and thinks he owns the place."

"Again," Yeji says, "like owner, like cat."

"Pretty much.”

"At least the cat's cute." She stretches out on the couch, combat boots definitely leaving marks. "Makes up for the personality."

"Tragic how the genes weren't distributed evenly," you mutter, strategizing about how to arrange the coffee capsules in the cabinet. Normal ones for Yoongi, vanilla ones hidden in the back where grabby hands can't reach them.

Irya's still on the floor with Griffin, who's now rolled onto his back. "I don't know, he seems sweet."

"The cat? Yeah." You slam the cabinet open. "The owner? Walking nightmare."

"Speaking of nightmares." Jimin's still by the door, ever polite. "Should we maybe warn him we're having pizza here? Since it's his apartment too..."

You think about the forty-seven coffee emojis still sitting in your muted notifications.

"Nope."

"Absolutely not," Yeji agrees. "He can deal with it like she dealt with having his dudebro friends over last week."

Irya looks up from scratching Griffin's belly. "Oh yeah, didn't you say you ran into them in your—what was it?"

"Pokemon pajamas," you groan. "Look, they were clean, okay? And it was like, Saturday morning. Who has people over at Saturday morning?"

"Douchebags," Yeji supplies helpfully. 

You're about to agree when you hear it. A door opening down the hall. Footsteps.

Of-fucking-course.

"You bought the coffee, phoenix?"

The drawl comes from behind you, and you briefly consider whether jail time for murder would really be that bad. Jungkook's leaning against his doorframe in—are those fucking Sonic pajama pants?—looking like he just rolled out of bed. At 7PM. Because of course he did.

"Nice little reunion you got going on here, by the way." 

He yawns, running a hand through his messy hair as he saunters into the kitchen. Like this is totally fine. Like having your friends over without warning isn't exactly what he did last week with Hoseok and Taehyung—who, by the way, apparently has keys to your fucking apartment. 

You pointedly ignore him, which would work better if he wasn't literally heading straight for you. He reaches around you to rummage through the shopping bags, and you slap his hands away. 

“Get out of my stuff."

"Oh," he pulls out the vanilla capsules before you can stop him, "you actually got me the vanilla ones?"

"They're not for you." You snatch them back. "Get your hands off them."

He grabs for them again. "Pretty sure you bought them because—"

"I bought them for me." You yank them away, but he's already going for the other bag. "Oh my god, can you not—"

"So this is the pain in the ass?" Yeji's voice drips with disdain from the couch. 

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, still trying to get his hands on your shopping. "Who's Cruella de Vil over there?"

You elbow him away from the bags. "None of your—"

"Another candle?" He snatches it up, holding it over his head where you can't reach. Dick. "Seriously? After last time?"

"If you'd stop making everything smell like balls and nachos—" You jump for it, but he just stretches higher, "—I wouldn't have to buy them, Rogue."

"I don't smell like—"

"Wait," Irya interrupts, and you catch her hiding a smile behind her hand. "Phoenix?"

"Rogue?" Jimin adds quietly from his corner, looking between you back and forth.

Jungkook's smirk widens as he finally lets you grab the candle back. "Oh, she hasn't told you that story?"

"We are not discussing this again." You shove the candle in its bag. "Ever."

"Why not? It's hilarious." He's fully grinning now, leaning his hip against the counter like he owns it. "Haven't told them about how you almost set the place on fire your first week here?"

"BECAUSE YOU ENTERED THE HOUSE LIKE A FUCKING—" Your hand's fisted in his t-shirt before you can stop yourself, and he's snickering, the absolute dick. "Like a complete psychopath," you finish through gritted teeth.

"The lock sticks!" He's still laughing. "I told you, it's an old door—"

"You didn't have to shoulder it open like the SWAT team!"

"You dropped a lit match!"

"Because you scared the shit out of me!" 

"Ugh," Yeji groans. "Is he always like this?"

"Worse," you mutter, finally releasing his shirt. "Usually he's too busy being edgy in his room with his electric guitar."

Irya's definitely smirking now. Jimin looks like he wants to disappear into the wall.

"Whatever, phoenix." He makes another grab for the vanilla capsules. "Rising from the ashes of your attempted arson."

"That's not—" You smack his hand away. "That's not why you started calling me that and you know it."

"Pretty sure it is."

"Pretty sure you're full of shit."

Griffin chooses this moment to abandon Irya and wind between Jungkook's legs, the little traitor. Jungkook immediately scoops him up, and you pretend not to notice how the cat starts purring instantly.

"See?" He scratches under Griffin's chin. "G knows I'm right."

"G's a whore for attention." You start shoving the shopping bags away. "He'd side with Satan if Satan had treats."

"So that's why he likes you."

"You calling me Satan now? Wasn't it phoenix? Pick your poison, dumbass."

"Nah." He's still petting Griffin, who's practically melting in his arms. "Just saying you're both dramatic as fuck."

"Says the guy who kicked down a door over a—"

"The lock was stuck!"

"Yeah? Like your head up your ass?"

“Do you two always do this?” Irya prompts. 

"No," you mutter, yanking the coffee bag away as he tries to sneak another grab at it. "When he's not gaming like a twelve-year-old, he's—stop touching my stuff!"

"Just checking what flavor you got," he says innocently, which might work better if he wasn't actively trying to steal the vanilla capsules. "Since you bought them for me and all—"

"I will actually murder you."

"With what? Another candle?"

"Keep talking and find out."

"Children," Yeji interrupts, looking physically pained. "Can we not?"

But Jungkook's already reaching for the bag again, and you swat his hand away. "I swear to god—"

"What? I'm just being neighborly—"

"You're being a pain in the ass—"

"Aw, you noticed?"

"Hard not to when you're—" You break off as he successfully snags a vanilla capsule. "Give that back."

"Make me."

"What are you, five?"

"Says the one hoarding coffee—"

"It's my coffee—"

"Pretty sure you bought it with daddy's credit card—"

The words hit like a slap and before you can think better of it, you snarl, "Fuck you."

Your eyes widen the second it leaves your mouth because you know that look on his face, that slight quirk of his lips, the way he's already—

You slam your hand over his mouth so fast you practically punch him, fingers digging into his jaw. He makes a muffled sound of protest, but you can feel him grinning under your palm, the absolute dick.

"Don't," you hiss. "Don't you fucking dare."

He raises his eyebrows like who, me? but you can feel him trying not to laugh.

"Okay!" Jimin claps his hands together, looking slightly alarmed. "So, pizza? Anyone want to look at the menu?”

“Oooh, that sounds promising.” Jungkook says, yanking your hand away. 

"Can't you leave?" You eye him. "Go jack yourself off while you look in the mirror or something. Maybe play your fucking guitar."

"Huhhh?" He's already propping his elbows on the back of the sofa, leaning over the narrow table that ‘separates’ the kitchen from the living room. "I want pizza too. Plus, your friends look nice." His smile is all teeth. "I'm sure they don't mind."

Jimin materializes next to you in the kitchen like some kind of conflict-sensing angel, pretending to be interested in the coffee maker. You know he's checking if you're okay, which would be sweet if you weren't currently fantasizing about drowning Jungkook in vanilla coffee.

"I mind," Yeji announces flatly.

"No problem!" Irya chirps at the same time.

Yeji shoots her girlfriend an exasperated look, but Irya just settles more comfortably against her side. You're going to kill both of them.

"Who's the pink pony over here?" Jungkook nods at Irya, and you see Yeji's arm tighten around her shoulders, hackles practically visible.

"Touch her and die."

"Aww, babe." Irya pats Yeji's thigh. "I'm Irya, and this little black cat over here is my girlfriend Yeji." She points across the room. "That's Jimin."

Jungkook glances back at where you're now aggressively reorganizing coffee capsules, Jimin hovering uncertainly beside you. There's something in his expression you don't like, mouth opening to say god knows what—

"And the third roommate?" Yeji cuts in.

You're about to answer but Jungkook beats you to it. "Yoongi's not here."

"Working late," you add, just to be contrary. "You know, like an actual adult with a job?"

"Unlike some people," Yeji mutters.

You snort at her commentary, and you tune out Jungkook’s comeback. Instead your eyes flicker to Jimin, who’s scrolling through his phone, probably looking at pizza options, when—

"Yo Jim, come here." Jungkook waves him over. "Let me look at the menu."

You grab Jimin's arm before he can move, linking it with yours. "I'm choosing first, wait your damn turn."

Jungkook rises from the sofa with a click of his tongue. "Come on, I just wanna—"

"Did she fucking stutter?" Yeji snaps, and Jungkook actually blinks, like he's not used to being shut down that fast.

You turn back to Jimin's phone with maybe a bit too much satisfaction. "Okay, so what are we thinking?"

"They have this new quattro formaggi that's supposed to be good." Jimin tilts the screen so you can see better. "Or the classic margherita—"

"Boring," you mutter, scrolling past. "Oh, what about the spicy one? With the—"

"The calabrese?" He zooms in on the description. "Spicy salami, fresh basil..."

"That looks good." You're actually getting hungry now. "Maybe we could—"

A shadow falls over the phone as Jungkook appears in front of you like some kind of pizza-seeking missile. He peers over both your lowered heads, close enough that you can feel the heat from his chest, and you resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

"Have you two decided?" His breath hits your ear. "Because I—"

You're about to grab a fistful of his hair and yank him back to a respectable distance when he snatches Jimin's phone right out of his hands.

"What the fuck—" You start to reach for him, but Jimin catches your wrist.

"It's okay," he says quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Jungkook's already scrolling, completely unbothered. "Yo, what do you two want?" He nods at the couch without looking up.

"Hawaiian for me," Irya pipes up cheerfully. "Yeji wants the diavola, extra spicy."

Yeji just grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "men" and turns on the TV.

"Cool, cool." Jungkook's still scrolling. "Phoenix, you getting the calabrese?"

"None of your business."

"Just trying to make sure we don't order the same thing." He glances up with that insufferable smirk. "Unless you want to share?"

"I'd rather eat glass."

"Okay, so that's a no on sharing." He's still scrolling through Jimin's phone like he owns it. "I'm thinking meat lovers."

"Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're basic as fuck."

"Says the one getting—" he squints at the screen "—spicy calabrese, like some—"

"Can you two shut up for five minutes?" Yeji snaps from the couch. "Some of us are trying to hear the TV."

"My bad," Jungkook says, not sounding sorry at all. He hands Jimin's phone back—finally—and stretches. "Alright, four pizzas ordered. Now we wait."

You watch him sprawl onto the armchair—the one he keeps arguing it’s his (it’s not?)—like he belongs there, and something about it sets your teeth on edge. The casual way he's inserted himself into your evening, how he's somehow charmed Irya into actual conversation, how he keeps looking at you when he thinks you're not paying attention.

"Whatever, man." You push away from the counter, desperate to get away from his presence for at least two minutes. "I'm gonna get into my PJs, I'll be back."

You head down the hall, your skin prickling like he's watching you go. Which he's not. Obviously. You're just on edge because he's being more insufferable than usual, getting all cozy with your friends like he has any right to—

"Yo, phoenix, wait." Jungkook's voice stops you. "Remember that thing with the landlord? The, uh, maintenance form?"

"What maintenance form?"

"You mentioned to Yoongi about the lock sticking, right?" He's already moving towards you with that easy confidence that makes you want to punch him. "Super's been bitching about proper documentation. Needs your signature since it's your door."

He keeps talking as he approaches, something about liability and repair schedules, and it sounds legitimate enough that you almost miss how he's gradually crowding your space. Almost miss how each step brings him closer until—

He reaches past you, hand brushing your hip as he turns the handle. The door barely has time to click shut before Jungkook’s on you, his whole body crowding into yours, ushering you backward so fast you stumble. Almost fall.

“Jesus—”

Your balance tips, but before you can catch yourself, his hands are already on you—grabbing, steadying, possessive. A solid chest against yours, broad palms locking around your wrists before you can shove him away.

He grins down at you, smirky, flushed, pupils blown. That lazy, cocky amusement dripping from his expression like he planned this. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Relax, Phoenix.” His grip tightens, pulling your wrists just slightly apart. “You’re fine.”

And then his mouth crashes onto yours.

Hard. Messy. Zero warning, zero hesitation. Just heat and teeth and tongue, urgent like he needs to shut you up.

You match him instantly, kissing back just as fiercely, nails curling into his shirt, yanking him closer. His hair is soft under your fingers, thick and dangerous, and you tug—just the way he likes it. Just the way that always makes him groan, makes him grab.

Which he does. Both hands drop to your ass, full palms, fingers digging in like he can’t help himself. A rough squeeze that pulls a breathy sound from your throat before you can stop it.

He chuckles, low and wrecked against your lips, hips rolling slow and deliberate against yours. 

“Fuck—” Another squeeze, his voice dropping. “You get all mouthy with me, and then you act surprised when you turn me on?”

Your stomach flips.

His mouth is still moving against yours, sharp and demanding, and fuck—you’re dizzy, heat curling low and deep.

You don’t realize he’s backing you up until your spine collides with the wardrobe.

You wince. “God, fuck—”

Jungkook barely lets you finish before his teeth graze your jaw, lips dragging lower—

No.

You shove at his chest, breath coming fast. “What is your problem?”

His smirk is instant, panting slightly, lips wrecked. The fucking look in his eyes—smoky, half-lidded, shamelessly pleased with himself.

“Mm?” He tilts his head, like he didn’t just grope the hell out of you. “What?”

“You can’t—” A sharp inhale. You straighten your shirt, glare sharp enough to cut. “My friends are here.”

He blinks. Shrugs. "So?"    

"So," you bite out, "we are not doing this."    

Jungkook just looks at you, like you’re speaking a foreign language. "Doing what?"    

"Don't." You level him with a flat stare.    

His head tilts, gaze dragging over you, slow and deliberate. "I just wanted to talk."    

"Talk," you repeat, incredulous.    

"Yeah." He plants a hand on the wardrobe beside your head. Not caging you in—just existing in your space, like he belongs there. "Privately."    

Jesus fuck.    

"Nope." You press your palms to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through cotton. "Not happening."    

"Phoenix." His voice dips, lazy and smooth, like he’s humoring you. "I'll be quick."    

A disbelieving scoff. "Absolutely the fuck not."    

He laughs, quiet and amused, like this is funny to him.    

Of course it is. Of course it is.    

You shove at his chest again. "They don’t know about this, and they’re not going to know about this."    

His brows pull together, expression open, genuinely confused. "Why?"    

Oh, you could kill him.    

"Because," you grind out, "I don't need them speculating."    

"Speculating about what?"    

"About us, dumbass!"    

The words land—and then he snorts. He just, snorts. Like you just told him a funny joke he lowkey doesn’t want to laugh at. 

"Oh, fuck off," you snap.    

His grin lingers. "Nix. We fuck. That’s it. No one’s gonna think we’re picking out wedding invitations."    

You glare. "You're missing the point."    

"I really don't think I am."    

"Rogue." You exhale sharply. "I don’t want them in my business, okay?"    

He watches you for a beat, head tilted like he’s reading between the lines.    

Then he nods. Simple. Easy. "Okay."    

You blink. "Okay?"    

"Yeah?" He shrugs. "You don’t want them to know, they won’t know. It’s not that deep."    

Right. Not that deep.    

It shouldn’t be a relief—he’s only agreeing because he doesn’t care—but your shoulders still drop a fraction.    

"Good," you say.    

He hums, gaze flicking over your face, considering. "I mean, it’s not like you gotta tell them I’m your boyfriend or something. Just that we fuck sometimes. What’s wrong with that?"    

You scoff. "Everything is wrong with that, Jungkook."    

He raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"    

Like—god, where do you start?    

Like the fact that this is supposed to be contained, something that stays locked in this apartment and nowhere else. Like the fact that you need to be in control of it because if you’re not, it means it’s spiraling, and spiraling is—    

Not an option.    

He hums, considering. The vibration shivers over your skin. "Interesting."

The fuck does that mean?

You glare at him. "What?"

"Nothing." But there's a glint in his eye you don't like. Knowing. Assessing. "Just seems like you're overthinking it."

"I'm not—"

"Ashamed?" His head tilts. "Embarrassed?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "Fuck you."

"I mean." A slow drag of his gaze, head to toe and back again. "If you insist..."

Oh my god. 

Your foot connects with his shin. Hard. He grunts, flinching back. Good.

"Touch me again," you growl, "and you lose your dick."

 He holds up his hands. The picture of innocence. "Message received."

"Is it?" You cross your arms. Narrow your eyes. "Because it seems like you're having trouble understanding basic fucking boundaries."

"Nah, I get it." But there's a wicked glint in his eye, and oh, that can't be good. "No telling your friends about all the filthy things we do."

"There is no we.” You jab a finger at his chest. "No us."

A slow nod. "Right."

"I mean it, Rogue." You hold his gaze, unflinching. "This?" A sharp gesture between your bodies. "Doesn't leave this apartment."

"Mm." His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. Deliberate. Obscene. "So I shouldn't mention how you like it when I—"

Your hand clamps over his mouth, muffling his words. "Finish that sentence and die."

He grins against your palm, wholly unrepentant. Bastard.

You drop your hand. Take a step back. "I'm serious, Ry."

"Oh, I know." But there's a curl to his lips you don't trust. Not one bit.

"Do you?" You cross your arms. "Because it sounds like you're angling for a free pass to run your mouth."

"Nah." He mirrors your posture, arms folding over his chest. “Just getting a feel for the rules."

Right. Sure. "The rules are simple." You hold up a finger. "Rule one: no one knows we're fucking."

A nod. "Easy enough."

"Rule two," you continue, "if anyone asks, we're just roommates."

"Uh-huh." His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. Considering. "That all?"

Wariness prickles up your spine. "Why?"

A shrug. Too casual. "No reason."

Bullshit.

You shake your head. "Just—forget it. Are we done here?"    

Jungkook watches you for another long second.  

Then he nods. "Yeah, we're done."  

He turns, already reaching for the doorknob, when—  

"Oh." A pause. Like he just remembered something. "And just so we're clear—this isn’t exclusive, right?"  

You blink. "What?"  

He glances back, expression easy. Casual. "Like, I can fuck other people. That cool with you?"  

A laugh bursts out of you. Short. Sharp. "Why the fuck would I care?"  

His mouth twitches. "Dunno. Just making sure."  

"Well, consider it confirmed." You fold your arms. "Do whatever the fuck you want, just—"  

He lifts his brows. "Just?"  

"Don’t give me an STD." You level him with a flat look. 

He snorts. "Noted." A beat. Then, amused— "You want test results?"  

"Oh, fuck off, Rogue."  

"Just offering, Phoenix." His smirk lingers for half a second before his expression smooths out. "So, rule number three, then."

You narrow your eyes. "Rule what?"

"Rules." He gestures between you. "One: no one knows. Two: if they ask, we're just roommates." A pause. "Three: no feelings."

Something in his voice shifts, something light but pointed, like he's not saying it just for your benefit.

You scoff. "Yeah, no shit."

He nods once, satisfied. "Cool."

And then he's gone, door clicking shut behind him like the whole thing never happened.

The air in the room is suddenly too thick.  

You exhale sharply, back hitting the wardrobe, and press your palms over your face.  

God damn him.  

Not just for being an insufferable pain in your ass, but for being right. Because logically, there's no reason to keep this a secret—he's not your boyfriend, he's just your roommate who happens to fuck you sometimes. It's not a big deal. It's not anything.

But something in you rebels at the thought of anyone knowing. Of having to explain yourself, to justify your choices. You've had enough of that to last a lifetime, enough of measuring every decision against someone else's expectations. Enough of being told what you should want, what you should do, who you should be.

This thing with Jungkook? It's yours. Messy and stupid and probably a horrible idea, but it's yours. The one thing in your life that nobody gets to have an opinion about, that nobody gets to control but you. 

And maybe that's fucked up. Maybe normal people don't feel this desperate need to keep parts of themselves hidden, to maintain this iron grip on every aspect of their lives. Maybe they don't lie awake at night planning escape routes from their own decisions.

But you've never been very good at normal, have you?

You straighten, smooth your shirt, school your face into something neutral.  

Then you open the door, step back into the living room, and pretend like your world isn’t tilting.

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[scaramionee]

A long rant about something that's been eating my mind from the inside out so here we go (TW: Might be Controversial)-

Sometimes, I'm just very normal about James Potter and Lily Evans but then I'm not. So growing up, I watched the hp movies first so I never quite had any interest in their relationship, they just seemed like a tragic straight relationship to me so I never bothered with it. But then I read the books and I went immediately like this- "No wonder James Potter worshipped Lily Evans, I would too." Like, this woman is the legit reason why the whole harry potter thing started, and to see the fact that most of the time she's just blatantly ignored or being stripped out of her original identity to be a strong independent lesbian (I don't have any problem with her sexuality, people can imagine her with whomever they like but it kind of ridicules Lily's motherhood in some way) who absolutely either hates James Potter or Insults him for fun just bcz he has a crush on her or being a side chick for James's steamy cheating romance flings hurts me more than I think it should.

I get it, the marauders fandom wholly embraces the fanon so dearly to them like a warm blanket because of many obvious reasons, but sometimes I think we just totally miss the point of this whole franchise. It's obvious that jkr sucks at writing romances which is why most people don't get the spark of canon ships like romione, hinny and remadora but completely missing the point about Lily being a mother figure in Harry's life and as a lover figure in James's life truly pisses me off a lot. Even though everybody is allowed to dislike certain ships because not everybody has the same taste, but I think we miss the fact that Lily was always more than just a mother and a wife in a way that molded her into what she wanted to be.

The reason why I'm completely enamored by Jily is not because it's just a canon ship which literally started Harry Potter, but because the way Lily Evans just had an effect on everyone who crossed their paths with her. Professor Slughorn himself was so besotted with her, Professor Minerva McGonagall teared up at the news of her departing because who wouldn't like her? She's so brave, so full of joy and laughter that she always forgot her own pain in favor of sucking the pain out of another. James was indeed quite taken aback by her beauty and charm, but I'd like to think it developed into something more after seeing the way she treated her close individuals. Lily was the younger sibling, and because she was a witch, she constantly faced harsh behaviors from her elder sister for being a "freak" according to her sister's standards. She may have had an inferiority complex, and she also hanged out a lot with snape, despite facing discriminations in Hogwarts for being friends with a half-blood poor Slytherin. She was willing to change snape, always defending him left and right but it never worked out in the end. Which left her feeling very defeated, she gave up because she felt like she was not worth it, maybe those bullies were right and she really was just a mudblood. And James, developing a crush on her while continuously harassing snape didn't help either. But if we analyze James's character, knowing that he literally took in Sirius just so that he could escape his abusive family, he knew that Lily was downrightly getting used and snape was taking advantage of her kindness and her stubbornness, he knew it because Sirius was in Lily's place once too, always constantly reminded of how they were never enough, so he wanted to save her ( in his own pathetic loser way ofc ) I think there are many hints of Lily noticing James quite a lot because if you really claimed to hate your enemy then why were you so bloody obsessed with the way how their hair looked like after playing quidditch hmmm 🤨🤨

But not just that, let's also talk about how she literally single handedly MADE THE JAMES POTTER, the absolute arrogant toe-rag quit bullying and hexing people for fun, knowing that he's been like this for the most of his life, but he decided to change for her just like a snap of a finger! Not only that, but she also quickly befriended Sirius in a way that he literally turned out to be her future son's Godfather and the secret keeper. The absolute hold she had on the marauders really needs to be studied!

The love James and Lily had for each other was an act of rebellion in it's own way, because back in that time, muggleborns were seen as scums of the earth and inferior to the wizarding society. But James literally went against every single pureblood tradition just to be with someone he loves and believes with his whole heart. That was always the main point. The reason why both of them were so cherished. He literally went up against Voldemort without a wand not just because of his son, but also for Lily, who he absolutely trusts with his whole life, the only person worth loosing the pureblood title for, the only person worth taking the risk of taking the Avada curse to his heart, he just loved her so beautifully, just like the way she always deserved. And Lily, oh lily, always saw the good in everyone, but saw the best in James, decided to sacrifice her life for their one and only son out of pure love and devotion. And the sacrificial love was so strong that the strongest dark wizard of all time succumbed to his own curse and it tore apart a piece of his soul in revenge of separating the two soulmates whom were always destined to find each other and get woven together in every single timeline. It changed the tide of the entire war. She ended it single handedly.

Yes, she was depicted as a girl who was just a close friend of snape, as a sister who's facing discriminations from her own elder sister's profound jealousy, as a lover and wife of James Potter, as a mother of Harry Potter- the boy who lived. But I think there's so much beauty in every single role she was depicted in. It gives us a glimpse of how much impact she had on everybody around her, how much she meant dear to everybody who cared for her, of how much diverse and forgiving person she was, of the way she was always a reassuring shadow around harry even though she was no longer present in the mortal world. No, motherhood doesn't make her one dimensional or boring, it only enhances her ability of loving people the way they deserve. It makes her so complex, but so powerful at the same time. She was a proud mother, and a lover, a friend, and a woman.

Lily Evans, what an absolute Goddess you were. And you'll always be. No other fictional character ever had a hold so strong on me the way she has.

[ask-codeearasure]

All of the above and more. And yet again, Color's choices on how to act with Killer despite how he may feel is very different in comparison to how Dream and Swap have approached Killer in the past.

Color took the time to get to know Killer away from the battlefield. That is one of the most important factors that went into their bond, because Color was invested in Killer as a person, not because he was a threat. This interest was the first thing Color did right to put himself in Killer's good graces, something Dream and Swap didn't do, because... really... how and where the fuck do you think they were going to start? What biases and ideas do you think they'd have about Killer when the only impressions they've gotten from this guy is that he's trying to merk them off the census every time he shows up? There is only so much one can do with that, and it's not like Killer had every intention to clear the air for them, so to speak.

Now here's the thing. I'm not specifying any of this to throw Dream and Swap under the bus for their efforts, because for some reason I'm seeing people mention Dream would have sucked in approaching Killer because he didn't see him as a person when that part was never fucking true. Dream has to balance a lot in the multiverse. He has so many problems weighing him down that only he can solve, and the idea that he wouldn't try, or that Killer is dehumanized in his mind, or that he'd have ulterior motives for trying is bastardization of his character.

Hell, do you not remember the comic Rahafwabas made of Dream finding Killer in a blank space with his cats and being afraid of him when he approached, thinking he was going to shank him or something? Dream has been threatened, harmed, and mauled by Killer more than enough times to fear more for his own safety in this moment than anything else, even though he did want to reach out regardless of that.

Dream wouldn't succeed in pacifying Killer. I agree with you there. But the reasons why that is are so much more complicated and need more context from both Dream and Killer's sides to decide if Dream is fucking useless in every regard for his case or not. Dream could help Killer to some degree, I believe, but in no means is he stable enough to be a consistently reliant source of security and support like Color is.

Dream, in isolation, is a character that is constantly moving and because of his aura and the life he leads because of Corrupted!Nightmare, he can barely have friends in general. He can't trust anyone, and he can't stay anywhere for too long. Looking to Dream to help Killer would be negligent of the influences Killer himself is going to need in order to recover in the best way possible.

I'm pissed at this fandom in general for jumping on every petty reason to be a cunt about anything at all, especially for cases like Dream. So let me get it out of my system before you decide to take this personally.

Now with Swap, the problem with him is Rahafwabas's version of him had a very Steven Universe-ish understanding of kindness and forgiveness and redemption. It's very basic, it lacks nuance, and most of all, his efforts in not only not listening to Killer and forcing him to "feel things again" were all works out of pure fucking child-like ignorance. It doesn't help that this version of Swap was indeed drawn as and written with childish behavior in mind. He resembled Blueberry more than he did Swap in general.

On top of that, given how dismissive early fandom was about any version of Swap!Sans and their intelligence, Rahafwabas's version was quite...

Well, there's no nice way to say this. He's fucking stupid. He actively goes out of his way to interact with characters who have hurt him in the past over and over and over again, characters like Killer and Error who could have fucking killed him and Swap was just lucky that he survived each encounter. No matter what happens to this guy, he doesn't seem to fucking learn his recklessness won't get him as far as he wants.

His idea of kindness is not universal. His ideas of redemption, forgiveness, and recovery, are not universal. Swap did Killer a cruelty by not considering that, because even though he was annoyingly insistent in helping Killer however he could and his intentions were in the right place, his impulsive and forceful actions were not.

Perhaps with a different version of Swap, one that was allowed to grow up and actually think with the best interests of others in mind, we would have been shown a different outcome. Perhaps he would have been shown as a partially helpful influence in Killer's recovery.

But this is what we got instead.

Another reason why Color is able to tolerate and resist the threats and attempts of harm Killer could use against him is the fact he's just stronger than Killer in general. This dude absorbed six human souls and can only die if he were to overexert his magic use to the point it breaks his fucking body. This doesn't mean he's invincible, but he can certainly compete with Killer's efforts until Killer decides his goal is not worth the struggle.

Dream is not powerful enough to do this. Neither is Rahafwabas's Swap.

Color might be powerful, but he's also strong enough to be gentle and kind. In fact that's his fucking default. He is the Optimus Prime of the Undertale Multiverse in that sense. He could fuck up Killer's shit if he really wanted to, but that wouldn't fix anything and he knows this.

Dream and Swap don't fail at helping not just because they lack the exact resources, abilities, opportunities, and outlook Color has, but because they can only survive so much, and it's obvious Killer has fucked them both up beyond an extent where they can just look away from it no problem.

-- Sarco

I’d imagine that color’s probably the first time killer has had the experience of caring if someone stays or not. And not just that, the very first time he’s wanted someone to stay (with him), and be around him—the first time another’s presence around him hasn’t felt intruding and invasive.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Revelation

Chapter WC: 14,918

Chapter Tags/Warnings: alcohol use, drama, blood/wound care, some description of vomiting, general drunken messiness

A/N: i don't even know what to say about this chapter. just. prepare thyself.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

“For the last time, no.”

You quicken your stride as you descend the ramp into the hangar bay, the words spilling from your mouth with far more frustration than is probably warranted, but you don't care. You've already had this conversation five times today, and you're done. Done.

Booker easily matches your pace, his strides longer and quicker than yours, and the smirk on his face only makes the annoyance inside you grow stronger.

"It's just one night," he says, the words coming out easy and confident. Like he's certain he's going to get his way. And that only serves to piss you off even more.

"No," you repeat firmly. "We're not doing this."

"Come on," he protests. "One drink. It'll be fun. Good for morale."

"Not happening," you say. You reach the bottom of the ramp and turn towards the door leading out of the hangar, and just as you're about to step through the entrance, he plays his trump card.

"The 501st will be there."

You freeze, your footsteps coming to an abrupt halt, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the triumphant look on his face. The urge to throw something at him is overwhelming, but you push the temptation aside and keep walking, the tension in your neck and shoulders growing with each passing second.

"Rex is coming, too," Booker continues. He leans forward, his head appearing over your shoulder as he gives you a knowing look. "He'll probably appreciate having another stick in the mud there. You know. To balance out the rest of us."

You stop, and Booker nearly collides with you, a small 'oof' escaping him. You glare at him, and he flashes you a sheepish grin.

"I'm not a stick in the mud," you retort.

"Uh-huh," he says skeptically. 

"I'm not!"

"So, you're telling me that you have fun? That you enjoy letting loose and drinking and dancing and having a good time?"

"I can have fun," you snap.

"Right," he says. He rolls his eyes and sighs, his hands rising to rest on his hips. "Sure."

"I can," you insist.

"Uh-huh," he deadpans.

“I can!”

"Really?"

“Really.”

You glare at him, and his smirk widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, if that's the case, I think it would be a good idea for the General of the 419th to attend the post-battle celebration. Don't you think?"

You groan and press your palms against your face, your fingertips digging into the skin. Why are you even considering this? You have no idea why you're suddenly willing to cave, and a part of you wants to chalk it up to the stress and the exhaustion and the fact that it's been weeks since you've had a proper night off. 

But the truth is, a small, secret part of you wants to go. You want to feel normal. And for the first time in a long time, you can actually picture yourself out there, enjoying yourself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Just this once.

You sigh and lower your hands, turning back to Booker. Your gaze moves past him and lands on the group of troopers milling about. They all seem to perk up, their postures straightening as they try to appear more serious and focused. As if the mere act will make them more appealing and less likely to cause trouble.

It's cute, really, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. On the one hand, going to a bar with your troops would be inappropriate. You're their commanding officer, and it would send the wrong message to them and the Republic and the entire galaxy. 

But on the other hand, what's the harm in one night? One small, insignificant, forgettable night. A few hours to unwind and enjoy yourself. And maybe see Rex. Just for a bit. To say hi. Nothing more. Just a friendly hello.

Your gaze travels over the men, and the small smile on your face grows wider.

"Alright," you concede. "Fine. One drink."

Booker lets out a whoop and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a half hug. You roll your eyes and shove him away, trying to hide the smile that's threatening to break free.

"Atta girl," he chuckles. He tilts his head. "You need a ride?"

"Nah." You give him a wry look. "But I do have an outfit to find."

"I'll pick you up at 20:00," he says. "Don't be late. We're going to get hammered."

"Of course you are," you sigh, and you keep moving, turning and walking backwards as you point at him. “These are things you should not be telling your general, by the way. For future reference."

"Got it," he calls back. He winks and raises a hand in a salute, and you spin back around, making your way towards the doors. The sound of the clones' laughter carries over the air, and the grin that's been threatening to break free finally spreads across your face.

Maybe this will be fun after all. And if not, at least you'll get to see Rex.

You're already regretting this.

The moment you step into 79’s, Booker in the lead with several other troopers close behind, the music and the noise and the people make your stomach turn. The club is packed, the air hot and humid and thick with sweat and booze, and the crush of bodies is stifling. 

It’s an environment that would’ve enticed you before the war, but now, all it does is make you want to retreat to the safety and silence of your quarters. You've had more than your share of nights out, but they were nothing like this. They were quieter. Less crowded. More civilized.

"Wow," Dash mutters, his tone awed. "This is amazing."

His eyes are wide, and the expression on his face is the very definition of wonder. You can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm, and you reach out, giving his arm a light squeeze.

"Stay close," you tell him. "And watch your drink."

"I'm not a kid," he grumbles, and you arch a brow.

"No, but I'm your superior officer, and if something happens, I'll have to answer for it. Got it?"

He gives a sullen nod, and the troopers around you chuckle. Booker turns around and flashes you a smile, his arm slung over Snap's shoulder.

"What about us, General?"

You roll your eyes, and a chorus of 'General' goes up, the men all looking at you expectantly.

"I don't think I can stress enough the fact that I am not a babysitter," you reply dryly. "Or a mother. Or any sort of authority figure. Don’t get arrested, and don’t embarrass me.”

There's a loud chorus of cheers, and several of the clones give Booker a congratulatory pat on the back, clearly taking the statement as permission to do whatever they want. You let out a small sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that this is your life now. You're going to end up in some sort of trouble tonight, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

The men are already moving towards the bar, and you follow, keeping a close eye on them while scanning the crowd and searching for Rex and his squad. The crowd is a sea of blue and orange and white, and you spot several familiar faces, but not the ones you're looking for.

It's not long before the group is broken up, leaving only you and Wise standing together. He's silent, his posture rigid and his jaw set. His hands are clasped behind his back, and the look of open disdain on his face is almost comical.

You give him a sympathetic smile and lean closer. "Not your scene?"

Wise shakes his head, his nose wrinkling as he surveys the room.

"No, sir," he grunts. He takes a step closer and puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning down. "If you need me, I'll be over here. Alone."

"Alright," you chuckle. "But don't disappear. This is supposed to be a team-building exercise."

"You’re funny," he says dryly. He pats your arm shoves his way into the sea of people, and you let out a sigh, the smile slipping from your lips.

It's going to be a long night.

You're contemplating following him to the wall and trying to avoid being hit by the gyrating bodies, but just as you're about to turn, a hand appears on your shoulder.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a voice drawls behind you. “Haven’t seen you around here before. You—“

You smack the offender's away in a flash, and you turn and put your hands on your hips. 

Fives immediately freezes, his eyes widening in horror. His gaze darts between the hand that's still hovering in the air and the furious expression on your face, and he swallows hard, the color draining from his cheeks.

"Sorry, sir," he stammers. He clears his throat, his gaze darting between you and his boots. "I didn't think...that is, I didn't expect—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you cut him off. You let out a heavy sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. "You can't treat every woman here like she's a potential hookup, Fives. Not unless you want to get thrown out on your ass."

"Yes, sir," he replies, his voice contrite. "I'll remember that. Sir."

"And don't call them 'gorgeous,'" you groan. "It's creepy."

"Yes, sir," he mumbles. He takes a step back, his cheeks flushed, and he gives you a pleading look. "I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

"It better not."

You narrow your eyes, and Fives winces. You stare at him for a long moment, letting him sweat a little, before nodding, satisfied that he's learned his lesson. He exhales loudly, and a grin spreads across his face, his embarrassment replaced by the usual mischief.

"In my defense though, you do look gorgeous tonight," he quips. "Sir."

You snort and shake your head, trying to hide the smile that's threatening to spread across your face.

"Thanks," you reply wryly. "But, still. No."

"Understood," he nods. He clears his throat and gestures over his shoulder. "There's a table over there. With some of the guys. If you're interested."

You hesitate, glancing at the crowded dance floor and the sea of people around you. The last thing you want is to stand here and wait for Booker and the others to return. Or worse, get dragged onto the dance floor. 

"Sure," you nod. "That sounds great."

"Right this way, sir," Fives replies, his tone formal. He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, and the two of you weave through the throngs, dodging elbows and swaying hips. When you reach the booth, Echo and Kix are already there, deep in conversation with Jesse and Hardcase.  

“Look who I found!” Fives announces as the two of you approach.

The clones glance up at his shout, and their expressions change from confusion to shock in an instant.

Hardcase nearly spits out his drink, and Jesse's mouth drops open, his eyes wide and startled. Only Kix keeps his cool, offering a polite nod, and Echo does his best to conceal his surprise, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrays his true feelings.

"Nice to see you, General," he greets with a warm smile, and you return it.

"You too, Echo."

"What are you wearing?" Jesse demands, and Hardcase gives a loud cough, covering his mouth and looking away. He gestures at your clothing, his brow creasing. "Sir."

You look down at your attire and shrug a shoulder. Your robes and tunics have been replaced with a a cropped white shirt, a jacket, and a pair of leather pants. It’s far from the most scandalous thing you could have worn, but it does show off more skin than you normally would. And you're well aware that the effect is heightened by the fact that you've actually put effort into your appearance.

"I'm undercover," you explain. You cross your arms over your chest, the motion drawing more attention to the low neckline of the shirt, and they all glance away, their gazes darting in opposite directions.

"Underdressed is more like it," Hardcase mutters. Kix smacks the back of his head, and Hardcase lets out a quiet grunt and rubs his temple, his eyes watering slightly. "What was that for?"

"Be respectful," Kix hisses. "She's a general."

"Well, she's also—"

"Careful," Fives warns. His eyes dart to yours before quickly looking away. The five men shift uncomfortably, and you can't help the small smirk that forms on your face.

"Why are you here?" Jesse asks after a moment of awkward silence, his voice strained.

"I was invited," you tell him. You tilt your head and give him a pointed look. "To have fun. Let loose. Blow off steam. All that."

His eyes narrow. "By who?"

"Booker."

A chorus of groans and sighs echoes around the table, and Jesse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft scoff. He gives you a sidelong glance, and he shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Of course he did."

"That's great, sir," Fives interrupts with forced enthusiasm. He looks at the others. "Isn't that great? The General wants to blow off steam. Just like us. Isn't this fun?"

"Fun," Hardcase echoes weakly. His eyes meet yours, and he forces a smile. "Yes, sir. So much fun."

You grimace. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should've just stayed home and meditated or done some training or...anything else. Anything. But you're here now, and the last thing you want is to make things even more awkward for these poor men.

"I'm not going to bite. Or report you. Promise," you assure them, and their shoulders relax slightly. "But if you're uncomfortable, I can leave."

"No," Kix replies quickly. The others nod vigorously, and he gives you an apologetic look. "Sorry, sir. We're happy to have you. We just...didn't expect to see you here. That's all."

"I can understand that," you agree. You glance around the club, taking in the sea of faces and bodies, the crush of people making the space feel smaller and hotter than before. "I didn't think I'd come either."

"Can we get you anything?" Fives asks as you slide into the open space next to Echo.

"A drink would be great," you reply, and he jumps up, the movement so sudden and quick that you have to fight the urge to laugh.

"On it, sir." 

Fives hurries away, and the tension in your shoulders eases as the rest of the group turns back to their conversation. You let out a soft breath and settle into the cushions, resting your chin on your hand as you look around the club.

It's busy tonight, the crowds a mix of civilians and soldiers, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. It's not exactly what you'd call an ideal environment, but there's something about the atmosphere that makes it feel...normal.

Like nothing else matters. Like the war isn't even happening.

A smile lifts the corner of your mouth, and when Echo catches sight of the amusement on your face, his own expression softens. He nudges your arm and leans forward, his voice low enough that the others won't hear.

"Don't take it personally," he murmurs. "We've just never seen you dressed like this before. It's a bit..."

"Inappropriate?" you suggest. "Unprofessional?"

"Surprising," he corrects with a slight shake of his head. He checks that the others aren't listening before continuing, "You're a good-looking woman. The guys just aren't used to seeing you like this. Give them some time to adjust."

You arch a brow and give him a skeptical look, and he shrugs and sits back, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his glass to his lips.

“Yeah, I get it,” you sigh. You run a hand through your hair and shake your head. "Rex reacted the same way the first time he saw me without the robes."

Echo's eyes widen behind his glass, and he sputters, shooting forward and slamming his glass onto the table. You jerk in surprise as the other men start, and he gives a violent cough, his face turning a bright shade of red.

"What's wrong?" Kix asks, reaching around Hardcase to clap him on the back. "Too strong for you?"

"No," Echo wheezes. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat, his eyes watering as he struggles to regain his composure. After a moment, his breathing evens out, and he wipes a hand over his mouth. "So the Captain's seen you out of uniform, huh?"

"He what?" Jesse blurts out, his head whipping around, and you groan and press a hand against your forehead.

"Not like that," you explain hurriedly. When Jesse's wide-eyed expression doesn't change, you throw your hands up. "I meant, like, in regular clothes. Off-duty. Casual. You know. Not Jedi robes."

"Right," Echo nods.

"Makes sense," Kix agrees.

"Good," Hardcase says firmly. "Glad we cleared that up."

They exchange a glance, Jesse raising his eyebrows, and Kix bites his lip and gives a slight shake of his head. Hardcase glances at you before his eyes move to Echo, who's recovered from his coughing fit, and the look he gives in return makes it clear that the four of them have come to some unspoken agreement. Whatever it is, it doesn't bode well for you, and an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

This was a bad idea.

Jesse leans forward and gives you a knowing smile, resting his chin on his hand. The knot in your stomach twists higher.

"What?" you ask warily.

"We know," he says smugly. Hardcase nods, and the two men's expressions turn decidedly smug. Your brow furrows as he leans in closer. "We know."

"Know what?" you press. Hardcase's smirk grows wider, and the uneasy feeling in your gut increases. You have no idea what he's talking about, but the smugness is a sign that he thinks he has the upper hand. And that's never a good thing.

"That you and the Captain are—"

"Fives is back," Kix interrupts loudly. He shoots the others a pointed look, and the men glance up, the teasing grins on their faces faltering as Fives reappears, his arms laden with drinks.

He takes one look at your face and comes to an abrupt stop. The drinks wobble, the liquid sloshing dangerously, and he glances between the other clones and you, his brow furrowed.

"Uh...what's going on?"

"Nothing," Kix says, but his attempt to diffuse the situation is drowned out by the sound of Hardcase's voice as he leans over, pushing the empty glasses aside and reaching for the new arrivals.

"General Anathorn and the Captain are a couple," he announces gleefully, his hand closing around the nearest glass and pulling it towards him. "That's what's going on."

Kix groans, burying his face in his hands as Echo's head slumps to the table with a thud. Jesse grins and holds up his hands, and Hardcase gives a triumphant cackle and begins passing the drinks around the table.

Fives freezes, his eyes wide.

"What?" he breathes. "Really?"

"No!" you exclaim, and the sound is loud enough to catch the attention of the people around you. You shoot the men a dirty look, and several of them avert their eyes, doing their best to appear as if they haven't been listening. "Absolutely not. We're not."

"You're not?" Hardcase asks, the question half-whispered, and the look you give him is so venomous, he visibly flinches.

"We are not," you confirm, enunciating each word clearly.

"Oh," Fives says as his face falls. He sighs and shakes his head, setting his beer on the table and pulling up a chair. "Damn. Here I was, hoping he’d finally gotten his shit together."

"We all were," Echo adds glumly. He takes a sip of his drink, and his eyes move to you, the slightest hint of sympathy in his gaze. "But I guess not."

Your face scrunches up in confusion, and you tilt your head. They're joking. They have to be. It's just another joke. Another way to tease Rex. And the fact that you're here has given them an opportunity to get under your skin too. 

But there's something in their tone, a seriousness that you haven't heard before, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up

You look around the group, and the men stare back at you, their expressions solemn. Your mouth goes dry. It's almost like they believe it. Like they truly believe that you and Rex are a couple. Like they've talked about it before. Like they've been expecting it. Hoping for it.

Your mind races, the wheels turning furiously, trying to understand why they'd even say such a thing. As far as you can remember, the two of you had been careful. You'd made sure not to cross any lines around the men or act in a way that would cause rumors to spread. And while in private, things had gotten a bit...complicated, there was nothing about your behavior that would indicate you were involved. Nothing. So why do the clones think otherwise?

Unless...

No. That's not possible. You're overthinking this.

You've misheard. Misunderstood. There's a logical explanation. There has to be. There always is. You'll have a laugh, and you'll get your answers, and the men will be back to teasing Rex about his lack of a love life. And it'll be fine.

You can feel their eyes on you, waiting for you to respond, and your cheeks burn.

"You're kidding," you say. You force a laugh, but their expressions remain serious, their mouths set in straight lines. You shake your head and scoff. "Rex and I are just friends. There's nothing going on. We've never—"

You cut yourself off, the words getting stuck in your throat, and Jesse's brow creases. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. His expression is thoughtful, and his gaze moves to the drink in front of him, studying it for a moment.

"So, there's nothing going on between the two of you?" he asks quietly.

"Nothing," you confirm. "There never has been."

Jesse's mouth forms a hard line, and his jaw clenches, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. He nods slowly, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

The knot in your stomach makes its way to your chest as he looks up, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are steady and intense, and there's a weight behind them, a solemnity that you've never seen before. It's unnerving. And more than a little scary.

You swallow hard, the air thick, and his mouth opens.

"That's too bad," he says softly. "Because he loves you."

You blink.

The words are soft, but they cut through the noise like a blaster shot, and your blood runs cold. You sit up straight, your back stiff. The pounding of your heart is deafening, and you feel like you're about to pass out. Your ears are ringing, and you're not even sure you've heard him correctly. It's like the words have been spoken in another language. One you don't understand. But at the same time, the meaning is perfectly, excruciatingly, crystal-clear.

There's a long, terrible pause. And Jesse's face is blank. Emotionless. The others are frozen, staring at him with shock and disbelief. The silence stretches out, a heavy, oppressive thing, hanging over the group. Your chest aches, and you're certain your heart has stopped beating. This can't be real. This is just a joke. It has to be. Right?

“He doesn’t,” you whisper.

Jesse's lips part, and his shoulders lift in a small shrug, the motion casual and easy. The reaction is so at odds with the emotions roiling inside you that you can barely comprehend it. It's like he doesn't even care. Like this is all just a game to him. Like he's not dropping a bomb on your entire world.

"Sure he does," Jesse replies. He picks up his glass and brings it to his lips. "He's in love with you."

You shake your head, and you're dimly aware of the burning in your eyes.

"No, he's not," you insist.

"Yeah," Hardcase chimes in. "He is."

"He has to be," Fives adds, his voice gentle. "It's the only explanation."

"For what?" you demand, the words coming out hoarse. "For what?"

"For the way he looks at you," Kix says. "The way he acts around you."

"And the way he's always trying to save you," Echo continues. He takes a deep breath and leans forward, his eyes pleading. "He's always so worried about you, sir. We've all noticed. He's constantly checking up on you, looking out for you. Making sure you're safe."

You shake your head again, your chest aching.

"It's because we're friends," you argue weakly. "That's what friends do. It doesn't mean anything."

"Except he does it with you," Fives replies. "Constantly."

"Always," Jesse agrees.

"He cares about you," Kix says. "A lot."

"Like, a lot, a lot," Hardcase adds. He leans closer, his eyes meeting yours, and he gives you a small, encouraging smile. "It's okay, sir. You don't have to say it. We get it."

Your gaze darts around the group, searching for any hint of deception. For any sign that they're joking. Or messing with you. But all you see is an array of faces, each filled with pity. And sympathy.

You look down, focusing on your hands, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Your head is spinning, and the your eyes are still burning, but the feeling in your chest has shifted from pain to hope. There's a small flicker of joy, the first spark of a flame, and it's so bright, so overwhelming, that it's impossible not to cling to. The words are like a balm, soothing and healing, and you want nothing more than to bask in the warmth and the light and let it fill the dark, empty spaces inside.

"I'm sorry," Fives says quietly. "We didn't mean to upset you. We thought you knew."

"It's okay," you mumble. You dab at your eyes and let out a wet laugh, and you raise your head, meeting his concerned gaze. "Thank you. For telling me. It's..." You trail off, unable to find the words, and Fives nods in understanding.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine," you say, and the words sound hollow, even to you. "I'm glad you told me. Now, I can..."

The rest of the sentence dies on your tongue. You have no idea what you're supposed to do now. How can you go back to the way things were? How can you pretend like you don't know how Rex feels? Like the idea of him loving you doesn't fill you with the most intense, euphoric joy? You can't. But you also can't risk losing him.

Not now. Not ever.

You take a deep breath, and the flicker of joy turns cold, the flame snuffed out by the harsh reality. If he's really in love with you, there's no way this can end well. Not with the war, not with the Order.

It's just not possible, and that's the hard truth of the matter. No matter how many times the two of you have danced around the subject, the fact remains that, in the end, it's all just a fantasy. Something that will never come to pass. It's not meant to be, and nothing will change that. It's not fair, and it's not right, but it's the way things are. It's the reality, and no matter how much you or him might wish otherwise, it will always be there.

Your gaze moves over the faces around the table, and you try to find the words, to express the mix of emotions that are churning inside you. But, just as before, there's nothing. And so, instead, you sit there, your eyes moving from man to man, and they look back at you, their expressions ranging from sympathetic to resigned.

"What's going on?"

You blink, and a familiar face comes into view, blocking out the others.

Booker stands next to the booth, his hands on his hips and a look of confusion on his face. He stares at the men, and they shift uncomfortably, their eyes moving from him to you, and back again.

"You okay?" he asks, his brow creasing. He glances at the half-empty glasses and bottles and gives a small shake of his head, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens."

His gaze moves to you, and he freezes, his expression shifting from smugness to concern. He takes a step forward, the teasing glint vanishing.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "What happened?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. "I'm fine."

He frowns and glances around the table, his eyes narrowing as he studies the others. The men avert their gazes, and Booker's frown deepens. He leans down, placing a hand on the table and bending towards you.

"How many drinks has she had?" he demands.

"She hasn't had any," Kix tells him. He clears his throat, his tone defensive. "She was just talking to us. Having a good time. Like you told her to."

Booker's scowl grows darker. "Well, it doesn't look like it."

Kix's mouth snaps shut, and his eyes widen. A chorus of angry retorts and denials rise up, and they all begin speaking at once, their voices blending together into an incoherent mess. It's loud and chaotic, and the other people in the bar are starting to turn, curious to see what's causing the commotion.

"What the hell are you implying, vod?" Jesse demands, and he pushes himself to his feet, his jaw set and his fists clenched. Booker immediately straightens, his eyes flashing. You wince, and Kix grabs Jesse's arm, yanking him back down.

"Not now," he hisses.

"Yeah, listen to him," Booker sneers. "Before I—"

"Booker," you snap, and the commander goes rigid. He swallows hard, the color draining from his cheeks.

"Sir," he replies, his tone contrite. You give him a long, hard look, and his shoulders sag, the fight leaving him. "Sorry, sir."

You gesture at the empty space beside you, and after a moment, he moves around the table and settles onto the bench. His eyes flicker towards Jesse, and he holds his hands up in a placating gesture, but Jesse merely glares back, his jaw clenched. The silence that settles over the group is heavy, and it's only broken by the sound of Echo's voice.

"So," he drawls, "anyone here know how to play Sabacc?"

A wave of relief washes over the group, and several nods follow, accompanied by murmured assent.

"Good," Echo replies, and he looks at you. "Care to join, General? We could use another player."

"Sure," you nod, grateful for the change in subject. "It's been a while, but I'm not half bad."

Booker snorts, and you nudge his side, a smirk lifting the corner of your mouth. His own lips twitch, and he leans back, the movement bringing him closer to you.

"Don't let her hustle you, boys," he warns. "She's a shark.”

"Don't listen to him," you chime in, and the men chuckle. You reach for the drink that Fives had brought earlier and bring it to your lips, the glass cool against your skin. "He's just a sore loser."

Hardcase's eyes light up, and he leans forward, a smirk spreading across his face.

"You're good?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "Like, really good?"

You shrug, feigning modesty, and his grin widens.

"Prove it," he challenges, and a chorus of agreements echoes around the table.

"Yeah," Kix says. "Come on. Show us what you've got."

Your eyes meet Booker's, and the mischievous grin on his face mirrors your own. You arch a brow, and he gives a small nod, the smile spreading further.

"Alright," you say, before you lift the glass to your lips, taking a long sip. The liquid burns the back of your throat, and you grimace, setting it down. "Deal me in."

Hardcase lets out a triumphant whoop. "Now we're talking!"

Four rounds and four drinks later, the mood has shifted, the tense atmosphere giving way to one of levity. The Sabacc game is in full swing, and the conversation flows freely, the drinks and the laughter and the banter making the night feel less awkward.

After a while, more of your men and a few members of the 501st appear and join the group. You’re squished in the booth, surrounded by a dozen clones, and even though the club is loud and crowded and you can barely move, you find yourself enjoying the company and the chaos. It feels nice, sitting here with the men. Normal.

As normal as it can be, given the circumstances.

At some point, Booker slides an arm around your shoulder, the two of you pressed closer together, and he tilts his head, his voice low enough that the others won't hear.

"You having fun?"

"Surprisingly," you reply, and he grins and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“Told you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with pride.

You roll your eyes and elbow his ribs. "Don't get too cocky. This doesn't mean you were right. It just means I'm being a good commanding officer."

"Sure," he scoffs. He tilts his glass towards you, the liquid sloshing precariously. "Cheers to that."

You clink glasses, and the two of you take a long sip. The alcohol burns the back of your throat, and you cough and grimace, shaking your head. The taste is terrible, the smell even worse, but you've long since stopped caring. It's helping, and that's all that matters.

"Hey," Booker says suddenly. He jerks a thumb towards the bar. "Isn't that the Captain?"

You perk up and turn, searching the crowd. It's hard to make out individual faces, and the music and the lights and the throngs of people are a confusing, dizzying blur, but eventually, you spot him.

Rex is standing by the bar, his arms crossed and his posture tense. He's talking to Cody, the two of them engaged in a serious conversation, and as you watch, he shakes his head and turns, his gaze scanning the crowd for something.

The moment he catches sight of you, his entire demeanor changes. His eyes widen, and his lips part. You watch as his gaze roams over you, a look of surprise and shock on his face, and his brow furrows, his mouth opening and closing. He doesn't seem to be able to tear his eyes away, and a thrill of pleasure runs through you, the feeling only intensified by the alcohol coursing through your system.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, and Cody follows Rex's gaze, a confused expression crossing his features as he spots you. He shakes his head and mutters something, and Rex gives him a quick glare before his gaze moves back to you. 

He tilts his chin toward the door, the gesture barely noticeable, and without thinking, you nod. He gives you one last look before downing the rest of his drink and starting towards the hall leading toward the back alley. 

You wait for Rex to disappear into the crowd before standing, the motion drawing a few curious glances from the others. You clear your throat and give them a reassuring smile.

“I'm gonna get some air," you tell the group. Booker frowns and starts to follow you, but you put a hand on his shoulder and push him back down. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"If you're sure," he says slowly, and when you nod, he lets out a quiet huff and sits back. "Okay. Just shout if you need me."

"Will do," you promise. You make your way across the club, the crowd parting before you, and it’s a relief when you duck into the hall. There are a few people milling around, but it’s far quieter here than the main area of the club, and you can hear yourself think again.

The back hallway is a maze of rooms and alcoves and side halls, the space designed to provide the patrons a place to go for a bit of privacy. Most of the doors are closed, though a few are open, the sounds of conversation and laughter and the occasional moan spilling into the hall. 

You ignore them and continue on, turning the corner and passing a group of clones who are clearly too drunk to realize who you are. One of them wolf whistles and calls a compliment, the words slurred and crude, and you roll your eyes and keep walking. You pass a few more troopers, and then, just as you're about to reach the exit, a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist.

You turn, expecting Rex, and instead find a stranger. One of the clones from the group earlier. His pupils are blown, his expression laced with a mixture of lust and booze, and his fingers tighten around your wrist as he leans towards you.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing back here?" he slurs. "Looking for a good time?"

"No," you say. You tug on your arm, but his grip only grows tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. "Let go."

"Aw, c'mon," he croons, taking a step closer. "Why don't you come with me? Let's have a bit of fun."

"No," you say again, and this time, you’re able to free yourself. You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest, giving him a firm look. "Not interested. I’d recommend that you forget about the idea, trooper."

"Don't be like that," he coaxes. He reaches for your hand, and you jerk away. "Don't be rude."

He takes another step forward, and you shift, the wall pressing against your back. You take a deep breath and force yourself to remain calm. You can handle this. You've dealt with worse. Much worse. This isn't anything you can't handle.

The clone leans in, and the scent of alcohol and sweat and whatever cologne he's wearing is so strong, you almost gag. Your hands curl into fists, and you can feel the Force building inside you, the energy crackling through your veins. But before you can do anything, a firm hand lands on his shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?"

The clone whips around, his face twisting into a scowl. But the moment his eyes land on Rex, his expression falters, and he swallows hard.

"Captain," he manages, the word coming out slightly strangled. Rex arches an eyebrow and looks at you. You shake your head, and his attention returns to the other clone, the look on his face making it abundantly apparent that he's not amused.

"You should leave," Rex says flatly. "Now."

The clone glances at you, the look on his face uncertain. Then, his expression clears, and he smirks.

"It's alright," he says, though his voice has lost some of its bravado. "We were just having a bit of fun. She was asking for it."

Rex's nostrils flare, and his expression darkens. It's a look that would've sent a chill down your spine if it were directed at you. You've never seen Rex this angry before, never seen him so livid. His entire body is rigid, and the anger rolling off of him is so strong, you can practically taste it. 

"Careful, vod," he says quietly, the words dangerously soft. "That's no way to talk to a General."

"General?" 

The clone shifts, his eyes darting from you to Rex and back again. He blinks, his brow furrowing, and the realization dawns on him a moment later.

"Wait a minute," he mutters, the words half-slurred. He takes a step forward, and Rex immediately moves in front of you, blocking his path. "I knew you looked familiar."

"Leave. Now."

"But—"

"Before I make you," Rex threatens, and the clone hesitates, his eyes flickering between the two of you. You glare back at him, and the clone shrinks under the weight of the stare. He wets his lips and gives a jerky nod.

"Fine. I was tired of her, anyway," he mutters, turning away. He glances over his shoulder and sneers. "Kenobi should keep his Jedi on a shorter leash. Not my fault she’s dressed like a whore."

You inhale sharply, and Rex surges forward. His fist connects with the clone's face before the man can react, the blow landing with a force that sends him stumbling back. Rex follows him, grabbing the front of his armor and slamming him against the wall.

The clone yelps, the sound muffled by the hand covering his mouth, and he tries to squirm out of Rex's grasp, but Rex holds him in place, the strength and power behind the grip leaving no doubt as to who would win in a fight.

"Apologize," Rex orders. When the clone doesn't immediately comply, he raises his fist again, his knuckles bruised and bloody. "Now."

"I'm sorry," the clone manages, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Please."

"Not to me," Rex snarls, and the clone's eyes widen. He twists in Rex's grip and glances over his shoulder, the expression on his face filled with panic. You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow and staring him down.

"I'm sorry," the clone wheezes, his breath ragged and desperate. "Please, General. I'm sorry."

"Better," Rex says coldly. He releases the clone and takes a step back, his shoulders squared and his fists clenched. "If I ever hear about you harassing any woman like this, you won't have to worry about the war anymore. Understand?"

The clone nods frantically, and Rex stares at him for a long moment before nodding.

"Get out of here," he snaps, and the clone scrambles past the two of you, his gaze focused on the floor. Rex watches him go, and once the two of you are alone, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

You watch him, waiting, and it's not until he opens his eyes that you speak.

"Rex, are you—"

"Are you alright?" he interrupts. His voice is tense, and his jaw is clenched, the muscle twitching. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," you assure him. He exhales heavily and presses a hand to his forehead, the relief in his expression enough to make your heart clench. "I'm fine."

"Good," he breathes. 

He closes his eyes again and leans his head against the wall, his breathing slow and measured. You stand next to him, giving him the space and time to compose himself. After a few minutes, he lets out a ragged sigh.

"Are you okay?" you ask quietly.

"Yeah," he says. "I will be. It's...it's been a rough night."

"It's been a rough year," you murmur, and he lets out a soft huff, his lips curling into a smile. "You shouldn't have done that."

Rex looks down, his gaze focusing on the bruises forming on your wrist. He reaches for your arm, and you let him take it, the gentle brush of his thumb over your skin sending a shiver through you.

“You can’t go around punching people just because they look at me wrong," you tell him, and his gaze flickers up.

"I know," he mutters with a grimace, pulling away to wipe the blood off his knuckles. “But he insulted you. He called you a...well, I'm not going to repeat what he said. I'm not going to sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. Especially not a brother."

"He was drunk," you say, and he scoffs, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Doesn't matter," he says. He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Look, if someone treats you the way he did, then I'm gonna have a problem. You deserve better than that."

"Rex," you protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

"You do," he says firmly.

He's staring at you, his expression so intense and earnest and full of emotion that it makes your heart ache. It's nice, the knowledge that he'll stand up for you, the fierce protectiveness a welcome change from the indifference and neglect of the past.

But his reaction also serves as a reminder that his feelings run deeper than friendship, and the memory of what Jesse had said resurfaces.

Rex loves you.

You swallow hard and look away, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. You can't think about that right now, not after everything that's happened tonight. It's not fair. Not to him. Not to either of you. Not while you're both drunk and vulnerable and raw.

You step away, putting a bit of distance between the two of you.

“There you are," a familiar voice interrupts. Booker comes around the corner, his gaze flitting between you. “Did you see one of Keeli’s boys come through here with his tail between his legs? He didn’t bother you, did he? Because I can...oh."

He comes to a stop in front of Rex, his mouth dropping open as he takes in the bloodied knuckles, the look of annoyance on the Captain’s face, and the tension in the air.

"He did bother you," he says flatly. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," you reply. "It was nothing. Rex took care of it."

"Rex took care of it," he echoes, and you nod, crossing your arms over your chest. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his hands curling into fists. "Alright. Alright. That's fine. Good. Fine. So where is he?"

"Booker," you start, but the clone is already looking at Rex, his eyes hard.

"No, it's fine," he says. His voice is light, but the expression on his face is anything but. "Really. Where is he?”

“You’re not going anywhere, and that’s an order,” you tell him, and when he opens his mouth to argue, you give him a hard look. His eyes flicker from you to Rex, his shoulders tensing, and after a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh and gives a stiff nod.

"Yes, sir."

"And you are bleeding," you snap, turning to Rex. You grab his wrist, tugging him closer, and inspect his knuckles. They're a mess, the skin torn and bloodied, and he winces, his fingers curling. "Let's get this taken care of, and then we'll call it a night, okay?"

"I'll be fine," he says dismissively.

"You can't go back to your men looking like that," you argue. "They'll ask questions, and—"

"I said I'll be fine," he cuts you off. When he sees the irritation on your face, he lets out a heavy sigh and gives you a pleading look. "Look, it's nothing. It's fine. Really. I'll take care of it when I get back.”

You scoff, but he holds your gaze, the stubborn set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes making it abundantly apparent that he's not backing down. Unfortunately for him, you're far more stubborn than he is. And you have no intention of letting him win this fight.

You turn and pull him towards the restroom, the motion making him stumble slightly. He grunts and tries to pull away, but you hold fast, tightening your grip and not looking back. 

“Shut up and walk,” you mutter, and Rex sighs but allows himself to be led, his wrist still clutched in your hand. 

"Wait, wait," Booker calls, hurrying after you.

He catches up just as the two of you reach the women’s room. There’s a line of a half-dozen women outside, but you ignore them, catching the door just as a Twi’Lek leaves and shoving Rex inside. Booker tries to follow, but when the women outside the restroom protest, he gives them a sheepish look and takes a step back, his hands raising in surrender.

"I'll, uh...I'll just stay out here," he calls after you as you close the door, cutting off his protests.

You lock the door and turn back to Rex, whose gaze is roaming around the room, his expression somewhere between shock and bewilderment. You roll your eyes and grab his arm, tugging him over to the sink.

"Stop gawking and put your hand under the water," you tell him, and the command snaps him out of his stupor. He turns the faucet on and puts his hand under the spray, hissing quietly. You lean closer, inspecting the wounds. "How does it feel?"

"Not bad," he says. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and a hint of a teasing smile appears. “You should see the other guy.”

"It's not funny, Rex," you snap. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I disagree," he replies. He flexes his fingers, and after a moment, he pulls his hand from the stream. He leans against the counter and lets out a heavy breath, the humor fading as he studies his knuckles. "That brother is lucky all I did was punch him. If he'd tried to hurt you..."

His voice trails off, and his expression darkens, the threat hanging unspoken between the two of you. You swallow hard and pull away, reaching for the paper towel dispenser. You rip off a piece and turn back to Rex, and when he sees you approaching, the frown on his face deepens.

"Stop," he mutters. "Don't bother."

"Hush," you say. You move closer, pressing the towel against his knuckles, and his brow furrows. "Hold still.”

He obliges, watching you clean the wounds, and it's not until you toss the used paper towel away that he speaks again.

"You don't need to do this," he says quietly. "You should be back at the table with the others. Enjoying yourself. Not wasting your time with me."

"It's not a waste of time," you murmur. You tear off a fresh piece of paper towel and dampen it, your gaze focused on the task. "And I'm not leaving you alone until this is cleaned up."

He chuckles, and the soft noise makes you look up. The smile on his face is warm and affectionate, the fondness in his eyes almost enough to make you stop. Almost. But you force yourself to remain calm, to keep your emotions under control, and you focus on cleaning the last of the blood off his knuckles.

It's a task that would be far easier if your hand wasn't shaking, if your stomach wasn't twisting into knots, if you weren't acutely aware of how close the two of you were. It's a task that would be far easier if everything wasn't shifting, changing. It would be easier if you weren't afraid.

"Look, I'm not going to scold you. I know it's important to you, the respect thing," you mutter. You press the towel a bit harder against his skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his gaze flicking up to yours. "But it's not your responsibility. I'm not your responsibility."

"You are," he says, and the response is so quick and sure and certain, it makes your heart skip a beat. "You are. Always. And I know I can't always be there. But I'm always going to try. You can't stop me from doing that."

"I know," you admit with a sigh. You throw the paper towel in the trash and turn to wash your hands, giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The silence is broken by the water running, the quiet splashing a welcome distraction.

When you finish and turn back, Rex is watching you.

“When are we going to stop having this argument?” he asks quietly.

"When you start listening to me," you retort.

His brow furrows, and his lips curl into a pout. It's a look that's meant to appear annoyed, but the effect is ruined by the warmth in his eyes. 

"I'm always listening," he tells you. "Even if I don't agree."

You give a wry smile, the corner of your mouth lifting.

"Yeah," you mutter, "that's the problem."

You tilt his hand, examining the wound. It's not too bad, but the skin is raw, the bruises already starting to form. You press your fingers against the area, and he flinches, the motion making you frown.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he replies, a little too quickly. When you look up, the sheepish expression on his face makes it abundantly apparent that he's lying. "A bit."

You shake your head and close your eyes, your free hand hovering over his knuckles. You take a deep breath, but before you can begin, his hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist.

"Don't," he murmurs, and you look at him. His gaze is steady and intent, and his touch is light, his thumb brushing across your skin. "Don't. Please. It's fine."

"Rex," you say, and he shakes his head.

"No," he says. He shifts away, pulling his hand out of your grasp. "You're exhausted, and the last thing you need to be doing is healing anyone. Especially not me."

"Rex."

"You're not doing it," he insists, his voice firm.

"I don't care," you reply, and his frown deepens.

"Don't be reckless."

"Me?" you repeat, the question more of a demand than a query. You cross your arms over your chest, and his gaze drops, his attention drawn by the movement. You let him stare for a moment before clearing your throat, and his head snaps up, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Don't be stubborn," he counters, and you roll your eyes.

"Pot. Kettle."

He huffs, the breath leaving his lungs in a quiet hiss, and the annoyance on his face is so familiar and so endearing, it's hard not to smile.

"You are the most infuriating person I've ever met," he mutters. "Do you know that? Sometimes, I swear it's like you're trying to drive me crazy."

"Likewise," you retort. He snorts, his mouth twisting into a smirk, and his eyes drop to the floor. When they return to yours, the heat has faded, replaced by a gentle affection.

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" he murmurs.

The words hit you hard, the meaning behind them even more so. You inhale sharply, and his gaze drops to your mouth, lingering long and slow. A shiver runs through you, and you're dimly aware of the fact that this is the closest you've been to him in weeks. It's easy to forget why it's dangerous, the way he's looking at you. The way he's always looking at you.

And it's getting harder and harder to pretend. To lie.

To hide.

“Give me your hand,” you tell him quietly, and he obeys without hesitation, holding his hand out to you. You take it in both of yours, running your fingers over the damaged skin. His breath catches, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing, and his eyes are filled with something more than just pain.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before closing your eyes.

"Hold still,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t—“

“Shh, I’m concentrating."

Rex sighs, but he doesn't fight you. Instead, he falls silent, the only sound the music from the club and the murmur of voices, the bass pounding a steady rhythm that vibrates the floor. You open yourself to the Force, feeling it flow through you, and when you're sure that you're connected, you focus on his wounds. It's a simple injury, nothing like the time you patched up his leg. A cut. Some bruising. Easy.

But still, it takes a moment, the pain from his bruised flesh seeping into your bones and leaving you breathless. You're more tired than you thought you were, and the alcohol isn't helping, the dizziness and the exhaustion making the task more difficult. 

You can feel the strain in your body, the ache in your muscles, and the heaviness in your limbs. And yet, it's worth it. All of it is worth it, the pain and the discomfort and the exhaustion, because Rex is the one who's hurting, and he doesn't deserve to suffer. He deserves better. He always has.

Finally, the last of the wounds knits itself together, and the connection breaks. Your eyes flutter open to see the skin is whole, the bruises gone, and the only sign that he was ever injured is the few flecks of dried blood still left there.

"See?" you say, your voice coming out more breathlessly than intended. "No big deal."

Your vision blurs, and you blink hard, the world swimming for a moment before coming back into focus. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and let out a heavy breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly. He lays a hand on your back, his fingers pressing lightly against your spine, and the sensation makes your skin prickle. "You shouldn't have done that. It must've hurt."

"It's nothing," you assure him. "It was worth it."

"Worth the pain?" he asks. When you nod against him, he huffs a quiet laugh, his arm curling around you. "Infuriating.”

"Don’t pretend you’re not the same,” you mumble as your eyes drift shut, a small smile spreading across your face. His fingers begin tracing lazy patterns along your spine, and you let out a soft hum and shift closer.

“I’m not the one healing people against their will."

“No, you’re just the one who got in a bar fight," you point out, and he snorts, the movement making your hair sway. "Which was unnecessary. And stupid."

"Yeah, well, you're worth the trouble," he says quietly. He pulls away from you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you."

"Anytime.”

You let out a soft yawn, and his hand moves from your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheekbone. The touch is gentle, and you instinctively lean into it, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs.

"Thanks," you drawl, and he grins, his head ducking.

"Sorry."

The two of you stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the spell. It's easy to pretend, in the silence, that things are different. That the war is over, and the two of you aren't a Jedi and a clone. That the galaxy isn't at war. That there aren't a million reasons why nothing can ever happen between the two of you. It's easy to pretend that this is real, that the feelings are reciprocated, that everything isn't falling apart. It's easy to believe the lie.

And then, a bang echoes through the room, shattering the fragile silence.

"Is everyone alright in there?" Booker calls. Rex’s hand falls away, curling into a fist. "Because this line is getting really long. Also the door's locked. Are you guys alright? Is she alright?"

Rex frowns and lets out a frustrated sigh, his gaze flickering to the ceiling. You can't help the giggle that bubbles up and spills past your lips at his exasperation. The scowl on his face deepens, though the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

"I should've hit him, too," he mutters, and you let out a snort.

"We're fine!" you call out. "We'll be out in a minute."

"Take your time," Booker shouts back. "I'm sure no one else is dying to use the restroom."

You roll your eyes, and Rex lets out another huff, his head dropping forward.

"If he weren't a brother," he grumbles, though the words are lacking the bite. He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. "Alright. I think we should get out of here. Before he breaks the door down."

"Yeah," you agree, nodding. "We should probably do that."

Neither of you move, though, the reluctance on both of your faces unmistakable. Rex opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting. Then a second bang echoes through the restroom, and he sighs, his mouth snapping shut.

He leans back, giving you some space, and crosses his arms over his chest, his expression guarded.

"Okay," he says finally, the word coming out strained. "Let's go."

"Wait."

You reach for him, and he turns to you, the surprise on his face giving way to concern.

"What is it?"

You don't know what prompts the action. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the loneliness. Or maybe it's the look on his face, the tenderness and the vulnerability and the worry, the mixture of emotions so pure and true that it makes your chest tighten.

Whatever the reason, you don't stop yourself from reaching for him. Your hand rests on his shoulder, your thumb brushing the skin above his collar, and you stretch onto your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. It's nothing more than a peck, a brief, chaste touch, and yet, the moment your lips meet his skin, he freezes. His entire body goes rigid, the muscles under your fingers going taught, and his breath catches, the small, strangled noise echoing in your ears.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide, his jaw slack, and he blinks, his throat bobbing. The expression on his face is priceless, and if the situation were any different, you would've laughed. But as it is, you just smile and pat his chest.

"Thank you," you tell him quietly. "For looking out for me. I appreciate it."

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out, his lips moving uselessly. After a moment, he manages a jerky nod, and a faint noise escapes his throat. He takes a shaky breath and tries again.

"Always," he croaks, the words coming out hoarse and rough. He clears his throat and straightens. "I should, um...we should...uh..."

"Go?"

"Yeah," he breathes. He gives a jerky nod. "Yeah. Let's, uh, let's do that. Let's go."

"I'll see you out there," you reply, and before he can respond, you turn and unlock the door.

You step outside and let shut the door behind you, the noise from the club assaulting your senses in full force. Booker is slumped against the wall, his head drooping, his arms crossed over his chest. You nudge him with your foot, and his head snaps up, the movement making him sway.

"Hey," he greets, his voice slurring slightly. He squints at you and frowns. "Everything okay?”

"Perfect," you tell him. You glance over your shoulder to see Rex stepping out into the hall, his gaze focused on the floor. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he runs a hand over his mouth, the gesture doing little to hide the pink tint in his cheeks. "Everything's fine.”

Booker follows your gaze, and his eyebrows lift.

"I, uh...should I even ask?"

"No," Rex answers flatly. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Booker a firm look. "And if anyone asks, you never saw us in here."

"My lips are sealed," Booker promises, miming zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key. He straightens, pushing off the wall and staggering a bit before righting himself. "Though, if I were to say anything, it would be about the lipstick on your cheek, Captain."

Rex's eyes widen, and his hand flies to his face. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and his brow furrows as he inspects the smear of color on his skin.

"Oh," he mumbles, his fingers brushing the spot where you kissed him. The look on his face is somewhere between embarrassed and pleased, and his gaze flicks to you, a hint of a smile appearing. "I...um..."

"Don't worry," Booker says with a lazy grin. "Your secret's safe with me.

The words hang in the air, and Rex's expression hardens as a jolt of panic races through you. Booker seems to realize the double meaning, his mouth dropping open.

"Uh, I mean...the, uh, fight. Not that other thing. Not that there's an 'other thing' or anything. Because there's not," he stammers, and Rex gives him a withering look. "I'm, uh...yeah, I'm gonna stop talking now."

"Good," Rex nods.

"Good," you repeat, and you clear your throat and turn, gesturing down the hall. "We should get back. The others are probably wondering where we are."

Booker lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face, his eyes squeezing shut.

"They'll live," he groans.

You arch an eyebrow at him, and his shoulders droop. The earlier bravado has faded, the fatigue and the alcohol taking their toll, and his face is pale, the circles under his eyes pronounced.

"I'm ready to leave," he mutters, his voice slightly hoarse. "My head's killing me."

"That's because you've had too much to drink," you scold, and he scoffs, giving a weak wave of his hand.

"I have not," he says. At your disbelieving look, he smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. "Maybe a little. Would it be alright if we went back to the barracks?"

You consider him for a moment, and when he doesn't seem to be joking, you sigh and nod.

"Fine. We'll call it a night," you concede. You turn back to Rex. "Are you coming with us?"

"I'm gonna stay a bit longer," he replies. "See if I can track down Hardcase and the others. Make sure they don't get into any more trouble."

"Oh," you murmur. You feel a slight pang of disappointment, but you force a smile and nod. "Alright. Sounds good. Have fun. I'll see you later, then."

Rex steps forward, reaching out and resting a hand on your arm. His fingers slide down your skin until they find your wrist, and his thumb brushes the soft skin just above your pulse point. The touch is featherlight, and yet the effect sends a shiver through you.

"I'll message you later," he promises, his voice quiet enough for only the two of you to hear. “Let me know when you get back safe, alright?"

"Of course," you tell him, and his face softens. His hand slips from your wrist and down to your hand, and he squeezes gently before releasing you.

"Have a good night, sir," he tells you, his tone shifting back to formal. Without another word, he turns and disappears around the corner, leaving the two of you alone.

You watch him go, the disappointment and the affection inside you mixing until the butterflies in your stomach are almost unbearable.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Booker asks, and you startle.

"Everything's fine," you assure him, though your voice sounds a little too breathless to be convincing. You shake your head and meet his eyes, trying to keep your face neutral. "Let's go. I think we could both use a good night's sleep."

"Fine with me," he agrees.

The two of you make your way down the hall, and once you've pushed through the crowd and stepped out into the street, the cool night air hits your skin. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the fresh air chasing away the last of the fogginess in your brain. When you open your eyes and turn to Booker, he's leaning against the side of the building, his head tipped back.

"Are you going to make it?" you ask.

"Mhm," he mumbles. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head, his expression determined. "Yeah. I'm good. Let's get going."

The two of you begin walking towards the barracks, the streets quiet except for the occasional vehicle and the chatter from the bars. Booker's pace is slow, his steps heavy, and you glance over at him, taking in his slumped posture and glassy eyes. He looks tired. Drunk. And you have a feeling that by morning, he'll regret the number of drinks he's had.

You sigh and move closer, and he glances at you.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," you tell him. You loop your arm through his and pull him toward you, the motion making him stumble slightly. His brow furrows, and you smile. "You just look like you need a bit of help."

"Thanks," he grumbles, though his arm tightens around yours. He leans his weight against you, and the two of you continue down the sidewalk, your steps falling in sync.

"So," Booker starts after a while. "What happened back there?"

"Nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

"Drop it, Booker," you tell him, your voice firm. "It's none of your business."

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, you think he'll listen. Then his arm tightens around yours, and his head drops to the side, his frustration giving way to a pleading look.

”At least tell me if you’re okay," he pleads. "Please."

You consider him for a moment, and the genuine concern in his eyes makes you swallow.

"I'm fine," you murmur. "Honestly."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly. You give him a gentle nudge and offer him a smile that you hope is reassuring. "I'm alright. Really. Why do you ask?"

"Because," he starts, before he sighs and looks down, kicking a stray piece of trash. "Because you've been through a lot lately. And well...you seem upset. And if he did anything, or said anything, or—"

"It's not him," you say quickly. The interruption seems to surprise him, and you take a deep breath and try again, the words slower and more controlled. "It's not Rex. I swear. He'd never hurt me."

You hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth in them, and he finally nods and glances away, his shoulders sagging.

"Then, what is it?" he presses. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up. "I thought...I mean, earlier, at the bar, I thought that we were having a good time. But you looked upset when I came to check on you, and then you disappeared, and Rex looked like he was ready to kill someone, and you two were alone for a long—“

Booker stops abruptly, forcing you to a stop, and the sudden change in momentum causes you to stumble. You're about to complain, but the look on his face makes the words die in your throat.

"You two weren't..." he begins. He lets out a noise that sounds like a cross between a cough and a choke, his hand flying to his mouth. "Oh. Oh, no."

Your stomach drops, and the blood rushes to your face. You try to pull away, but his arm is like a vice, the grip unwavering.

"That's not—"

"I'm so stupid," he mumbles, cutting you off. His gaze is distant, his expression dazed. "Why didn't I see it before? The looks. The touches. The way you two act together. I'm such an idiot."

"We're not—"

"When he came in looking for you in the medbay, and the way you looked at each other. And he brought you that blanket the other day, and after, in the woods…" he continues, the words tumbling out faster and faster. He blinks hard and turns to you, his mouth hanging open. "Wait, wait. Is he the one you've been messaging? And calling?"

You hesitate, the truth caught in your throat. The answer must be written on your face, because his jaw snaps shut, and he takes a step back, releasing his hold on your arm.

"Oh, Maker," he breathes. "You and him? Really?"

"No," you deny immediately, shaking your head. You cross your arms over your chest and take a step forward, lowering your voice. "Nothing's happening. Nothing can happen. We're friends. That's all."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, the words heavy and sour, and you swallow and shake your head.

"We're just friends," you repeat, the words a little easier this time. "It's nothing. So don't get any ideas, okay?"

His gaze flits over your face, the concern on his expression shifting into something softer.

"Do you want something to happen?" he asks quietly, and you stiffen. "Is that why you've been acting weird?"

You open your mouth, but the words refuse to come, the answer stuck in your throat. You can't force them out, either the truth or the lie, and so you turn and keep walking, leaving him to follow or not.

After a moment, he sighs and catches up with you. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. It isn’t until you’ve walked two blocks in silence that he clears his throat and glances at you.

"I think it's nice."

You blink and turn to him, the surprise making your mouth drop open.

"What?"

"You and Rex," he says with a shrug. "If something did happen, I'd think it's nice. It's better than...than a lot of things. If you two were happy. It'd be good. Really."

"But—"

"Look, if it's a Jedi thing, or a rank thing, or a...whatever thing, I get it," he cuts you off. He gives a sharp shake of his head. "I don't agree, but I get it. And I understand why it's complicated, but..."

He trails off, and you look at him, waiting.

"But what?" you prompt, and his brow furrows as he turns to look at you.

"But just so you know, if you do feel that way about him...well, there are ways around it," he tells you. Booker gives a small shrug, the movement lacking the confidence and arrogance from earlier. Instead, it's a simple gesture, a hint of vulnerability that's rarely seen. "Things we can do to keep it a secret. To protect the two of you."

"We?" you repeat, and he smirks.

"Yeah, 'we'," he confirms. "I could help, if you wanted me to. And I know the rest of the boys wouldn't hesitate, either. Any of them. If you told them, they'd do whatever it took. They'd cover for you, help hide it, whatever. The 501st too. Hell, maybe even the 212th would join in."

"Really?"

"Really," he nods. He turns to you and offers a crooked smile. "I'm not just saying that, either. I'm serious. If you asked us, we'd do it."

"Booker, I..."

You trail off, and he looks at you, waiting. The street around the two of you is empty, the late hour and the cool breeze keeping people indoors. It's just the two of you, and the silence feels deafening. You glance around, your gaze falling on a bench, and you make your way over, Booker following without question.

Once you've sat down, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, looking up at the night sky.

"You can't say anything. To anyone," you tell him quietly. You glance over to see him looking at you, the seriousness in his eyes mirroring the tone in your voice. "Please. Not a word."

"I won't," he promises.

You search his eyes, looking for a lie, but you find none. He holds your gaze, steady and sure, and the anxiety in your stomach fades slightly. After a moment, you nod and turn back to the sky, staring at the stars.

"Rex and I, we're not...It's complicated," you begin. "There's feelings, but...they can't come to anything. There's too much at stake. For both of us. And I won't risk his career for my own happiness. I can't. I won't. No matter how much I want to."

"But—"

"No, Booker," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You know what would happen to him if we got caught. He'd be court martialed or sent to reconditioning. Maybe worse. And I'd get a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to. But for him...he'd lose everything. And for what? Just so we can be happy for a little while?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And that's not even considering the other complications," you add. You lean back against the bench and tilt your head up, watching the clouds roll by. "It'd never work. The long-distance, the stress, the pressure. How could we ever have a future? A real future. We can't."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is," you insist. You look at him and sigh, the disappointment and the regret settling in your stomach. "You know it is. There's no future for us. Not really. So whatever this is, it can't go any further. It won't. Because he deserves better. More."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"What about you?" he repeats. He rests his forearms on his knees, leaning closer. "Don't you deserve to be happy? Even for a little while? Doesn't he?"

"Not if it means putting his life on the line," you say. "Not if it means losing him. Because that's the end result, isn't it? Whether we get caught or not, I'll lose him."

"You're gonna lose him anyway."

You blink and stare at him, and he gives a one-shouldered shrug, his expression resigned.

"That's the reality, isn't it? We're clones," he points out, the words making your heart clench. "We're not meant to have forever. None of us. But does that mean we don't deserve a chance? At least a little happiness? Before we're gone?"

His words settle heavily in the silence, and you shift uncomfortably. After a moment, you let out a heavy sigh and meet his gaze.

"That's not fair," you tell him, your voice thick. "And it's not right."

"Maybe not," he admits. "But it's the truth. Us clones don't get a lot of choices, but this is one thing we should have a choice in. We should be able to make our own decisions, and our own mistakes. That's not yours to worry about. And he'd choose you. You know he would. In a heartbeat."

The words echo in your mind, the truth in them settling into your bones and sinking deeper, until it's almost suffocating. The thought is both wonderful and horrible, and it fills you with hope and fear. Hope that the two of you can have a future, no matter how brief, and fear that the future will be ripped away, leaving nothing but pain and heartbreak behind. It's a painful cycle, and the uncertainty is almost too much.

Your shoulders sag, and you lean forward, resting your head in your hands. Your fingers tangle in your hair, the motion tugging at the strands, and a small part of you wishes that it would hurt, that the sharp pain would chase away the confusion and the fear and the doubt.

"I don't want him to," you whisper, the words coming out choked. You swallow and try again. "I don't want him to give up everything he's worked for. His entire life, his identity, his freedom...I don't want him to throw that away, just for me. I'm not...I'm not worth it."

"Hey, hey," he says gently. "Of course, you are."

You shake your head, the movement causing the tears to spill down your cheeks. You let out a shaky breath and press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stem the flow. It doesn't work, though, and the tears continue to fall, the quiet hiccuping sobs making your chest ache.

"Oh, c'mere," he murmurs.

He reaches over and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. You curl against him, pressing your face against his chest, and his fingers stroke your hair, the touch comforting. You close your eyes and let the tears fall, the weight on your chest easing slightly.

You don't know how long the two of you sit there, his hand in your hair and his arm around your shoulders, his quiet murmurings of reassurance filling the silence. Eventually, the tears dry up, the hiccuping sobs becoming sniffles, and he lets out a chuckle.

"This is nice," he murmurs. "This is the most affection I've gotten from you, ever."

You roll your eyes and huff a watery laugh, and you pull away to glare at him.

"Seriously," he adds, smirking. "I like this side of you. Very snuggly. You should let yourself cry more often."

The comment makes your eyes well up again, the tears threatening to fall, and the smug expression on his face melts. He frowns and pulls you closer, his fingers continuing their soothing motion.

"Too soon?" he asks quietly, and you nod. "Sorry. I'll stop."

You nod again, and the two of you sit there, his fingers working through the tangles. The silence lasts for a few moments before he clears his throat and speaks, the words coming out slowly.

"Do you love him?" he asks, and you swallow hard, the question catching you off guard. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," you admit, the word escaping before you can stop it. You pause and shake your head, the confession spilling past your lips. "I think so. I do. I love him."

Booker doesn't say anything, the only noise the wind blowing past and the occasional passing vehicle. You sit there, your eyes shut, your heart pounding, the confession weighing on you. It's the first time you've said the words out loud, even allowed yourself to think them, and the weight of them is enough to leave you breathless.

When Booker speaks again, his voice is quiet and careful, the words soft.

"Does he know?"

"I don't know," you whisper. "I don't think so. I don't...we haven't..."

Your words trail off, the sentence unfinished, but the unspoken meaning is apparent.

"Oh," he murmurs. His hand moves to your shoulder, his grip gentle. "Oh, well...that makes things complicated, doesn't it?"

"You think?"

The dry response makes him huff a quiet laugh.

"Well, if it helps, I'm pretty sure he loves you too," he says, and your heart skips a beat. "I mean, it's not exactly a secret. The way he acts around you, the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you...it's pretty kriffing noticeable."

"Really?"

"Definitely," he nods. "I knew the first time I saw you two together."

You pull away and look at him. "How can you be sure?"

He lets out a short laugh, the noise tinged with disbelief. "How can I be sure? Are you serious? Look, I might not have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but even I can see it. I can't imagine a clone being as close with a Jedi as Rex is with you and not loving them."

"It's not like that," you protest. "We're just friends."

"Friends don't kiss each other."

"I kissed him on the cheek."

"Right, because that's such a normal thing to do," he scoffs, and your cheeks heat. "You two aren't friends. Or if you are, you're friends with some seriously confusing boundaries."

"Booker," you say warningly, and he shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender.

"Look, the point is," he begins. He lowers his hands and lets out a heavy breath, his expression softening. "It's a tough situation. And it's complicated, and risky, and...well, honestly, it sucks. But it's also a good thing. It could be a really good thing. For both of you. You just need to stop being a coward."

Your eyes narrow, and an offended huff leaves your throat.

"A coward," you repeat. "Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"You really have a way with words, you know that?"

"So, I've been told," he agrees. He offers a small smile, the look fading into one of thoughtfulness. "And maybe it's the alcohol, but I'm feeling a bit philosophical right now. So here's another piece of advice. Do what makes you happy. Life's too short to be miserable. And if anyone tries to make you feel bad about it, they can go fuck themselves. Or better yet, we'll beat them up for you. The boys would love a chance to take a swing at someone."

You snort, the noise escaping before you can stop it. The visual is ridiculous and absurd, and yet, somehow, you're sure he's not kidding. If anything, the idea of the men taking turns laying into anyone who gives you grief, and thoroughly enjoying it, is the most believable part of his speech.

"Thanks, Booker," you tell him, and his grin broadens. "That was, uh, surprisingly insightful."

"It's a gift," he replies. He stands and holds out his hand, and you take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, giving him a grateful smile. It's a bit wobbly, and it's a struggle to keep your lower lip from trembling, but you manage to hold it together.

You let go of his hand and wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing gently. He stiffens, clearly not expecting the embrace, but after a moment, his arms fold around you. His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, his body warm and solid.

"Thank you," you mumble into his chest, and you pull back slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "Really. Thank you. For listening, and...well, everything else. I really appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”

He ducks his head, his cheeks turning pink, and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Don't go soft on me," he mumbles, the words laced with embarrassment.

"Right," you laugh, and you cross your arms. "Sorry. It's just with all the compliments, and the advice, and the kindness, and the compassion...I thought that we were friends. But if you'd rather we go back to being strangers..."

You turn and begin walking away, and a hand closes around your arm, stopping you.

"Hey, no," he protests, pulling you back. "Nope. No take-backs. We're friends. Good friends. Best friends, even. Just don't expect any more kind words or deep conversations, okay? At least not when I'm sober."

"Okay," you agree. You hold out your hand, and he takes it, his grip firm. "Deal."

"Deal," he nods.

Booker looks down at your hand, his grin faltering slightly, and you notice for the first time just how much he's swaying. His face has gone from flushed to pale, and his eyes have a glassy sheen. His jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a tight line, and his gaze is fixed on a spot somewhere above your head.

"You alright?" you ask. When he doesn't respond, you step closer, peering up at him. "Are you going to be sick?"

He blinks, his brow furrowing, and he turns his attention to you.

"Yeah, just..." he mutters, and before he can finish, a gag escapes, the sound making your stomach turn. “I’m gonna go throw up in that trash can now, if that's okay with you."

"That's fine," you say quickly.

You take a step back as he shuffles away, stumbling a few feet before stopping in front of a nearby trash can. He leans over it, his shoulders heaving, and you wince and look away. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" you call, and he lifts his hand and waves his arm in a dismissive gesture.

"Never better," he chokes out.

The reply is followed by a retching noise, and you grimace. You sigh and walk over to him, pulling his hair back and giving his back a few reassuring pats. The two of you stand there, the sounds of traffic and gusts of wind filling the air, until he finally stands upright and takes a shaky breath.

"Sorry," he mutters, his face pale.

"It's okay," you assure him. You take a step back, giving him room to breathe, and he sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"Let's never do this again."

"Agreed."

Booker nods and takes another breath, his brow furrowing. "I don't feel so good."

"Come on," you tell him, reaching for him. You wrap an arm around his waist and help him stumble forward. "We'll get back to the barracks, and I'll fix you up. Then we can put this whole mess behind us."

He nods, his movements jerky, and he lets you lead him down the sidewalk.

“You’re a good friend, too," he mumbles after a while.

You glance up at him, and his head is drooping, his eyes half-closed. You let out a quiet laugh and squeeze his waist.

“Thanks.”

You tighten your grip on him, and the two of you keep walking, the silence more comfortable than it was before. You look up at the stars, and despite the pain in your chest, the heaviness in your limbs, and the tears on your cheeks, the knot inside your stomach eases slightly.

You're not sure what will happen. Whether Rex really does the same way. If the two of you will have a chance, a real chance, or if this is all you’ll ever be. You don't know if the war will ever end, or if it'll consume everything, and you don't know if either of you will make it out alive. But the one thing you do know is that the path you've chosen, the road ahead of you, is a better one than the life you had before.

Because even if it's not meant to be, even if it's too much or not enough, at least you have people who care about you. And that's better than nothing at all.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars @capricornrabies @champagnejaig @silly-starfish

[yellowcry]

You know what time is it? It's time to yap about the new solarballs episode because I loved it

Uranus, please, calm down and think for a moment. I feel so bad for him tbh. For the first time he had a chance to become something other than a joke and unfinished parody of Saturn with weird tilt. Just for reality to smash it into pieces. And the last scene, where he threatens to leave... like you can see he just begs for attention. But, just as always, the ice giants are forgotten...

Mars seems as the most conflicted. Well he did admire Jupiter. Honestly I'm glad the planets aren't all immediately jump to hug one another but seem to have pretty hard feelings in case of the rocky planets. Saturn and Neptune are probably the only ones genuinely happy. (And be real, we all could expect this from Saturn)

"Let's not pull this stunt with heading into the sun again" MERCURY I'M GONNA THROW YOU INTO THE SUN MYSELF RN this is literally the best way to make suicidal person even more suicidal why did you have to say this. 😭😭/hj No but I understand he's probably stressed too. Pretty nice to see Mercury putting his feelings first. This isn't right, but just as Uranus, it all makes a lot of sence. And the way Mercury got unsulted at being called 'a moon' bro weren't you told not to treat them as inferiour? Honestly, this kinda returns to the point where planet, while they DO love their moons, they see them as lesser.

But seriously can anyone put earth to therapy again. And jupiter. And sun. And honestly the entire solar system.

Low-key dissapoined that they called past Earth 'Proto.' Proto is kinda shortened of Prototype. And prototype of what he was? The current Earth? They couldn't even be aware of his existence? (Say I as if the fact their names before humanity make any sense at all). I am a deep Gaia believer. (Or at least Terra)

Jupiter reunited with his moons! Finally! I've been waiting for this for the past ten years lolz. 'Wait that was real?' The best reaction one could have. But omg they are so wholesome. And seing Europa tear up wasn't on my 2025 bingo card. The entire scene was honestly so sweet. Solarballs for real let Ganymede be hurt. (Fair, Jupiter wouldn't have to question his state. Question is only WHY is he healed in the patreon previem like it takes place right after the episode??). But dang it, nice to see that despite everything they love one another.

'Are you really saying hi to me or is it another one of your lies?' Sun, are you okay? Like mentally/j i know he is not. But this is the weirdest reaction one could have.

The fact planet X didn't lose suddenly makes a big mess. I mean, Jupiter won't be ejected again that's for sure. But damn, it would be so easier if moons had actually won. Bro, Ganymede looks so guilty when sun reminds planet X won the challenge. But Sun I am still pissed off at how you made them play an asteroid dodgeball. Kinda hope he would be confronted on this fact in the next episode.

[vandme12]

Ronin x FtM Reader? 👀 Like Ronin helping reader after they have gotten top surgery! Or helping prepare their t shots! Haven't seen really anything like that on Tumblr so I hope it won't be too much of a ask! ^^'

WORDS : 1000 W0RDS

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : BACK ALLEY IS BETTER!

I'll be happy to write for requests like these! Don't be shy!

The alley smelled like blood. Not fresh, not clean—old and rotting, a scent that clung to the damp brick walls and the cracked pavement beneath your feet. It mixed with the sharp sting of antiseptic and the metallic tang of something you refused to name.

And yet, Ronin stood beside you, hands in the pockets of his coat, breathing it in like it was the crisp night air.

“Ahh,” he sighed, tilting his head back. “Smells like home.”

You shot him a look, not for the first time questioning how the fuck you ended up here. Then again, you already knew.

You had been saving up, researching, checking waitlists—months, years of hoping, of being told to wait, of people telling you what you already knew about yourself. The gatekeeping, the insurance nightmares, the sheer impossibility of it all. And then—

Then there was Ronin.

He had laughed when you told him your struggle, like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. You had been two seconds away from decking him when he’d draped an arm over your shoulder, leaned in close, and whispered in your ear—

“Babe, you should’ve come to me sooner. I know a guy.” And that’s how you ended up here. Ronin wasn’t lying. He did know a guy. He knew exactly where to go. He had strutted through the city’s underbelly like he owned the place, winking at men who looked like they had body parts in their freezers, nodding at surgeons whose credentials were dubious at best. He walked you straight to the back alley butcher he swore by, the one who had carved him into the shape he wanted to be.

"You're gonna owe me for this, y'know."

Ronin’s voice was all casual malice, like he was commenting on the weather instead of leading you down a dimly lit alley that reeked of piss and cigarette smoke. The neon lights of a rundown tattoo shop buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows along the cracked pavement. He walked like he owned the place, one hand shoved into the pocket of his blood-stained hoodie, the other gesturing lazily at the rusted metal door in front of you.

"Hope you're not squeamish," he added, grinning sharp. "Or if you are, hope you like painkillers. The good shit costs extra, but since I'm so fuckin' generous, I made sure you'd get a little sumthin’."

You swallowed hard. Your ribs still ached from binding too long, from carrying the weight of something that was never meant to be there. Your whole life had been leading to this moment, and Ronin—fucking Ronin—was the one making it happen.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest like it still mattered.

Ronin clicked his tongue and draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in like you were some fresh-faced recruit in his little game. His touch was warm, grounding in a way you didn’t want to admit.

"Cuz I like you," he purred, voice all honeyed menace. "And if I like you, that means you get nice things. ‘Course, that also means you owe me, but we’ll worry about that later."

His fingers curled around the nape of your neck for just a second before he let go, shoving the door open with a grand sweep of his hand.

"Welcome to Hell."

The "clinic" was little more than a dingy back room behind an abandoned massage parlor, the kind of place where dreams were bought in cash and sterilization was highly negotiable. A single operating table sat under harsh fluorescent lights, the floor sticky with something you didn’t want to name. The doctor—if you could call him that—was an older man with nicotine-stained fingers and a perpetual scowl.

The "surgeon" looked up, a wiry man with sunken eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips. His gloved hands were stained—hopefully ink, but you weren’t about to ask.

“Well, well,” he rasped, looking you over. “A friend of the Devil’s?”

Ronin threw an arm around your shoulders. “More than a friend, doc. A project. This one needs your best work.”

The man snorted but gestured to the chair. “You know the drill. Cash up front.”

Ronin didn’t even hesitate. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket, tossed it onto the tray. Where the hell had he gotten it? Probably best not to ask.

"You vouch for them?"" the man grunted, lighting up a cigarette."

Ronin grinned, showing teeth. "I vouch so hard, doc. This one's mine, like I said. so you better make it nice. Or else."

The doc barely blinked, just exhaled a cloud of smoke and waved you toward the table. "Shirt off. Lay down. Try not to die on me."

Ronin leaned against the wall, watching you with a lazy kind of amusement as you hesitated.

"Nervous?" he taunted.

"Shut up," you shot back, yanking your shirt over your head.

Ronin’s smirk didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted—something sharp and knowing. He’d been here before. Laid on that same table. Let this same old bastard carve him open and put him back together. He didn’t say it, but you could feel it.

"Good," he murmured. "Means it’s real."

The painkillers barely dulled the sensation. Ronin had warned you, but nothing could really prepare you for the sheer rawness of it. The pull of scalpels. The pressure of hands inside your skin. The sound of your own body being reshaped. You drifted in and out, somewhere between agony and euphoria.

And Ronin was there.

He didn’t leave.

Sat in the corner, flipping a knife between his fingers, making casual conversation with the doc like this was just another Tuesday.

“Y’know, I was gonna kill a guy today,” he mused, tilting his head like a cat playing with a mouse. “But then this came up, and I figured, eh, murder can wait.”

The doc grunted. "Touching."

"Right?" Ronin flashed you a grin. "See how important you are to me?"

You tried to roll your eyes, but it was hard when your body felt like wet cement.

You floated in and out, barely registering voices, hands, movement. You thought you heard Ronin humming, some sweet little tune that didn’t match the circumstances at all. You thought you felt his fingers ghost over your forehead, pushing your hair back. Maybe it was a dream.

Maybe it wasn’t.

A cot creaked beneath you, and the weight of bandages wrapped around your chest kept you anchored to reality.

Everything hurt. Not in a bad way. No, this pain was right.

You weren’t trapped anymore.

You weren’t waiting anymore.

Ronin was sitting on the floor beside you, legs stretched out, twirling a knife between his fingers like he had nothing better to do. He glanced up when you groaned, his grin slow and wicked.

“There he is,” he said, voice dripping with something you couldn’t quite name. “How’s my favorite little surgery boy feelin’?”

You licked your lips. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

Ronin snorted. “Nah, babe, trust me, truck’s worse. I’d know.”

You tried to sit up, but a sharp pull in your chest stopped you. Ronin was up in an instant, hands hovering, but not touching, watching carefully.

“Easy there,” he murmured. “Don’t go tearing my money’s worth.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your money?”

He smirked. “Told ya, babe. You should’ve come to me sooner.”

Something in his expression softened then, just for a second, so fleeting you could’ve imagined it. But his fingers twitched, and his gaze flickered down to your bandages like he was checking to make sure you were still whole.

Like he was making sure you were still you.

The realization sat heavy between you, unspoken. Ronin didn’t do things unless they benefited him. But he had done this for you.

For a second, you wondered why.

Then he clapped his hands together, shattering the moment.

“Alright, alright, enough sentimental bullshit,” he grinned. “You gotta rest, heal up."

You woke up in a motel room that smelled like cheap liquor and blood—probably Ronin’s, though it was hard to tell. Your chest was wrapped tight, fresh gauze stark against your skin. Moving hurt, but it was a good hurt, a hurt that felt like freedom.

"Look who’s alive," Ronin drawled from his perch on the windowsill, flipping a butterfly knife open and closed in lazy motions. "Thought for a second you were gonna punk out on me. Would've been real inconvenient."

You groaned, shifting carefully. "You stayed?"

"’Course I did." He hopped down, crouching next to the bed with a shit-eating grin. "Ain’t every day I help someone reconstruct themselves. Kinda poetic, don’tcha think?"

You stared at him, at the way his eyes flicked over you—not in judgment, not in pity, but in something dangerously close to understanding.

"How bad is it?" you asked, voice hoarse.

Ronin smirked, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cracked handheld mirror.

“Take a look, baby boy.”

Your hands trembled as you took it. Carefully, you lifted the mirror to see—

Your chest.

Flat.

For the first time in your life, it was yours.

Ronin was the one who helped you sit up, one hand braced against your back, the other carefully maneuvering a pill bottle.

"Alright, sweetheart, open up," he cooed, shaking out a couple of painkillers into his palm. "Be a good boy and take your meds."

You gave him the weakest glare imaginable, but you opened your mouth anyway, letting him pop the pills onto your tongue. He pressed a water bottle into your hand next, watching as you swallowed them down.

“There we go," he murmured, voice softer than usual. "That’s my guy.”

Your chest ached, but it wasn’t the same ache you’d carried all your life. This was a healing kind of pain, a pain that meant change.

Ronin flopped onto the mattress next to you, sprawled like he owned the place, but his attention stayed locked on you.

"You get it now, don’tcha?" he mused, one hand resting lazily on his own stomach. "That feeling—like you finally belong to yourself."

You nodded slowly.

Ronin smirked, but something in his expression flickered. His fingers drummed against his stomach once, twice—then he grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand toward him.

"Go ahead," he said, voice still playful, but gentler. "Feel it."

You hesitated, then let your fingers graze over his torso. The material of his hoodie was worn soft, but you could feel it—raised scar tissue beneath, the subtle differences in how his body had been reshaped.

“You—”

"Mmhm," Ronin hummed, watching your reaction. "Back alley job, just like yours. It ain't pretty, and it sure as fuck wasn’t easy, but it’s mine."

Your throat tightened. You’d thought he was just helping you, that he was playing his usual games. You hadn’t expected this.

Ronin stretched, cracking his neck. "Funny, huh? People think you’re born into something, but nah—you make yourself. Cut away the parts that don’t fit. Build somethin’ new." His grin sharpened. "That’s real power, sweetheart. That’s being alive."

You exhaled shakily. "Yeah. I get it."

Ronin clicked his tongue, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy. "Good. Now get some rest, or I’m gonna have to knock you out myself."

You smirked, letting your eyes slip shut.

[euniexenoblade]

Re: The ask about social issues. I saw some folks talking about men being able to be lesbians and I guess I just never thought about it much before? I've never really given it much consideration so I'm kinda just mostly confused. I don't really trust the people who were talking about it tho bc they believe in transandrophobia so I kinda wanted to hear more about it from someone else and I've always thought your stuff on topics like this seemed really well informed and thought out so I figured I'd ask you :o If it's not something you know much about tho or perhaps just don't want to get into it I totally understand! ^_^

So like, this is going to potentially be long winded so stay with me + I'm probably gonna piss some people off so

1) cishet men have done weird "we're lesbians too" kind of stuff for ages. It's like, such a dead joke. It was even a thing Drake said in a popular song

The point being, the status quo is to violate boundaries of sapphic women and force men onto them. Thus "men can be lesbians" is lesbophobic.

However.

2) The lesbian community has a long and storied history that involves the fuckery of gender. Before the word "transgender" became such a household term, lesbians were basically identifying as stuff that might look like nonbinary genders today. It turns out when you're gay and reject the status quo of misogyny and surround yourself with others like that, you tend to create a new view of what gender is. There's a grocery list of examples of this but the point is, there is precedent to this. Which comes to

3) I think transmascs that find themselves in the lesbian community and choose to keep identifying as such is fine. Like, it's not my place to dictate people's genders, identities, or sexualities. My problems rise from A) the theft of transfem terms. "Transbian" is a very specific thing, it's a trans woman lesbian, when transmascs steal the term it muddies the term and takes part in pushing transfems out. Also B) when cis lesbians are accepting of transmasc aligned lesbians they usually reject transfem lesbians because they view us as men, which means they view said transmascs as women - essentially transfems getting rejected from groups that actually are accepting of transmascs. As much as some people want you to think this doesn't happen, it does, a lot. And a lot of transmascs actually add on to it "well you have a penis why would lesbian want you around??"

4) transandrodorks are probably saying "men can be lesbians" because of sex/gender essentialist view. They are definitely referring to transmascs and there's a conversation to be had on "why are you saying these non woman identities are women," but I don't want to spend the time dissecting that cuz it's pointless. But, also, the "transandrophobia is real" crowd has time and time and time again shown they see trans women as men. So this really brings up, what is a man to them? When they're a man, it's uplifting, it's lesbian, it's positivity, it's the queerest thing ever. But when they find a t4t transbian they're mad at, said transbian is "socialized male," hysterical, violent, a predator.

5) the short here is it depends who says it and what's the context. "Men can be lesbians" from a cishet dude is lesbophobic. "Men can be lesbians" from a random transmasc is probably fine. "Men can be lesbians" from a transandrodork is likely some kind of distilled transmisogyny, an outcome from getting mad at a trans lesbian. But, there could be nuance. *Shrug* I don't know, it's not my place to really care what people call themselves

6) I think "men can be lesbians" is a very frustrating argument. I think "transmascs can be lesbians" makes sense and is fine. But the former is wording that relies on the sexist and homophobic oppression lesbians have suffered since forever. I think this issue is largely in language, but also transandrodorks and inherently transmisogynistic, so. Yeah.

My opinion is I don't have a real opinion. I don't care.

[chvoswxtch]

Kind of a romcom/action request - do you think you could rewrite or give us your take on the scene where Frank ties Amy to the bed? It’s just always bothered me so much. She’s a teen girl living on the streets, and franks not a moron. He’d know exactly the implication and why she’s scared shitless and I refuse to think he’d be smug or laughing about it, or as callous as he was

i'm really glad you brought this up bc I always thought it was SO out of character for frank, but I never saw anyone else mention it?? like he literally grabs her and throws her on the bed, comes at her with zip ties and duct tape, and acts like a complete asshole?? this girl was literally just attacked, watched this big scary guy rip through a group of professional hitmen like they were nothing, and now she's alone in a motel with him, of course she's freaked the fuck out. and we all know what was going through her head when he forced her on the bed and brought out the zip ties

a lot of things about season 2 pissed me off but this right here is something I will always get heated about bc frank 'girl dad' castle would fucking never and I will die on that hill

so i'm gonna fix it bc apparently I have to do everything around here

headcannon below the cut

what a girl wants starring frank castle & amy bendix

I had to rewatch this scene to refresh my memory and it pissed me off all over again bc out of context it looks so bad but even in context it looks awful

frank "locked the front door of the pawn shop & grabbed a bat bc the guy said he had an inappropriate video of a girl that was barely 12" castle?? francis david "nearly killed the guy who took inappropriate photos of underage girls literally like a few episodes after this" castiglione??? that frank is tying a young girl up to a bed and duct taping her mouth shut???? y'all got me fucked up try again

first of all, she literally helped him pull a bullet out of his ass cheek like thirty seconds before all this. if that's not trauma bonding, I don't know what is

but even before they got to the motel, when they were in the van, they were already bantering like a grumpy dad on a roadtrip with his angsty teenage daughter, like c'mon. and amy had so many opportunities to run if she wanted to. she could've told the clerk at the motel what had happened, or she literally could've ran for it. frank was bleeding out, he was in no shape to chase her down. but he protected her when he didn't have to so I think she felt somewhat safe with him, enough to get the room with him and help him stitch up his ass

AND HE LITERALLY SAYS IN THE NEXT SCENE THEY CAME AFTER A LITTLE GIRL SO I HAD TO GET INVOLVED. HE CALLS HER A LITTLE GIRL !!! okay i'm done i'm not so let's get into what should've happened

so again, obviously she's freaked the fuck out, a bunch of people just tried to murder her, and this grumpy asshole showed up and saved her, but she doesn't know why, or what he wants. if it were me, i'd be suspicious. like okay, you saved me from them, but what do you want?

all frank had to do was talk to her. yes, amy is a handful, but she's literally a kid (I don't know if we ever get her actual age, I think she says several times she's 16, but when I look it up it says between 16-20, so either way she's a young girl) and she doesn't know frank. she's spent her whole life on her own looking out for herself, and she just witnessed a bunch of her friends getting murdered while she hid under a bed, so of course she's not gonna trust this strange scary dude right off the bat

I think if frank had made his intentions clear, it would've gone differently, bc that entire scene is so out of place compared to the rest of the episode and how they interact with each other. like frank involves himself bc she's a kid, and then beth gets hurt in the process, and frank being the vengeful man he is obviously wants to take every single person out involved from top to bottom (just like he did with the kitchen irish, dogs of hell, and mexican cartel. this man does not leave loose ends. everyone gets punished)

so if he had been like hey, fuck those guys for going after a young girl, but also my girl got hurt in the process, so help me out here. help me find the dickheads responsible so that one, I can keep them from coming after you again, but two and most importantly, I can get my revenge for what they did to my woman. I feel like amy would've been like okay he's doing all this for the woman we dropped off at the hospital that he clearly cares about, which means he isn't secretly plotting against me and isn't just another person trying to kill me or steal what I have

frank clearly sees some of his daughter in amy, or at least he sees a glimpse of what lisa could've been if she would've been able to grow up. like there's a lot of moments during season 2 it's implied he sees amy kind of like a daughter. like yeah she's an annoying kid that grates on his nerves and constantly tests his patience, and there's certain moments I think he loses sight of the fact that she is just a kid and he just acts like a complete asshole (like the trailer scene with curtis when she tries to practice her moves with the gun), but then there's so many times he does treat her like he knows she's just a kid (she's literally just a girl)

the entire time he's teaching her how to handle the gun and use it, how he praises her when she does well, how he comforts her when she does have to shoot the gun, how reluctant he is to go along with her plan with the creepy photographer guy, how gentle he is with her in the showdown scene with pilgrim, like he's such a girl dad PLS

so in my professional opinion, it would be more in character for him to sit her down and be like look, these people aren't gonna stop coming after you, I wanna take them down bc now it's personal for me, and in the morning you and I will come up with a plan to figure out who these people are and how to stop them

I think it would've been more in character for him to be like listen up buttercup, you can take off and take your chances by yourself, but I give it 24 hours before you're dead. or, you can help me out and I can keep your ungrateful ass safe until this gets handled, up to you

we could've even had a scene where she's like I can take care of myself bye, leaves, realizes she's in the literal middle of nowhere, weighs the pros and cons of being alone versus being with the guy who took down like thirteen people by himself (I forget how many there actually were but it was a lot), and then show back up at the motel door with a bratty eye roll like alright fine but i'm gonna complain the whole time

would frank have still been bitchy the entire time? absolutely. he's grumpy as it is, and he took a bullet to the ass for a girl that called him rough road to his face (that will never not be funny to me). but would the frank castle I know and love tie a young girl down to the bed and duct tape her mouth?? absolutely the fuck not

in conclusion whoever wrote that specific scene is a fucking weirdo and it's on sight if I ever catch them on the street

[dvstnbonesss]

"I love you...."

johnny cade x reader

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

Johnny Cade is in love with y/n... his best friend of 9 years... and one night at the Curtis house, he confesses...

Warning: none! Just fluff and REALLY bad writing, fem! Reader 😭

I'm trying to find a style I like so just bear with this 😭😭

Poor Johnny Cade... inlove with his best friend of 9 years...

He told his other best friend Ponyboy, and his practical brother Dallas about you. Ponyboy trued to push him to just say how he feels, and Dally would roll his eyes and say "Shoot, kid. She gon' find anotha Johnnycake if ya don't get 'er now." That didn't help at all.

One day, while in the lot with Dallas, he turned the conversation about you. "Hey Dal, I know you an' Sylvia ain't talkin' no more but, you did love 'er right?" Johnny asked.

"Sorta, why Johnny? This about prettyface again?" Dally glanced at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to keep him warm, even though Dallas was more cold than Johnny.

"Yeah... 'm sorry for talkin' bout her so much... jus' can't help myself..." He said quietly, playing with the cigarette bud on the dirt.

"Jus' ask her silly, she's a good girl. You're a nice lookin' guy Johnny. Ask her out wit' big puppy dog eyes. She's at the Curtis house now." Dally laughed and checked out a girl passing the street.

"She is? Good... okay... I'll go... bye Dal..." He got up and brushed off his jeans.

"Bye bye, Johnnycake" Dallas gave him a thumbs up as he started walking towards the Curtis home. He was sweating, he was doubting that he'd actually ask you out. He just wanted to see you right now. He missed you dearly.

When he got to the door, he knocked slowly. Darry opened the door. "Hey kiddo, why're you here at this time of night?"

"Can I rest here tonight? The lots chilly..." He lied through his teeth, but Darry let him in anyways. He spotted you immediately.

"Hi, Johnnycake!" You gave him a sweet hug, he hugged you back nervously.

"Hi... y/n... what're you doin' here?" He murmured softly while staring down at you.

"Just hanging out, you?" You smiled and rubbed his shoulder.

"Lots cold... can we uh... go somewhere more warm...?" He whispered. When you nodded he felt like cheering. You both walked to the bathroom.

"Why'd you wanna come in here Johnny?" You asked and leaned against the bathroom counter.

"Uhm... uh... needed to ask..." He panicked.

"About?"

"I.... uhm... well..." He stuttered, he was freaking out.

"I'm sorta... kinda... uhm... inlovewithyou...." He mumbled.

"Huh?" You blinked.

"Mmm.... m.. iminlovewithyou...."

"Speak louder, stop mumbling Johnny..."

"I'm... love... you..." He blurted out. His palms were sweating, he didn’t feel so tuff, he wish he did, but he didn't.

"Johnny..." You slowly smiled and hugged him again. He was SHOCKED. You were hugging him? Did you love him too? 🤨

"I love you too, Johnny cake..."

WOAH. His jaw dropped. But, he immediately got excited and kissed you. You kissed back. It was a very sappy moment. Until it was interrupted by Ponyboy...

"Hey, uh... I sorta have to piss right now..." He blinked. Johnny pulled away from you reluctantly and dragged you out the bathroom so Ponyboy could use it. He leaned on the door when it closed and stared at you.

"I love you, y/n..."

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

IM SORRY OF THIS IS BAD!!! BYE BYE 😕😕

[james-francos-gf]

WHEN THE MUSIC FADES !

pairing: noel gallagher x fem! reader

summary: when noel gallagher runs into his ex-fiance at a party and can't help but try and win her back.

warnings: angst, cheating, MANIPULATIVE noel (i'm a sucker for him), swearing, and probably more.

part two will include smut

word count: 3.8k

masterlist

It had been nearly two months since the 1996 BRIT Awards. You attended as a plus-one with your long-term boyfriend and fiancé, Noel Gallagher. However, the excitement of the wins quickly faded when you caught Noel kissing another woman at an after-party. The tabloids sensationalized the story after they saw you flee, your face stained with tears, and your ring missing from your finger.

The past two months had been filled with depression, sorrow, betrayal, and uncertainty. Many questions plagued your heartbroken mind, but one was asked far more than the others; What had you done to make Noel not want you anymore? Although your relationship was far from perfect, like most couples, you had thought that he was at least dedicated and faithful to you, especially after his proposal. It was almost unbelievable when you saw his lips on another woman’s. You were sure your heart would never heal and you would never get over Noel Gallagher.

After dramatically throwing your engagement ring in Noel’s face, you’d packed your stuff and moved in with your best friend. She’d watched you mope and not leave your bed for days and she was getting tired of seeing you miserable, she couldn’t and wouldn’t allow you to continue for another day. “You’re going to that party with me tonight, whether you like it or not,” Cami, your best friend, sternly spoke as you were sat on the couch, binge-watching Star Wars, something you and Noel would often do together.

“I’m not going,” you replied, barely acknowledging her presence as you tried your hardest to keep your attention on the movie. The thought of going out, seeing people, and the chance of seeing Noel filled your head with immense amounts of anxiety. Choosing to seclude yourself and staying far away from anywhere that had your ex-boyfriend’s name written all over it was the safest choice to protect yourself from potential further heartbreak.

Cami wasn’t having it, she grabbed the remote to the TV and turned it off, forcing you to put your attention on her. “What the fuck, Cami?” irritation laced your voice as you got up from the couch to take the remote from her hands. “You can go back to laying on the couch all day and watching shitty movies after the party,” Cami said, holding the remote over her head. “Why do I have to go to this party, Cami? You know you’ll have fun without me anyway,” you asked, your patience thinning. “Y/N, it’s been two months and you’ve left our flat five times. I cannot bear to watch you sit on the fucking couch any longer. You have to get absolutely pissed with me, just this once, please? It’ll help you forget about that cheating bastard, I swear.” Cami pleaded her case, arm still above her head, not allowing you to get back to your marathon.

Her words made you stop and think. You couldn’t help but admit that Cami had a good point. You had been at home practically every day since the breakup, feeling sorry for yourself. Noel was out going to parties, and award shows, and getting ready to perform the biggest gigs in his career thus far. You were allowed to have fun and try and get over him. You were allowed to be free from the thoughts of him. “Fine, just tonight, okay?” you sigh defeatedly. Cami dropped the remote to the coffee table, excitedly grabbed your arm, and pulled you to her room as you rolled your eyes.

Cami insisted upon helping you get ready, saying you had to look sexy, and not like you’d been crying over a “cheating bastard,” her coined term to describe Noel. She forced you to shower, blew out your hair, did your makeup, and picked out her favorite dress of yours, which also happened to be Noel’s as well. It was a sexy dark red, almost burgundy, short, slip-dress with a very deep slit in the leg. You hated to admit it, but you felt really good, the best you had since the breakup. You stood in front of Cami’s full-length mirror as she did the last finishing touches on your hair and handed you a pair of heels to go with your dress.

“Damn, Y/N, if I were Noel and saw you right now, I’d be on my hands and knees, begging for a second chance,” Cami smiled at you as she saw you examining yourself in the mirror. You laughed the first genuine laugh that had come from you in a while. Maybe going with Cami wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

You and Cami arrived outside the rather extravagant-looking house, the owner being a friend of Cami’s that you didn’t know all too well. Seeing the house, the people inside, and outside of it filled you with dread. You started your recurring thought spiral and quickly clung to Cami before the driver parked outside to drop you off. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay, I’ll be by your side the whole night,” Cami reassured and linked your elbows together as she started heading out of the car. You took a deep breath before following her out and walking with her inside the party.

Cami dragged you through the crowd of people, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes was heavy in the air and the marble flooring vibrated as music blasted throughout the house, and directed you to the drink table. She started pouring you both some kind of mixed drink. The taste was quite strong and bitter, but you drank it nevertheless. Linking your elbows together again, she dragged you to a free spot on a couch and you both sat, squished together with the other girls on the couch.

As you both sat laughing and drinking on the couch, you heard a very familiar Mancunian voice yell your name. “Oi! Y/N!” You turned your head at the voice and your eyes were met with the younger brother of your ex-boyfriend, Liam Gallagher. He waved his hand over, gesturing you to come over to him.

You hesitated, looking over at Cami, “Go ahead, Y/N, I’ll wait for you over here,” Cami yelled over the loud music. You took your drink with you and walked over to Liam, your heart racing as you made your way through the drunken people.

You tucked your hair behind your ear as you approached Liam. His hair was getting longer, his big blue eyes were covered by dark sunglasses, and his clothes were baggy. He stood smoking a cigarette with a beer in his hands. “Hey, Liam,” You said, forcing a kind smile on your face. As much as you were heartbroken by Noel, Liam hadn’t done anything wrong and you two had managed to get on pretty well.

At your words, Liam tilted his sunglasses a bit, getting a good look at you, “Yer looking fit as fuck, hope ya ain’t trynna impress Noel,” he said in his usual casual and arrogant tone. His compliment went right over your head as you heard him say Noel’s name. Was Noel here at this party as well? You hoped not, but you couldn’t keep your face from showing how uncomfortable you were.

Liam immediately clocked your expression and let out a mocking laugh, “Yer telling me ya didn’t know Rkid was gonna be here? Thought ya would’ve known,” You felt your heart drop to your stomach and anxiety flooded your body.

He was here. Noel was here and you knew you were bound to see him. You quickly sipped at your drink, hoping the alcohol would drown out your nerves. “Didn’t know he was here, Cami dragged me here,” you said, feigning casual unconcern, but you knew Liam could see right through you, just like Noel could.

He pretended to not know you were currently dying on the inside and continued casual banter. He threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a relaxed hug, “Don’t be a stranger, Y/N,” and with those parting words, you made your way back to Cami.

Looking back to the sofa that you left Cami on, you noticed she was nowhere to be found. Panicked, you pushed your way to the kitchen, hoping she was just pouring herself another drink. Opening the door to the lavish kitchen, you looked to the island to see if Cami was there, however, your eyes locked with a very familiar pair of icy blue eyes, the same eyes you fell in love with all those years ago, the same eyes that could read your soul, the same eyes that betrayed you months ago. The music and voices of the party faded, the only thing that you could hear was your racing heartbeat and your neverending thoughts. You froze unsure of what to do. He definitely saw you too. Do you turn around and escape while you can or ignore him and get yourself another drink? You chose the first option. You turned around and headed towards the door, but you heard him clear his throat and speak, “Y/N?”

You stopped dead in your tracks and weighed your options, yet again. You could ignore him and run away or allow yourself to face him and maybe get some closure. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, preparing yourself to face him again. You tried your best to seem nonchalant and replied with a steady, “Noel,” his name sounding foreign in your mouth. You had tried your best to refrain from using his name after your breakup. The less you said it, the less you’d think about him was your mindset, which very clearly did not work as everything around you reminded you of him. You walked towards the island where Noel stood across from you. You poured yourself a refill of your glass, knowing you’d need more alcohol to even try speaking to him any further.

Noel looked at you, his eyes almost unreadable. He always was good at keeping his emotions locked away, keeping his thoughts and feelings under lock and key in his running mind. You awkwardly sipped at your drink under his heavy gaze, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. You knew the second you got lost in his eyes, every emotion you’ve ever felt for him would come flooding back, and you wouldn’t allow yourself to get trapped by him again.

He cleared his throat again, making you turn your attention from your drink to him, still not allowing yourself to meet his piercing gaze. “You’re looking well,” he says quietly but sincerely, taking a slow sip of his drink.

You inhaled, your breath shaky as you managed to let your eyes meet his. You licked your lips nervously before a soft, “You do, too,” came from your mouth.

He smiled a little in response, and for a moment, it was as if the world around you had completely disappeared. However, the kitchen door swung open bringing you and him both back to reality. Suddenly your surroundings were flooded with the sound of people and music, ruining your awkward interaction. Noel eyed the person who had entered the kitchen, before taking a swig of his drink and looked at you thoughtfully for a moment in silence. “Can we talk somewhere? Alone?” His words dragged you back into him, your heartbeat somehow picking up speed before you stuttered out a quiet yes.

Anxiously, you followed Noel out of the kitchen, trying your hardest to stay close to him through the large crowd of partygoers. Noel occasionally looked over his shoulder, ensuring you were still trailing behind him as he led you down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. The music can barely be heard at this point, and it’s actually quite quiet, almost deafeningly so. He finally stops at an open bedroom and motions for you to go inside. You apprehensively step through the bedroom door before Noel shuts and locks it behind him. You awkwardly stood in front of the bed in the rather large room, your back facing him. This is the first time you’d both been completely alone with one another for a while. He lets his gaze wander down your back and then moves over to sit on the bed.

Still standing and now facing him, you whisper, “What did you want to talk about?” Your nervousness was very evidently still there due to the unexpected sighting of your ex-fiance.

Noel hesitates for a moment, looking down at the floor before looking back up at you. “I… I’ve been thinking about you. A lot,” he mutters quietly, his voice raspy. He pats the bed beside him, “Come here.”

You pause, taking in his words before sitting on the bed beside him. You tried to restrain yourself from admitting to him how you’d thought about him, how he flooded your head every second of every day. You stared at your lap as you picked at your fingers, and a very shaky, “Okay,” slipped from your lips.

He swallows hard as he looks at you. You both are the closest you’ve been to each other since the night you argued. He looks you up and down for a moment, taking in every inch of you. “You haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

You become motionless and look at him, “Yes, I have,” a defensive tone to your voice. He shakes his head, “No, you really haven’t, I can tell,” He reaches one hand up to brush a thumb over one of your dark circles poking through from under your concealer.

“You look exhausted.” You pull your face away from his hand, not giving into his attempts at pulling you deeper and deeper back under his spell. “Noel, you can’t just act like nothing happened between us… You cheated on me,” You whispered, facing away from him and his touch.

He scoots impossibly closer to you and looks at you with a pained expression. “I know, and I’ve been beating myself up about it since it happened,” he says quietly, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never wanted to make you feel the way I know I made you feel that night… I wish I could just take it all back, Y/N.”

“But you did. You fucking kissed her Noel. You’re the one who threw this all away, not me.” you feel all the emotions that you’ve kept inside this whole night, slowly start to flood out into your words. “Y’know, I can’t stop asking myself why you did it?” your voice faltered, feeling your eyes sting with developing tears that you pushed down.

Noel can see the tears in your eyes, and it absolutely guts him. He swallows the lump in his throat before speaking quietly. “We’d fought that night, and I just kind of lost my head. I got way too drunk, and I did something stupid, and I know there’s no excuse. I was a complete fool because I’m the biggest idiot in the world to have ever hurt the one I love like that… I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’d do anything to take it back.”

You gave up trying to resist and let the tears fall down your face. “We were supposed to get married, Noel.”

His heart nearly shatters at your words. He looks almost defeated, “I know,” is all he whispers as he reaches for you, trying to take you into his arms. Unlike before, you let yourself melt into his grasp, allowing yourself to be dragged back into all that is Noel Gallagher. He brings his arms around you, hugging you and resting his chin on top of your head. He takes one of your hands in his own and gently pulls you closer, wanting to be as close to you as possible. “Please look at me,” he mutters quietly, his other hand coming to your chin, gently lifting your face to look at him.

You looked up at his face through tears, trying your hardest to steady your breathing. Being so close to him and being held by him was overwhelming for you. You were almost suffocating around him. His scent, his voice, his eyes, his crooked nose, his warmth–everything that made Noel Gallagher himself. It was hard for you to keep it together. Every memory of the years the two of you had spent together coursed to the forefront of your mind the second your eyes met his. As much as you wanted to give in, take him back, and be with him again, no amount of words and affection could heal the pain you’d felt the night you left.

He looks at your tear-stained face and gently wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, his heart breaking as he takes in your sorrow. He moves even closer, his knees touching yours as he reaches up with both hands to tenderly hold your face. His eyes are full of a mix of longing and guilt, and he whispers, “I can’t stand seeing you cry… especially when I’m the one who hurt you. I’d do anything to take it all back. I’d give anything to go back and change that night, I swear, Y/N.”

Your eyes glistened with tears while listening to his heartfelt words. When hearing him express all of his guilt and his wrongdoings, you couldn’t help but flash back to yourself the weeks following the breakup. The hate you felt for yourself, the self-isolation, the self-blaming, and the tears you cried. You couldn’t resist asking yourself what was so wrong with you that made him not want you anymore. What was so horrible about yourself that he threw away your engagement? In your twisted mind, it was never Noel’s fault that you two had broken up. Every reason that you had come up with to explain his cheating had nothing to do with him and everything to do with you and your inadequacies. You weren’t pretty enough, you were too boring, you couldn’t keep up with him, you gained too much weight, and you didn’t satisfy him anymore, so he did what every man does and found it elsewhere.

His words managed to provide you with a small amount of comfort, his words being entirely about his actions and nothing to do with you, but would you ever get the answer to the questions that tormented your mind? Would you ever be able to trust him again?

“I don’t know if I can just forget about it, I don’t know if I can ever trust you again, Noel. I thought we were forever; you promised that to me when you proposed, and you still did the opposite…” You whispered, your gaze falling to your lap, unsure if you could brace looking into his eyes a moment longer.

He sighs heavily, your vulnerability and honesty causing his heart to ache even more. He gently lifts your chin, so you're looking at him once again, and he locks eyes with you. “I know I broke that promise, and I feel like complete shite. And I know you’re probably tired of me apologizin’, but just please, I’m so sorry, Y/N, and I’d do anything to make it up to you. I love you with everything I have.” Noel’s eyes cloud over with a mix of sorrow and longing as he reaches for your hand. “I can’t imagine my days without the sound of your laughter or the touch of your hand. I know I hurt you—I hurt us—and every day, I carry that weight. But please believe me when I say I’m trying to be a better man. I’m haunted by the thought that maybe, just maybe, I lost you forever because I couldn’t be the person you needed. Don’t you think there’s a way we can fix this? I need you, Y/N. Not just for me, but for what we once had.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, willing yourself to stay angry. Stay angry. Stay angry. But it’s hard when he looks at you like that—when his voice drops into something soft and pleading when he says your name like it still belongs to him.

“Noel,” you said, steadier now. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say all the right things after the fact and expect me to forget what you did.”

“I don’t expect you to forget,” he murmurs. “I just—I need you to know I fucked up. I was a coward. And I hate myself for it.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, a flimsy attempt to protect yourself from the way his words threatened to break you down. “You should.”

“I do.” He steps closer, tentative. “Every fucking day.”

Your throat tightens. This is what you were afraid of—Noel at his most dangerous, when he turns his regret into something tangible that seeps into the cracks of your resolve. And God, it would be so much easier if he were cruel about it if he just shrugged and told you to get over it. But he’s standing here, telling you he’s sorry, telling you he’s been lost without you, and it’s getting harder to hold on to the part of yourself that still wants to hate him.

“You don’t get to miss me,” you said, your voice thin but sharp. “You don’t get to miss me when you threw me away.”

“I never threw you away,” he breathes. “I was an idiot, and I lost you. But I never stopped—” He swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You turned your head, willing the sting in your eyes to disappear. “Noel—”

“Please.” He’s in front of you now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. His fingers brush your wrist—hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But when you don’t, when you just stand there, his grip tightens slightly. Not forceful, just certain. He exhales slowly like he knows he has you now. “Tell me you don’t still think about me. Tell me you don’t still feel it.”

Your breath shudders out of you, and you hate him for knowing. Because of course you still feel it. You feel it now, in the way your skin burns where he touches you, in the way your body betrays you by leaning in when you swore you’d never let him close again.

You should walk away. You should tell him it’s too late. But instead, you let his fingers slip between yours, let yourself get pulled back into the gravity of him.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper, a final, desperate attempt to hold onto your anger. But even as you say it, your fingers betray you, tightening instead of letting go.

And when his lips ghost over yours, you don’t stop him.

[yangjungwonisms]

7 Minutes in Heaven-YJW

warnings: NSFW in the middle| MDNI 18+

It was all a misunderstanding, at least that’s what Jungwon swore to you up and down when you caught him in a lie. He had been coming home late from work all week, which wasn’t like him at all. All week long he had been telling you he had to stay later at work to finish work on a big project. You’d never had any reason before to doubt what he was telling you, but when one of his coworkers who was supposed to be working late with him messaged you asking if you two wanted to get a late dinner you became confused. You tried to calm down and give Jungwon the benefit of the doubt, but when you messaged his friend back asking if Jungwon had been working late that day and they said that he had been leaving at the same time as him everyday that you started to second guess things. So naturally, you called Jungwon but he didn’t answer. So you decided to go to his office to see if he was there and maybe his friend had been mistaken. The office was closed, you figured that out in just enough time for Jungwon to call you back. “Hey baby, sorry I didn’t answer I was caught up at work. Is everything okay”? You didn’t know how exactly to feel upon learning your boyfriend of 2 years had been lying to you. But you were trying to keep your cool because you weren’t keen on having an argument over the phone. You had been silent too long for his liking and he was started to panic. “That’s actually funny you say that, I’m standing outside of your office, Sunghoon invited us for dinner. I'm a little confused because isn’t Sunghoon who you’re working on your project with”? He said nothing, he had been caught and he knew it. “So tell me, Jungwon. Where have you been going everyday after work”?

“It isn’t what you think baby”. Why couldn’t he have just answered the question, that’s what was pissing you off. Because if it was truly nothing he could’ve just told you. “Okay, if it isn’t what I think then you should have no problem telling me. Where have you been”? Within seconds of you sending that text Jungwon had called you, wanting to have this conversation over the phone instead of text. “Baby, it’s nothing I promise”. You took a second, sighing trying to calm your nerves but it was a battle you were slowly losing. “So then if it’s nothing just tell me Jungwon”. Now he was the one who sighed, in your relationship there were very few times you or Jungwon ever got into arguments. In fact, you’d almost never seen or heard him lose his cool. But now you were starting to see his demeanor slip. “Can’t you just trust me? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be babe”. Now you were pissed. “That’s not what this is about Jungwon, you’ve been lying to me every day telling me you were at work when you weren’t. I think I’m owed honesty from you”. That seemed to set him off. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, so I’d appreciate the benefit of the doubt”. He made a point but you couldn’t concede, you hated lying and if it truly was nothing then why couldn’t he have just told you from the start. “And I’d appreciate my boyfriend not lying to me”. He immediately started trying to defend himself and push you away from the fact he lied. “Jungwon let me ask you this, did you stay late at work this week”? All you heard was silence, before he sighed answering with a short “no”. “Will you tell me where you were”? He knew that his answer was going to make things worse yet he chose it anyway “I can’t baby”. You were crying at that point and reaching the point of exhaustion after having argued with him for what felt like hours at that point. “Okay, well, I would appreciate it if you found somewhere else to stay tonight and for the foreseeable future”.

It was now a week later and you and Jungwon still weren’t speaking. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to fuck things up so badly. He knew how it looked, and yes he had lied to you but it really wasn’t what it seemed. He had been at Jay’s house after work getting his help with something. Jungwon had recently started planning to propose to you, but after a little bit he realized he needed help. The only person he thought to ask that wouldn’t tell you accidentally was Jay. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise so he just made up the first excuse that came to his mind. He hadn’t even considered that you would find out he was lying. Even still, when you confronted him he could’ve just told you the truth. But he couldn’t lie, hearing you refuse to take him at his word had pissed him off. He had always done everything in his power to be open and accessible to you. But seeing how easy it was for you to doubt him had wounded his pride. So, even though it was childish if you didn’t want to talk to him, he wasn’t going to talk to you either.

Now here you both were, too stubborn to talk to the other first. Jay, who had been letting Jungwon crash at his place for the last week was losing his mind at how stubborn you were both being. There were several times he himself had considered just going to you and telling you what was going on. But it wasn’t his place. He as well as your other mutual friends had; had enough of the moping around. They were tired of hearing you both complain about an argument that should’ve been over by now. So they came up with a plan, without telling either of you, they dragged you both to a party at another friend's place.

You were beyond pissed at your friends, you were pissed at a lot of things this last week. Pissed that your friends tricked you into talking to your boyfriend. You were pissed that Jungwon wouldn’t just tell you what he was doing. Jungwon was pissed just the same but for different reasons. Still even though you were mad at him, you missed him more than anything. You two never fought, and on the rare occasions you did it was always over before it really ever began. So when Friday had hit and your friends showed up at your apartment wanting to take you out, you were thrilled. It was just the distraction you needed. All week long you had been spiraling over the fact that Jungwon still hadn’t reached out to you, so you very much needed to get your mind off of it. So maybe you had drank a little more than was necessary, but you were having fun nonetheless. That was until you looked across the room and saw Jungwon staring daggers into you. Frantically, you turned to your friend pulling her into the hall “what the fuck is Jungwon doing here”? Your friend rolled her eyes moving to push past you “he’s here because you two need to grow up and make up already”. You knew your friend was right but you weren’t ready to put your pride aside yet.

Jungwon on the other hand, was livid. He hasn’t seen you for over a week and the first time he does, you’re out drinking in a tight little dress. He hated how it made him feel. Normally he would’ve had the smug satisfaction of knowing that you were dressed up for him. But he didn’t know who this was for. You had yet to realize Jungwon was there, so he had to watch you unabashedly accept drinks from every stranger that walked by. He’d had enough of it, before his brain caught up to his body he had already walked across the room to you. “What the hell are you doing here”? You didn’t have to look to know who it was that was talking to you. “I could ask you the same thing”. He stood there seething with every second that passed. “I asked you a question baby, answer me”. He had a lot of nerve to get an attitude with you when he’s the reason this argument was even happening. “Why should I tell you anything? It’s not like you’ve been answering any of my questions lately”. That seemed to piss him off more.

Within seconds Jungwon had grabbed you by the arm dragging you into the next empty room. “You’re pissing me off right now baby”. Jungwon wasn’t proud of how angry he was getting, but he had been drinking after all and was hardly able to control his temper. “How am I pissing you off? This is the first time I’ve seen you in a week”. His only response was to slowly back you up against the door, he had been slowly inching forward and all that remained between you two was a couple of inches at most. “Because, you look so fucking sexy in that dress and it’s driving me crazy. Not being with you this week is driving me crazy”. The atmosphere in the room had flipped at a blinding speed, by his sudden confession. “Yeah, well whose fault is that won”? His body was flush against you at this point, you could feel how hard he was against your leg. “Fuck baby, it’s mine I know it is. I’m sorry”. Him being so close to you, did more harm than it did good. You were okay being mad at him from a distance but up close and alone with no buffer your body was succumbing to him. “Oh fuck this”. Were the last words you said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into you.

Your bodies were moving on autopilot at this moment. You had both had a long week and you were both exhausted pretending you didn’t need the other. The only sound in the room was the sound of your heavy breathing and kissing. It didn’t take long before Jungwon had pulled you across the room until he had you backed up against a desk. “baby, I need you. Been thinking about fucking you all week”. You couldn’t judge him for it, because you, yourself had been thinking about him railing you all week. “Then shut up and fuck me already”. That seemed to set him into action, he grabbed you, turning you around and pushing you down onto the desk. He didn’t bother taking your clothes off, instead he just pushed your dress up and pulled your underwear to the side. “Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. Gonna stretch you out real quick so you can take my cock”. He did just that, his movements were quick and impatient with the way he pushed two fingers into you and started fucking into you vigorously. He was quick to slap a hand over your mouth, not wanting anyone to know what you two were up to in that room. “Baby, I need you to shut up and take what I give you. Can you do that”? You simply nodded your head, he took that as his sign to continue. He removed his hands from you and moved them to quickly undo his pants.

He started fucking into you so hard that you couldn’t even remember what it was you were mad about. You could feel how frustrated he had been in the rough way he was handling you. “Feels so fucking good baby, missed you so much. Missed your pussy so much”. You don’t say anything, partly because the way he’s fucking you is so intense that you genuinely can’t form sentences. But also because you are still just a little angry at him. Jungwon noticed how quiet you were being, faltering ever so slightly. “Are you feeling okay baby”? That snapped you back to the moment, deciding that you needed him more than anything else. “Feels s’good won. Fuck me on the bed please, need to see you”. Wordlessly, he picked you up and moved you to the bed, readjusting before starting to fuck you in missionary.

Time moves by in a blur after that, he must’ve fucked you 3 times before you two finally pulled away from each other. When you had finally recovered enough to get up and get dressed the tension in the room had set in. You were getting ready to walk out of the door before Jungwon grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. “Baby, wait. Will you let me explain”? You look at him nodding, moving past him to sit on the desk allowing him the opportunity to speak. “I’m really sorry I lied to you”. You take a second making sure he’s done speaking before responding. “Then why did you”? He moved across the room standing right in front of you before kneeling down in between your legs, grabbing both of your hands in his. “I was trying to plan a surprise for you and Jay had been helping me. That was the reason I didn’t wanna tell you. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise”. You make eye contact with him for the first time that night, shaking your head and pulling him in for a brief kiss. “Okay. I accept your explanation. I’m sorry for being so stubborn. I love you”. Jungwon felt a weeks worth of stress dissipate when you kissed him. “Does this mean I can come back home? I’m sure Jay is tired of me and I’ve missed you so much. Plus, I’m out of clean clothes”. You can only laugh at that before standing up, grabbing his hand in yours and walking out of the room. The minute you two step out, all eyes are on you. From the corner of the room you hear Jay yell out “who bet they’d have sex in Jake’s room before the end of the night”? The only response was Jake yelling from the kitchen “you’ve got to be kidding me”.