#but no matter how hard he tries it's still wrong wrong wrong

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she���d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[runninriot]

Lovelorn

written for @steddiemicrofic

november prompt: guard | wc: 532 | rated: G | tags: confessions, misunderstandings, not really unrequited love, implied friends to lovers

"I'm sorry, Steve."

The words hit him like a slap, a harsh contrast to the soft touch of Eddie's lips he can still feel on his own, lingering there, an echo of the kiss they shared just seconds ago.

Steve knows that tone, knows that look, knows what they both mean - this is what he gets for letting his guard down. For ignoring his mind's warnings and following his heart's demands. Foolishly reading something into signs that were none.

Interpreting dimpled smiles and batted lashes as more than what they truly are. Thinking the way Eddie touches him, circles around him, always in his orbit, always so close, means that he, too, feels this gravitational pull. This need for closeness, unable to stay away because apart from each other, they're only half of who they are, who they could be.

But no. It's a one-sided feeling; Steve knows that now. Can read it in eyes that are full of regret and pity, knows Eddie means what he says, that he is sorry, but that doesn't make it better, doesn't help soothe the sting of rejection.

It hurts, fucking rips him apart on in the inside - that's what he gets for carrying his heart on his tongue and shoving it down Eddie's throat without asking for permission first, blinded by the illusion that Eddie would gladly take what Steve offers and give something of his own in return.

"I can't be what you want me to be."

Eddie's eyes fill with tears and there's something utterly wrong about it - why is he the one crying when it's Steve's heart that's breaking?

He takes Steve's hands and it's unfair how nice that feels, how soft and warm they are. How perfect the shape of their fingers melt together when they entwine, sliding into the gaps like they're made to fit.

It's not right to cling to it, to find comfort in the way their palms press together, to let hope bloom in his chest when there is no hope for a happy ending.

"I can't do this-"

Eddie's voice is only a whispered breath against his lips and Steve feels like dying, feels every part of him begging to close the distance just for one last time, just one more taste.

"-not if this only a game to you. Not if you don't mean it. I can't be your experiment, Steve, because- I love you. Want you so much it hurts. And it would kill me to have you if I can't have you for real."

Steve wants to laugh, feels it bubbling up from his chest to his throat but it dies there, dissipates into a sob, something wet and helpless, a pathetic little sound he can't keep in no matter how hard he tries.

"You already have me, you idiot!" he yells and means himself with the insult, doesn't wait for a response, can't stop himself from leaning in.

He kisses Eddie without warning, like before, only deeper, desperate. It's ungraceful and messy but so good because Eddie kisses him back this time, doesn't pull away, stays. Stays where he belongs, where Steve wants him, needs him. Where he'll keep him, forever.

[pandapetals]

PDA

You and Logan are infamous for showing your affection much to everyone's annoyance.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

"Logan…" you chuckled, feeling his arms wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he stood behind you in the kitchen. His touch was warm and unbothered by the fact that you were in the middle of the common area. "Someone could come in," you warned, your voice teasing but half-serious, though you were used to this by now.

Logan just shrugged, completely unfazed, his chest rumbling with a low, amused sound as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "We ain’t doin’ anything wrong, sweetheart," he muttered, his lips brushing lightly against your ear in that familiar way that sent a shiver through you. "Just standin’ here... holdin’ my wife."

You could feel the smirk in his voice, that gruff edge of playfulness that never went away, no matter how many years passed. The warmth of his breath against your skin had your pulse quickening, and you instinctively leaned back into him, despite your mock protests. You weren’t exactly trying to resist him.

"And what if someone does walk in?" you murmured, tilting your head just enough for his lips to graze your neck, enjoying the way his arms tightened around you in response.

As if on cue, you heard a voice behind you—Scott’s, dripping with his usual exasperation. "You know, some of us actually use this kitchen," he groaned from the doorway, his expression already tired as he looked at you two. "Is this really the place for… whatever it is you two are doing?"

Logan didn’t even flinch or loosen his grip on you. In fact, you felt him chuckle softly, his mouth grazing your ear again. "What’s your problem, Summers? Just showin’ a little affection to my wife." He drawled the words lazily, completely unbothered by Scott’s disapproving glare.

You bit back a laugh, turning your head to shoot Scott a playful look. "We’re just standing here, Scott," you said, echoing Logan’s words. "What’s wrong with a little love in the kitchen?"

Scott sighed, rolling his eyes, clearly not in the mood to argue. "Can’t you two keep it PG for five minutes?" he muttered as he rummaged through the fridge.

You grinned, feeling mischievous, and as Logan nuzzled his face into your neck, you casually let your hand slip down and gave his butt a firm squeeze.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening with a hint of surprise and amusement. "That how we’re playin’ it now?" he muttered into your ear, his voice thick with a low growl.

You couldn’t help but laugh, biting your lip as you tried to look innocent. "You make it hard to keep my hands to myself."

Scott groaned louder this time, his head still buried in the fridge. "Seriously? You two are impossible."

Before Scott could launch into another lecture, Jean entered the kitchen, casting a quick glance at the two of you before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Honestly, you two," she said, but her smile betrayed her amusement. "Some of us don’t need to see all this PDA."

"Jealous?" you teased, grinning over Logan’s shoulder as his hands slid down to rest on your hips. "I’m sure Scott would be happy to show you some affection."

Jean gave Scott a sly smile, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really?" she said, her tone playful. Scott, flustered and red-faced, sputtered some excuse about needing to find a snack before hurrying out of the room, much to Jean’s amusement.

With Scott out of earshot, Logan turned you around to face him, his hands never leaving your waist. His eyes softened just a fraction as he looked down at you, the teasing grin still tugging at his lips. "Let ‘em complain," he muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I don’t care. Not about anyone else." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "Just you."

You smiled, resting your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. "You’re really not worried about them lecturing us?"

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Not even a little bit." He tilted his head, eyeing you with that familiar glint of mischief. "Besides, if they don’t like it, they know where the door is."

You chuckled, knowing full well that no amount of teasing or groaning from the team would change a thing. You and Logan were a force of nature, and everyone in the mansion had come to accept it, even if it meant rolling their eyes every time you two were caught in one of your “moments.”

"Well, in that case," you said, your voice softening as you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just inches from his. "I guess we don’t have to hold back, do we?"

Logan’s grin widened, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Not for a second, darlin’."

His lips finally met yours, the world around you faded, leaving only the two of you. It didn’t matter who complained or who walked in—you and Logan were unapologetically in love, and no amount of groaning from the team would change that.

The next morning, as the sunlight streamed through the mansion’s large windows, you and Logan found yourselves in the kitchen again. This time, you were standing by the coffee maker, waiting for it to brew, when Logan came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist like it was second nature. His chin rested on your shoulder, his scruff tickling your neck as he pulled you back against his chest.

"Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, leaning into him, smiling at the easy comfort of his touch.

It was one of those peaceful moments you loved—just you and Logan, the world quiet, everyone else still asleep or scattered throughout the mansion. Of course, it didn’t stay that way for long.

Jean strolled in, followed closely by Scott, both of them shooting you amused looks as they spotted the two of you wrapped up in each other. Jean rolled her eyes but grinned as she grabbed a mug from the cabinet. "You two really don’t waste any time, huh?"

Scott groaned from behind her, rubbing his temples like he was already tired of the sight. "Seriously, can’t you wait until we’re all awake before you start with the PDA?"

You laughed, turning in Logan’s arms to face them. "What? We’re just standing here—again," you teased, though you made no attempt to step away from Logan’s embrace.

"Yeah," Logan added, his voice gruff but full of amusement. "We’re not hurtin’ anyone." He shot Scott a glance over your shoulder. "Maybe you should try it, Summers. Loosen up a bit."

Scott looked utterly unimpressed. "I’m perfectly loose, thanks."

Jean, pouring herself a cup of coffee, snorted. "Oh, please. You could take a few lessons."

Scott sputtered, opening his mouth to argue, but before he could get the words out, Bobby walked in, pausing as he took in the scene—Logan holding you close, Jean grinning, and Scott looking exasperated.

"Okay, seriously," Bobby said, gesturing to you and Logan as he grabbed a bowl for cereal. "Are you guys ever not all over each other?"

You grinned, shifting just enough to give Logan a playful nudge. "We could cool it down a little," you teased, glancing up at him. "Maybe tone it down when everyone’s around."

Logan huffed, tightening his hold on you slightly. "Why should we? It’s not like we’re doin’ anything wrong."

"True," you agreed, turning your head to shoot Bobby a mischievous look. "Besides, you know you’d miss it if we stopped."

Bobby groaned, his head falling back dramatically. "Oh God, no. Please, I’m begging you—stop. At least until after breakfast."

Jean chuckled into her coffee, and even Scott couldn’t hide the slight twitch of his lips. But it was Kurt who appeared next, his head popping into the kitchen with a teasing grin on his face. "I don’t know," he said with a wink, "I think it’s sweet. They remind me of teenagers in love."

Bobby groaned louder, pouring milk into his bowl. "Teenagers who need to get a room."

You exchanged a glance with Logan, smirking. "Or, you know, we could get our own place," you suggested casually, though the idea had been bouncing around in your mind for a while. With all the teasing, the idea of having a space just for you and Logan—without the constant commentary—was becoming more and more appealing.

Logan raised an eyebrow, considering it for a moment. "Hmm," he grunted, the idea clearly taking root in his mind. "Could be nice. No interruptions, no one complainin' every time I kiss ya in the hallway."

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Exactly. No more complaining, no more audience." You glanced over at the group, most of whom were pretending to be very interested in their breakfasts now. "Not that you guys aren’t fun and all."

Jean laughed, taking another sip of coffee. "I don’t know—what would the mansion do without you two acting like lovesick teenagers every day?"

Scott, still rubbing his temples, muttered, "We’d probably get a lot more done, for one."

"Hey, maybe it’s not such a bad idea," Bobby chimed in with a grin. "You two can get a place, we can visit, and then, when you’re not around, we can actually sit on the couch without worrying about walking in on something."

You couldn’t help but laugh, turning back to Logan. "See? They’re practically begging us to move."

Logan looked down at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. For a moment, you thought he might agree. A quiet place, just the two of you, sounded tempting—no constant interruptions, no team busting in when you least expected it. Just you and Logan.

But then, his eyes softened, and that familiar smirk returned. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "I like it here."

You blinked, a little surprised. "Really?"

Logan nodded, his hand slipping up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. "Sure, I could do without all the wisecracks," he said, his voice low and warm, "but... this place is home. And besides," he added with a small grin, "I like givin' ‘em somethin’ to complain about."

You laughed, leaning into his touch, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. The mansion was home. It was chaotic, noisy, and full of interruptions, but it was your chaos. Your home and you wouldn’t trade that for anything.

"Okay," you said, smiling up at him. "We stay."

"Good," Logan murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

"Of course, you wouldn’t," Bobby groaned from the table, though you could see the smile tugging at his lips. "We’re stuck with you two, aren’t we?"

Jean rolled her eyes but smiled. "Pretty much."

Logan smirked, pulling you tighter against him. "Damn right."

[ghsface]

Hi k have a kinda specific request that I thought would make a good fic! I was thinking that maybe we see the BAU and y/n and Spencer the morning after Yk… the girls figure out that y/n just got layes and they do the whole bonding girl gossip thing. Derek sees Spencer wearing a scarf and makes a joke about it, only to realize that he was right. Penelope tells Derek and then without y/n or Spencer realizing like everyone knows. They also figure out why Reid is the only one with hikeys 🫢 and yeah…. Thanks queen! I hope this makes sense

New Message ✮⋆˙

Hey gorgeous, I love this idea so much, it was very fun to write I hope you like 🎀 🩷

our secret, not so secret - Spencer Reid

Sumary: You and Spencer try to hide your relationship, but it's hard when you have hickeys on your neck.

Warnings: fluff, jokes, hickeys, the bau being chaotic, I think that's all, this is pure fluff,

A/n: I'm sorry if there is something wrong or not understood, my first language is not English.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

It was a chaotic morning for you. You woke up a little late and the mess was evident in Spencer's bathroom mirror, with those little reminders on your neck that not even the concealer could completely hide. You were aware that you were trying a desperate maneuver, but well, Spencer had already warned you that the makeup would not last the entire day. Still, you were determined not to leave any evidence, you applied the last layer of foundation before leaving his apartment, determined not to give any clues about what happened the night before.

For Spencer, the situation was not much different. She decided to cover the marks with a scarf, trying to act normal as they prepared to face another day of work at the BAU, as if everything was perfectly under control. The two of you looked at each other knowingly before leaving, in an attempt to keep your relationship a secret... again.

Arriving at the office, you said good morning as if nothing had happened. But it wasn’t long before Emily and JJ, who seemed to have a radar for these matters, caught you in their line of sight. They looked you up and down with a mischievous grin, and without missing a beat, JJ raised an eyebrow and fired the first bullet: “And that face, Y/N? Long night?”

You tried to shake your head with a nervous laugh, avoiding looking at the two too much, but Emily stepped closer, lowering her tone so as not to draw too much attention. “Oh, come on, babe. There’s a sparkle in your eyes… and, from what I see, on your neck too.”

With your heart in your throat, you quickly glanced at your reflection in a nearby frame and noticed that the base had already begun to fade, leaving a faint purple mark showing. Emily and JJ glanced at each other, and then Penelope, who appeared out of nowhere as if she had smelled the drama, also joined the small circle. “Please let me guess… was anyone busy last night?”

Between laughs and accusations, you tried to defend yourself without much success. You knew they were trying to provoke you and that, at this rate, the secret wasn't going to last long. Emily and JJ's laughter soon attracted Derek, who approached with a mocking smile. “What's up, girls? Something I'm missing?”

Emily gave him a knowing look and pointed towards the entrance, where Spencer had just appeared with a very inconspicuous scarf. Derek narrowed his eyes and laughed. “Since when does Spencer wear scarves? It's spring, for God's sake.”

They all looked at each other, hiding their laughter, as Derek approached Spencer. With an attitude that only Derek could adopt, he patted him on the back and gave him a knowing smile. “Pretty boy… do you need some advice on how to handle the weather?”

Spencer froze for a second, trying not to lose his cool. He knew he had been caught. He tried to respond with a vague excuse about “changing his style” and “protecting his throat,” but Derek simply held up his hands in an innocent gesture. “Sure, sure, I imagine the weather was intense last night, right?”

Meanwhile, you were trying not to burst out laughing at Spencer's obvious blush and despair. But Derek, who had caught on to the whole situation, turned around to join Emily, JJ, and Penelope again, winking at the girls. “See what I'm saying? Our genius boy is growing up.”

Before Spencer could respond, Hotch walked past the group, observing the laughter and commotion with his usual seriousness. But something in his expression betrayed that he fully understood what the conversation was about.

“Anything you want to share?” he asked, without losing his composure.

Derek shook his head with a smile, but took the opportunity to continue provoking. “Nothing, Hotch. It just seems that some of your colleagues have… interesting extracurricular activities.”

Hotch cast a quick glance at you, who were trying to make yourself small at your desk, and then at Spencer, with her suspicious scarf. For the first time, a barely perceptible smile crossed his face.

“I guess ‘activities’ require a little more discretion next time, too, huh?” Hotch said, before continuing on his way.

As the team laughed and threw around comments, Rossi walked over with a cup of coffee, assessing the scene like the veteran he was. “Ah, youth… that energy and lack of subtlety. There’s nothing like first love at work.”

By then, the rumor had already spread throughout the office.

Hours later, as you tried to continue with your work, Penelope approached with a whisper. “Honey, we all know. You two don’t have to hide anything.” Your surprised expression was enough to make her laugh. “Did you really think you could keep it a secret? Come on, we’re profilers. Wait not me but thay do. Plus… you’ve never come to the office so… happy.”

You decided to give in and accept it, and just as you were about to approach Spencer to tell him, he appeared at your side, still wearing the scarf. When you turned to look at him, he already had that resigned expression on his face that made you laugh. “How much did you hear?” he asked with a sigh, looking around and catching everyone’s smiles.

“Everything?” you said with a mocking smile.

Finally, Derek, with an air of triumph, approached the two of you and announced loudly, “And that’s how it’s done, ladies and gentlemen! Our boy has become quite the man.” The office was filled with laughter and jokes as you and Spencer exchanged glances that were somewhere between nervous and amused.

Emily approached you and, not missing the opportunity, added, “So… how long did you think you were going to last without us finding out? A day, maybe two?”

You bit your lip, embarrassed, and looked at Spencer, who didn’t know whether to laugh or faint. In the end, there wasn’t much else to say.

JJ laughed, giving you a gentle shove. “Relax, Y/N. We knew before you guys realized it. We were just waiting to see how long it would take you to admit it.”

You and Spencer exchanged a resigned look. Maybe their “secret” hadn’t been so secret after all.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

[alwaysthefool]

But She’s Not You (x Zayne)

Technically part 2 to Opposite (linked) but you can read it stand alone too.

Warnings: insecurity

Tags: Angst to comfort, f! Reader (pro trans blog), MC Reader

Synopsis: After you saw him with someone else and misunderstood, Zayne lets you know you’re the only one for him.

Sulking at the waiting room couldn’t get past Yvonne’s sharp eyes. It had been a week since you’d come to the hospital. You didn’t pick up Zayne’s calls after you ‘ended things’, and him, being the gentleman that he was, did not push it. He was probably busy again, and now he had someone else to keep him company. Unfortunately for you, you had a weird and constant chest pain that was getting hard to ignore. You begged the receptionist to get you any other cardiologist than Zayne, which meant you had to wait, because Zayne would never make you wait when it came to your heart.

“What’s wrong?” She took a seat beside you at the metal chairs. “Trouble with the doc?”

You sighed, your head down, grateful she was here. “I saw him with another girl. Laughing, with another girl.”

“Dr. Zayne laughs?” Grayson slumped down on the other side of you. That just made you feel worse. Right, he was usually stoic, but who wouldn’t laugh when someone like her was making a joke?

Yvonne pinched Grayson, as if begging him to read the room.

“Well, he’s doing terribly.” Grayson spoke immediately. “I don’t think he took a break this entire week. Jo almost has to force him to take a break at times.”

Tears filled your eyes immediately and you hated that it wasn’t because you were concerned about him, but rather that he had another girl who’d remind him to take breaks, to eat sweets, to smile every now and then. It was selfish to think like that, but you couldn’t help but wish it was you.

“Dr. Grayson.” Yvonne warned, gesturing to you. “Don’t you have a surgery to get to?”

Grayson took the cue noticing your silent crying, pretending he was paged for something important, running away.

“There’s really nothing going on between them.” Yvonne tried to help you, patting your back. “There’s been new discoveries on Protocore syndrome treatments, and Jo is from the institute that made the discovery.”

You tried to stop the tears. Right, it couldn’t be helped. “It’s just… hard to be with someone like him.” You wiped your face with your sleeve. “Someone who’s always going to be wanted by people who are more than me. I’ll make one mistake, and he can find another girl who’s better than me in every way, and will never make any. I don’t want to spend my life thinking I have to compete.”

“Ms. [Name].” Zayne’s voice spoke from above you, sending your already struggling heart into a frenzy. “Please see me in my room immediately.”

You looked up to see him walk away, into his office, the nurse beside him, apologising to you. “I tried to hide it from him, but he was furious when I didn’t tell him you were here.” She whispered. You told her it was okay, silently following him. He held the door to his office open for you, closing it behind him once the two of you were in.

“You might be mad at me, but did you really have to try and change doctors?”

“I didn’t want to waste your time.”

“Nonsense.” He looked back at you with furious eyes. His hair was a mess, he’d definitely not had enough sleep, and you could see a bit of stubble on his jaw. No matter what happened, Zayne would put effort into his appearance, but you’d never seen him like that before.

You wanted to say something, ask him if he was alright, but you could only take your place on the couch in his office.

“How long have you been experiencing this?” He asked sternly, still standing, looking at your chart.

“A week.”

He shot you an exasperated look. “A week? And you’re only coming here now?”

I didn’t want to face you. You wanted to confess, but you settled with “I thought it’d go away by itself.”

Zayne tried to calm himself down, placing the chart on the table, sitting down on his desk with his head in his hands. You didn’t have control over yourself as your legs walked over to him. Even if he liked someone else, you couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t help but reach for him, your hand lightly resting on his back.

“Zayne?”

“Can I hold you?” His voice was broken, pleading. You let out a soft ‘yes’, and he immediately pulled you into his lip, hugging you tightly.

Was Zayne… crying?

“You’re here.” He whispered, resting his face against your neck, nuzzling into it, tightening his protective hold. Even if you couldn’t hear it well, you felt his wet eyes. He still smelled of coffee and mint. “Please don’t leave me again. I thought I messed up for good. Please give me another chance.”

“I overreacted.” You put your hands in his hair, and he kissed your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He pulled away, holding you firmly on his lap with his large hands on your waist. “I didn’t understand how it must’ve looked to you. I’m away all the time, I don’t make time for you, but if it’s not you…” He looked intensely into your eyes. “It’s no one.”

Your heart felt less heavy, the pain easing into relief. You took a deep breath, but it still hurt your chest a little.

“And I’m sorry for what I said.“ He continued.

You teared up again. “Yeah, you should be. You have no idea how I felt.”

“I’ll win you back, if you’re not yet convinced.” He kissed you on your cheek, taking a handkerchief out of his bag to wipe away your tears. “Tell me, what do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“What I came for. A diagnosis for my heart.” You smiled.

Zayne turned red, clearing his throat, helping you off his lap but not letting go of your hand. “Of course. I need you to come with me to get some tests done.” He used his free hand to look at his notes on the chart.

“And after that, you’re coming home with me so I can make it all up to you.”

—x—

[enzstr]

Only You || K. Bakugo

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

synopsis: starz26708 and Dino.tnt609, two students who first met in an online chatroom. A friendship had flourished between them. With the strong need to meet each other, 6aku.tnt609 slowly gains curiosity regarding the other's identity, which sparked the desire to meet her within him. What could possibly go wrong?

💭: btw, this is inspired from the Chad Michael Murray and Hilary Duff movie A Cinderella's Story!!

author's note: My deepest apologies it took me so long to upload the new chapter!!! I've been having finals and examinations but I'm free now!! New chapter might come out in a few days or a week since it's in my drafts now...

words: 3.7k

Chapter 2: The Two People

Reader's POV

The following day, I sat in my classes, feeling unusually unfocused. I found my thoughts continually returning to the message I had received the night before from my friend, Dino.tnt609. The words and emotions contained in that message had left a powerful and lingering effect on me, making it difficult for me to fully immerse myself in the subjects being taught.

“Please meet me at the school’s party. I’ll be waiting for you at 11:00 in the middle of the dance floor.” 

Those messages had set themselves so deeply into my thoughts that it was as if they were on a constant replay in my mind. No matter what I did, I couldn't seem to rid myself of their presence. They continued to resurface, over and over again, like a stubborn memory that refused to be forgotten. The more I tried to dismiss them, the more their contents seemed to linger in my thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside or ignored.

“Y/n, what is the difference between speed and velocity?”

My heart dropped. I have been half-listening, my mind drifting, thinking about the message Dino sent to me—contemplating meeting him, and the school party. But now, I was completely caught off guard. Difference between speed and velocity—the words sounded fuzzy in my head, like fragments of a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to put together.

That was when she noticed him.

Bakugo.

He was sitting at the back of the class, leaning back in his chair, hands casually folded behind his head. He was grinning—the kind of grin that wasn’t friendly or supportive. It was the kind of grin that only came when you were sure someone else was about to fail. He’d been watching me for a while now, and I could feel his gaze boring into me. I knew exactly what he was thinking: She wasn’t paying attention. She doesn’t know the answer. This is my chance to look good in front of everyone.

The grin on Bakugo’s face widened ever so slightly, and I could almost hear his internal smirk. He had the confidence of someone who’d aced every test without breaking a sweat, someone who knew how to get under your skin with the smallest of gestures. And right now, his quiet, almost smug enjoyment was aimed directly at me.

My stomach twisted. It wasn’t that I cared about beating Dylan, exactly. But I did care about not looking foolish in front of the class—especially when he was clearly expecting me to fail. The challenge hung in the air, palpable, like an unspoken duel. I could almost hear him thinking, Come on, mess up. Please mess up.

The competitive spark in me flared to life, and in that moment, something shifted inside of me. I wasn’t going to let him get the last laugh. No way.

I straightened up in my chair, eyes narrowing just slightly, and forced myself to focus. I don’t need to know everything, I told myself. I just need to know enough to get this answer right.

My gaze locked back onto the board, and suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to make sense of the question. It was a simple logic question—something I could handle if I stopped panicking.

Mr. Aizawa was still looking at me expectantly, but now I had a plan. I took a steadying breath and spoke, my voice clearer than she felt.

“The difference between speed and velocity lies in their definitions, speed is a scalar quantity, meaning it only describes how fast an object is moving, without any reference to direction. For example, if a car is going 50 km/h, that's its speed.”

Her eyes flicked back to the board, confirming her answer. She could feel the weight of the moment—this was what it was all about. She hadn’t been paying attention before, but she was focused now, and she was going to finish strong.

“Velocity, on the other hand, is a vector quantity. This means it not only describes how fast an object is moving but also in which direction. For instance, if the car is traveling at 50 km/h to the east, its velocity is 50 km/h east. In essence, while speed only tells you the rate of motion, velocity provides both the rate and the direction of motion.”

Mr. Aizawa nodded approvingly. "Exactly, Y/n. Well done."

I felt a small surge of relief, but it wasn’t just the satisfaction of getting the answer right. It was the feeling of having turned the tables, of having taken control of the moment that had threatened to spiral out of my grasp. I glanced over at Bakugo, just as he was about to sit up straighter in his chair. His grin faltered when he saw the glint in my eyes.

And that was all the encouragement Bakugo needed.

I couldn’t help myself. A small, almost mischievous smile curved on my lips. It wasn’t an innocent, pleased-with-herself smile—it was the kind of grin you wore when you knew you’d just pulled something off, when you’d just made someone else realize they’d misjudged you.

Bakugo’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly, the smugness faltering for the briefest of moments. He’d thought I’d fumble. He’d thought I wouldn’t know the answer. But I had shown him, and not only had I known the answer—I said it with confidence, without hesitation.

He looked away first, clearly frustrated, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened. I knew that look. He didn’t like losing, even if it was just a small moment, a little victory that nobody else in the room might even notice.

But I noticed. And that was enough for her.

As the class continued, Ellie let herself settle back into her seat, but her mind was sharp, focused, and alive with the thrill of competition. Dylan might have been the golden boy of the class, but today, in this small, unexpected moment, Ellie had beaten him. And for once, it felt really good to smile back at him—just a little bit smug, just a little bit competitive—knowing that he hadn’t seen this coming.

The moment I finished answering the question, I could feel it—a mix of pride and adrenaline coursing through me. I had nailed it, no hesitation, no second-guessing. The class had been quiet after I spoke, the silence hanging in the air before the professor acknowledged my answer. It felt like the eyes of the entire room were on me, but in that instant, I didn’t care. For once, I was the one who had it together.

But then there was the scoff.

I didn’t even need to look at him to know exactly who it was. Bakugo. The ever-present thorn in my side. His chair creaked as he shifted, his eyes narrowing in that way I was so familiar with. He looked almost... irritated, the kind of expression he wore when he thought someone was challenging his spot as top dog in this class. And right now, it was clear that he did not appreciate the fact that I was the one who had answered confidently.

Why does it always have to be him? I wondered, my hands clenched under the desk. I knew it was coming—he was going to find some way to one-up me, to make me feel small for doing something as simple as knowing the answer. I hated how predictable he was, but I hated even more that it affected me so much. I’d never let him see that, though. He had to think I was just as indifferent as he was.

I kept my eyes trained forward, pretending like his irritation didn’t bother me, like I wasn’t still replaying the way he’d looked at me, the way he always tried to put me in my place. It’s just a class. It doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. This isn’t real life. This is just some stupid competition.

The bell rang, breaking my thoughts, and the class started to pack up. As usual, Bakugo shoved his things into his bag with that signature smug expression, as if he'd already forgotten the moment I’d answered correctly. He probably wouldn’t give it a second thought, while I would be stewing in it for the rest of the day.

I grabbed my phone, hoping to distract myself. A new message from Dino.tnt 609 popped up. My fingers tapped the screen eagerly, relieved for the sudden shift in focus.

Dino.tnt609: “So, Halloween party tomorrow night.. what do you think? You in?”

I smiled at the message. Dino. He was the one person who could make everything feel lighter, even when things felt heavy. Talking to him always made me feel like I could breathe again after a day of dealing with Bakugo’s constant need to compete. Dino was my escape. He didn’t care about grades or the stupid academic battles I fought with Bakugo every day. He just… gets me.

But then I hesitated. My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I began to type, the excitement of the invite quickly dampened by a twinge of anxiety. The party. It should be fun, right? Just a Halloween party. But the idea of seeing someone in person—someone I had only ever known through texts and memes and game chats—suddenly felt overwhelming. What if I didn’t click with him in real life? What if meeting him was awkward?

But more than that, what if it turned out that the person I was texting with every night was someone I couldn’t stand in real life? What if he was one of those people who, once you met them face to face, you realized you just didn’t vibe with? What if it was someone like Bakugo?

Wait, no. Don’t think that. I tried to push the thought out of my head. I knew it was irrational. Dino wasn’t Bakugo. He couldn’t be. Dino was the one who listened to my rants without judgment. Bakugo would’ve laughed at my complaints, probably turned it into some kind of competition. But Dino didn’t—he understood. He had always been there when I needed to vent about school, about life, about how exhausting it was to constantly feel like I had to prove myself to people who didn’t deserve it.

I bit my lip, still unsure. Maybe I was overthinking it. It’s just a Halloween party. Just one night. The mask I planned to wear would make it easier, give me an extra layer of comfort in case things felt weird. And if it turned out the person I was meeting in real life was someone I couldn’t stand? I could always leave early, or just keep the mask on, keep things light. No pressure.

With a sigh, I finally typed back.

starz26708: “I’m not sure yet. I want to go, but I keep thinking about who I might run into. What if it’s someone I already know and just don’t get along with? I hate the idea of meeting someone and realizing they’re not who I thought they’d be…”

I glanced at the message after I sent it, my heart pounding slightly. What if Dino didn’t understand? What if he thought I was being weird or overdramatic? But no, Dino would get it. He always did.

My phone buzzed almost immediately, and I opened the message from him.

Dino.tnt609: “I totally get it. Meeting people in real life is a lot different, especially when you’ve only talked to them online. But hey, no worries. If you don’t like the vibe when you get there, you don’t have to stay. Just come and hang out for a bit, if you feel like it. We can just keep it lowkey. And honestly, the mask thing sounds awesome. No pressure at all.”

I felt the tension leave my shoulders as I read his reply. Dino’s message was so casual, so easy-going. It reminded me that I didn’t have to overthink everything. The idea of the mask suddenly felt like a safe haven, a way to protect myself if things didn’t go as planned. And if things went well? Even better.

I glanced at my costume on the chair across the room, the simple, cute outfit with the eye mask. It was just for fun, right? It would be a way to keep things light, to feel like I could still hide behind some layer of anonymity, just in case. I could show up, meet DIno, and see how it felt. If I didn’t like the vibe, I could leave. No harm done.

Taking a deep breath, I typed out my response.

starz26708: “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll come to the party. And I’ll wear the mask. No pressure. Just… a fun time, right?”

I hit send and sat back in my chair, feeling both nervous and excited. The thought of meeting Maverick in real life still made my heart race, but now there was a sense of excitement bubbling up, too. No more overthinking. Tomorrow would be what it would be.

As I tucked my phone back into my pocket, I couldn’t help but think back to the classroom earlier that day, the way Bakugo had looked at me with that scoff, like I was some kind of threat to his place in the class. I couldn’t stop him from being irritated or annoyed by me. But for once, I didn’t need to care. I was about to meet someone who saw me for who I really was, not just some competitor in an academic race.

And for the first time in a while, that felt like enough.

The library was still, the kind of stillness that envelops you like a blanket, pressing in with its quiet whispers. The scent of old books and fresh paper, mingled with the faint hum of fluorescent lights, filled the air. I sat at my usual spot in the corner near the back row of tables, tucked between two towering bookshelves. The table before me was cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and a half-finished cup of coffee that had long since cooled. It was late afternoon, and the golden light from the windows cast long shadows across the floor, making everything feel a bit more serene than usual.

I liked it here—the calm, the solitude, the sense of focus that always seemed to find its way to me in the midst of my chaotic thoughts. But today, there was an odd distraction. Him. Bakugo.

It wasn’t that he had suddenly appeared or made his presence known in any way. No, he’d been here for a while now, sitting at the table across from hers, his head bent low over a stack of textbooks. His usual aloofness was present, that edge of arrogance that always seemed to follow him like a cloud, but it was muted somehow. Less blatant. Less in-your-face.

I could feel the tension in her chest as I stole a glance at him. My eyes lingered for just a moment, not sure what to make of it. He wasn’t showing off, wasn’t playing the part of the smug academic genius. He was just… working.

It was weird. It had been a while since I’d seen Bakugo like this—since he had been normal. Or maybe that wasn’t the right word. Maybe it was more like he was letting his guard down a little, just enough for me to notice. He was still Bakugo, the same guy who had scoffed at me when I answered that question in class with confidence, the same guy who’d shot me looks of condescension every chance he got. But today, there was something… different.

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the way my thoughts were spiraling around him. I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like the fact that I was starting to care, even a little, about what Bakugo thought—or, worse, starting to wonder if he was, in some way, not the person I always assumed him to be.

My focus snapped back to my notes. I had a test coming up. A test I needed to ace. No distractions. No thoughts about him. And yet, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting back to him.

Bakugo had paused in the middle of writing, a pencil hovering above his notebook as he looked at something in the distance, his gaze unfocused. There was a tiredness about him today, something uncharacteristic, as though the weight of his own expectations were getting to him. His posture had shifted slightly; no longer the rigid, always-perfect stance, but more slouched, as if the constant pressure of being the best was beginning to wear on him. I had always known that he had his own demons, just as I did. But today, it felt… real somehow. It felt more human.

I tried to shake it off, to tell myself that this was just another moment of my own weakness, my need to understand people. To make sense of things. But it was harder now. It was harder to keep the walls up when I had seen a flicker of something real underneath the arrogance.

Bakugo cleared his throat suddenly, breaking the silence between them, and my eyes shot up, my heart giving an unexpected jolt. He was looking at me now, but not with the same sharp, dismissive gaze I was used to. No, this time, it was... different. There was still a hint of skepticism, but it wasn’t the biting kind. It was almost... curious.

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, but not with the usual irritation. It was more like an observation. “Staring off into space.”

I blinked, surprised by the comment. “What?”

“You’re distracted,” he said, his voice quieter now. He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with a tired sigh. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m some kind of puzzle you’re trying to figure out.”

I frowned, annoyed at how accurately he’d read me, even though I hadn’t been aware of it myself. “I haven’t been staring at you,” I muttered, though it wasn’t very convincing. I hadn’t meant to stare at him, but it was hard not to when something about today felt... off. In a way that was hard to describe.

Bakugo smirked, the edge of his usual arrogance slipping back for a moment. “Sure you haven’t.”

The flicker of their old dynamic was still there, but there was something softer in the way he said it. No ridicule. No malice. Just a simple, half-amused observation.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. This wasn’t helping me focus. And yet, there was something about the way Bakugo was acting today that made me feel like he wasn’t just my academic rival anymore. He wasn’t just the guy who competed against me for every grade, for every small victory.

For a split second,I entertained the thought that maybe—just maybe—I had misjudged him. But I quickly dismissed it. Bakugo was still Bakugo. Still arrogant. Still stubborn. Still too proud for his own good.

“I’m trying to focus,” I muttered, feeling a bit of tension in my chest, my irritation creeping back.

Bakugo didn’t respond right away. Instead, he picked up his pencil again and started scribbling something in his notebook. The sound of the lead scraping against the paper was oddly calming in the otherwise quiet space. I could feel the weight of the moment stretch out, the minutes slipping by as both of us worked, neither of us speaking.

And then, unexpectedly, Bakugo spoke again.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little softer than before, “you’re not the only one stressed out about this stuff.”

I blinked at him. What?

“Yeah,” He continued, not looking up from his work. “I might seem like I have everything figured out all the time, but I don’t. I—” He paused for a second, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something that wasn’t arrogance in his eyes. “I hate feeling like I’m always just... expected to be the best, you know?”

I was taken aback. I didn’t know how to respond at first. This wasn’t the Bakugo I knew, the Bakugo who acted like he had the world on a string and was just waiting for it to fall into place. No, this was different. This was... human. Vulnerable, even.

I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. “I get it,” I said quietly, before I could stop herself. “I feel the same way. Like I’m always trying to prove something. Like I’m never enough.”

Bakugo finally looked up at me then, his expression more thoughtful than I had ever seen it. The usual arrogance was still there, tucked beneath the surface, but it wasn’t all-consuming. For a second, he just looked at her, as if considering her words. And for a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say next.

Then, surprisingly, Bakugo offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, not into a smirk, but a genuine smile. It wasn’t much—certainly not the kind of smile I ever expect from him—but it was enough.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Guess we’re not so different after all.”

I was silent for a moment, processing the unexpected turn in their conversation. There was still so much about him that grated on my nerves, but in that moment, sitting in the library with him, I realized something. Maybe—just maybe—there was more to him than the arrogant exterior he always wore. Maybe there was a real person beneath all that pride and stubbornness.

And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to see him for who he truly was.

“I guess so,” I replied, offering him a small smile of my own.

Both of us went back to their work, the silence stretching out between us again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… peaceful. There was an understanding now, an unspoken truce. They weren’t enemies, not really—not anymore.

For the first time, I realized that their rivalry didn’t have to define us. We could just be two students, studying together in the same quiet space, both trying to survive the pressures of their lives.

And in that simple moment, sitting across from each other, we both found a kind of peace.

taglist: @sara4uuu @zoast32 @lemon-lav @instantmagazineconnoisseur (comment to be added on my taglist!)

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

I Love You

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 20 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist |

Y/N went for a walk at the Han River today it was so peaceful Hannie its like 9 in the morning? when did you even have time? Y/N I woke up early ^^ the sunrise was beautiful Hannie i cant believe you willingly woke up early 0.o Y/N I want to take you there someday. Just you and me, we can go for a walk by the han river. Hannie Just us? Y/N Hmmm. My two favorite Hans, all to myself Hannie Wait, two favorites? You should only have ONE favorite Han >:( Y/N You're absolutely right baby Hannie im your favorite Han, right? Y/N …. I love you? Hannie >:( (i love you too)

-0-0-

“Jagi, are you okay? You can take off your hat if you want.”

You paused from where you had pulled up your beanie to swipe hair from your forehead, the cold soft air of the cafe AC making the sweat on your body cool rapidly. Subsequently, it was causing your hair to stick.

The two of you had just sat down at a small cafe hidden away from the crowds. It was a cafe known for being discreet, the owners having long gotten used to both trainees and idols coming there. Jeongin had grabbed the booth all the way in the back.

And yet you still found yourself nervously pulling the hoodie lower. You were facing the glass windows and the large double doors, where anyone could walk by and see you. It made you feel exposed. It wasn't the first time you had been out with one of the boys, but ever since seeing a photo of you on social media, you found yourself wanting to lay low. It was hard to do that when Jeongin, bless his confident soul, was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of fake glasses that suited him wonderfully, but did nothing to hide his beautiful face. No hat, no hoodie, and he had even taken off his mask.

You were a ball of nerves.

“I’m okay,” You told him.

He gave you an unconvinced look, which was fair considering you were doing a terrible job at hiding your feelings.

The waitress came over then, setting down the two cups you had ordered, as well as the cake Jeongin had ordered. You ducked your head until she had left.

Jeongin let out a soft hum. “Jagi. Open.”

He held out a fork with a bit of cake on it towards you. You accepted the bite with a pout, knowing he was trying to get you to open up, but the cake was so good you couldn't stop the way your eyes widened in surprise.

The more flavors that began to explode in your mouth, the more you were convinced this had to be the best cake you had ever tried.

Jeongin gave you a knowing look. “Good, huh?”

“Holy-” You covered your mouth since it was still filled with food, tempted to nearly moan at how good it was.

Guess those cheesy romance books weren't all fantasy.

He smiled, grabbing another bite and holding it out to you. You pushed it away with your free hand, the other one still covering your mouth as you swallowed.

“No, it's your cake!” you protested, even though deep down you really wanted to accept that bite.

“It doesn't matter,” he reminded you. “Even if you eat it, I'll still taste it.”

You couldn't help but laugh at that, and Jeongin laughed along with you. The noise came out loud, echoing across the room, and from the corner of your eyes you spotted two girls sitting at a table near the entrance looking up in your direction. Immediately, you felt the same worry and shame from before rising up. You couldn't help the flash of panic when Jeongin turned around, having spotted your face and wanting to see what was wrong.

You reached out to him. “Innie! You're not wearing your mask!” You hissed at him in warning.

He turned back to you with a bewildered look. “What?”

You glanced behind him. The two girls were looking down at their phones, seemingly uninterested in whatever was going on around them. They were either really good actresses, or they didn't seem to recognize the maknae. You slumped back in your seat with a frown.

“You can't just-” You gestured wildly. “-look without your mask. What if someone recognizes you?”

“Is that what has you so worried?” He said, looking far too amused.

“It’s a valid worry.”

“But why do you keep hiding your face?”

“In case someone does recognize you,” You told him, feeling like a solid ‘duh' would fit well at the end. You decided against it though. “I don't want to cause any more problems for you guys.”

Jeongin titled his head. “More? Jagi, you've been the opposite of a problem.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” You try to explain. “Its just…”

You trailed off, realizing you were going to have to come clean about the photo you had seen. You had yet to mention it to any of the boys, and now that it had been nearly two weeks later, it felt like admitting to a secret. Jeongin leaned forward, his face squinted in that cute way of his that had him looking like a fox, but still cute nonetheless.

“What happened?”

And so you explained your nondate with Seungmin, how the two of you had stopped in the middle of the street, how you found the photo later on with little to no interactions, and the worry that there were people watching at all times. The worry that you would get caught.

The youngest member simply nodded, listening to you with no interruptions, until you were done. Then, he lifted up the fork with another bite of cake.

“Eat.”

“Innie-”

“Eat,” he stressed out, giving you a look.

You reluctantly took the bite offered with a pout, unable to deny how good the treat was. Given the look on his face, you were sure it was just as much for his satisfaction as it was for yours.

“I understand your worries, Jagi. I understand how stressful it is to think about being in the media eye, how paranoid it can make you feel.” You nodded at his words, well aware that if anyone could understand, it would definitely be him. Or any of the members. “But it’s also because I’ve been there that I know just how unnecessary that worry is.”

You frowned. “How can you say that? What happens if someone snaps a photo of us together?”

“Then it happens.” Just like that. Like it was a fact of life. You shook your head, even as Jeongin continued. “I’ve already accepted that something is going to come out eventually. Im actually expecting it.” He offered you another bite. “So is Chan-hyung, and Minho-hyung, and the other members, and the manager, and probably the CEO.”

“That doesn't exactly make me feel better,” You pointed out. He gave you a look and wiggled his hand, so you let out a sigh, taking the bite of cake.

“You can sit here and worry about when that moment is going to happen, or you can just enjoy your life and accept that it will happen eventually. I’m not saying you should go around telling everyone your dating Stray Kids, or to stop being aware of your surroundings, but maybe don’t let it eat you up inside, okay?”

You blinked at him, eyes a little watery. “When did you get so wise, Iyen-ah?”

He smiled, eyes squinting and nose scrunching. You leaned forward and, faces now inches apart, placed your hand over his.

“I love you.”

He blinked slowly, still smiling, but softer now. And then he leaned back, flipping his hand to grab your wrist.

“I love you too. Now come here.”

He tugged you towards him, but he had to actually let you go for you to make your way to the other side of the booth. You sat down next to him.

“It’s not like you to want so much skinship,” You pointed out, nudging your shoulder against his.

He shrugged. “If your so worried about being spotted, I figured it would be easier if nobody could see you.”

Your mouth slipped open in surprise, and you couldn’t help but lean against him. “Innie, that’s … thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now finish the cake.”

-0-0-

Comeback promotions started up so quickly you didn’t get much warning. It was half group dinners, then just two or three, and eventually you were getting messages telling you that they would be getting back late and that you shouldn't wait up. The boys all made efforts to check in with you throughout the day, or to exclusively talk in the group chat so you wouldn't feel left out, but suddenly having so much free time to yourself made you feel like something was missing.

Even schoolwork couldn't hide the loneliness. You still got breakfast with the boys, even if it was rushed, and the occasional half day surprise when someone's schedule was clear, but the one person who seemingly disappeared for an entire week was Chan.

A good morning text was all you got for those 7 days. The others reassured you he was fine and just busy, but Felix was quick to warn you that the leader was taking naps before performances, cluing in to his lack of sleep.

On the 8th day, or maybe it was the 9th due to how late it was, you were woken up to the clicking sound of your door unlocking. You lifted your head, only taking in the blurry figure at the door as they shuffled in, trying to be quiet, before dropping your head back down with a huff. Soft footsteps drew closer, your eyes too heavy to open, and then a hand was brushing down your cheek.

You let out a noise of confusion when the covers lifted.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Chan whispered, placing a kiss on your wrist as he settled in next to you.

You found yourself hovering somewhere near sleep and wake, mind still kind of aware but somewhat dreaming. You thought about the man next to you fondly, the effort he made to be with you even during his busy schedule.

“I love you,” you whispered, falling into a deep sleep.

Chan was gone by the time you woke up.

As you got ready, you found yourself wondering if you had actually said the words out loud, or if it had just been in your head. But then you got a message.

Chan Good morning love <3 Hope you have an amazing day PS. I love you too

-0-0-

Their busy schedules seem to clear up almost as quickly as they came. Although the boys still had plenty of activities scheduled both as a group and as individuals, group dinners were once again on the table. It only takes another week before you have all 8 of your boys together at the same time, their laughs and voices getting loud enough you were worried they would get a noise complaint. Even then, you didn't have the heart to quiet them.

It was during this time together, once they had settled in on the couches and began winding down, that you sprung your surprise on them.

“Sooo,” You drawled. “I have an announcement to make.” Jisung and Hyunjin both gave you panicked looks, and you raised your hands to wave away their worries. “I'm not breaking up with you, don't worry.”

“You couldn't get rid of us that easily,” Minho replied nonchalantly.

“I just wanted to let you guys know that I got a job offer.”

There was a chorus of congratulations and smiles from the boys, but only Chan seemed to realize there was still more to be said. Probably because he could still feel your anxiety.

“It's in New York.” The boys were uncharacteristically silent, so you continued. “It's only an offer, I still have to apply and there's no guarantee that I'll even get it. Honestly, I'm debating whether or not I even want to apply.”

“Okay,” Felix started, leaning forward on his knees. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“It just had me thinking, you know, about us. This,” You said, gesturing at the group. “And how its going to work. You know, long-term.”

“Long-term?” Changbin asked, repeating the english words with his thick accent. Chan translated, and the boys all nodded in understanding.

“Don’t you-” Jisung cut himself off, forehead pinching as he frowned. “I thought you being here was the long-term plan.”

“For now, yes. I still have a year or two until I get my degree, and I can continue to do that long distance for now. But then what? Eventually I will have to get a job, find my own place. Will we do that together? You guys obviously have Stray Kids, and it doesn't look like you plan on changing that anytime soon, so obviously you all are going to be together for a while…” You found yourself trailing off at the dejected look on Chan's face.

“Do you … not feel like you're a part of that goal?” He asked you. He gave a quick look to the other boys and switched to english. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to make decisions for our sake. You may be our soulmate, but you have every right to want to travel or move to other places, to get a job, to be … independent from us, if that’s what you want.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he lifted a hand, and you pressed your lips together. He continued in Korean. “I just want you to know that I-“ Felix cleared his throat. “-WE have never, ever, thought of excluding you from our future plans. If we end up making any decisions as a group, you are 100 percent included in that decision.”

“You’re a Stray now, whether you like it or not,” Seungmin told you, reaching out to pull your hand away from where it had been pulling on a loose thread in your sleeve.

You let out a laugh, eyes watering even as you tried to blink the tears away. “You offering me a place in the group?”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re part of the group or not. You’re a part of us,” Changbin muttered.

At the same time, Jisung perked up. “Do you know how to rap?!”

“We’re not adding her to the group,” Chan said with a smile. “I already have to deal with you guys.”

“Fine, we’ll make our own group,” Jisung continued nonchalantly, giving you a wink.

“The gremlin club?” Seungmin offered.

You couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at that, slapping the singer next to you as you suddenly remembered something. “Wait! You never did give me back my hoodie!”

Jisung was quickly getting to his feet. “Actually, I think I have somewhere to be-“

“No, no, no! Get back here, you little shit!”

“Hyung, help!”

“Give me back my hoodie!”

-0-0-

Even with the boys’ great efforts to lift your mood, you still found yourself thinking about your future more and more. You also found yourself missing them, even when you had the opportunity to see them every day, to the point you were worried you would come off as clingy. Even though they didn’t have such busy schedules anymore, there was one particular Wednesday afternoon when the boys seemed to be hit with a wave of inspiration, rushing off to the studio to get their ideas down before it left.

You happily spent the morning with Hyunjin until he had to meet up with a friend. A quick lunch with the others was just as chaotic as you expected, and Minho only gave you a knowing look when you asked him if he would mind making 3 extra servings. In return, you didn’t mention the fact that Jisung’s bag had a little note added in.

Despite having only been to the company building a handful of times, the security downstairs didn’t even look twice at your ID before waving you in, and since you knew exactly where you were going, it was only a few minutes before you were knocking on the familiar studio door.

Three faces lit up as you poked your head into the room.

“Hey.” You walked in, seeing they weren’t in the middle of recording.

Changbin was quick to stand up and help you with the bags you were holding, peeking in and smiling as he realized you had brought food.

“Yah! Thank you so much, babe.”

“You brought food?”

Chan and Jisung both thanked you as you handed them their respective containers, and you sat down on the couch with a smile as you watched them talk about how good it looked. Changbin, instead of returning to his own seat, settled in next to you.

“It really does look good,” Changbin muttered, opening up the top of the container. “Wah!”

“Minho put in a lot of effort to make it look good.”

“He left me a note,” Jisung pointed out, smiling down at his little present.

Chan looked through his own bag. “I didn’t get a note.”

He pouted, and Jisung seemed to get even happier at the news. The boys began to eat their food, starting an easy conversation about a new show that you had started watching. When you brought up their music, Chan offered to let you hear what they had so far, and you quickly agreed. He began to get the track set up as you cleaned up the containers.

“Okay, this is an idea we’ve been working on,” He told you, and the room grew quiet as he played the track.

You bopped your head to the rhythm. The song was simple, but rhythmic. The track itself was just the instrumental, but from next to you, Changbin seemed to be muttering to himself potential lyrics. He had his phone out and everything.

“This is the best part,” Jisung said, slapping Chan’s shoulder from where the two sat next to each other.

And the song began to rise into what you could recognize as a beat drop. You smiled as the two producers suddenly headbanged together as the song went crazy, a sick beat echoing around the room as their heads continued to bop in unison. It was a really good song from what you could hear, the kind that made you want to get up and start dancing.

“Aaand that’s all we go so far,” Chan said as he paused the track, spinning around to face you. “We were just about to start working on some lyrics. You want to stick around and help?

“Can I?” You wondered.

“Of course!”

Jisung let out a clap. “Great! I have some ideas we can work on, and I think Changbin’s working on some of his own, so we can pull them together and work something out.”

Said man was still looking down at his phone. You nudged him gently. “Bin?”

Chan laughed. “Give him a moment. He tends to get too into whatever’s he’s doing.”

“Hopefully it’s better than what he came up with earlier,” Jisung said, smiling at you. “He wrote this cute little verse about how much he loves bulgogi. It was funny.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. Changbin was silent for a few more seconds, but he eventually lifted his head up nonchalantly only to freeze at the sight of everyone staring at him. “What?”

Chan and Jisung laughed, and the rapper seemed to realize he had missed something. He gave an embarrassed smile, turning to you for an explanation since the other two were still laughing.

“So, I hear you wrote some really deep lyrics about bulgogi.”

Changbin let out a groan, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He tried to say something, but the three of you were still laughing, and he shook his head. You didn’t even fight him when he wrapped his arms around you, trying to tickle you from the side. You jerked as he hit the ticklish parts of your side, laughing jumping up an octave into a scream. Changbin started to laugh along with you.

“Okay, okay!” You wiggled in his hold. “I’m sorry!”

“I get no respect from you guys,” he complained, no longer tickling you, put still keeping his arms wrapped around you.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. Do you want some bulgogi?”

“Yah!”

Chan and Jisung were still laughing, having been spurred on by your comments, and Changbin pulled you into his lap to rest his chin on your shoulder. You cooed at him as he pretended to pout. When he went to lean back against the couch, he pulled you down on top of him, your body relaxing against his as you both sighed in comfort, choosing to ignore the other two boys as they finally began to calm down.

There was a moment of peace, where it was just you and your soulmates, your body humming contently. And then it all came screeching to a halt as the door opened.

You didn’t recognize the woman who walked in, only taking in the surprise that flashed across her face as she took you in for less than a second before you were slipping off your boyfriend’s lap, face suddenly feeling hot. The sudden pounding in your chest only seemed to get worse as the surprise slipped into a cold icy disgust, the older woman crossing her arms.

“Seo Changbin. You should know better,” She chastised him like she was his mother. “Being so provocative where anyone could walk in. You should save that kind of behavior for when you are alone.”

You frowned, sharing a look with Jisung. Weren’t you technically alone before she … walked in? Without knocking? To a private studio in a private building?

He returned your confusion with his own furrowed brows.

“It’s not like that, Noona,” Chan defended. “Besides, nobody really comes in here that often anyways.“

She gave him a sharp look. “Anyone in this building can walk into this room. You should have at least locked the door.”

“We weren’t doing anything-“ You tried to argue.

“While I am happy that you boys have found your soulmate, this isn’t information that many are privy too. You’ll do well to be careful even when in the company building,” She interrupted, handing Chan a few papers. “The stylists want to check your measurements tomorrow, and you need to film a promotional video on TikTok by the end of the week.”

And with one last side eye in your direction, the woman left. You didn’t even get to say goodbye before she was breezing out of the room, heels clicking across the floor.

You were the first one to break the silence. “Well, she seemed nice.”

“She’s just looking out for us,” Chan said, flipping through the papers with a sigh. “Man, they moved the filming schedule up to Friday. Who schedules filming on a Friday?”

“At least we get Monday free,” Jisung offered, looking over Chan’s shoulder.

Changbin nudged you as he moved in closer, his arm going around your shoulder to pull you in close, but you froze at his touch. He noticed your discomfort immediately, backing off enough that he could get a good look at your face. He gave you a reassuring smile.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just a little embarrassing,” You admitted. “I feel like I just got scolded by my mom.”

He let out a huff. “Don’t let her get to you. Doyeon-noona is just a little stricter with us than the other staff.”

“I know. I can’t blame her for that, I … I just don’t like the idea that I have to be careful with you guys in your own studio,” You admitted. The other two seemed to pick up on your conversation, their own ramblings quieting as they turned to listen. “I know we talked about this before, and I already know how you guys feel about this, but I just … I don’t know. I wish things weren’t so complicated.”

“Like you said, you already know how I feel.” Letting his fingers intertwine with yours, Changbin pulled your hand up to place a soft kiss to the back. “But I get it. Nobody wants to feel like they can’t be themselves with the people they love.”

“People they love, huh?” As if you had sucked all the confidence right out of his body, Changbin began to splutter.

You smiled.  “I love you too.”

-0-0-

You settled into a nice routine, which often included messaging the group chat to see if any of the boys were home or available every morning. This particular day, you found yourself heading up to the maknae’s dorm in search of Seungmin, who promised you he had a few hours to watch a movie with you. It wasn’t until you got there that you realized he wasn’t the only one there.

Hyunjin was in the kitchen when you arrived. You didn’t realize until you were walking down the hall and passed by the doorway, freezing your body when you caught sight of the dancer as if you had just been caught sneaking out. He also froze, a cup halfway up to his mouth, blinking at you in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Gunna watch a movie with Seungmin. What are you doing here?”

He looked down at his cup. “… nothing.”

“Is that Minho’s special tea?”

“Please don’t tell him,” Hyunjin pleaded, dropping the cup to the counter with a loud clack. “He’ll kill me.”

“Fine. But only if you make me a cup.”

“Deal.”

Seungmin showed up a few minutes later when you didn’t answer his text, taking in the two of you and the guilty looks you sported.

He smirked. “Hyung’s tea? Really?”

“Don’t tell him,” You pleaded. “He’ll kill us.”

With a smile that sent shivers up your spine, the young singer reached for his phone. You let out a laugh as you lunged for him, trying to block his sight, and he playfully grabbed you with one arm, using the other to hold his phone away from your reach. Seungmin was surprisingly strong, and you found yourself unable to do anything as the photo app was pulled up.

“Hyunjin, help!”

Things quickly went to chaos after that. The two of you managed to get the phone out of Seungmin’s hands, but Hyunjin wasn’t expecting the other boy to tackle him against the counter, both of them laughing and screaming as they wrestled for the phone. You tried to grab it out of their hands yourself, but you miscalculated.

Your socks slipped against the floor, and with a yelp, you reached out to grab onto the boys for stability. Hyunjin was pulled to the ground by Seungmin, his arms flailing as he went down. You hit the side of the counter just as one of the cups of tea was flung in your direction, and you let out a shout as hot liquid hit your chest, neck, and the left side of your face.

“Shit!” You swiped your hand across your face, and the other two grew quiet as they realized what had happened.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Seungmin was the first to react, pulling you towards the sink. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You assured him, letting him use a wet towel to wipe away the liquid from your skin. While the tea had been hot and definitely uncomfortable, it wasn’t hot enough to cause any burns. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It didn’t burn you?” Hyunjin pressed his fingers to the skin, but immediately pulled away when he realized he was leaving marks. “It looks red.”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t hot enough for that. Really.”

“Aish. You should have been more careful,” Seungmin muttered, gently pulling at the collar of your shirt to wipe at your collarbones and shoulder.

You gaped at him. “Me?! You were the one who spilled the tea!”

“Actually, I think that was me,” Hyunjin admitted with a grimace, rubbing his hand.

You pulled at your shirt. “Ugh, I need a shower. Why is it sticky?”

Hyunjin let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and it took you a second to realize why. You slapped him on the arm. Seungmin rolled his eyes at his team member, throwing the wet towel at the dancer’s face, and gently guiding you down the hall.

“Clean up the mess!” He yelled to Hyunjin, turning to you with softer eyes. “You can use my shower.”

You didn’t take a long shower, not even washing your hair since you were just rinsing the tea off. Seungmin had offered you one of his shirts to wear while yours went through the laundry, so you stopped by the laundry room to load up some clothes (you figured you might as well wash the rest of the dirty laundry at the same time) and emerged into the living room to spot both boys now calmly sitting on the couch. The tv show you had been planning to watch was loaded up on the screen, and Seungmin looked up when you entered.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thank you,” You told him, motioning to the shirt he had lent you.

Seungmin looked you up and down in a way that had goosebumps breaking out along your skin. He looked back down to his phone nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it.” You pretended not to see him smile down at his phone.

“Man, now I want you to wear my clothes,” Hyunjin whined from his spot on the couch.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down in between both of them. “Boys.”

“What! You look hot wearing out clothes.” He pouted. “Just wish it was my clothes.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” Seungmin said, looking up at you with his brows raised. From the other side, Hyunjin perked his head up like a puppy who just hear the word ‘treats’ being mentioned.

You rolled you eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Even as the show started up and you settled back to get comfy, you couldn’t help but notice Hyunjin’s pout from the corner of your eye. He only pouted harder when you turned towards him, making a point to look as dejected as possible, curling up on his side of the couch by himself. You let out a sigh, and he peeked at you with a hopeful look.

You sat up straight. “Wow. It’s really cold in here.”

“Do you want me to turn the AC down?” Seungmin offered, already reaching for the remote.

You slapped his shoulder gently, now exaggerating your voice at him. “I could really use a sweater!”

He snorted, settling back down once he realized what you were up to. It took Hyunjin a few seconds, but the dancer finally caught on once you both turned to him with expectant looks, his entire face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh!” He grabbed the ends of his sweater, struggling to get it off. “I got it! Wait- hold one .. Ash.”

He almost threw the thing across the room when he finally got it off, hair sticking up from the static electricity. Seungmin let out a cackle of laughter.

Hyunjin didn’t even seem bothered as he offered you his sweater. “Here.”

Now wrapped up in clothes from both boys, you were finally able to settle down to watch the show in peace. You didn’t want to admit it to them, but you actually did enjoy wearing their clothes. You found yourself pulling the ends of Hyunjin’s sweater past your hands, pressing the fabric to your nose and softly inhaling the scent that was a mix of laundry detergent and just … him. You smiled softly.

Halfway through the show, Seungmin reached out and grabbed your hands, pulling them away from your face and into his lap. Without even having to be asked, you reached out with your other hand and grabbed Hyunjin’s hand so that the three of you were connected. The soundtrack picked up, a beautiful melody that had you feeling sentimental.

“I love you guys,” You whispered.

Seungmin’s lips twitched up, and Hyunjin squeezed your hand.

“I love you more,” the dancer said, leaning his body against you.

Seungmin side eyed him. “No.”

“Eh?”

He pulled you away from the older boy, pulling you half into his lap and wrapping his arms around you, effectively blocking you from Hyunjin with his own body. Said member gaped at the change in seating.

“Yah, puppy. Give them back.”

“No.”

“You little-“

The show was practically forgotten as you were suddenly caught up in another wrestling match. Thankfully, this time, nobody got anything spilled on them, although Hyunjin did once again end up on the ground with Seungmin sitting on top of him by the time the show ended. It was only then that he shot you a bashful smile, swiping his hair out of his eyes.

“I love you more.”

“No, I-!”

You surged forward, nearly tackling the singer to the ground, but he managed to catch himself on his elbows as you pressed your lips to his. While he wasn’t the one being actively silenced, Hyunjin let out a wheeze that clued you in to exactly why he had suddenly gone quiet, and you quickly lifted yourself up to check up on him. At your questioning, he gave you a weak thumbs up, curled up in a fetal position.

“Oh, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

He would later tell you that the kiss you gave him more than made up for the pain.

-0-0-

The first time you ever ventured your way to a new part of the company building was on a very special day. At least, it was to you. It just so happened that the first person who answered your text was Felix, letting you know he was in one of the practice rooms waiting for the other members to show up for their practice. Granted, he also let you know he was half an hour early and was just goofing around while he waited, so you figured since you wanted to see the other boys as well, you might as well wait around with him. The dancer met you out in the hall, and you couldn’t help but run towards him the moment you saw him, jumping into his arms.

Felix almost didn’t catch you.

“Whoa, you’re in a good mood,” He said, pulling you into a warm hug.

You pulled away with a fake frown. “Don’t tell me you didn’t remember.”

He froze. “Oh no. Did I forget something?”

At his genuinely distressed look, you took pity on him, letting out a giggle and cluing Felix in that the situation was not that serious.

“Its okay, it’s not that big a deal,” You assured him, biting your lip. “It’s just … it’s officially been 6 months since we’ve met.”

The blonde blinked. “Oh, really? Wait, it’s already been 6 months?!”

“Half a year! Happy anniversary,” You joked.

He let out a laugh, pulling you back in.

“Happy anniversary.” He buried his face into your shoulder. “I’m so glad Innie found you.”

“Hey! I found him,” You corrected, brushing hair behind his ear. “I found all of you.”

“Hmm, you did.”

You shivered as he pressed a soft kiss to the crook of your neck, pushing him away by his shoulders with a quick look around the hallway. Thankfully, there dind’t seem to be anyone around, You gently hit him on the chest in warning.

“Careful. I’m already in the shit list of one of your managers, I don’t need to be lectured by another.”

“It’s fine. The only people who use these rooms are artists, and half of them are also in secret relationships. They won’t care.”

“That’s not the poINT!”

The end of your sentence was cut off into a squeal as Felix spun you around with a chuckle, lifting you off your feet with his hands on your thighs, pulling you in close to him until your bodies were flush. The sudden change of balance had him stumbling forward, your body hitting the wall a little too hard, and he let out a soft curse.

“Sorry.”

You giggled. “It’s okay. What has gotten into you?”

“I love you,” He said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“What?”

“I-“ another kiss to your lips. “Love-“ a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You.”

He blew a raspberry to your cheeks, and you let out a laugh, kicking your legs in glee. You wrapped your arms around his neck, soft hair tickling the tips of your fingers as you laced them together, head tilting to the side as you took in the man in front of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” You sighed, giving him a smile.

His eyes lit up like you had just told him the meaning of life. “Yeah?”

You nodded your head, licking your lips. “Yeah. I love you so much.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”

-0-0-

Dad Hey. Just checking in on you. How’s school going? I hope you’re having fun. Y/N School’s fine, same as always. Been seeing all kinds of places. Went hiking with two of my soulmates the other day  It was … fun. Dad I thought you liked hiking? Y/N The hiking was fine. Waking up at 5 in the morning was not. Dad Wow. They managed to get you up before 9? That’s a miracle. You must really love them. Y/N They wanted to see the sunrise. I have to admit, it was worth it. [IMG.JPG] Dad Looks beautiful. I’m glad you’re doing okay. Y/N What about you? Everything all right back home? Dad Everything’s fine. You know how your mom is. She misses you. Y/N I miss you guys too. I gtg. Love you. Dad Love you more.

-0-0-

“Here, try this.”

You looked up, startling back at the sudden appearance of a spoon in front of your face. Minho held a hand under the spoon to prevent the substance from falling, and you smiled at his thoughtfulness. You really shouldn’t have been surprised to get a spoonful of soy sauce.

“Oh, ew. That’s gross.”

Minho giggled, shirking away from the hit you aimed at his shoulder. “That’s for drinking my tea.”

“Who snitched! Was it Seungmin? I swear to god, I’m gunna kill him.”

Minho just laughed as he made his way back to the kitchen where he was preparing actual food for dinner. Deciding to take a break from your work, you stretched in your seat and let out a groan. The dorm was uncharacteristically quiet considering that at least 5 members were home.

Minho was, as previously mentioned, cooking dinner in the kitchen. Felix and Seungmin were playing a game in the elder’s room, and you were pretty sure Hyunjin was taking a nap in Jeongin’s room. You weren’t sure if the youngest was with the gaming boys or taking a nap with Hyunjin, but you were sure he was home. 3Racha had just sent a text that they were leaving the studio.

You sneaked into the kitchen, making sure Minho wasn’t currently doing anything at the stove before you wrapped your arms around him, effectively trapping his arms to his body. He paused from where he had been chopping, letting out a soft sigh.

“Gotcha,” You murmured, pressing your forehead against his back.

It wasn’t hard for him to slip an arm out of your grasp, turning around so that he could pull you into his chest. You went along willingly, letting his warmth embrace you. The two of you stayed there for a few seconds, softly breathing against each other, the kitchen filling up with the delicious aroma of whatever was starting to boil on the stove. It was only because you didn’t want the food to burn that you let him go.

“Hey, can you play some music?” He asked you.

“Sure.”

You randomized your playlist, not even embarrassed when it was a Stray Kids song that came up first. Minho smiled to himself, giving you a side glance, but you just bopped your head along and attempted the dance to the best of your abilities, even though you were sure you looked like a wiggling worm who suddenly gained a pair of legs. You were either doing better or worse than you thought because Minho actually stopped stirring to stare at you.

Suddenly you were embarrassed.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” He told you, turning back around.

“Somehow that doesn’t give me much confidence,” You joked.

“Pass me the carrots?”

You grabbed the recently hopped carrots, leaning up against the counter as you watched him pour them into the soup. This time, when he offered you up a spoonful, you could actually trust it wasn’t going to be a prank.

It tasted amazing. You had never expected anything less.

“Good?”

“Hmm.” You licked your lips with a nod, and his eyes darted down. You couldn’t help but smile. “Hungry?”

“Watch it,” He warned you, turning the stove off with a flick of his wrist.

“Or what?”

You pouted when all you got in turn was a tap to your nose, your playlist switching to a slower ballad. The pout disappeared as Minho grabbed one of your hands, the other pressing up against your waist and swaying you side to side. When he pulled you back and began to spin the two of you around the room, you laughed.

“You are so cheesy,” You breathed, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And you’re a terrible dancer.”

You weren’t sure if he kissed you as an apology, or to keep you from complaining, but you found yourself melting against him nonetheless. You didn’t usually kiss Minho often, usually getting pecks as a hello or a goodbye, but you appreciated the slow passionate way he was kissing you now. It wasn’t until the music began to change and his hands dropped yours in favor of pulling you closer by the back of your neck that you began to wonder if this was different somehow.

You eventually had to pull yourself away to breathe. “Wow.”

“If you want, I can teach you some moves,” He whispered, and you raised your brows.

“Dance moves?”

“If you want,” He said with a smirk.

He grabbed your hand when you tried to hit him on the chest, trapping your hand between the two of you. His thumb gently swiped across your knuckles, his head tilting as he took you in. You beamed up at him.

“You’re cute,” You told him, leaning up to try and kiss him again. He tried to hide his smile, looking away from you, but his red ears gave him away. “Is this your way of telling me you love me?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you in for another kiss. It was only a soft chime echoing from your phone that pulled the two of you apart this time, Minho patting your ass.

“Go tell the kids dinner’s ready.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you grabbed your phone. Your phone chimed again as you made your way down the hall, and you pulled up your messages. One text was from Jisung, letting you know that they were on their way up, but the other was from Sophie. You pulled up the chat the same time you knocked on Felix’s door.

“Dinner’s ready!” You called out to them.

Sophie. Oh my god, is this you!???

For a split second, you found yourself thinking about the photo you had seen of you and Seungmin together and wondered if she had somehow seen it.

The reality was much, much worse.

You nearly dropped your phone when you got to the images she had sent. They looked like photos taken from a security camera, which was already a shock to your system, but it was the content that had your back hitting the wall in shock.

One photo of what was clearly Felix. There was no denying that it was him. Your face was also visible in the photo, although a little grainier. The second photo, wearing the same clothing as the first photo and obviously in the same location, was a familiar scene. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pressed up against the wall, lips pressed together.

A million thoughts began to race through your head.

Sophie I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me!? Girl, you are TRENDING!

There was a commotion from the entrance, and you could hear Chan calling out your name. Felix’s door opened, and he nearly ran into you. He was laughing, the youngest two yelling something at him about their game. He met your panicked eyes, and his smile immediately dropped.

Chan appeared at the end of the hall, looking as worried as you felt. “Are you okay?”

“What’s wrong?” Felix asked.

All your thoughts converged on one very simple word.

Fuck.

-0-0-

Taglist: (if you wish to be added or removed, please let me know)

@kayleefriedchicken @dessianna1 @tryingtolivelifeblog @luvvvash @purplelady85 @jc003 @thicccurls @xxeiraxx @cluelessred3 @lemonn015 @soulpheonix1618

[threepandas]

After The War: Foxx Hunting (Prev <-)

"Commander."

On anyone else, the tone would suggest simple statement. But there was a lilt. A slight inflection, I had long learned to spot, at the end of the word. That made it a greeting. A call. Monotone filled with subtle, near untraceable mocking.

"Tired of running yet, Commander? Or do you want to struggle more? You can, if you want. I can let you. We have time. After all, it really won't change much. There's no where you can go."

Head tilted ever so slightly, at an almost an invisible angle. Posture, military perfect, impossibly so. That perfection bought with pain, torture, born out of brutal necessity. His lips quirked, in an amused curl. At just that same, impossibly slight amount. Too small and indistinct for his tormentors to notice. To take from him.

Just enough to stay human, I had thought. Too stay sane, I had hoped.

I was wrong.

My biggest mistake hunted me. Had all the power in the GALAXY now, to hunt me. All the time he could ever dream, in which to do so. And it was all my fault. Me. It had to be. I... I was the only thing that changed. Tried to make things... things BETTER!

How arrogant. Hubristic. Who the fuck was I? To think I had the RIGHT, to shape and change the fate of an entire GALAXY to my whims? I didn't even know the story. Had been GUESSING, based off STAR WARS. So... so fucking confident. A-and what did that get me? Oh god. O-Oh god!

The blaster burns on my arms and legs screamed, as I forced myself up, one more time. Always, please god, always! J-just one more time! Don't give out on me yet. Not.. not until we are safe. Then. Then! We can cry. Howl and weep, break down and scream.

(My fault. My Fault. MY FAUL-)

None of the characters were an exact match. People were and weren't where they should be. Plots happened out of sequence or not at all. So why? WHY? Did I believe so hard in the Clones? IS it because I loved, still LOVE, the Vode? Did that trust transfer? That emotional connection? Was I tricked? Or was I just a fool? Does it MATTER in the end? If the result is the same?

I brought a monster, straight to Power.

Now they're dead. All my brothers, my sisters, my mentors and friends. Dead, dead, DEAD! Glowing weapons on the ground and a temple filled with DEATH. D-Did the nurseries get out? Please, oh god, let the children have survived my mistake.

Blood stains my robes. Only a tiny fraction of it, is mine.

Sticky and slick, oily and so many colors. The blood does not mix. Too many species, too much ash from the air. If I do not clean or remove it soon? I am likely to get chemical burns, from the reactions developing on the cloth. But again and again. My mistake finds me. A pursuit predator. Intent on wearing me down.

"How long will you try, Commander? You know just as well as I do, that I can afford to wait you out. You'll drop eventually." His tone was so mild, even as his words were horrifying. Overhead, a transport kept steady pace, as I desperately ran from commandos on the streets. "How many days has it been without proper rest? Rations? To stop and think? We've survived far worse then this, Commander. For far longer. We can endure, can you?"

I pull my magic around me, through my screaming legs, to fling myself across a jump they shouldn't be able to make.

Despair surges, as behind me... I hear jetpacks. Ah. They've gotten better gear, at long last. E-Everything I've ever wished for them. Gear and food and safety, at long last! A-At long last. I have to laugh, hysterical and afraid. I just... I just never thought my wish? Would be fulfilled for the purpose of hunting me down.

(I'm so tired. Please, god. No more. Let it stop. Let this nightmare END!)

Jumping, I land in a roll on a level several floors down. The impact is ugly. Agony on my burns and bruises. I may have not taken any direct hits? But those glancing strikes? Still leave marks. Trails of seared, blistering, blaster burns. Like tiger strips. As though you hade been struck, by whip made of fire. Not to mention the concussion grenades.

Yeah, half way through the attack, the Clones had stumbled. Either broken free of the Not Sith's control or come to their senses, deciding to switch to non-lethal weapons. Probably trying to go for the capture instead of the kill. But given the sheer variety of the Knights? One Being's sedative was another's lethal toxin. And the gas attacks...

I... I'm still not even sure if... if Master Rim'Llahiy survived long enough, to get to the healers. The seizures were BAD. He... he didn't deserve that. All he'd ever done, was keep the gardens. Live a quite life. T...Try to defend his home.

Around me, as I run, screens light up. Somehow, I'm the focal point. I... I don't know how he's doing this. It has to be Sketch or Gear, one of the Slicers. Who else could hack into so many systems so easily? The... the knowledge that they're helping him? That everyone of the Guard is HELPING him hunt me? I feel sick.

Was any of it real? Was I friends with ANY of them? Or... Or was I just them happy little slave master, patting myself on the back, because I didn't beat them, unlike the others? Aren't I gracious. Don't you just love me? Say thank you for my grace. Let me feel good about my self! My pretty little charity of the day! Before I skip back off to fairy land! Leaving you all in hell.

Do I deserve this? I... I have to deserve this... right?

Even though I tried. Even though I fought and fought and FOUGHT. Even when that Not A Sith BASTARD tried to kill me at every turn, just to shut me the fuck up, and I WOULDN'T. Because they deserved to be free. Because it was WRONG. Because we took VOWS, remember? Days and days, convincing and campaigning.

I have to... to somehow, deserve this. Because? B-because if I DON'T?

Then What Have I DONE?

City levels and blocks blur together. I couldn't tell you where on this god forsaken ecumenopolis I am anymore. But the others! The others have gotten off planet by now. Surely... surely! They have escaped! Right? They HAVE too. I-It HAS to have been worth it. Becoming bait. M-making myself a target. This... this one last time?

It.. it was WORTH it. Right? Right?!

Please! Please god! Let it have been WORTH IT!!

I skid around a corner. Too tight, not judging it right in my panic, my shoulder clipping the wall hard. Scraping flesh through my robes. Just more bruises and hurt to add to the pile. I don't slow. Can't slow. Feel it but push the pain away. The crash later will be ugly, when I release the magics flowing through me. When the adrenaline fades. But... but either I will live to endure it? Or it will not matter at all.

Too late, though, I see the trap.

I have been corralled. Like a a sheep from my first life, harried by dogs into a pen. Tricked into a corner. No where left to go. The platform I thought was a street? Was an alley between two buildings, leading to a third. A perfect little killbox with only one way out. I stumble, horrified, as I register the truth too late. Spin, already knowing it's too late to double back. But hoping... HOPING....!

Jetpacks. The commando squadron of the guards, touching down at the entrance, a solid line of armor and skill. Better weapons, jet packs, upgraded armor. They... they even seem rested. For the first time in years.

A stark reversal. Now it is I, who is barely holding on. Now I am the one, who has been ground to dust, by the exhaustion of fighting without end. Of running and running. No real food and no real rest. No medicine. No help coming. I want to laugh, scream, weep. So it's to be poetic justice, is it?

But I can not give in.

Forgive me. But I can not, WILL NOT give in. Body exhausted, I draw my blade. The plasma humming as the magics charge. The alleyway fills with light. I took Vows. Owe my soul to the Galaxy and it's people. Regardless of Regime, I have service I must complete. And to do that? I have to be alive.

(I don't care, that they took over. Let them have it. But how could you? How COULD YOU?! The Temple was my home. I am a hypocrite. Here, at the end, I must face that. And now I know it to be true.)

The ship over head dips lower, kicking up a hurricane of wind. My robes whip around me, but I do not move from my opening stance. Ready, not ready, but resigned to it none the less. The Commandos are a silent wall as, from above, a rip cord descends. Clipped to it? Marshall Commander... no, Supreme Commander Foxx.

The Clones newly elected Emperor.

A man I THOUGHT was my friend.

He looked nothing like Commander Fox of the Vode. Hair too long and curling. Face deceptively young looking and boyish. Non regulation piercing hidden under the helmet all Guards wore, day in and day out. They hadn't been able to customize their armor like the others. So they customized themselves.

He wasn't in armor, now. It was somehow worse. The dress uniform an affront, a reminder, like a curse of broken glass. I... I hadn't even known he owned such a thing. It made sense, given his old position. Yet, somehow... somehow? I doubted this was the uniform he had been given. It looked... looked Regal.

"Are we done, now? Got it out of your system? Or should one of us put you on the ground first? Grind your face right against the filthy floor?"

His voice was mild as ever, as he calmly unclipped himself, let the cord retract. He tucked his hands behind his back. Strolled forward with measured steps, assessing eyes, like a general examining untested troops. Picking me apart for weakness, looking for openings in my stance. Injuries on my body. I had seen him do this before. Just... just never thought... it'd be used... a-against me. (How arrogant, I had been.)

"This can stop at any time, Commander. All you have to do? Is stop running. You don't have to worry anymore. I'm not going to hurt you. We're not going to hurt you. You've struggled long enough, don't you think? It's time to be done. To come home. Be taken care off. That's all we want to do, Darling. Commander."

"Surely you can see, that it's BETTER this way? No more war. No more Knights on sabotaged missions. Diplomats to war zones. Children where they shouldn't BE. The Order can be SAFE now. YOU can be safe now. Loved and precious as you always should have been. It's okay now, Commander. Come here. It's okay..."

Foxx's eyes blazed with conviction. They had been brown, like his brothers. They... oh god, they SHOULD have been brown. But as I stared into his face, at those unfamiliar eyes on what should be so familiar a form? Red stared back. The red, Red, RED, of the Fallen.

Foxx had been... had been Energy Sensitive. The Cloners had fucking LIED, when they said it wasn't possible. I had always suspected. Didn't dare bring attention to it. Didn't want my friend to be... to be KILLED. Experimented on. I should have trained him. Done more.

Desperate people will reach for anything, to stop themselves from drowning. And the Dark offers such tempting things. Vengeance and Power. Freedom, no matter the cost. It pays sweetly then corrupts slow. There is always a cost.

I can not risk it.

Shifting my weight to my front leg, in preparation to surge forward, I never get the chance. A two fold thwip! And sharp pinch in my upper arm. I got the first. But the second... a? Dart? No. NO! Panicked, I flood my body with the magics meant to purge drugs and... instantly the world spins. I have somehow just made it worse. W-what?

"Confiscated from slavers, 'bout five months back. It's a high end drug." The Commando with the dart gun said, as though commentingon the weather. "Fairly new, too. Made to react specifically to the Cosmic Energies. Our esteemed Chancellor, may he rot as he deserves, had them developed through several shell companies."

"Really wish you hadn't done that, Commander. Cause, see, the side effects? Are pretty nasty." Foxx commented. Various helmets nodded, the guards body language sympathetic but lacking any remorse. What ever it took to bring me in. To make me Safe.

"Now you're going to be sick for a while. But on the other hand? You are a stubborn one. So maybe this'll give you time to think, hmm? Time to enjoy the pampering a bit. You'll get used to it, learn to be good for me. I know you. You're a smart girl."

My legs couldn't hold me anymore. Despite struggling, I couldn't keep my blade at the ready. Helplessly, I watched as he watched forward. Used a single finger, on the hilt, to push my blade to the side. The lightest of tugs, stealing it from me entirely. At long last, the tears came. I... I was scared. Really, really scared. P-please... Foxx, please...

"Hunts over, Commander. It's time to stop running. You've lost."

"But, that? That's okay. You can lose now. Be weak. Wretched and pathetic and flawed. You don't have to be perfect any more, Commander. I've got you. You're Mine. Ours. Perfect, just the way you are. And today?"

"Today is the start of the rest of your new life, Commander."

"Welcome to the Empire."

[ollimus-prime]

Hey :) , Loved your jazz hands and might i say that im absolutely obsessed with it. Could i request more? Maybe day in the life / slice of life of being held captive by jazz. Gosh we are just so helpless with him and jazz is special ops lmao. Is it wrong to say id be cool with it? -🐞

Jazz Hands Pt. 2

A/N, not important: Sorry if the characterization is off, I'm still learning. I'm only like, 90 comics in. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: kidnapped, you're basically a pet idk

Words: 1513

Summary: You're stuck with Jazz for now.

The room was empty. You look around, glancing between the lone slab of metal your kidnapper, ‘Jazz’, slept on and the door. He was gone, really and truly gone. The desk you were left on gave you just enough of a view of the room to be certain, letting you slip nervously off of the pile of rags you now slept on. Hope bloomed in your chest before you angrily stamped it down, not letting yourself get too excited. This was possibly your only chance of leaving this horrid place, and you were not going to let something as pitiful as hope get in your way. No, you needed to be logical about this.

You carefully made your way to the edge of the desk, trying to judge the distance to the floor. The long way down made you feel dizzy, a pit forming in your stomach. The chair was slightly pushed out and, while a worrying distance still far down, was much more inviting than the floor. You try to steele your nerves to jump, working up the courage to take the fall. Sure, it was maybe 8 feet down, but the worst that could happen is you break something. You wince, starting to lose your nerve at the thought.

With carefully curated confidence and determination, you back away from the edge before bolting forwards and throwing yourself towards the chair, trying to keep your body loose as you fall. The fall is short but sickening, your mind reeling as the images of you broken on a chair for the robot who took you to find flashing through your head.

The landing is painful, your legs giving way under you and knocking you to your knees. You let yourself starfish out onto the chair and take deep breaths. Rushing getting up seemed more of a bad idea than the jump itself was. You carefully roll your ankles in a small circle as you lay there, making sure nothing was broken or damaged. Pleased with the results and your resolve growing once more, you push yourself up to inspect the next jump you had to make.

You sigh at the similar height down to the floor, internally wincing at the hard metal you’d be jumping down onto. While the chair was made of a similar material, the floor itself seemed all that more threatening. You steady yourself, getting ready to throw yourself off the next ledge and bolt to freedom. You change your tactic, lowering yourself down and hanging yourself off the edge of the chair instead of jumping straight down. With the height between your feet and the floor now much lower, you let go.

The impact on your legs is much easier to deal with. You smile wide as you merely wobble this time, almost laughing in joy at the realization you were now on the ground. You make your way over to the door, inspecting the gap between the floor. The gap was small, much smaller than anything you could squeeze through. Ideas float through your head as you inspect the door, trying to come up with some way to get out and get away.

The door wasn’t willing to budge no matter how much you tried, and the keypad was much too far above you. Not like you knew the passkey for it anyways. You grit your teeth, kicking the door in frustration. Upon making impact with the door, a loud thud sounds. You freeze, looking at the door in confusion before you hear another one, then another. Panic wells up in you as you try to scramble away from the door as you realize what that sound was. Footsteps. 

Jazz was back.

The door slides open before you’re even close to somewhere you could hide, the surprised rev of his engine your only warning before you’re scooped into his hands. The speed at which he picks you up causes your head to spin. With no time at all, you’re eye-to-visor with him and he looks none too pleased.

“What’re you doing on the floor like that? I could’ve stepped on you!” He scolds, the vibrato of his voice washing over you. The deep sound still scared you. It surprised you how something so completely foreign and inhumane could sound so close to your own native tongue.

You bite down on your cheek in hopes to prevent yourself from retorting. The robot’s engine rumbles in frustration at your silence, his hands shifting so you’re settled in one while the other holds you still. Large fingers start to tousle your hair in the manner of a human to a mouse. 

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” The Porsche mutters in resignation, more to himself than to you. You try to bat away his fingers that seemed to yearn to squeeze the air out of you, the robot’s face contorting into a frown. You refused to engage with the robot in any positive way since you’ve been here, causing his insistence that you’re happy with him to come into question. It’s been nearly a month since he’s had you, and nearly a week since you had refused to even speak to him. It was the only way so far you could ‘fight back’. Especially since he and the others freak out if you skip even a single bite of food.

The ‘bot sighs after a while of you still refusing to respond, his hands cupping under you once more before depositing you onto his shoulder. The temptation to try and jump from his shoulder was quickly squashed with a quick glance down reminding you that you couldn’t make it unscathed. The height from the desk to the ground seemed like child's play now. You ease your way into the small space between where the car’s hood ended and the cables of his neck began, taking careful consideration to stand somewhere you weren’t going to lose a limb if he moved weirdly. The first couple steps made your stomach lurch and your hands cling desperately to the thick cables in hopes you wouldn’t be launched off the shoulder of the metal beast. It was a hated compromise, to cling to the monster that kidnapped you and made you a glorified pet or be dropped from thirty feet, but a necessary one.

The Porsche walks through the halls of the ship he brought you on, greeting the other robots he sees with an easy smile. You weren’t particularly sure where he was going, the ‘bots sure steps tussling you each time. You hated when he carried you like this, yet you weren’t willing to be held in his hands either.

It was a short walk to the room he wanted. The tables were occupied by other bots you didn’t care to find out the names of, garbled speech washing over you. You didn’t usually care to hear what they were saying, their conversations of ‘Decepticons’ and whatever war they spoke of going completely over your head. Nothing here made sense anyways.

The ‘bot under you walks over to the dispenser of their fuel(Energon, as he’d explained one) and draws a cube. The glowing pink liquid was mesmerizing. You were drawn to it in a way, the soft glow easier on your eyes than the harsh lights the rest of the ship had. He starts to drink from his cube-shaped glass while moving away from the dispenser to let others access it too. You stumble slightly as he moves, tensing back up against his neck in hopes to stay upright.

“Jazz,” One of the more robotic voices sounds. You scowl as you look towards the call, hiding further behind Jazz’s neck. The cop-bot stares at your movement as he regards the Porsche, his metal face scrunching up. “Ah. You brought your organic. Of course.”

Jazz’s engine revs slightly at the dig, his hand coming back up to cup around your form. You shrink away in an attempt to escape the new prison, but fail miserably as your space gets noticeably tighter. “Uh-huh. I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s an organic,” Prowl says with heavy judgment in his voice. Jazz sighs, his optic flashing at the tactician.

“They’re called humans, Prowl.”

“Sure,” He dismisses, ignoring the Porsche’s statement. He hands Jazz one of the large tablets the robots used. You zone out of the rest of their conversation, their heavy voices deep enough to go in one ear and out the other. You settle down against Jazz’s neck cables as his hand starts to rub at your head and back again. You kick at his fingers to no avail in an attempt to fight him off. The ‘bot pays no attention to your wants, instead shifting his hand so you can't fight back.

You slump back, bitter and miserable in your new state of life. Daydreams of hopping down heroically from the monster’s shoulder and running to freedom fill your head as you sulk. Maybe you could come up with a plan to finally get you out of here and back home.

Maybe.

[maymaylyn]

Eye's never lie.

Gabriel T Rorke x female! Reader

Thomas Merrick x Reader (one sided)

This is nsfw btw and hella naughty but I’m really proud of it! Please enjoy!(>w<) a HUDE thank you to my Appalachia biter for not only helping with the idea but supporting me though it. @gunnrblze @howtotwirlaknife22 @milkteaarttime

——————

Thomas Merrick revealed in the fact that he was good at what he did. However, he wasn't the best. His Captain was an everyday reminder of that. No matter how hard he trained, he could never put the bastard in his place. No, Rorke always bested him; faster, bigger, stronger. It made the young Sergeant furious when Rorke took all of his hard work and destroyed it.

One minute and seven seconds. That was the longest sparing session they ever had. And even if Elias was impressed at how long he lasted against the older man, rorke would laugh at him. Mocking everything he did wrong and pushing his temper to the brink. The bell of the training center door opened, turning both their heads. Or so Merrick thought.

His Captain's wife had come in and cast sunshine into the storm in his brain. It wasn't the first time this happened, and he was filled with the warmth you directed towards your husband. He never understood it; why someone like you would be with such an asshole. Politely smiling at merrick while making your way over to your husband. Setting your happiness on the man he couldn't help but hate was hard to watch. Forcefully removing his eyes from your plump curves, Merrick mistakenly locked eyes with his Captain again. Fuck.

Gabriel had still been eyeing his Sergeant down with borderline sadistic pleasure while he tucked you into his sweaty side. Only looking away when you jabbed at your husband, letting out a whine from feeling the sweat on his skin. The smirk on Gabriel's face when they had locked eyes made Merrick's heart drop to his ass. Forgetting himself, he let his eyes roam across your body in front of your husband. His Captain.

A rookie mistake if you'd ask Rorke. Something to add to the list of things Rorke had against him: getting caught checking out your C.O.'s woman, nice one, Thomas. Merrick held back the urge to say 'fuck it' and just leave. But he didn't want to get in more trouble than he was already undoubtedly in. The heat pouring out of Merricks body made it impossible to stay still. Shifting his weight from one side to the other only did so much when he was angrily shaking, watching Rorke lean down and whisper something in your ear. Merrick knew the small smile you unconditionally had was because Rorke's breath ticked your ear, not because of what he was saying. There was confusion in your eyes when you glanced at Merrick and then returned to your husband.

You gave Rorke a nod, and there was a slight question to it, but Rorke gave no answer. Rorkes sharp gaze targeted his Sargents once more, not looking away from his prey like a predator watching his dinner. Rorke barked out to Lieutenant Walker that he was dismissed. Waiting for the lecture to start, Merrick tried swallowing the lump in his throat, but it was like trying to gulp down a rock. Holding his breath was easier. At least he had trained for that.

"Congratulations, you've just earned another lesson, Sergeant!"

His Captain's words held a sinister intent laced to them. This couldn't be good. Rorkes 'lessons' never were. Following his Captain in the direction that his wife ran off sealed Merrick's fate.

-----------

Torture would be the perfect word to describe it. Rorke led Merrick back to his office. Not even bothering to hide the devilish smirk plastered on his face, Rorke opened the door for his Sergeant and gave him a firm order.

"Sit in the chair and don't move."

As his Captain's words were law, Merrick followed them without wasting a second. Only to stop like a deer in headlights when turning into the office, he saw skin. A lot of skin. What the-?

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

Shutting the door behind them, Rorke came behind the wide-eyed younger man, looking over his shoulder with inches to spare. Flushed and covered in goosebumps, Merrick's wide eyes reflected in yours. He would notice that he was staring only if he could focus on those pretty eyes. Rorke went around Merrick, knocking his shoulder against the young man's, jolting him out of his little trance. Heavy steps took Gabriel towards the very... naked woman. Taking your attention off the man with his jaw on the floor, you looked up with big eyes at the larger man. He let his rough hands delicate, making their way up your shins to the back of your knee, yanking you forward with a gasp. Hands immediately went to Rorke's shoulders for stability, gripping with embarrassment that showed itself on your cheeks.

You gave Gabriel your devoted attention, ignoring Thomas's prying gaze for now. Your husband liked his office cold, but the embarrassment struck you, and having more than one pair of eyes on you made your skin burn. One of Gabriel's hands handled your jaw with authority. His eyes give you a silent command to behave or else.

Out of the corner of your vision, you see the young Sergeant shaking in his boots, clenching his fists for dear life as Gabriel guides your mouth to his, claiming it with his own. All thoughts left the young man's mind as he couldn't take his eyes away from the flushed flesh of another's woman. Breathing was uneven and heavy between the pair in front of him, a sharp contrast of his own that he was spending far too much time trying to make even and deep in his lungs to help calm his racing heart. It was a challenging task to focus on the way your skin bounced and pulled with his Captain's hands running all over you, squeezing and tweaking your perky nipples. Causing the woman to bend into the man towering over her, moaning into his mouth without care of the audience.

"I gave you an order, Merrick."

Rorke said, pulling back, not taking his eyes away from you, wanting to see the desperation of you chasing after him. A haze had come over you, and the cold air of the office now made you sweat. Anger suddenly was at the forefront of Merricks mind, once again Rorke was pushing him. But he held it together, and thankfully, without tripping, he made his way to the chair. It was a lot closer to the desk than he had considered all those times when he dropped off reports or got lectured by the old man. Careful to not spread his legs so far, he didn’t want to hit the soft flesh that anchored itself around Rorke's waist but just far enough to make room for the heat growing in his pants.

Rorke took an easy swing at your ass. The loud smack made Merrick jump in his seat, his hands gripping the rough fabric, trying to focus on anything else. Picking you up quickly, barely flexing the bicep that previously had Merrick in a chokehold pinned to the ground in training. He brought you over to the side of the wooden desk, setting you on your feet. Your husband turned you by your hips, pulling you back with a hand on your neck, bringing a gasp out of you. Your chest was pushed out from the angle you were contorted in, pushing a gasp from your lungs. Seeing you on display made Merrick's mind go haywire. Wanting to respect you but this was also confirming the fantasies that toyed with him on lonely nights. You were gorgeous. He thought it was cruel of your husband to make you do this, but the way you were letting Rorke do it as he pleased with you told him exactly what you wanted.

Rorke took his sharp teeth to your neck, biting and sucking delicate skin roughly. He took his hand that gripped your hips and fumbled with his belt buckle. The extra strap of his gun holster was pushed down so that there was enough room for him to slip out of his tactical pants. Usually, Rorke is one to take his time with you, but it was a little out of the ordinary for him to be so impatient. Merrick didn't blame his Captain, though, thinking back to when he had first stepped foot in the room. How long had you been waiting in anticipation? Did you know Rorke was going to bring him with him? How long had you been wet just thinking about the two men coming in? Did your pussy get wetter when you saw Merrick coming in with him?

The thought brought a rush of blood to his dick. It made it so painful trying not to move. Not wanting to give Rorke the satisfaction of watching him squirm. A high-pitched moan that came from you cut through Merricks thoughts and brought him out of his head. Rorke's hips made sharp movements up, pulling back as far as he could without pulling out of your wet pussy. With every thrust, a squelch mixed in with the moaning coming from you. Deep groaning from his Captain that had his face buried in your neck from how tight you were around him.

A few quick movements and Rorke had pushed you onto the desk. Raking his hand through your hair, he kept a grip, angling you to be face-to-face with his younger Sergeant. Merrick let out a shallow breath, unable to escape the intensity of your eyes as they rolled back. Thrusting hard making a loud slapping sound off his his against the fat of your ass. Your husband might have been the one fucking you, but your eyes were begging Merrick to go harder. 

The fast pace fucking and the intensity of the situation you were placed in made your pussy tighten, sucking Gabriel in greedily.

“Fuck sweetheart- you’re dripping on the floor! Ya, like his eyes on you- giving you attention? What do ya say? Should he clean it up? Lick your sweet honey off the floor?! Ha! I think so.”

Your voice got louder in Merricks's face, unable to focus on anything; you yelled out a ‘yessss!’ in response to your husband's quick speech. Hearing you yell out for him made Merrick finally buck his hips up cumming with you. Spilling himself in his pants, he rolls his eyes back. He couldn’t stop; the more he cums, the wet sticky friction gave his sensitive skin a delicious burn.

Rorke pulled out of you, letting the puddle underneath his wife get slightly more prominent. Smirking at that and pulling your cheeks apart to watch your juices fall from you, he gave a hard smack to your ass. Earning him another loud moan for you. Pulling you up and taking him in your arms, holding you up, and keeping you close to him. He steps back slightly, leaning against the wall behind him, letting you catch your breath, lightly moaning into his with every movement. Merrick audibly gulped as he watched Rorke take you in his arms, gently rubbing your hips, trying to soothe the ache.

“We’re not done here, Sergeant. On your knees, you were given an order. I suggest you follow it.”

Merrick was shaking in his seat when Rorkes locked onto him with venom in his eyes. He kept eye contact while he sank off the chair and onto his knees. Only looked away when his hands touched the ground to lean down. He almost felt nauseous with the sick power his Captain held over him. Gasping out when he felt a heavy boot on the back of his neck pushing him down. Stopping right before his nose hit the floor. The force alone would have broken it.

“You don’t have all day, Merrick.”

Rorke could feel the Sergeant's heart pounding through his boot as he watched him lick the wood flooring clean. The smell alone made him was making him hard and aching again, but the taste… it was bringing him closer to heaven than he had ever got before. A heavy feeling of pride and possession weighed on Rorke, making his boot heavier. That satisfaction of training his Sergeant into an obedient mutt was enough to leave a sinister feeling in his gut…

“I knew you could follow orders without lip.”

The deep laughter that followed Rorke's words made Merricks's heart drop. Once again, it was Rorke putting him in his place. Again, Rorke bent down only slightly, grabbing ahold of Merricks' collar and dragging him up to his feet. Being face-to-face with Gabriel Rorke was always intimidating. He was a powerful force that could break the strongest of men.

“If I ever catch you looking at what’s mine again, I will gut you. Is that understood, Sergeant?”

“…yes sir…”

.

.

.

[timperi-fan]

I think that adult Timmy would be attracted to men/women who remind him of Cosmo and Wanda.

Not consciously, of course. He just always tends to hook up with dumb men with dyed hair, and he's attracted to business casual wear. He likes heavy set women with curly hair, and pink lipstick is a HUGE bonus.

But these hook-ups that Timmy engages in always leave him feeling empty after, like he's scraped himself raw. He doesn't understand why, because he enjoyed it. He had a good time, really, he did, so why—?

Why does it feel like something is missing?

[oceanwithouthermoon]

"i dont hate this female character, i just have a nuanced take on her" and the nuanced take is comically stereotypical misogyny

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[dykedvonte]

wanted to say I appreciate your nuanced takes on MW and especially Curly. i don't get the claim that the fandom is full of Curly apologists when majority (esp yt and tiktok) say he's worse than Jimmy. Yes there's commentary about bro culture defending people, he def messed up in trying to placate Jimmy (tbh "we'll fix this" sounded more like trying to keep someone prone to outbursts like Jim calm and not hurt Anya/himself) but I don't think he did nothing to help Anya, since she continued to confide in him and he had less than a week to resolve it before the crash (I also don't get everyone saying he knew for ages when it seems like Anya told him that same week). I get Jimmy's a pos but saying stuff like Curly should've known he'd crash the ship or that Jim had a criminal record he ignored, reducing them to obviously horrible villain and willfully ignorant sidekick feels like a disservice to the game. If your best friend turned out to be horrible, what would you do in a confined space in the span of a few days to respond? I'd say some of the horror comes from trying to do good but ultimately failing, Curly's state after the crash is meant to be tragic horror not revenge/punishment

Thank you and this is what I want to get across.

A lot of information we have to supplement when it comes to how long things have been happening on this current ship. I think people try to add on to the horror and negligence by making things more obvious so it can feel like it was easier to avoid when, true to life, its not. Jimmy clearly didn't deserve or appreciate what Curly did for him in getting him the job, but do you think if Jimmy was that big of a menace on Earth he would've given him a position where he could have that level of power over people's lives? There's something in the fact he specifically chose to pick a position so close to himself where he could watch Jimmy.

I hate the bro code argument because that is a whole can of worms people really don't get. That sort of mentality is born from the general respect and preference of male matter over female ones. Curly is clearly not that guy, he is absent minded about the issue and inadvertently dismissive but he clearly believes Anya, he just can't understand what she's going through. It's an onslaught of information that no one really reacts right to. Additonally, the entire discussion of her assualt plays to heavy into the idea that there is fault outside of the perpertratior when it comes to SA. It's too close if she only did this or if Curly had protected her better but the fact of the matter is Jimmy did what he did. He did it before any of the conversations with Anya about it and it's why her behavior seemed to change so drastically in those last two days.

He has other conflicting thought and while his role as a Captain should've taken over, people act like it's not a very human thing to have such a toxic presence cloud your judgement. It is never easy to separate friend from coworker once that connection is formed, you want to help them, especially if they were friend first and for a long while like in this case. It's not right, but people act like it would be easy when the game clearly points out that no choice is easy to make, especially when you have to make it for more than one person. You have the weigh the consequences, look at all the options and make a plan. People can headcanon and decide how long things where happening, but if we look at what we were presented through the characters eyes, the only person given time to do that was Jimmy.

He waited two months after the crash to appoint himself Captain. Every time a problem was brought up he immediately took action and refused to sit on it and find a better solution. I think it's important to look at the warped way Jimmy takes initiative where Curly didn't as it works as a good contrast of why you don't just run in to "fix" things. The quickest and easiest option may not be the safest or most beneficial. I think some thoughts on the game suffer from the black and white thinking the game doesn't operate on along with us being voyeurs. We see what exactly led to what but the characters don't. They don't have the hindsight and foresight we do and even ours is scrambled by the non-linear story telling.

Like it's hard to talk abuou those grey zones without sounding like an apologist because you're explaining why taking responsibility isn't easy. It's not and it's weird to act like it would be in a scenerio that led up to the events of the game knowing what we know. We see all these characters in such isolated moments with various things before, in between, after and even during we aren't privy too. The idea that Jimmy is worse than Curly heavily banks on the words Jimmy was saying to Jimmy before he crashed the ship. That whatever happened on the ship was his responsibility to bare, which is true due to his position. But, are they not still not responsible for taking the actions Curly then must bare?

Like i feel like people think that these are situation that become easier with age or when you are in a postion of authority and they aren't. You don't lose your biases or gain some sudden knowledge that makes it easier. It just becomes more tiring as you keep dealing with it. I would be first in line to say Curly fucked up and should've done more but the idea he knew how bad it could get or he really saw the worst in the people around him and ignored it pretty much ignores a huge aspect of his character and the game.

[greasydumbfuck]

nobody understands frank like i do (i do not understand him either)

[bunnihearted]

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