#i do not want to be lumped in with you people.

[koenigami]

lose myself. tags : suggestive, smut?, fem!reader, wolf!wriothesley, rut, mentions of suppressants wc : 1,7k synopsis : when his agony becomes too unbearable, neither you nor him are able to control yourselves masterlist

-

The air is thick in the Fortress. Everyone has already been warned to refrain from approaching the corridor in which the Duke’s chamber was situated, let alone seek the warden himself out. Of course, no one in their right mind would even dare to do so, as everyone who resided within the fortress was well aware of this very specific yearly occurrence. 

Yet, as your careful steps echoed through the vacant hallway, it was obvious that your mind was far from its right place. The cutlery and porcelain clinked on the tray in your hands, yet the sound was akin to a whisper compared to the low grunts and painful moans that you could already hear from afar. The rattling of chains and cuffs got louder the closer you stepped to the thick steel doors. 

Trying to swallow past the thick lump in your throat, you breathed. In and out, several times, before you exhaled deeply one last time and dared to push through the doors. 

It was dark. You could barely see in front of you if it weren’t for the light from the hallway slipping inside through the crack of the door. And then you saw him. 

A sliver of blue caught your eyes and made you briefly freeze in place, letting your sight adjust to the barely illuminated room.

He was sitting on his bed, one leg lazily stretched out on the mattress while the other was pulled up towards his chest. The next thing that caught your eye were obviously the chains that were attached to the wall behind him and clinked with each miniscule movement that he made. With his cuffed hands in his lap, Wriothesley slowly lifted his head, ragged breaths turning quiet for mere seconds.

It seemed as if he had only now taken notice of your presence, which was nothing less than concerning as this man’s senses were always heightened. Always the first to hear someone approaching, and the best at recognising people solely by their smell. 

“So sweet.” He had once whispered, lips brushing against your ear as he approached you in the cantine. “Could smell you all the way to my office, my love.”

Once you deemed yourself ready, you eventually dared to round the bed and set the tray down on his nightstand. Too many pills, suppressants, littered its surface, and your breath hitched when you took note of the deep claw-like scratches along the wooden piece of furniture. 

“What are you-” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“I let myself in.” You explained matter-of-factly, trying to keep your voice steady and controlled, pretending that you weren’t perturbed by his current state. “This is my bedroom too in case you forgot.” 

Usually, Wriothesley’s deep timber laugh would make your stomach flutter, your own lips curve into a sweet content smile. But something about it seemed darker this time, almost intimidating. It made your heartbeat climb up to your throat, and your palms sweat and twitch uncontrollably. “How many times do I have to tell you?” 

His head limply fell back on the headboard, his naked throat and torso on full display and glistening with light traces of sweat in the dimly lit room. With deep laboured breaths, his chest heaved and you could see how flushed the scarred skin was. “I don’t want you near me when I’m like this.”

The next smartass remark was already on your tongue until you noticed the reddened flesh along his wrists. You wondered how hard he must have been pulling on his restraints for his skin to look so raw. 

The bed creaked beneath your weight as you joined him, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress just so you could inspect his wounds better. With a feather light touch, you let the pads of your fingers trail over his wrists, your movements halting at each hitch and deep exhale of his breath.

He must be in so much pain, you thought. Nonetheless, as you were sitting here in front of him, he gave his all to keep his composure since he was well aware that you worried. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” You gulped and looked up at him, taking in his dishevelled state. From the sweaty strands of hair falling over his eyes, to the dark circles underneath his eyes, everything about him screamed agony. 

“Y/n.” He gritted through his teeth, the sharp white canines glinting underneath the muzzle. “Go. Away.”

With an annoyed groan, he forcefully banged his head back against the headboard when you ignored his words and instead reached for the glass of water on the tray. With the cold glass in one hand, and the end of the straw in the other, you carefully guided it through an opening of the wired muzzle and nudged his lips with it. “Come on, you must be thirsty.” 

Surprised but also relieved, you sighed when he complied and started sucking on the end of the straw. With two, three hard sucks, the glass was almost empty when he guzzled and had to pull back and cough a few times. “Slow down.” You instructed gently.

“Argh- Shit!” The handcuff jingled when he suddenly moaned, his forehead scrunching as he squeezed his eyes shut. Quickly, you set the glass aside yet all you could do was watch his body turn rigid, the muscles beneath his hot skin tensing as another gruesome wave of pain washed over him. 

Almost instinctively, your hands reached out towards him to feel him, calm him, comfort him-

But in that same instant your world was turned upside down and it took you a while to realise that Wriothesley had pinned you beneath him. His restrained hands briefly brushed along the top of your head as his elbows dug into the mattress, the man shakily hovering above you and breathing so heavily you could feel each warm exhale on your face. 

“Darling, you have to go.” He stressed again, though this time you could discern something different besides annoyance in his voice. Desperation. However, you weren’t sure whether he was desperate to save you from himself or to keep you here with him. 

Your eyes stung when a broken whine escaped him as your hand grazed the base of his ears. You watched them twitch several times with each touch of yours before they flattened on his head, his breath hitching when his body tensed up again. “Wri’, let me help you. Please.” 

Slowly, as if fearing to scare away a wild wounded animal, your palm trailed down his chest. “Don’t.” The hoarse whisper sent a rush through your body. His heart was beating so fast. Your hand trailed furtner down to his abs. “Darling.” He warned, while he was still as tense as ever, but his words did not match his body language as he didn’t shy away. Until your fingertips slid along the waistband of his pants, until you could feel the thick clothed bulge. Fuck, he was so hard- 

“Oh, fucking hell- Stop.” He shouted, probably loud enough for whoever was lingering down the hall to hear him. Yet you didn’t so much as blink or twitch a finger in response. 

Instead, he watched as your hands gently settled on each side of his face, and he knew what you were going to do. Wriothesley’s hands tightened into fists, the thick cold material of the cuffs digging further into his skin, though all he could feel right now was your body beneath his. How warm and soft you felt, how good you smelled, how beautiful you looked.

With a soft “click”, the muzzle loosened and fell from his face before you discarded it and haphazardly threw it somewhere to the side.

Bites and indents of his teeth could be clearly seen along his lower lip from all the times he must have bitten down on it. You tenderly cupped his cheek, and watched his nostrils flare as your thumb traced his marred mouth. 

Wriothesley swore he could feel his dick twitch solely at the soft gasp you let out when he parted his lips, and his wet tongue tasted the digit. With a deep hum, he closed his eyes and started sucking on your thumb, the tip of his tongue ever so often tickling your skin until he pulled back with a wet pop. 

“Wriothesley. Come on.” Your entire body was shaking at this point with anticipation. “Let me take care of you. I know you won’t hurt me.” At least not more than you could handle.

He huffed but could not control himself from leaning down to press his nose against your neck. How he was able to refrain himself from sinking his teeth into your neck and littering it with bites and hickeys, he didn’t know himself. “How do you know?” 

“I just know.” It was a weak whisper, yet carried so much more weight with the way you were looking at him. Eyes so full of life, so full of tenderness, so full of love. Love for him. 

Times and times he had wondered how you could do something like that. Love him, that is. But over and over, again and again, you had proved that some things simply did not need an explanation. Some things were given like the blue in the sky, or the constant change of seasons. Nobody questioned them. And so you had also made it clear to him to not ever allow himself to question your feelings for him. 

When the bed creaked again, and Wriothesley witnessed you lift your hips up to slip your garments down, that oh-so-sweet scent invaded his senses, and you could see how the last ounce of his resolve crumbled. His ears twitched as he watched you unbutton his pants and tug the zipper down, so damn slowly. And before you had even a chance to wrap your hand around him, he was already bucking his hips into your palm, his chest and neck all flushed.

“Fuck, fuck. Fine, but I’ll keep the handcuffs on.” He rasped, but grinned wickedly when he heard you whimper once his teeth found their way in your soft flesh.

[soov]

RUMOUR HAS iT。 park sunghoon

princess fem reader & prince sunghoon ᗢ 1OOO words ━━ fluff ꕀ royal!au, arranged marriage, repost ⌗ WARNiNGS pet names, kissing.

“I suppose you know about the rumours by now?”

The prince’s deep voice tugged you back to reality, making his presence known by leaning onto the same balustrade as you.

“Why do you think I would’ve called you here if I didn’t?” You asked back, to which he responded with a smile, looking at the scenery in front of him.

Sunghoon appeared somewhat unkempt. His hair dismissed the usual slicked-back style, soft black bangs falling on his eyes. He had a white linen puffed-sleeve shirt on, with the first three buttons undone. Once, he had admitted that he owned twelve of the shirts, them being his favorite piece of clothing.

As your stare lowered, his high-waisted black pants and boots piqued your curiosity, “What is the reason behind the informal clothes?”

“Why the question?” He turned his head in your direction. “You also have an informal attire on, my love.” Sunghoon still had a cheeky beam plastered across his face, attentive eyes observing the way you toyed with his sleeves.

“My maids said that this color and dress would look good on me.” You reasoned and pushed one of the puffy sleeves slightly up his arm, tracing the delicate veins enmeshed beneath his flesh. “I asked because I only see you wearing this outfit when it’s your birthday or a commemoration.”

“They were right; you do look good.” He seemed to be enjoying how you were caressing his arm. His muscles flexed and relaxed every time you touched him, making him feel like you were painting a masterpiece across his bare, pale skin. “And well, it is a happy day for me.”

“Even with the rumours?”

Right. The rumours. The gossip that spread around the castle like wildfire about the soon-to-be King and Queen that didn’t truly love each other, only keeping up their looks because of diplomatic problems. That, and the supposed cheating accusations, claiming that you were seeing a close friend behind the prince’s back.

In part, it would’ve been true if the false talk started a few months ago — though only the comment about real love being absent in your relationship. You used to think that the boy was a spoiled little brat who leeched off his parents’ high status. Yet, you fell right into his trap when your arranged marriage was announced.

With his eyebrows tied together and the smallest pout, Sunghoon gave you his trademark confused face. “Why would they matter? We love each other and will get married soon, isn’t it? Let them say whatever.”

The raw and honest responses from Sunghoon were one of the many factors that brought him to the center of your heart. His unfiltered remarks, reminding you of your infinite worth (his words, not yours), slowly guided you to the path without return that is loving him.

You huffed out a breath. There were a bunch of servants whispering and stroddling through the garden close to the bandstand where the both of you were. If Sunghoon wasn’t right next to you, you would have cussed them out, even knowing that you couldn’t. They were your fiancé’s people, and briefly, they would be yours too.

“I don’t appreciate how they talk so lowly about us…” You mumbled, chin on your palm. Neither of you were big on PDA, that was a fact, but you wondered if it was that bad to make the word even more convincing. “I just wanted to shut their mouths and show them that we long for each other.”

“Do you, now?” Sunghoon grinned, embracing you from behind as his pointy nose went to your neck. “We could give them a little sample of our love.” He muttered, the low timbre of his voice being more than enough proof of your effect on him.

You nearly choked on your own breath, a lump closing your throat. “I thought you were uncomfortable with showing affection in public?” The words left your mouth in a nervous whisper when he gently turned you in his hold to face you.

“Princess,” he began, the pet name almost sounding sardonic due to your title, “that was seven months ago. I hated you at the time, you know it. But I only want to kiss you right now.”

There was something in his eyes, blended with the dark brown hues and the sparkly melted stars that captivated and hypnotized you. Sunghoon was so intense that you could never bring yourself to break eye contact, or reply coherently, when you were drowning in his gaze. A nod was all that came out of you.

The prince chuckled, the act so genuine and lovesick that your knees threatened to falter, “You’re so annoyingly beautiful.” He voiced, and leaning in, his lips parted to taste the sweetness of your mouth.

With a gasp, you carded your fingers through his raven hair. It had gotten so long in such a short time. The only place that your hands went to during your kisses was in between his locks.

A soft rumble escaped his chest, body beginning to relax when you played with his hair. In a second, Sunghoon cupped a side of your face in his palm, still being smug enough to slide the other to the small of your back, gripping that part. A smirk curled his lips up as he felt the low cut back of the dress, tracing your skin like you did to his arm earlier.

His actions induced a shiver to run down your spine, and you couldn’t do much except feel yourself covered in goosebumps. Softly, gently, slowly — that was how your fiancé enjoyed kissing you.

“Sunghoon…” Tugging at the loose collar of his shirt, you tried to regain your composure after the scandalous scene. “Did they go yet?”

Your breathy voice calling out his name only fueled the pure adoration the boy felt. “Not yet.” He hummed, glancing at the flustered maids that giggled amongst themselves. “Seems like they’re slow walkers.”

“At least that will make them stop talking.” You grumbled.

He squeezed you tighter in his arms, almost trying to express the extent of his feelings in the way he held you. “It surely will.”

And it didn’t, since, now, rumour has it that the prince is too greedy to go for only a single kiss.

𔓕　LETTERS FROM REi ━━ i wish prince sunghoon was real

2024 © SOOV

[copperbadge]

I wanted to thank you for running RFM for so long.

And as we wind down to the end of the year (and the era), I want to ask if there's anything the Tumblr community could do to thank you for the effort you've put into this over the years.

Is there a charity or cause that you support that we could contribute to or other action we could take?

Aw, thank you for asking!

If you want a specific place to give, there are a couple of nonprofits I support. The Anti-Cruelty Society where I got the cryptids is local to Chicago and BAGLY is a queer youth nonprofit local to Boston; you can also give to United Way either locally or nationally, to Planned Parenthood, or to the American Library Association, currently fighting the good fight against censorship. I know people working for all of these orgs and your support means a lot to them. You can also give to my Ko-Fi marked "for donation" and I will give in a lump sum to the org I work for, which funds research into terminal lung disease and outreach to patients suffering from it.

But honestly, I hope the most long-lasting legacy of RFM is that people think consciously about caring for one another and about being kind and compassionate even if you feel judgement for the person asking. Over the years I found myself judging people sometimes when they asked for help, and I had to make a policy that I would not only share their link but publicly defend their right to ask, if necessary, because I am not infallible and nobody else is either. It is not for us to determine who can ask, only who we answer.

I've been on a campaign for about a decade to persuade people that while some nonprofits are indeed not great places to give your money, you should approach giving in the spirit of trust. When we buy something -- say, a box of pasta -- we trust that what the box says is inside actually is inside. When we buy a wool sweater we trust it truly is wool unless we have reason to believe otherwise. We look at the box or the label, we do our due diligence, but we don't automatically assume we are being lied to. If you give to a nonprofit, by all means, read the website, maybe do a quick google about them, but trust that most people who work in this field, which is underpaid and full of burnout, are doing their best to help the world. Find a nonprofit you really like the look of and treat it like starting a new friendship -- get to know them, read about what they do, if they have events, especially free events, maybe go to one and have a look around.

But yeah -- that's what I hope lasts, the idea that giving is an act of community and that the spirit in which you give matters, not whether or not you did the most good in the most moral way.

[hxney-lemcn]

How Was Your Day? — Cater Diamond x gn! reader

summery: you help Cater open up to you a bit more.

tw: hurt/comfort.

wc: 1.1k

Master List

It was so silly. You felt like you were living the most cliche scenario in the world. You had a crush on your best friend. Could you really be blamed? Not only was Cater drop dead gorgeous, but he always made you feel included and seen. There was just one thing that itched at you. You wished he would open up to you a bit more. No matter what, there felt like a barrier between you both, something that kept you from getting any closer to seeing the full painting that was Cater Diamond. You could only really see the surface, the pretty colors and beautiful framing, hiding the gritty reality that laid beneath.

You wanted to dig deeper, to truly dissect the meaning behind Cater. He was your friend, and you felt foolish that you fell for the glitz and the glamor instead of his true self. Or that’s how you felt at least. You had managed to catch glimpses of his softer moments, moments where you were feeling down. Where he’d dim down his outgoing personality and try to make you laugh with either memes he found or acting silly. And if that didn’t work? He’d listen to your complaints, only giving advice if you ask.

It was only a glimpse, though, as those moments seemed far and few in between. Putting on his cheery smile and flash of the camera. Maybe you were being selfish, but it almost hurt, knowing that Cater didn’t seem to trust you enough to show you all of himself when he’s seen you at your worst. That he can see you cry and complain, but thinks you’d mind if he did the same. You only wanted to be there for him like he was for you, to show him that he wasn’t a problem, even if he wasn’t super bubbly or outgoing. 

It seemed like you were going to get what you wished sooner than you expected. 

You hadn’t meant to stumble upon him in such a vulnerable moment. You just wanted to spend some time with your bestie/crush, knocking on his door before entering. You paused midstep, noticing a lump under the blankets on Cater’s bed, ginger hair barely peeking out. 

“Cater?” You called out cautiously, clicking the door closed behind you. He only shuffled further into his cocoon, not acknowledging your presence. Gosh, as much as you wanted him to open up, you were unsure of how to proceed, but one thing was for sure. You were not just going to let him stew alone. 

So as gracefully as you could (quite awkwardly in all honesty), you took a seat next to where he laid, hand hesitantly reaching out to pat his form. No words were said as you stroked Cater’s back, trying to think of what to say or ask.

”Do you want to talk about it?” You settled on asking.

”I’m sorry,” Cater mumbled, you could barely hear it through the thick fabric that covered him. 

“What are you sorry for?” You asked softly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

It was silent for a few seconds before Cater mumbled brokenly, “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

You felt your heart break, a heavy pit filling your stomach. Cater shouldn’t hold his feelings in like this, especially when he has people willing to lend a shoulder…like you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” You replied without hesitation. “I care about you, Cater. If you’re ever feeling down you can always come to me, I’ll always be here for you.”

Cater was hesitant to peek his head out of the safety of his blankets, but the sweetness of your words had his chest aching, a bittersweet feeling spreading through him. On one hand, you were saying things he had longed to hear for so long, but on the other it felt completely wrong for you to see him as anything else but happy and cheerful. 

His emerald eyes peaked at you, the lower half of his face still covered, red locks of hair falling in his face, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not a burden,” You scolded gently. “Am I a burden when I’m not feeling good?”

”Of course not,” Cater frowned from beneath the blanket. 

“So what makes you the exception?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cater opened his mouth, reflexively ready to insult himself…but he couldn’t actually think of a proper rebuttal. You had actually managed to stump him. He looked so disheartened and hopeful at the same time.

“Even if I don’t actually like all the things I say I do? Even though I lie to you all about who I am?” 

“Even then,” You agreed, scrounging any confidence you had left in you, you raised a shaky hand to run it through his hair. It seemed like that was the right thing to do as Cater’s eyes shut in a look of bliss, unconsciously leaning his head into your hand. 

“Y’know you don’t have to lie about all that stuff, right?” You asked softly, scratching his scalp gently. “Who cares if you like spicy over sweet, it won’t change how much I love you.”

“Thank you,” Cater murmured with a content sigh, nuzzling his head into your thigh, soaking in your affection. 

“Of course,” You murmured back, admiring the way his hair framed his face so prettily…only to be surprised when his perfectly manicured hand reached out from beneath the blankets and wrapped around your torso, dragging you to lay down beside him. You felt your face flush from being so close, his faint freckles more visible from this distance. 

“I…” Cater spoke out, tongue thick with emotion. Those three words you said so easily felt like a ton of bricks that he just couldn’t cough up, but he wanted to oh so desperately at that moment. You watched on in concern as Cater’s face contorted into what looked semi-painful, like he was struggling with a thought.

”I love you too,” Cater managed to push out, eyeing you with anxiety and vulnerability. Your eyes widened, before it clicked that you had said those words mere minutes ago, you hadn’t even realized those words slipped past your lips, but you had meant them wholeheartedly. 

You relaxed in his hold, resting your head on his shoulder, “Hmmm, well too bad I love you more.” 

Cater let out a short giggle, nuzzling into your hair, the both of you drowning in butterflies. It was a rainy moment turned sunny, the two of you basking in the glow of the other's love. Sure, the problem wasn’t solved and Cater would still have to work on opening up to you, but it was a start, and you’d be by his side supporting him through all his ups and downs.

[sturnina]

Rule number one

Dealer!Chris x Fem!reader

— tags;; drug use, a lot of curse words, no use of y/n, arguments, angst

— wc;; 1.7k

— author‘s note;; my take on dealer!chris since I find it concerning that people think it‘s a good idea for him to be a druggie, hope you enjoy <3

Rule number one is clear. You are aware of it, Chris is aware of it, everyone knows. The dealer does not take their own stuff. Because what happens then? It goes down way too fast. It is too dangerous.

Everyone knows. With an almost infinite supply of more, always more, it is a risk you cannot take.

And yet, you’re here. Standing in front of Chris, with a deep and dark pit in your stomach. Fuck. His eyes are clearly dilated, and his heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt when you press your hand against his chest. He mutters something incoherent, a smile dripping from his lips.

“What was it?” you mumble, more to yourself. At least you’re alone with him, away from his brothers or customers. “What did you take?” you ask again, louder this time while gripping his chin and forcing him to look at you.

No. Wrong approach. Violence doesn’t help. But fuck, you need to know what it was.

“Was it K? Ketamine? Chris, did you take Ketamine?” you ask, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Oh, please let it be Ketamine.

He laughs and launches forward, embracing you tightly. “Shush Ma, you’re making me all worried,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s alright. It will be alright, trust me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens while the machinery in your mind runs at full speed. Racing heartbeat. Emotional closeness. Dizziness maybe? From the way he is swaying, you can tell he is more than a little lightheaded. **

“What do you feel?” you ask him, pulling away a little to look at him. “How are you feeling? Are you disoriented? Drowsy?”

Chris shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice getting a slight slurred edge.

“Do you have a headache? Or an increased appetite?”

“No?” His voice is disinterested—he clearly could not care less. Unfortunately, this is all you care about at the moment. Increased body temperature, sweating, slurred speech…

“Chris, did you take MDMA?”

“Mmh…” he says, pulling you close again and peppering kisses to your head. “No, it was a longer name…”

“Ecstasy, Chris.” A slight undertone of desperation lies in your voice. How does he not remember the simplest things? “MDMA is Ecstasy. Did you take it or not?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks, pulling away to look at you. His movements are unpredictable and confused—clearly, he does not see the way you do right now. Even if just through his energy. “Come on, let’s go back inside and have fun. Dance with me, pretty girl, yeah?”

He grabs your hands, but you refuse. “You can’t go back in there,” you say sternly.

“But the party isn’t over,” he complains. “I still gotta dance… and deal.”

“You can’t. Deal, I mean.” A lump forms in your throat at the confused look he shoots at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What? Sure I can! Look, I still have-” The second he pulls out a small bottle of pills, you snatch it out of his hand. And you were right—it’s X, MDMA, clarity, whatever you want to call it.

“Chris you have to stop dealing.”

“I know you’re always worried about me, Ma,” he says with a sloppy grin. “But you know I have everything under control. No one’s going to get too dangerous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you sigh, stepping closer. “Chris, you have to stop dealing. You broke rule number one. You have a practically infinite supply of drugs, and you just started taking them. What do you think is happening now?”

He frowns, clearly having difficulties concentrating. Fuck, how long does Ecstasy last? You go through your memory, trying to find anything about it. From one up to… was it five? Six hours? Fuck.

“We’re going,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room you searched for shelter from the party.

The second you step outside, into the main area, the music clogs up your ears. Smoke burns in your lungs, mixed with the smells of alcohol and sweat. You’ve never been a fan of parties like this, but you came with Chris more and more often, wanting to look out for him—even though you wouldn’t be able to do anything in an extreme case.

But today, you’re infinitely grateful for having come with him. Who else would force him to go home and not take another pill? His brothers don’t even know what’s going on behind the scenes, he’s taken care of that.

Back at your car, you force him into the passenger seat. Now looking at him, restlessly playing with the decoration on your glovebox, you’re almost relieved he did it. Just because it means he has to stop dealing. As soon as he’s sober, he’ll realise that too.

After getting into the driver’s seat, you lock the doors and reach out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” he asks, pulling out his iPhone.

“Not that one. The burner one.”

Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms. “No.”

“Yes. Chris, do it.”

“No way. That’s the only contact I have with customers and the supplier,” he protests.

“Exactly. Hand it over, I’m not asking you again.” Your fingers move twice in your direction, a sign everyone knows. Come on, you think, don’t make this more complicated.

“A’ight,” he mutters, pulling it out of his back pocket and going back to fiddling with something he found in your car. You couldn’t care less what it is.

“Good,” you mutter, quickly chucking the phone into the backseat from where you’ll pick it up later. For now, you need to get Chris home.

The drive back is silent, except for when he occasionally starts humming a melody and then abruptly stops, grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he replies, staring ahead like a pouty kid. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, a wave of anger bubbling up in your chest.

How could he be so careless? How could he possibly have thought that taking drugs as a goddamn drug dealer is okay? That it works? He knows the dangers of every drug. He’s seen people get completely wasted, slowly destroying their lives and the ones of the people around them.

Why would he do this to you? To his brothers? His friends and family?

Tears are burning in your eyes and you blink rapidly to focus your gaze on the street.

“Ma? ‘re you crying?” Chris asks. His voice is softer but clearly slurred now. The drug seems to be kicking in.

You open your mouth to say something, but not a single sound escapes your lips.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers.

“Why would you do that?” you finally ask. “You know drugs. You know what they do. You know they destroy lives. Fuck, Chris, what’s going on? Why did you take it?”

The car is silent, and nervosity settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Chris…?” you ask again. “Why did you take it?”

“I js wanted to try,” he mumbles. It’s clearly not the only answer, but now is not the time to figure out what exactly led him to be so stupid.

After stopping the car in front of your house—you won’t let Nick and Matt see him in this state—, you force Chris outside, into the cool air. He doesn’t react, even as you start shivering. You quickly fetch the burner phone from the backseat and lead Chris inside, pushing him through the front door and to the couch. He seems restless and refuses to sit down, so you let him wander around.

While he’s still in his drug-induced haze, you sit down at the kitchen island and open the flip phone. The first number is his suppliers’, you know that, saved simply as G. It rings only once before he picks it up.

“You run out this quickly?” he asks. No greeting, no nothing.

“No,” you reply. The tension is palpable, even through the phone.

“Who are you?” G asks cautiously.

“You will not supply C anymore,” you say, careful not to use Chris’s name. “Do you understand me?”

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider,” he repeats.

“That’s none of your business. If you sell to Chris-” Fuck, fuck fuck. “If you sell to him again, I will find out and send the police after you.”

The guy chuckles. “Easy. I’m sure we can talk about this. You his girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand over your face.

“You worried about him or something?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I don’t want him to become an addict. That’s normal, I fear.”

“He wouldn’t. I’ve been supplying to him for a while, he does it for the money, not the drugs,” G says, apparently unimpressed. “Just stay out of his business, yeah? This is no place for little girls.”

“You listen to me, you little fuck,” you hiss, jumping up from the chair. “I know who you are and from where you supply. I know the faces of all the little dealers around here, and they’re all connected to you. I know what parties you go to, and what people you know. I’ve seen you. And I will get you if you deal with my boyfriend again. He took Ecstasy today. And trust me, I know what happens next. I’ve seen it happen. So if one of us ever hears from you again, you will be caught, I promise.”

A stunned silence fills the phone. The only sounds you hear is the clock on the kitchen wall ticking… and heavy breathing behind you.

You whip your head around. Chris stares at you with confused eyes. He reaches out for the phone, but his movements are too uncoordinated, and you dodge his hand.

“Is that G?” he asks, slurring his words more than before. “Why would you- what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go down that path,” you say sternly.

Since you have no more to say to G, and you don’t care to hear his answer, you hang up the phone and guide Chris upstairs, leaving the burner phone on the kitchen counter.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“But ‘m not tired,” he protests, still energised from the Ecstasy.

This is going to be a long night.

masterlist

[dog-bimbo]

shiu kong x fem!reader 18+ only — imagining shiu being put on a sex ban or something like that mfgghhmmfmh >////<

minors and ageless blogs dni !

a/n i love writing shiu being sleazy but im going through something rough as of late so i made it a bit fluffy, just a little though he's still a bastard in this fic <3

he hates his clients, he hates the assassins that he brokers, he hates the clean up crew and most importantly, he hates condoms. what he doesn't hate is having his balls deep in you after a long day even thinking about your gummy, wet walls has him leaking cum through his boxers. a sex ban right in the middle of his commision is just cruel...

"i'm on birth control," you meekly reply. you're usually quite open with him, he's a great guy to be around but right now? his head is practically exploding you've never seen him be THIS devastated by something... but he quickly masks it after swallowing a lump in his throat. "two weeks, i can do that." he replies with a shrug. "you can just wear a condom if you're that bothered, y'know?..." but that's the last option for him, his final resort.

the first week was hard on him. it felt like the client and the assassin wanted him dead instead of the target—this feeling really was an exaggeration (atleast to some extent) being blue balled is what really drove him crazy. he always reeks of cigarettes, for sure, but it has definitely gotten worse... with that pretty pastel blue sundress of yours, how could he not bend you over the counter and hump you in broad daylight? when you're sitting on his lap while watching a show that you both love, how could he keep his hands away from stroking your clit through your panties with his thumb? when you're reapplying your lipgloss while you're on a date with him, how could he stop himself from pulling you to his car to make you kiss his cock? restraining seemed unnecessary in these areas yet, it seems like he's taking this as a challenge of sorts... it's strangely uncharacteristic of him since he's a no BS kind of guy.

he's not a sex addict trying to recover, he's just a bit ashamed that he's thinking about nothing but sex with you out of all people. you're an absolute delight to be around, all lovely and soft and dreamlike. he never allows himself to loosen up but with you, it's quite natural for him to relax. you're more than just a one night stand—you're the light of his life. also, that condom remark felt a bit patronizing. it was like you were throwing him a bone out of pity.

him having bad days meant that you'd be put in a mating press. he could feel his stress melting away as he buried himself deeper and deeper in you with each thrust but now? he's found better ways to cope with it. all you wanted for him is to be less reserved but when he's that exhausted after sex, you don't get much out of him. he's talking a whole lot now— about the clients, about the assassins, about the stupid dinner meetings and the clean ups and the indepth reason why he left law enforcement.

the second week was considerably simpler for him. first of all, the ashtrays in your shared apartment was no longer overflowing with cigarette buds, and shiu no longer wanted to kick the client's teeth down his throat each time he opened his mouth.

but it's you who's going crazy now. he's such a gentleman, a master at being dominant and assertive even while he's not doing anything sexual. everytime his huge hand rests on your waist, hip or thigh, you want him to bunch up your skirt and pound into you already. he's all man—the scent of marlboro reds and cologne drove you insane. you wanted him to press his huge body against yours already... your slit weeps for him and he's just so, so good at licking it all up—he gets high off the sweetness of your cunt. when he lifts his head up after eating you out and making you cum on his face, his pussy drunk expression is everything.

he's also good at noticing things and he knows that at the end, you're the one who's all needy and desperate.

he wraps his hands around your waist as he kisses you. it wasn't sweet, it was rough and hot and you could feel his hands going down to reach the hem of your skirt. he was stingy with the people he tolerated and extremely generous with you—you're his sweetheart after all. it's happening... maybe he's gonna give up on this little abstaining phase of his.... but he pulls away, "just wait for three more days n' i'll fuck you till your brain melts out of your ears, yeah?" he's got that shit-eating grin when he lets go of you.

you're no saint—you're just as desperate for him as he is for you and he wants you to know that.

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[sepublic]

I also want to add to the Blight family dynamic with how Edric is apparently the least-favorite? In addition to him being the screw-up of the family, as seen with his storyline in Reaching Out. There's Dana half-joking that he's Odalia's least favorite child. Which suggests that Odalia doesn't entire see the twins as a unit, or does so in-part to find something to do with Edric.

I know Odalia brings up the twins as being perfect to Amity, but that's the thing; We only see her bring up the twins as a way to belittle Amity. But given Amity's first two appearances are about her being pitted against a peer by an adult she yearns for the approval of, I wouldn't be surprised if the twins had to hear the reverse, and neither party has it so good after all. It's all just a way to get them to compete so they do better.

This is personal HC/interpretation fueled by authorial headcanon, but between Amity as the Abomination engineer and covenscout that Odalia failed to be, possibly her way of ingratiating Blight Industries with the Emperor's Coven before it happened on its own... And Emira as the designated caretaker, the eldest matriarch who knows how to grab attention as an illusionist;

It feels as if Edric occupies this weird space where he's not really either parent and doesn't fill in a role Odalia can predict so she's like hmm. What to do with you! And she settles for continuing to lump him in with Emira because she loves the Twins aesthetic but otherwise can't be bothered to acknowledge both as individuals, plus Ed can back up Emira's showman purpose. So it's Edric just being dragged around by Emira, yet ironically Emira also feels like it's the other way around with herself and her siblings due to her parentified role. It's very much both when you're stuck together.

Edric does develop a thing for Potions but that's mixed magic, but on the other hand Odalia would totally make exceptions to expand into a new market, and the Potions industry could easily be a kindred spirit to her anyhow. Maybe he partly got into Potions as a way to earn his own function within the family; Dana once considered a storyline where Edric vied for Odalia’s approval against a fake Abomination child she preferred to rely on to win a competition over her own son! So the effort for her attention is characterization Dana might have in mind. But then Edric liked Potions for its own sake (as I HC with Emira initially doing Healing because of her parentified role), plus Beastkeeping is very much for himself.

And I've noticed that out of the three Blight kids, Edric is the only one not to interact with their father in the epilogue; He's next to him at Luz's Quincenera but he's also next to Emira. There's Doylist factors like paying off Eda and Edric's dynamic by having him at the university, and not having the space to have Edric reunite with Alador during that whole sequence. Because him and Amity both work away from him, yet Amity at least gets to hug her dad!

But I like to think it implies that Edric hasn't forgiven their father, which could play into what I've said before! Edric being aware he doesn't fit into their mom's plans as the unfavorite. Maybe there's some freedom in this; But it also makes him resent his mom for neglect specifically, and by extension his dad for being the master of neglect because at least Odalia pays attention to her daughters. And that considered storyline of the fake Abomination child… Alador would’ve had to create it for Odalia, right? His own dad supported this ‘replacement’.

So while Edric's willing to accept Alador's change of heart and not speak on behalf of how his sisters feel, he's not comfortable enough to hang out together as father and son. Edric can handle being in the same space with Alador when there's a bunch of other people as a buffer, when they're both focused on someone else anyhow. But as a pair it's like... Eugh. It might be sad, but never say never; And more importantly it’s rep for abuse victims who don’t want to forgive, even if their abuser IS doing and meaning better. Victims are entitled to that!

I also have to think back to this Grom art Dana posted when the episode came out, under the HC that the twins got stood up because like. Edric is doing some comforting of his own. And this was likely drawn shortly before the episode itself came out; So when Dana and the writers would’ve been writing S2A, which leaned more into Emira having the Eldest Daughter role. And the implication she has to look after her own twin of the same age.

Retcons and changes are always a thing but I could see a story; Edric trying to take care of his sister himself, both out of genuine concern but also as a way to make himself as not just the useless child nobody knows what to do with. To give himself a real agency and purpose. And this works just fine with Emira! Better that than to be the one doing the emotional labor all of the time. Offering his jacket isn’t much, but it’s something Edric can do to have some control in his life, and it’s solidarity with his twin, an acknowledgement that he sees her parentified status and is trying to help with that.

[gojo-mochi]

Dear Softy 💐 I come to humbly (&on my knees) ask for any sort of continuation to the 5 times nanami was sorry piece. I'm not a rereader, but I've read yours so many times I lost count, and nothing else hits the same. :(

HAHA Thank you for continuing to enjoy that fic <3 I still think it's one of my best works, so I'm glad someone likes it that much.

This part wont have reader in it! It set in before reader and Nanami had sex. But from Nanami POV now. So you get to see a little bit more from his mindset and what he’s like out of work hehe.

Part of this fic 5 Times with Nanami...

Satoru changed the group name to “The Skibidi Squad”

Suguru: … do I even want to ask

Ieiri: I’m too tired to even change it back, whatever

Yu: I saw some people in last night’s game say that in chat! 

Ieiri: Yu stop playing those games with Gojo and Geto, it's bad for your brain and mental health tbh

Yu: :c 

Suguru: Hey! Don’t lump me in with Satoru like that, we would have won that game if we didn’t have a monkey for a jungler…

Satoru: Alright, now that I gathered everyone here… (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Ieiri: You didn’t gather anyone.. This is a group chat

Satoru: ANYWAY! I have serious news that need addressing right NOWW 

┬─┬ノ(ಠ_ಠノ)

Suguru: I’ll bite, what is it

Satoru: I know you already bite ( •̀ω•́ )σ

Ieiri Kicked Satoru out of “The Skibidi Squad” 

Suguru Added Satoru back to “The Skibidi Squad”

Ieiri: Of course you would

Suguru: If I didn’t I would had to deal with him whining about it for hours

Satoru: First off, Rude. Secondly, NANAMIN HAVE A GIRLFRIEND AND HE DIDN’T TELL US ( ≧Д≦)

Yu: :0

Ieiri: We know

Suguru: ^^ Technically not his girlfriend yet I think, but she’s pretty cute

Satoru: You guys all knew and didn’t tell me??!?! Traitors! 凸(｀0´)凸

Shoko: I knew because Nanami asked me advice on what kinda cologne girls would prefer

Suguru: I saw him ordering more than usual at the bakery and it was easy to put 2 and 2 together ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yu: I didn’t know :c

Satoru: Haibara, it’s you and me against the world (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

Nanami: …

Satoru: Well, well, well… the traitor finally shows up

Nanami left “The Skibidi Squad”

Satoru: WAITIIITSKDJF

Satoru: WHA- HE BLCOKED ME SOMEONE ADD HIM BACK

Ieiri: Yu don’t add him back

Yu: Oki! C:

Satoru: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nanami sighs to himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. Silencing his phone and pocketing it as he walks on forward. He was already close to his destination and didn’t need to look at the map anymore or be spammed by Gojo’s annoying pestering. A quick turn into a shady alleyway, and Nanami was soon greeted by the neon lights welcoming sign of a bar called “The Devil’s Chainsaw”, an odd name with an even odder bartender. 

Shoko liked coming to this bar though, and this is where he agreed to meet with her tonight, so he had no complaints as long as the alcohol was good. As Nanami stepped inside the bar, he was instantly met with the smell of cigarettes. Shoko peered over to him; she was sitting at the end of the bar, dressed in slacks and a dark sweater. She waved him over with a hand as she finished her conversation with the bartender. 

The redheaded bartender looked over to Nanami as he took the seat next to Shoko; her strikingly odd eyes were a stark contrast to her soft, dulcet voice. 

“What can I get for you, sir?”

"Just a whisky sour would be fine.”

The bartender nods and leaves the two to converse among themselves. Shoko lightly taps Nanami’s knee with her hand and smiles at him. 

“So, Lovebird, how’s the seducing going?”

Nanami’s eyebrow twitches at that, and he turns to look at Shoko with a withering stare. Which she paid no mind to, just taking a long drag of her cigarette, waiting for his answer. 

The bartender comes back with two drinks for them, a whiskey sour and a black russian. Nanami takes his drink and gulps down half of it, his heart feeling unusually tight tonight. 

“Don’t call me that, and I’m not sure how the... seducing is going.”

His tongue rolls over the word “seducing” like it was a foreign language to him. Shoko hums in response, swirling her drink softly as she leans back in her chair. The light jazz music fills in the silence between them, a comfortable silence that these two were used to. No annoying laugh or taunts from a certain white-haired man to dampen the mood. 

After a while, Shoko spoke up one more, with a question that had been on her mind for a while now. 

“So, tell me, what was it about her that made you fall in love with her?” 

Nanami jumped a little in his seat, feeling his ears burn at the question. He calls the bartender down for another drink and slams down the rest of his drink before even thinking about an answer. 

Once his new drink comes in, he takes a hard swig and sighs deeply. Looking down at his drink instead of Shoko so as not to feel embarrassed while remembering the story of why he fell in love with you.  

Flashback cutscene woooosh

It was back during a very important work event—a collaboration with a different company right before Christmas. Everyone was praying on this event going well to secure the deal with this company and go back home with a smile and a big fat holiday bonus. And Nanami was appointed to lead this event—to greet all the higher-ups, plan the itinerary, and basically do all the work. 

Everything was riding on Nanami’s shoulders, all the pressure from not only his bosses but his fellow coworkers as well. Even just a tiny slip-up will make everyone turn to him with disdain in their eyes. At least, that was what Nanami felt like at the time; he needed to make this event work and make everyone happy, at the cost of his own sanity. 

And with little to no sleep, countless nights planning the event down to each second, and a fake happy-go-lucky attitude he put on, the work event went amazingly. Everyone was happy, toasting and drinking the night away. Nanami managed to sneak away during all the merriment, stumbling his way to a nearby park and slouching down on a bench. All the tension in his body still wounding up his insides as he takes off his glasses and throws an arm over his eyes.

Ignoring everything around him, just wanting a moment of peace for himself for once. To throw away his mask for this brief moment where no one’s watching. The bench underneath him was hard on his back, but Nanami ignored it, focusing on the surroundings around him instead, the wind brushing past the trees, the rustling sounds of leaves, and the smell of frost in the air.

Just being in a suit did little to combat the chill, but Nanami couldn’t be bothered to go back inside right now; he was gonna risk being sick over having to do small talk again. He huddled his jacket as close as he could to his body and pretended he wasn’t shivering a little from the cold. Laying his head sideways on the wooden bench with his knees bunched up to his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying to to will himself into a slumber. 

Sleep overtook him like a haunting lullaby; the weight in his shoulders still ache, the wind never slowed down, but soon the chills and the murmurs of the air around him felt almost comforting in a way. 

Nanami didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he woke up, but he knew something was off, though. His head was resting on something much softer than a wooden board; he felt warm and cozy, and even his shoulder’s pain had lessened somehow. 

He groaned and shifted his head around to see what was happening around him. He was still in the same park he fell asleep in; he shifted around again when he heard a noise coming from right above his head. He blinks away his grogginess, trying to see what was in front of him. 

“Nanami-san?”

A voice calls out to him in a soft tone, so pure and sweet to his ears that he almost wants to close his eyes and fall asleep again while listening to it. 

“Nanami-san, are you alright?” 

Nanami grunts in response, knowing that he shouldn’t be falling asleep again, especially in front of a stranger, no matter how angelic he finds their voice. His eyes adjusted back to normal finally, and he found himself looking up at not a stranger, but his coworker. 

“L/N-san?”

He rasps out, finding his throat and lips to be dry, he reaches to rub at his throat. You also reach out, placing the back of your hand on his forehead, trying to feel for a fever. Nanami leans in to your palm, almost feeling disappointed when you pull away; you don’t notice anything, though. 

“You don’t seem like you have a fever… Are you feeling alright? You were gone for a bit, and I got worried. The others told me not to worry, but I came to check anyway.” 

Nanami didn’t respond, causing you to worry even more; he was just staring at you with a quizzical look in his eyes. You reach out to him again, calling his name in a soft tone, which makes Nanami's eyes shoot wide open. With his senses flooding back into him all at once, Nanami realizes a few things. 

One, that he actually did fall asleep in a random park with no fear for his safety on a cold winter night. Two, not only did he decide to sleep in a random park, he also did it during a large celebratory party for his company, without saying a word about leaving to anyone at the party. And lastly, he was resting his head on the very soft lap of his coworker in the middle of the night. 

As much as he wanted to jump up and run away and forget about this embarrassing moment. Nanami calmly sat up, looked down, and realized that you had given him your jacket, returned said jacket to you, and got up from the bench. 

Facing away from you, so you don’t see the blush covering his face, Nanami thanks you for coming to check on him. 

“Thank you, L/N-san, for the jacket and everything.” 

You got up from the bench as well, putting your jacket back on and going to stand next to Nanami. 

“Of course! I still seriously can’t believe no one else wanted to come find you. Honestly…” You huff and shake your heads, remembering how everyone brushed your concerns off back at the party. 

“Still, are you sure you’re alright, Nanami-san? This wasn’t like the usual you, you know?” You pause and shuffle on your feet for a bit before saying the next part. 

“Ah, sorry if that was too personal of me to say. This event was a really huge deal for us, and I want to say thank you.” You turn to face him with a bright smile and a soft blush on your face. 

“Thank you for working so hard for us, Nanami-san. I-..we really appreciate it, and I hope you know that.” 

Feeling a tinge awkward for saying that, you immediately turned back around and started heading back to the hotel first, waving back to Nanami, telling him not to stay in the cold for too long. 

Nanami stood there in that spot for a while after you left, his brain etching every single word that came out of your lips, how your hair looked, the colors of your lips, the scent of your perfume. It was like Cupid came and stuck him in his heart at that very moment. Nanami never heard praise for doing a good job before; it wasn’t like he needed it; at least he thought he didn’t. The results should be enough for Nanami and everyone to be happy. But seeing your bright smile and your kind words being directed at him, that changed something in Nanami that night. 

Flashback end :) 

“Helloooo? Earth to Nanami?”

Shoko’s voice shakes Nanami out of his head. She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. 

“Are you gonna tell me the reason why you like this chick now or what?”

Nanami smiles to himself, swirling around his drink in his hand and simply said. 

“She has a cute smile, that’s all.”

[ruruumin]

10 - worst case scenario

from where you were sitting, you had the perfect view of aether. he was sitting in one of the booths, close to the back, dressed in a white crewneck sweater you picked out. it was paired with his favorite, pale blue denim jeans. wrapped around his neck was a friendship necklace he and you shared. something you had bought when you went to the mall together in high school. 

right before the door rang, he nervously fixed his bangs using his phone camera. as you quickly sipped from your coffee cup, you saw a tall, blond man approaching aether. he sat in front of him, waving about being slightly late. based on the movement of aether’s lips, you can infer that he told him ‘no worries, i also just arrived.’ which was quite the lie.

he came with you to nilou’s cafe an hour earlier. telling you that he needed help scoping out which seats would be ideal for his date. you didn’t think it’d be this serious until he looked at you with those shining, bright amber eyes. 

at least it paid off, you thought, watching as the two of them engaged in small talk.

the day was busy. people were coming in and out. others had stopped by to chat with friends. college students were scattered in all sorts of places, typing rapidly at their macbooks.

staring off into space, you didn’t pick up on the sound of the door opening again. a man with ash-grey hair walks through, turning his head side to side as he carefully observes the area. it was loud. even with his headphones on and soft tunes of classical music playing through them, he could hear every conversation of any customer. he adjusts the hold he has on his bag, approaching one of the girls working. he musters the kindest smile he can under the pressure.

“i’m sorry, do you mind sharing a seat with this gentleman here?” she stands before you with a tray underneath her arm. she blocks your view of aether and you quickly murmur a response along the lines of ‘yes, of course, go right ahead.’ not realizing that the man you would be sharing a table with was the last person on earth you’d want to be stuck with.

your heart quickens at the sight of him. a feeling you wish you could shove down the drain and flush. the guy you tried so hard to avoid this year was just in front of you. only a few inches away. 

he is as pretty as ever. with the way his turquoise and cherry eyes make contact with yours. the softness of his palms combined with the subtle callouses on his knuckles. you notice he’s still wearing the cologne you bought for him. the scent of wood sage and sea salt floating through the air. you swallow a thick lump that had formed at the base of your throat. 

he stares at the menu for a little while before waving to the girl, requesting for a black coffee. you press your lips into a thin line as he tightens his jaw. he leaves one hand on the table. 

“what a funny coincidence, running into like this.” he starts, the sound of his voice leaving you breathless. 

from the corner of aether’s eyes, he sees alhaitham. he feels his jaw beginning to drop and his hands grow clammy. kaveh’s voice draws him away through. and now he’s stuck in an awkward predicament. torn between helping out his best friend or talking to the guy he’s been crushing on. he wants to get up and leave with you but he needed to be here for kaveh.

you were completely on your own. 

“what brings you here?” his fingers tap the surface of the wooden table. an arched brow pointed to you.

“i was just craving some coffee. surely someone like you would know.” you reply, clicking your tongue. your response wasn’t as clever as you thought and he fights the urge to smile at your poor attempt at getting under his skin. 

when he catches your voice, the world suddenly grows quiet. the music playing in his ears has now faded into white noise that accompanies the lullaby of your words. despite the bustling nature of the cafe, he hears you crystal clear. it was nice hearing your voice after so long. he could only dream about it after you transferred departments. 

he doesn’t say anything though. only nodding his head at your response.

when his coffee arrives, the waitress gives him a little wink, glancing at you before leaving. he turns the cup with his fingers, the heat of the cup warming his skin.

“why are you here? this place isn’t exactly close.”

“... here to support a friend, i suppose,” he says, “i can’t help but notice you might be doing the same. is that not aether i see in the booth? it’s quite impressive seeing how small our world is.” 

you bite your lip. “so who’s this friend of your’s huh?” 

“kaveh. architecture student. master’s degree. perhaps you and aether might know him.” 

surely he was joking. kaveh? did you hear that right? kaveh, the man that aether has been crushing on for the past few weeks, was alhaitham’s roommate? you have to stop yourself from dropping your iced coffee over the table, flabbergasted at this sudden revelation. 

“you… can’t be serious here.” 

“dead serious, (name).” 

"this must be a joke from you, haha." a dry laugh escapes you.

"i can promise you its genuine." he drinks from his coffee, nonchalant about the ordeal. “based on where we are at now. our situation at hand. i can only assume we’re both here to make sure our friends’ date goes well. is that correct?”

curse his intellect. curse his breathtaking eyes. curse the way his lips curve into a smug smile. he read you so easily you might as well be a picture book for him. you try your hardest not to focus on the small beauty mark next to his cheek, the same one you’d always kiss before the day started. your left eye twitches in annoyance as you heaved a deep sigh.

“why does that matter anyway?” you keep your words short. any more and you might feel some waterworks.

“for the sake of them, how about we work together?” he doesn’t break eye contact with you. of course he doesn't. “you tell me about aether, and i tell you about kaveh. it’s a win-win situation for both, don’t you think?”

pinching yourself on your hand, a sharp pain resonates through the surface. realizing that this is not a horrible nightmare, you stare at him in disbelief.

you had to think about this very carefully. if you accept his proposal, it’ll give you a higher chance of helping aether, and you’d do anything to make him happy. on the other hand, you’ll have to be in close contact with your ex-boyfriend, the same guy who dumped you with a lousy excuse of ‘you need to focus on yourself.’ 

what would you tell your friends? oh, i’m working with my ex-boyfriend so aether can get together with kaveh, and have a great relationship together! what an absurd thing to say. 

it is a frustrating predicament but the answer was clear to you.

“fine.” 

and you want to punch him when his smile grows. 

₊˚ ♡ masterlist | previous + next.

synopsis; when your friend aether calls for help in his budding crush on his senior kaveh, you're forced to confront your ex-boyfriend by means of playing cupid.

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[oneknightstand-if]

Does Mr. Doe have a fluffy abc ?

"Fluff"... ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

B - Beauty - They're sane, down to earth, and very sensible, and not to mention sane attitude... right, RIGHT?! He also respects people who will dig in and stand up for their values. Also nice asses are very nice.

R - Romance - His romantic overtures would be pretty standard. Flowers. Candy. Stuffed animals-- oh god, what if the MC is a guy what is he supposed to do in that case? Yes, he's one of the ROs where the MC's gender would briefly come into play.

O - On Cloud Nine - At this point he'd be very worried that something horrible is about to happen to his lover and would be hovering over their shoulder until he gets told to get lost. He understands the hovering can be annoying. But he's still doing it due to [REDACTED]

D - Dreams - House. White picket fence. Dog. Two and a half children... why is the house on fire?!

E - Equal - He's looking for an equal relationship? He doesn't want to have to put in all the effort while his lover flees from his presence or acts as the embodiment of sloth and he doesn't intend to be a lump of lead in the relationship either.

R

I - Inspiration - Once his subplot kicks off, oh boy, hopefully the MC can help him calm down. Or make him worse. You can do that too.

C - Comfort - He's not really the touchy feely sort or the type who's good with words of comfort and such. He'd just try to be there for his partner and hug them (as long as they aren't the sort who are touch adverse in which he'd be pacing around the area in worry and probably not being too helpful).

K - Kiss - He rates himself as an "okay" kisser? Nothing is catching on fire (for good or for bad), but he generally knows what he's doing. His first kiss that counts (no, Aunt Matilda doesn't count) was one of those sweet pecks on the lips with a girl he used to defend against bullies on the playground. And maybe he pulled her pigtails a time or two himself.

D

O

E

Apparently the "Doe" part is a free space since it's comprised of letters that've all already been used.

[4rmins]

₊ ⊹ᯓ★ — 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐬𝐲𝐫𝐮𝐩

pairing : yuuta okkotsu x reader

warnings : nothing i think?

description : coffee shop meet-cute

2:13 PM

“Hey can I get another refill on this?”

He mumbled placing the big mug that contained the remnants of a cappuccino on the countertop. His dark eyes shifted around, never lingering on you for more than a second. You raised your eyebrows in slight surprise and you nodded, picking up the mug.

“Yeah I’ll be right back.”

It was rare to see him by himself in the café. Usually he was surrounded by his odd group of friends, all dressed up in the same uniform from a school you didn’t know of. Today, however, he was by himself, and dressed outside of his usual clothes. He wore a white loose-fitting white t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, fiddling with the ring on his finger while you prepared his drink.

Once you were done, you took the cup back to the counter and offered him a smile. Reaching out to pick up the cup, tips of his ears grew hot as his heart beat frantically in his chest.

“No friends today?”

“Huh? Oh! No, just me.”

4:16 PM

“Hey, sorry. Can I ask for another refill on this?”

This time your eyebrows furrowed. This was his 5th refill since he came in just short of three hours ago. Five cups of cappuccinos in less than 3 hours was not normal, but who were you to judge? You flashed him a smile, taking the cup in your hands and walking away to prepare another.

Once again, when you were finished, he took back the cup. The piping hot liquid sloshed around in the cup as he walked away, back to the small table tucked away in the corner. The table wasn’t too big, just enough to hold the books he had and the cup of coffee, but it had the additional perk of having a clear view of the counters where the baristas worked. He was able to see you make, mix, and pour drinks out for all the customers that came to the café, the smiles you gave to people, and hear the hearty laughter you shared with your coworkers.

It was like a trance, watching you work. He was mesmerized, until your coworker whispered something to you making your head snap in his direction. Again his ears grew hot as he averted his gaze, suddenly his book became a lot more interesting.

7:33 PM

“Sorry to bother you again, but is it okay for me to get another refill?”

This time your (e/c) eyes bore into him. Your stare so intense it felt like maintaining eye contact would burn him away completely.

This would be his 10th cup.

At some point there has to be a limit, from the beginning of your shift to now, just shy of 10 minutes away from clocking out, you’ve watched him down 9 cups of cappuccinos.

“This is the tenth time you’ve asked for a refill. Are you okay?”

The question took him by surprise, his cheeks reddening as he fidgeted with the ring on his finger. Frankly, didn’t know how to answer the question. He was okay, absolutely. But mustering up the courage to even talk to you besides asking for a drink took lots of courage, and apparently 9 cups of coffee.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow, leaning just a little too close, enough for him to catch a whiff of the perfume/cologne you wore. The scent of coffee beans lingered around you, but that was expected seeing your place of work.

It was hard to get any words out with the lump that had formed in his throat. He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry and sandpapery. He nodded, his dark eyes locked in an intense stare with yours.

You lean back and shrug, grabbing the cup and turning on your heel to fix up another cappuccino for him. But before you could really go anywhere, his voice called out to you.

“Do you maybe want to do something together someday?”

It had initially came out extremely fast and a little high-pitched, the question flying completely over your head. You turned around, a confused expression painting your face.

“Huh?"

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” He clarified. The tips of his ears and his face were now a bright red, the look of sheer anxiety replaced the tired appearance he usually sported.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the laugh that threatened to spill out. You found it cute, the way he had asked, as nervous as it was.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that. I get off in about 3 minutes if you wanted to hang around?”

“Perfect, I’m Yuuta Okkotsu by the way”

“I’m Y/n L/n.”

please please please please send requests my brain is SO dry of ideas rn

this is completely unedited and i just spat this out like rn so :,) forgive me

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Heyy Nausicaa!!

I love all of your fics, you're an amazing writer!

So, could you do a fic about mop era James hetfield and the reader? They r best friends and the reader gets a bf and James doesn't like him bc he's toxic but the reader doens't see him as toxic. They get in a fight outside the bar she told James about her bf and James is drunk telling the reader how he could be a better bf than her current bf is. The fight ends when the reader starts walking to her bf's house and James runs to her bc he doens't want her to go there. Soo they walk to james' apartment. At the apartment James agrees to sleep on the couch so the reader coul sleep in his room. They go to sleep but James can't sleep so he sneaks in his bedroom where the reader is sleeping and lays next to her and cuddles her. The next morning they wake up in each others arms and the reader finally comes to her senses about her current bf that he's toxic. Then she breaks up with him over the phone. James is real happy and then they cuddle some more and then... Suprise suprise they get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 😏🤭

Thank you so much, I hope you like it!❤

Warnings: mature themes, sexual content, emotional intensity, toxic relationship,

Breaking Through

James Hetfield had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. We’d been through it all together—the wild nights, the heavy conversations, the laughter, and even the silence that spoke louder than words. Our friendship had always been easy, natural, and unspoken in a way that felt comfortable. We didn’t need to say it, but we both knew we’d always have each other’s backs.

And then there was him. My boyfriend.

It started innocently enough, just a guy who caught my attention. At first, he seemed perfect—charming, funny, easygoing. We fit together, or so I thought. But James hated him. And that wasn’t something I was used to. James wasn’t a guy who hated easily. If anything, he gave people the benefit of the doubt. But not this guy. And at first, I didn’t get it. I thought he was just being overprotective. But the more I ignored his warnings, the more I started to feel it in my gut—something wasn’t right.

I should’ve listened to him.

Tonight, the tension had reached a breaking point. I found myself outside a bar, feeling a little too buzzed from the drinks I’d had, standing in front of James, ready to tell him everything about the latest drama in my relationship. I thought I could keep it casual, tell him I was fine, but James had other plans.

We stood under the glow of the streetlight, the night air crisp against my skin. James leaned against the brick wall of the bar, cigarette in hand, but he wasn’t smoking. He was just looking at me with those blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

“Hey,” I said, trying to break the silence.

“Hey,” he replied, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. His gaze didn’t leave me. “What’s going on? You look... off.”

I shrugged, playing it off. “Just the usual stuff. My boyfriend’s being weird, but you know, it’s fine.”

James pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You’re not fine, Y/N. I can see it. You’re not fine.”

I froze. There it was again—his ability to see straight through me. He always had it, but tonight, it hit differently.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to mask the nerves in my voice.

“Don’t lie to me,” James said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m your friend. I know when something’s wrong.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re with him, but you’re not happy. Why are you staying in something that’s pulling you down?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came out. How could I explain it to him? How could I tell him that I didn’t want to face the truth? That maybe, just maybe, he was right?

“Y/N,” James continued, stepping closer again, his voice lower now, “You deserve better than this guy. He doesn’t care about you the way you think he does. I can see it, and you can too, if you’d just let yourself.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. “You don’t know him like I do, James. He’s not perfect, but he’s mine.”

James took a sharp breath. His expression was tight now, frustrated. “That’s the problem, Y/N. He’s dragging you down. And you deserve better than this. I care about you more than he ever will, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you get hurt.”

His words landed like a slap, but they weren’t angry—just raw. And for the first time, I realized just how much he really meant it. This wasn’t about him wanting me for himself—this was about him wanting me to be happy, wanting me to be free from something that was suffocating me.

I stepped back, the words on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. My heart pounded, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

“You know I’m right,” James said quietly. “I could be a better boyfriend to you than he ever could.”

My breath caught. Was he serious? He had always been there for me—sure, he’d always been my friend—but this was different. This was… something else.

“James…” My voice faltered. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But James shook his head, a frustrated, pained expression crossing his face. “I’m not drunk, Y/N. I’m not. I’m just telling you what I see. And what I see is you settling for someone who doesn’t care about you the way I do.”

I felt a sharp sting in my chest, my mind reeling. I had no idea how to respond, so instead of saying anything, I just turned away. The cold night air hit my face as I started walking, desperate to get away from the conversation, away from everything.

But James wasn’t having it. “Where are you going?” he called after me, his voice urgent.

I didn’t answer, just kept walking in the direction of my boyfriend’s house.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he said, his footsteps loud behind me. “Don’t go there. Please.”

I felt my frustration rise. “I’m fine, James. I’m going to him. It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business,” he said, voice firm. “You’re my best friend. I care about you more than anything, and I won’t just stand by and watch you walk into a situation that’s gonna hurt you. I’m not letting you go there.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to process the weight of his words. Everything inside me wanted to keep going, to ignore what he was saying, but a part of me was scared. Scared of what I was doing, scared of what James was saying.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking a little. “Don’t go there. Please.”

I stopped walking, my body trembling with the weight of everything. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was scared. Scared of the relationship I was in, scared of how tangled I had gotten in something that wasn’t good for me.

I turned around slowly, looking at James. He was standing a few feet behind me, his hands clenched at his sides, his expression softening. For the first time in a long time, I saw it. The care, the love, the pure concern in his eyes.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t go.”

James exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. Without a word, he started walking toward me. “I’ll take you back to my place. We’ll talk it through. I won’t let you go through this alone.”

When we reached his apartment, James didn’t push. He just opened the door and let me step inside. The familiarity of the space, the comfort of it, felt strange in the best way. I was used to this place, but tonight, it felt different.

“You can sleep in my room,” James said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll take the couch. I won’t push you to talk if you don’t want to.”

I nodded, too emotionally drained to protest. I needed space, but I also needed comfort. I slipped into his room, wrapping myself in the warmth of his bed, but sleep didn’t come easily.

Eventually, I felt the bed shift. A warmth spread beside me, and I froze. I looked over my shoulder, and there he was—James, his face relaxed as he laid down beside me, his arm gently around my waist.

I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to. It felt right. It felt safe. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

I closed my eyes and let myself rest, my mind swirling with everything that had happened, but somehow feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the window. I turned over slowly, and there he was—James, still holding me close, his arm wrapped around me protectively. For a moment, I just lay there, taking in the peacefulness of the moment.

I didn’t know how to put it into words, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. My relationship had been toxic. I had known about it for a while, but I hadn’t wanted to face it. Now, with James here, so close, so real, I finally understood.

I reached for the phone and dialed my boyfriend’s number.

When he answered, I didn’t hesitate. “It’s over,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m done.”

 The phone call had ended, but the weight of my past relationship still hung in the air like a fog. I felt lighter, yes, but also raw—exposed in a way I hadn’t been before. And there James was, standing close, his gaze never leaving mine. The intensity in his eyes seemed to say everything, everything I hadn’t been able to put into words. At that moment, I didn’t need words.

His arms pulled me close, his chest rising and falling against mine as he held me tightly. His warmth was intoxicating, grounding me. And with every breath I took, I felt a part of me slip away—the burdens, the doubts. But what remained? That unmistakable pull between us.

“You don’t have to carry that anymore, Y/N,” James murmured into my hair, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers trailed gently down my back, soothing and steady.

I nodded, the words a comfort, even though they didn’t fully capture everything I was feeling. The relief was there, but there was also something else—a deep, almost dizzying awareness of him. The way his body felt against mine, the heat that seemed to radiate from him, pulling me in closer with every passing second.

And then, without thinking, I tilted my head up, closing the distance between us, and kissed him.

It started slow, tentative, as if we were both testing the waters. His lips were soft, but there was an urgency behind them, a hunger that matched mine. I felt myself melting into him, responding with equal intensity. His hands found their way to my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. My body pressed flush against his, and I could feel every inch of him, the warmth of his skin, the solidness of his muscles. It sent a shock of electricity through me.

When we pulled back, James stood before me, his eyes locked on mine, a question lingering in his gaze.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he’s giving me room to decide.

I smile, my heart racing a little faster with the closeness between us. “You’re not,” I reply softly, taking a step toward him. My fingers hover over the collar of his shirt, and I slowly unbutton the first one, the motion deliberate. Each button undone feels like the quiet shedding of a barrier between us, a promise that we’re both ready for this.

His eyes follow my hands as I slowly remove his shirt, the fabric sliding off his shoulders and falling to the floor. There’s a moment where we just stand there, looking at each other, as if taking in the enormity of what’s happening.

I reach for the hem of my own shirt, pulling it off slowly, the cool air against my skin sending a shiver down my spine. I can feel his gaze on me, warm and searching, but there’s no judgment. Just a deep, unspoken understanding between us.

James steps closer, his hand brushing against my bare skin as he tugs gently at the waistband of my jeans. He pauses for a moment, looking at me, asking for permission with just the look in his eyes. I nod, my hands moving to help him, pushing the jeans down over my hips.

The sound of fabric hitting the floor fills the room, and for a moment, there’s nothing else but the warmth of his body just inches away, the air heavy with anticipation. His hands move to my back, slowly undoing the clasp of my bra, his fingers light but sure. I feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach, but they quickly settle as he brushes the straps off my shoulders. We’re moving slowly, methodically, as if neither of us wants to rush this moment.

I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart under my fingertips as I trace the lines of his body. I can feel the heat between us, the way our bodies naturally gravitate toward one another. The last of his clothes fall to the floor, and we’re both standing there, exposed to one another, the air thick with something deeper than just desire.

He pulls me close, his lips finding mine in a soft kiss, a slow exploration that speaks more than words ever could. I press closer, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles shift as he moves.

Slowly, I guide him toward the bed, crawling beneath the soft covers, my heart racing as I feel the weight of him beside me. He follows, his body pressing against mine in the most comforting way. The warmth of his skin against mine feels like the world stopping, like everything has led to this moment.

 The room is warm, the air thick with the heat of our bodies pressed together. James hovers just above me, his chest rising and falling quickly, and I can feel his presence in every part of me. His body against mine is a perfect weight, pressing me into the soft sheets, and I can’t help but respond to every tiny shift of his.

His gaze locks with mine, dark and intense, and his lips are just inches from my neck. There’s a brief pause as he takes in the moment, making sure I’m comfortable, his fingers brushing over my skin as he adjusts himself, moving just a little closer. His breath falters, and I feel the subtle tension in him.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he shifts—his body fitting against mine, his breath hot against my skin as he thrusts, just enough to send a wave of heat through me. The feeling is intense, unexpected, and before I can even catch my breath, a soft moan escapes my lips, my body reacting to him instinctively.

James freezes for a split second, his breath shaky, eyes searching mine. His hands move to my waist, guiding me gently as he shifts again, adjusting himself to settle into a rhythm that feels even better, deeper. He looks down at me, and I can see the flicker of desire in his eyes, the way he’s trying to hold back, but can’t help but let his body respond to mine.

“You okay?” His voice is strained, barely above a whisper, and I feel the weight of his concern, the tenderness in his touch.

I nod, my voice barely audible, “Yes…” My fingers dig into his shoulders as I pull him closer, urging him to keep going, to keep moving.

James moves again, this time just a little deeper, his breath coming quicker as he adjusts, finding that perfect place where we’re both completely connected. My body reacts, my muscles tightening as I gasp softly, a quiet moan escaping my lips at the sensation.

His breathing becomes faster, more ragged, and I can feel him trembling slightly as he moves again, his hips shifting in perfect rhythm with mine. Every motion, every touch feels like it’s pulling us deeper, and I feel every inch of him, the way his body presses into mine, the way his hands hold me gently yet firmly.

I let out another soft moan, louder this time, unable to hold it back. My body arches up to meet him, my fingers digging into his back as he moves in a slow, deliberate rhythm, deepening the connection between us with each shift. His breath is hot against my neck, his chest pressing against mine, and the sensation is overwhelming, making my heart race even faster.

His voice is low, strained as he leans in, brushing his lips across my jawline. “You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire, and I feel a jolt of warmth race through me at the sound of it.

I pull him closer, my hands tangling in his hair, as my body responds to him with every slow, deep thrust. The pressure inside me builds, every shift of his body sending waves of pleasure through me. And with each movement, I can hear the soft gasps and moans slipping from my lips, the sound of our breathing quickening as we move together in perfect sync.

I can feel him tremble slightly as he adjusts again, his movements becoming more deliberate, more urgent. He shifts again, deeper, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes me, my voice breaking slightly as my body reacts to him, the intensity building between us.

“James…” I gasp, barely able to get his name out, and my hands tighten around him as the tension inside me becomes almost unbearable. The way he moves, the way he adjusts to match me, brings us closer, and I feel myself getting closer to the edge with each thrust, each movement.

And then, as the pressure inside me reaches its peak, I let out a soft cry, my body shuddering as I reach that moment, that release. James follows closely behind, his breath shaky as he moves with me, his hands gentle on my skin, holding me close as we both come undone.

We stay like that for a moment, breathing heavily, our bodies still connected, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. His forehead rests against mine, his breath coming in shallow bursts, and I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, a steady reminder that we’re both here, together.

He brushes his lips over my forehead, a tender, gentle kiss. “Are you okay?” he asks again, his voice soft, almost a whisper now.

I smile softly, my fingers tracing the lines of his back as I nod, my voice breathless. “Perfect.”

James pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me as we lay there, tangled together in the quiet aftermath. The world outside seems so far away now, and all that matters is the gentle rise and fall of our chests, the warmth of his body next to mine, and the quiet peace we’ve found in each other.

But then, just as the last remnants of the moment linger between us, James lifts his head slightly, his eyes searching mine with a new intensity. His thumb gently strokes my cheek, and his voice drops to a hushed whisper.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” he says softly, the words full of promise, raw with emotion. “And I won’t ever let anyone harm you. Not now, not ever. You’re safe with me.”

His lips meet mine in a slow, lingering kiss—full of tenderness, full of everything he’s just spoken. And in that kiss, I feel the truth of his words, the depth of his emotions, and a quiet certainty that nothing could ever take this from us.

As the kiss ends, I whisper softly, my voice full of gratitude, “Thank you, Jamie…”

He smiles against my lips, the warmth of it reaching all the way to my heart. His hand rests on my cheek for a moment, then moves to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Slowly, he lowers his head, resting it on my chest, his body curling into mine.

I run my fingers through his hair, gently stroking it, savoring the quiet peace between us. The sound of his breathing slows, becoming steady and calm as I hold him close, and for a moment, the world feels perfectly still, just us—together.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 17: Preparations..

Jey took Jeyce up to his room, the silence between them growing heavier with each step. Once inside, they both sat down on Jeyce’s bed. Jey leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Jey finally broke the silence, his tone calm but firm. “Jeyce, I want you to know something. I’m happy for you—finding your first girlfriend, feeling all these new things—that’s part of growing up.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “But what you did tonight? Sneaking out, lying to us, and crossing boundaries in someone else’s house? That’s not how we raised you.”

Jeyce kept his head low, fiddling with the edge of his bedsheet, unable to meet his father’s gaze.

“To be a man,” Jey continued, his voice softer now, “you have to respect people’s boundaries. Mr. Bartley? That’s Demi’s father. That’s his home, his rules. And you didn’t just disrespect him—you disrespected Demi too by putting her in that kind of situation.”

Jeyce swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing. “I—I didn’t mean to, Dad,” he mumbled.

Jey sighed deeply, placing a hand on Jeyce’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. But intentions don’t erase actions, son. What matters is that you learn from this. And tonight… tonight, I’m just really disappointed in you.”

Jeyce flinched at the words, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Dad. I really am.”

Jey pulled him into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around his son. “I know you are, Jeyce. And this doesn’t change the fact that I love you, no matter what. But love means teaching you when you’re wrong, even when it’s hard.”

Jeyce sniffled, his small hands gripping the back of his father’s shirt. “I’ll do better, Dad. I promise.”

Jey nodded, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “That’s all I need to hear..”

“Love you dad..” Jeyce replied, his voice barely audible.

Jey kiss his son’s forehead and a small but encouraging smile breaking through his stern expression. “Alright, get some rest. You’ve got some work to do to earn back our trust, but I know you can do it.”

As Jeyce nodded and climbed under his covers, Jey stood up, glancing around the room before heading toward the door. He paused, looking back at his son. “Goodnight, buddy.”

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jeyce replied, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and guilt.

Jey closed the door softly behind him, leaning against the hallway wall for a moment. He exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “Puberty.” he muttered to himself before heading downstairs to debrief with Rhea.

As Jey walked down the stairs, he noticed Liv and Dom had returned and were sitting comfortably on the couch with Rhea. She was mid-laugh at something Liv had said, and when she saw Jey enter, she smiled and held her arms out. Jey walked over, sinking into the seat beside her and pulling her into his embrace.

Dom leaned forward, a curious look on his face. “So… how’d the talk go?”

Jey rolled his eyes dramatically, letting out a small groan. “Puberty.”

The room erupted in laughter, even Jey cracking a small grin at his own frustration. Just as the laughter died down, the front door opened, and Jaciyah stepped inside, still wearing his work uniform. Jey’s eyes immediately honed in on him, noticing something unusual. “Why’s your uniform so clean?” Jey asked, narrowing his gaze.

Jaciyah froze for a moment, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It was an easy shift, that’s all,” he replied, a goofy smile spreading across his face. Without waiting for further questions, he quickly made his way up the stairs toward his room.

Jey watched his eldest son disappear, suspicion tugging at the back of his mind. “What was that all about?” he muttered.

Dom leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Man, I know that look.”

Jey turned toward him, raising a brow. “What look?”

Dom’s smirk widened as he replied, “Oh, he either had his first drink or… was deflowered.”

Jey’s eyes widened in shock, his mind racing. His gaze shot back to the staircase, his jaw tightening as realization began to sink in.

Rhea noticed his trance-like state and placed a hand on his arm. “Babe… babe…” she called, her voice soothing but firm as she tried to snap him out of it.

Jey blinked, finally looking at her. “You think Dom’s right?” he asked, his voice laced with both disbelief and concern.

Rhea shrugged, her lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “It’s possible. But maybe don’t go interrogating him just yet, okay?”

Dom chuckled, nudging Liv playfully. “Jey’s about to pull out a flashlight and ask where his son was at 7:03 p.m. on a Friday night.”

The room burst into laughter again, but Jey didn’t join in this time. He was too busy staring at the stairs, debating whether or not to march up there and demand answers.

“Babe,” Rhea said again, pulling his focus back to her. “Let it go for now. He’s growing up. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

Jey let out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch. “What am I going to do? Take up drinking?”

Liv grinned, raising her glass of water in a mock toast. “Amen to that.”

Dom laughed, chiming in. “Just wait until you and Rhea’s kid hit their teen years. You’ll be wishing for the good old days.”

Jey groaned at the thought, shaking his head. “Don’t even joke about that.”

The group laughed, and slowly, the tension in Jey’s shoulders eased. He decided, for now, to let Jaciyah have his moment—whatever it was—and enjoy the rest of the evening with Rhea and their friends.

—

As Dom and Liv called it a night, Jey and Rhea followed suit. The weight of the evening still hung in the air, but there was a sense of relief in the quiet. Rhea had retreated to the bathroom for a shower, and Jey knew this was his chance to talk to Jaciyah.

Jey took a deep breath as he walked up the stairs. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning, and Jey could hear the distant sound of water running from Rhea’s shower. He paused outside Jaciyah’s door, his mind already racing with what he was going to say.

He knocked softly.

“Come in,” Jaciyah’s voice came from inside, calm yet with a hint of uncertainty.

Jey opened the door, taking a moment to gather himself before walking inside. His eyes scanned the room briefly—Jaciyah was sitting at his desk, papers scattered in front of him, but he wasn’t really focused. His son had that look on his face, the same one Jey had worn at his age when he was trying to pretend everything was fine, but his mind was running a mile a minute.

“So,” Jey began, his voice steady but with a quiet intensity. “What’s going on with you?”

Jaciyah didn’t look up immediately. He shifted a bit in his chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the desk. Jey knew it wasn’t just the homework that was on his mind.

“Nothing, just finishing up some work,” Jaciyah replied, avoiding eye contact.

Jey walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes off of his son as he noticed the all to familiar mark. God damnit Jaciyah.. He had to be direct, but he also wanted to make sure Jaciyah didn’t feel cornered. This wasn’t about catching him in a lie, it was about understanding what was happening in his life.

Jey sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I see the hickey, Jaciyah.”

Jaciyah froze. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft buzz of the air conditioning. Then Jaciyah slowly turned to face his father, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.

“I—I didn’t mean for you to see that,” Jaciyah muttered.

Jey held up a hand, trying to ease the tension. “Son, it’s not about the hickey. It’s about understanding what you’re getting yourself into.” He leaned forward, looking at Jaciyah seriously. “You’re growing up fast, and I know things can feel overwhelming, but you need to know something—there’s a lot more to relationships than just feeling good in the moment.”

Jaciyah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I know, Dad. It’s just—when you like someone, you don’t really think about anything else, you know?”

Jey nodded slowly, understanding exactly where his son was coming from. He’d been there, felt those same emotions, that rush of attraction and excitement. But he also knew it was his job to make sure Jaciyah understood the responsibility that came with those feelings.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jey replied, his voice softer now. “I’ve been there, believe me. But that’s not all there is to it. When you start getting serious with someone, you’re not just dealing with your own emotions, you’re dealing with theirs, too. It’s important to be honest, to be careful. You can’t just rush into things without thinking it through.”

Jaciyah was quiet, his gaze fixed on his hands. “I don’t want to mess up. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jey’s heart softened at the vulnerability in his son’s voice. He could see how much Jaciyah cared, how much he wanted to do the right thing but was still figuring out what that was.

“You’re not going to mess up, as long as you take things slow,” Jey said, his tone firm but comforting. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did, son. The mistakes I didn’t even realize I was making until it was too late.”

He paused, giving Jaciyah a moment to absorb his words. “Relationships aren’t just about what feels good in the moment. It’s about timing, respect, and making sure you’re both ready for what’s next. If you like this girl, then treat her right. Take your time. You don’t have to rush. You don’t need to have all the answers now, but you do need to make sure you’re doing things for the right reasons.”

Jaciyah looked up at Jey, his face more serious now, the weight of his father’s words settling in. “I’ll try, Dad. I didn’t really think about it like that.”

Jey smiled slightly, glad that his son was listening. “That’s all I’m asking for, son. You’re growing up, and that means you’re going to make mistakes. But you’ve got to learn from them, and you’ve got to keep working on being a good man. That’s what matters in the end.”

Jaciyah nodded, his expression softening as he processed everything Jey had said. “I’m not perfect, Dad, but I’ll do better. I don’t want to let you down.”

Jey stood up, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You won’t, kid. Just keep learning, keep being honest with yourself, and we’ll figure it out together. Always.”

As Jey turned to leave, he paused at the door and looked back at Jaciyah. “And hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, alright? You’re still figuring things out. Just make sure you talk to me when you need to.”

Jaciyah looked up, a small but genuine smile on his face. “Thanks, Dad.”

Jey smiled back, nodding. “Anytime, son. Anytime.” And with that, he left Jaciyah’s room, feeling a little lighter, knowing he had made a step toward guiding his son through this tricky part of growing up.

—

As the night grew quieter, Jey found himself lost in thought, even as he held Rhea close. His mind wandered, and the doubts he had been carrying for so long resurfaced. There were moments where he felt torn in two—caught between his love for his family and his passion for his career.

Jey shifted slightly, his hand still resting on Rhea’s stomach as he stared into the dimly lit room. Rhea could feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift in the air that told her his mind was elsewhere.

“Jey,” she whispered softly, her voice calm but knowing. “Talk to me.”

Jey looked down at her, his heart heavy with a quiet frustration. “It’s hard, Rhea. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I don’t know how to balance it all. Being there for you, being there for our baby, and still doing what I love—what I’ve worked so hard for.”

Rhea didn’t say anything at first. She just let him speak, knowing he needed to voice these fears. Jey let out a shaky breath, his gaze distant as he tried to find the right words.

“With Jaciyah… with Jeyce… I was always gone. I was always on the road, working, traveling. I missed so much of their childhood. And now with our baby on the way, I’m scared I’ll miss out again. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance, but what if I screw it up again? What if I’m too focused on my career and I miss everything? What if I miss our baby’s first words? Their first steps? The things that matter the most?”

He paused, his throat tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

“I’m supposed to be their father, right? But I feel like I was so wrapped up in my own dreams, my own career… that I didn’t really be there for them the way I should’ve. I wasn’t present enough. And I don’t want to make the same mistake with this baby. I want to do better, Rhea. I want to be the dad I always should’ve been, but I’m torn between being the man who’s there for his kids… and being the man who has to work. And I feel like, no matter what, I lose either way.”

Rhea’s heart broke a little as she listened to Jey. She knew how much this weighed on him. She knew how much guilt he carried over the time he missed with Jaciyah and Jeyce. It was one of the reasons why he’d worked so hard to build a future for them, but in the process, it had come at the cost of missing moments that couldn’t be reclaimed.

Rhea placed her hand gently on his cheek, turning his face so he could meet her gaze.

“Jey, I know how much you love them,” she said softly, her voice unwavering. “I can see it every day in the way you try, in the way you care. You are trying to be a better dad. That’s what matters. But you can’t be everything to everyone all the time. You’re only human.”

Jey looked at her, his brow furrowed as the weight of her words settled in. “But I should’ve been there more. For Jaciyah. For Jeyce. They’re growing up so fast, and I wasn’t there like I should’ve been. They needed me.”

Rhea nodded, understanding his pain. “They did, but they also know you’re their dad. And they know you love them. I think that’s the most important thing you can give them. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about showing up, even when you’re tired, even when it’s hard. And you are showing up. You showed up for Jaciyah tonight. And you’re showing up for me. And you’ll show up for our baby, too.”

Jey’s eyes softened as he took in her words. He knew deep down that Rhea was right. But the guilt still clung to him, like a shadow he couldn’t shake. He had missed moments with Jaciyah and Jeyce that he would never get back. Moments that, no matter how hard he worked now, would remain a part of his past.

“It’s just… I don’t want to miss any more of their lives. I can’t lose out on being the dad they need. I want to be here, Rhea. I want to be the man they look up to.” Jey’s voice cracked a little as the weight of his emotions caught up to him.

Rhea took a deep breath and sat up slightly, shifting so she could face him more directly. She cupped his face in her hands, her expression soft but firm.

“Jey,” she said, her tone serious but full of love. “You already are the dad they need. And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re already making up for a lot of the time you feel you’ve missed. You’re here, you’re present, and that’s what matters. You can’t change the past, but you can be here for the future. And our baby is going to have you by their side, every step of the way. You’ll get to make all of those memories. And that’s what counts.”

Jey felt a wave of relief wash over him as Rhea’s words sank in. He knew she was right. There was no perfect formula for being a parent—no perfect way to balance everything. But he was trying. He was trying for his family, and that was all he could do.

“I’m scared, Rhea,” he confessed, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know if I can do this. Be everything to everyone. I don’t want to be a failure again.”

Rhea leaned in, resting her forehead against his. “You’re not a failure, Jey. You’re the father your kids need. And you’re going to be the best father to our baby. Just take it one day at a time. We’ll figure it out together.”

Jey closed his eyes, taking in her warmth, her strength. The fear and doubt that had clouded his mind started to dissipate. There was still a long road ahead, and there would be challenges, but with Rhea by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to walk it alone.

“I’m lucky to have you,” Jey whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

Rhea smiled softly, her hand resting over his heart. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

As they lay back down, Jey pulled her into his arms, his heart a little lighter than before. He still had a long way to go in balancing his career and his role as a father, but he was willing to try. For his kids. For his family. And for the future they were building together.

—

February 15th, 2025 9:12 AM

The next day came in easily, and Rhea awoke first. Stretching, she slipped into the shower, letting the warm water wake her fully. Once she was done, she brushed her teeth and pulled on a pair of comfortable loungewear—a soft hoodie and leggings. Slipping on some fuzzy socks, she headed downstairs, Bella and Barry trotting close behind her, with Storm lazily trailing behind.

As she glanced out the kitchen window, she noticed Jey’s cousins—Jeremiah, Jesse, and Jeremy—already outside doing their morning patrols of the property. She smiled at the sight of their dedication, feeling reassured. Opening the back door, she let the pets out, giving each a quick pat before attaching GoPro cameras to their collars. Ever since Luna had passed, the cameras had been her way of keeping an eye on her furry companions and easing her anxiety.

Rhea returned to the kitchen and connected her phone to the Bluetooth stereo, scrolling through her playlist labeled Yeetman’s Jamz—a collection of songs Jey had sent her over time. She grinned, selecting “Sunshine” by Lil Flip, and the cheerful beat filled the room. With the music setting the tone, she moved to the fridge and gathered the ingredients for breakfast: eggs, milk, bread, bacon, and a hint of cinnamon for the French toast.

As the smell of sizzling bacon began to fill the air, Jey was the first to come downstairs. His hair was slightly messy, and his hoodie hung loose on his frame, but his smile was warm and familiar. “Morning, baby,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss on the temple.

“Morning, love,” Rhea replied, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. Jey took a sip, humming in satisfaction as he sat down at the kitchen table, watching her work.

Not long after, Liv and Dom joined them, both dressed in mismatched pajamas and looking slightly groggy. Dom yawned loudly as Liv mumbled, “Morning,” before plopping down at the table.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Rhea announced as she flipped the last piece of French toast onto a plate. She set the table with bacon, eggs, and the golden slices of toast, and soon, the four of them were digging in.

As they ate, Liv looked up and asked, “So, what are the plans for today?”

Rhea thought for a moment before suggesting, “You guys wanna do BBQ again? It was fun last time.”

Dom shook his head, his expression lighting up. “Nah, let’s do something different. I wanna make enchiladas today.”

Jey paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow at Dom. “Enchiladas? You know how to make those, or are you just craving them?”

Dom rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Man, don’t play with me. I’ve been in the kitchen with my mom since I was a kid. I know my way around enchiladas, thank you very much.”

Rhea chuckled, nudging Jey. “Alright, we’re sold. Dom’s in charge of dinner.”

Liv grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good. You better not disappoint, Dom.”

Dom smirked confidently. “Trust me, you’re all gonna love it. Just wait.”

The group laughed and continued their breakfast, the easy camaraderie filling the room as sunlight poured through the windows, promising a relaxed, fun-filled day ahead.

Jey felt a buzz in his phone and pulled it out, seeing a text from Takecia, his ex-wife and the mother of his children. The message read:

“I just finished setting up the last piece of furniture in Jeyce and Jaciyah’s rooms at the apartment. Just wanted to ask if the boys could stay with me for the next two weeks.”

Relief washed over Jey as he quickly typed out a reply, agreeing to her request. Takecia responded almost immediately: “Perfect! I’ll pick them up in about an hour.”

He put his phone down and turned to Rhea, who was finishing up her decaf coffee at the kitchen table. “Takecia’s taking the boys for the next two weeks,” he said, his voice a little lighter than before.

Rhea smiled and nodded. “That’s good, babe. Gives you some time to digress.”

Jey sighed, feeling the weight lift slightly off his chest. “Yeah, it’s gonna help. But I gotta let her know what’s been happening so she understands what they’re going through too. I can’t just leave it like this.”

Rhea agreed. “You’re doing the right thing. The boys need to know that you’re still there, even when they’re with their mom. And Takecia deserves to know what’s been going on.”

After breakfast, Jey made his way upstairs to Jeyce’s room. He knocked softly before stepping in. “Hey, Jeyce, can you pack a bag? Your mom’s coming to pick you up in about an hour,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Jeyce looked up from his sketchbook and nodded. “Okay, Dad. I’ll be right there.”

Jey smiled and walked over to his son, pulling a small bag from the closet. “Also, I’m gonna give you your phone back. Just for the two weeks, okay? I want you to have it while you’re at your mom’s.”

Jeyce’s face lit up, “Thank you, Dad! I’ve missed having it!”

“I know, I know,” Jey chuckled.

“I love you dad..” Jeyce said, running to start packing.

Satisfied that Jeyce was all set, Jey made his way to Jaciyah’s room. He knocked gently before stepping inside. “Jaciyah, can you pack a bag? Your mom’s coming to get you too.”

Jaciyah was lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and nodded. “Okay.”

Jey walked over to his son’s bed, sitting on the edge. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something,” he said, his voice serious but calm.

Jaciyah sat up, looking a little concerned. “What’s up, Dad?”

Jey hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m gonna tell your mom about the hickey you’ve got on your neck.”

Jaciyah’s eyes widened, and he quickly glanced down at his shirt collar, tugging it higher. “Dad, no! Please don’t!”

Jey placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not doing this to get you in trouble, Jaciyah. But you need to know that it’s not something you can just hide. And I’m telling your mom because she needs to know what’s going on.”

Jaciyah sighed, looking down at his hands. “I know, I know… I just didn’t want her to freak out.”

“I get that,” Jey said. “You’ve got to be honest, especially with your mom. She’s gonna respect that more than if you try to cover it up.”

Jaciyah nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Dad. I get it. I’ll be ready for whatever she says.”

“Good,” Jey said with a nod. “You’re growing up, man. And with that comes responsibility. Just make sure you’re being safe and respectful. Alright?”

“Alright,” Jaciyah replied, a little more subdued but still understanding.

Jey stood up and ruffled his son’s hair before walking toward the door. “I’ll let you finish packing.”

As Jey closed the door behind him, he felt a wave of emotion. There was a lot on his plate—his relationship with Rhea, the pressure, and now the real responsibility of being a parent. But at least for the next two weeks, he knew the boys would be with Takecia, and that gave him some breathing room.

When he returned downstairs, Rhea was sitting on the couch, watching TV. He sat next to her, his gaze distant.

“Everything good?” she asked, noticing his expression.

Jey nodded, but his voice was soft. “Yeah, just… a lot to think about. I know I’ve got some stuff to work through, but it’s good to have some space with the boys gone for a bit. I just don’t want them to think I’m neglecting them.”

Rhea took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re not neglecting them, Jey. You’re just figuring things out. They’ll understand that.”

He smiled faintly, grateful for her support. “I hope so.”

—

A knock on the door signaled that Takecia was here to pick up the boys. Jey stood up, giving Rhea a reassuring kiss on the cheek before walking to the door.

“Take care of them, alright?” he said to Takecia as she stepped inside.

She nodded. “You know I will.”

Jey looked at Takecia, his face serious as he asked, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Takecia, who was standing by the door, gave him a nod and followed him into the dining room, away from where Rhea was sitting in the living room. Jey pulled out a chair and motioned for Takecia to sit down. They both took a seat, the noise of the house settling around them as Jey gathered his thoughts.

“Look, I know it’s been a lot lately, and I wanted to fill you in on what’s been going on with the boys,” Jey began, running a hand through his hair. Takecia nodded, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair, silently listening.

Jey took a deep breath. “Jeyce—he’s been having some issues at school. He hit a kid with a lunchbox. And, well… he’s got a girlfriend now. Sneaking out to her house, kissing her on the couch when I’m not around.”

Takecia raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to continue.

“And then there’s Jaciyah,” Jey said, his voice a little softer. “He sneaked a girl in the house, and now he’s got a hickey on his neck. I need you to know all this because… well, it’s been a lot, and I want to make sure you’re aware of what’s going on with them.”

Jey sat back, his hands resting on the table as he looked at Takecia. “I don’t know what to do, Takecia. I’m trying to handle it, but it feels like it’s just one thing after another.”

Takecia, to his surprise, started to laugh. Jey blinked, confused. “What’s so funny?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Takecia wiped a tear from her eye as she continued chuckling. “Jey,” she said between laughs, “they’re boys! What did you expect? Gray hairs? Stress lines? Of course they’re acting up. It’s just part of the deal.”

Jey sat there for a moment, staring at her, and then his own lips curled into a reluctant smile. “I didn’t think it’d come this fast. But yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Takecia’s laughter died down, and she looked at him seriously. “Look, Jey, you’re doing the best you can. I know it’s not easy, especially with everything going on right now. But you’ve gotta remember—boys are gonna be boys. We just have to keep an eye on them and guide them as best we can.”

Jey nodded slowly, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders. “I know, I know. But sometimes it feels like I’m failing them, you know? Like I’m not doing enough.”

Takecia softened, her tone more gentle now. “You’re not failing them. Just keep being present. They need that more than anything right now. And we’ll work together on this—just like we always have.”

Jey leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. “Thanks, Takecia. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, standing up and moving to the door. “Don’t forget, Jey—being their dad doesn’t stop just because they’re with me.”

Jey stood as well, giving her a nod. “I won’t forget. I’ll check in on them, and I’ll be here when they get back.”

Takecia waved him off with a wink as she stepped into the living room to gather the boys. “I’ll make sure they’re on their best behavior at my place, besides you know me.. I don’t tolerate that no-no nonsense shit.” she teased.

Jey chuckled and followed her out to the front door. He watched as Takecia led Jeyce and Jaciyah out to her car, waving as they drove off.

As the car disappeared, Jey felt the weight of the house grow quieter. He turned back to the house, heading toward the living room, where Rhea was sitting, a curious look on her face.

Rhea looked up at him. “Everything good with Takecia?”

Jey nodded, walking over to her and sitting down beside her. “Yeah. We had a good talk..”

Rhea smiled, reaching for his hand. “I’m glad. You needed that, Jey.”

He squeezed her hand and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, I did. But now… it’s just us.”

Rhea’s smile deepened as she looked up at him. “So, what are you looking forward to?”

“I’m looking forward to said Enchiladas now..”

—

Tuesday February 18th, 2025 1:48 PM

Rhea sat at her desk in her office at WWE Headquarters, a stack of notes and scripts spread across her workspace. She dipped a chicken nugget into a small cup of barbecue sauce and popped it into her mouth as she scribbled another idea for the NXT invasion storyline. The song Drive by Incubus hummed softly in the background, providing a steady rhythm to her brainstorming session. It was only Rhea’s second day back at work but she was already getting into the groove of everything.

As she leaned back to stretch, there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe her hands.

The door opened, and Bruce Prichard stepped in, his usual clipboard tucked under his arm. “Got a second?” he asked.

“Of course,” Rhea said, motioning to the chair across from her.

Bruce sat down and got straight to the point. “I need your thoughts on Roman’s WrestleMania direction. We’ve got a few ideas floating around, but nothing feels solid yet.”

Rhea nodded, setting her pen down. “I’ve been thinking about his arc too. Let’s keep it personal, tie it into the Shield fallout. Something with Seth to keep the made family dynamic at the forefront.”

Before Bruce could respond, there was a quick knock at the door, and an intern poked their head in. “Ms. Bennett, you’re needed in the conference room. Now.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, surprised. She glanced at Bruce, who waved her off. “Go ahead. We’ll pick this back up later.”

Gathering her notebook, Rhea stood and followed the intern down the hallway. As they approached the frosted glass doors of the conference room, her stomach tightened. She had no idea what awaited her on the other side.

The intern opened the door for her, and she stepped inside.

Rhea smiled warmly as she stepped into the conference room, immediately recognizing Julian Velasquez, the lawyer she and Jey relied on for all their legal needs, especially with WWE keeping him on retainer for them. Julian stood to greet her, his face lighting up as he took in her appearance.

“Rhea! Oh my—your belly!” he exclaimed, pulling her in for a brief hug. “It’s starting to show. My wife didn’t even start showing until the end of her second trimester.”

Rhea laughed, rubbing her very slightly rounded stomach. “I know, right? Honestly, I think I’m going to have a big baby. But for now, I’m just a little curvy.”

Julian grinned, stepping back. “Curvy suits you. Any cravings yet?”

“Nothing too wild,” Rhea replied with a shrug. “But earlier, I was craving pickles with cream cheese and spicy Doritos.”

Julian chuckled as he gestured for her to sit down. “Classic. My wife went through a hot sauce and chocolate milk phase.”

Rhea scrunched her nose in mock disgust. “I don’t know about that combo.”

Julian laughed again as they settled into their seats. He adjusted his tie and opened his portfolio, flipping through neatly organized papers. “Alright, let’s get down to it. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Rhea rested her hands on the table. “So, any updates? How’s everything looking?”

Julian sighed, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. “It’s… a lot. I’ve already spoken with Hunter and the WWE legal team. We’re making progress, but there are a few hurdles we need to work through before everything is set in stone.”

Julian cleared his throat and slid a photo across the table, his expression turning somber. “I need to know if you recognize this man.”

Rhea leaned forward, picking up the picture. It was a mugshot of an older man, maybe in his late 50s or early 60s, with deep wrinkles etched across his stern face. She studied it carefully but felt no spark of familiarity. Shaking her head, she said, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Julian sighed heavily, his tone gentle but firm. “I know your brain injury from the overdose has made remembering things harder for you, but I need you to really think back on this.”

Rhea’s stomach tightened as she looked at the photo again, her fingers trembling slightly. “Who is he?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Julian clasped his hands together, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. “This man’s prints were found on Liv and Dominik’s rental car when the police retrieved it. There was another set of prints as well, but they haven’t been able to identify the second person.”

Rhea’s heart skipped a beat. “Liv and Dom’s car? When was this?”

“When they reported it missing. I’ve been keeping tabs on the investigation for you, and this photo only just came across my desk.”

Rhea stared hard at the image, searching for any flicker of recognition, but her mind was blank. She finally shook her head. “I really don’t remember him. Who is he?”

Julian leaned forward, his voice dropping. “This man is Demetri Jackson’s father, Frances James Jackson.”

Time seemed to stop. Rhea’s entire body froze at the mere mention of her ex’s name. Her breathing became shallow as her vision blurred slightly, and a wave of memories she’d fought so hard to suppress threatened to surface.

Julian gave her a moment, then pressed on, his tone cautious but insistent. “Rhea… I know about the incident in 2022. I know it was ruled as self-defense, but I need to ask you something very serious.”

Rhea swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “What?”

Julian pointed back to the mugshot. “Do you think this man—Demetri’s father—might hold a vendetta against you because of what happened? Because you took his son away from him?”

Rhea’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past and trying to reconcile them with the present. She clenched her fists as her voice finally broke through, hoarse and uncertain. “I… I don’t know, Julian. I didn’t even know Demetri’s father was still alive.”

Julian nodded solemnly, understanding the emotional weight she was carrying. “I need you to think, Rhea. Anything you can remember, even the smallest detail, might help us figure out if he’s involved. This could be more than a coincidence.”

Rhea exhaled shakily, her heart pounding. “I’ll try,” she said softly, though the fear and uncertainty in her voice were unmistakable.

Julian reached into his briefcase, pulling out another photo and sliding it across the table. “What about him? Do you know this man?” he asked, his voice low but serious.

Rhea picked up the photo, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the face staring back at her. It was the same one that Detective Hart had shown Matthew, the one where Liv and Dominik were seen talking to someone outside of a gas station. The man in the photo was posing as a cop, standing by a re-painted police car.

Rhea stared at the image for a long moment, her mind racing. She touched the face on the picture, feeling a strange, unfamiliar jolt. “I… I really don’t know,” she admitted, her voice uncertain.

Julian sighed, frustration creeping into his tone as he leaned back in his chair. “I need you to dig deeper, Rhea. Any connection, any feeling of familiarity? This could be important.”

Rhea shook her head, her fingers still brushing the photo, trying to draw a memory from the recesses of her mind. But there was nothing—only a cloud of uncertainty.

She looked up at Julian, her brow furrowed. “The car,” she asked, her curiosity piqued. “What happened to the car to Liv and Dom’s car?”

Julian didn’t hesitate. “It was found in a tow yard, registered under a fictitious name: Imed Ttenneb.” He paused, letting the information settle. “That’s your name spelled backwards, Rhea.”

Rhea’s stomach dropped. She stared at him, stunned. “What? My name?”

Julian continued, his eyes locking onto hers as he spoke. “The police found Liv and Dominik’s personal belongings, but there was one thing missing—Liv’s championship belt. Liv’s nameplates were scratched off, badly damaged but the belt is still missing.”

Rhea’s thoughts swirled as she processed all the details—each one adding more weight to the situation. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly.

Julian stood up and moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding her in the midst of the chaos. “Rhea…” He said her name softly, almost like a plea. “I don’t believe Matt just assaulted you because you wanted to leave him for Jey. I don’t believe that Matt just randomly came in one night and shot Jey in the shoulder. And I definitely don’t believe that blowing up Jon and Trinity’s cars, the car accident involving Liv and Dom, Damian and Kayden’s assault in New York—were all just a series of coincidences.”

Rhea’s breath hitched. She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “Then what do you believe, Julian?” she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

He squeezed her shoulder gently, looking down at her with sincerity. “I believe some people are after you, Rhea. They’ve been after you because of what happened back in 2022. The pieces are starting to fit together, but we still don’t know who exactly is pulling the strings.”

Rhea swallowed hard, a knot forming in her throat. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, but it was impossible. She had always known her past might catch up with her, but never like this—never in this way. The people she cared about, the ones she loved, were being targeted, and she was powerless to stop it.

Rhea sat back in her chair, her mind racing with the weight of everything Julian had just told her. The air in the room seemed heavier now, more suffocating. She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “What should I do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a mix of exhaustion and uncertainty.

Julian’s expression softened as he watched her. He had seen Rhea face many challenges before, but this one was different. “Hunter informed me that you have family patrolling your property,” he said, his tone firm but reassuring. “I think you should keep them there until this blows over. It’s a precaution, nothing more.”

Rhea’s gaze dropped to her hands, instinctively resting on her belly as if the touch could anchor her. “My life, Julian… my life.” Her voice cracked slightly, the realization of her situation sinking in. “I can’t just stop everything because people have a vendetta against me. I’m going to be a mom, I’m literally due in late July. I have two bonus sons. How can I manage all this?”

The vulnerability in her words struck Julian. He knew she was facing the impossible—trying to balance the life she was building with the chaos from her past. He leaned forward, his voice calm but steady. “I understand your frustration, Rhea. This isn’t easy, and it’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Rhea took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it was hard. The future she had envisioned—peace, family, a growing bond with Jey and his children—was suddenly clouded with uncertainty.

Julian gave her a moment of silence, letting her process before speaking again. “You gotta keep pushing, Rhea. Keep doing what you do. Don’t let fear control you. But do stay aware. Don’t let your guard down, not even for a second. You’re stronger than you realize, and you’ve got people who are going to support you through this.”

Rhea wiped away the stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. “It’s just… it feels like everything’s out of my control, Julian.”

Julian smiled softly. “It may feel that way, but you’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

She nodded slowly, still feeling the weight of it all, but Julian’s words—his unwavering support—gave her a bit of strength. “I’ll keep my family close,” she said, her voice steadying, “but I won’t stop. I can’t. Not now.”

Julian gave her a reassuring look. “That’s the Rhea I know. You’ll get through this, I have no doubt. Just don’t forget to lean on the people who care about you. And always remember, you’ve got this.”

Rhea took another breath, glancing down at her belly once more, feeling the new life inside her. She was going to be a mother, and no matter what threats loomed ahead, she wasn’t going to let anything take that from her. Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll keep going,” she said quietly, her resolve slowly but surely solidifying. “For me. For Jey. For our kids.”

Julian nodded. “Exactly.” He stood up from his chair and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

As he left, Rhea sat there for a moment, the room still heavy but her mind clearing. There was no turning back now. Whatever was coming next, she would face it head-on, because she had to. For herself. For her family. For the future they were building together.

—

5:01 PM

As Rhea stuffed her backpack with binders and her work materials, she felt the weight of the conversation with Julian still lingering in her mind. The questions, the uncertainty—it all felt so overwhelming, but she knew she had to keep pushing forward. She grabbed her phone and turned off the lights in her office, the quiet hum of the building reminding her that the day was over.

She made her way down to the elevator, the soft ding echoing in the empty hallway. As the doors opened, she stepped inside, pressing the button for the garage. The descent felt slow, giving her more time to think, but as she exited the building and walked to Jey’s Mercedes, her thoughts wandered to him. She missed him—his smile, the warmth of his touch, the quiet comfort he always provided, especially now.

Rhea unlocked the car door and climbed in, the familiar scent of the leather and the smooth hum of the engine welcoming her. She hooked up her phone to the car’s system, and the moment she did, Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar began to play. She smiled softly to herself, hearing Jey’s favorite song fill the car. It was such a small thing, but it grounded her, reminded her of him and of the life they were building together.

The long drive home felt longer than usual, her thoughts clouded by Julian’s words. She had so much to consider, so much at risk. But as she pulled into the driveway and typed in the code for the gate, her worries momentarily faded. The gate swung open, and she drove through, the security lights illuminating the path to their home. She pressed the garage door opener, but then, just as she was about to drive in, she stopped.

There, standing in the garage, was Jey. His arms stretched wide, a big grin on his face as he yelled, “Surprise!!!”

Rhea blinked, her exhaustion melting away as her eyes landed on the enormous plum-colored Tahoe parked in front of the garage. It was sleek, bold, and unmistakably stunning.

She laughed, her heart lightening at the surprise. “Oh my god, you really surprised me,” she said, getting out of the car and walking toward him. “But I love the color. It’s… perfect.”

Jey chuckled, handing her the keys with a proud grin. “Only the best for my soon-to-be wife,” he said, his voice full of love and warmth.

Rhea took the keys, her fingers brushing his as she smiled up at him. The weight of the day seemed to lift as she stood there, in front of her family’s home, with the man she loved. Her heart swelled, feeling the love and the excitement for what was to come.

“Thank you, Jey. I love it,” she said softly, before leaning up to kiss him, the world fading away in that simple, quiet moment.

Rhea and Jey walked through the garage door, the warmth of their home wrapping around them like a soft embrace. As they made their way to the kitchen, Rhea glanced over at Jey, the comfort of his presence making her feel lighter after the chaotic day. “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Jey, with a confident grin, opened the stove and said, “I’m making steamed vegetables with steak.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of vegetables?”

Jey looked back at her with a playful smirk. “Your favorite. Brussels sprouts and carrots.” He closed the oven with a satisfying thud.

Rhea smiled warmly, but as the smell of the food filled the air, her stomach turned. She took a step closer to the counter, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nausea, but it hit her too fast. Without warning, she rushed over to the trash can, covering her mouth as she bent over and threw up.

Jey’s eyes went wide with concern as he immediately rushed to her side. He reached out to pull her hair back, a gesture that made her feel safe despite the discomfort. As she finished, he made a lighthearted comment, trying to ease the tension. “I swear, my cooking ain’t that bad, babe,” he teased with a laugh.

Rhea, still feeling queasy, managed to give him a weak smile, her hand resting on his arm for support. Jey quickly grabbed a dish towel and gently wiped her lips, his worry evident in his eyes.

Rhea took a deep breath, feeling a bit better now that the immediate nausea had passed. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “It’s not you, babe. It’s the baby. I smelled Bruce’s cologne earlier today and threw up in his office.”

Jey’s expression softened with understanding, a chuckle escaping him as he pulled her into a gentle hug. “Guess that’s one way to tell him to lay off the cologne, huh?” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

Rhea rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, the weight of the day catching up with her. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Rhea,” Jey said, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly. “I’m here, okay? We’re in this together. Just focus on taking care of yourself—and the baby.”

—

After dinner, Jey and Rhea decided to take her new Yukon for a spin. Rhea settled into the passenger seat, the plush leather seat cradling her as she admired the smooth ride and the spacious interior. She fiddled with the radio, settling on a playlist Jey had made, the rhythmic beats of Kanye West’s Flashing Lights filling the car as they cruised down the road.

“You know,” Rhea began, smiling at her reflection in the passenger mirror, “this car is a game-changer. You really outdid yourself baby…”

Jey smirked, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Only the best for you Riri’.”

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head. “Okay Jeyjey’.”

The drive started peacefully, the couple enjoying the quiet moments together. But as the ride stretched on, Rhea started to notice they weren’t heading anywhere familiar. The streets grew less residential and more industrial, the orange glow of streetlights lining the empty roads. She furrowed her brow and glanced at Jey, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Okay, where are we going?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Jey’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You’ll see.”

Rhea crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her face. “If it’s not a candy store I’m gonna be annoyed.”

“Trust me, babe. You’ll thank me for this one.”

Soon, Jey turned into a parking lot, the large glowing sign above the building catching Rhea’s attention. She leaned forward, reading it aloud. “Stamford Firearm Training.” Her eyebrows shot up as she turned to him, clearly unimpressed. “The gun range? Seriously?”

Jey put the car in park and turned to face her, his expression earnest. “Listen, I know this isn’t exactly your idea of fun, but just hear me out.”

Rhea gave him a dubious look, leaning back in her seat. “I’m listening.”

“Baby,” Jey began, his voice steady but soft, “I know you were not too thrilled to hear of it last time but now… right now.. I need to know you’re safe. Especially when I go back on the road. Knowing you can protect yourself, the baby, and the boys… it would mean everything to me.”

Rhea sighed, her arms still crossed. “Jey, I get what you’re saying, but I’m just not comfortable with the idea of having a firearm. It’s not… me.”

Jey reached over, gently taking her hand in his. His eyes, full of concern and love, locked onto hers. “Babe, I wouldn’t push this if it wasn’t important. It’s not about turning you into some gun enthusiast—it’s about peace of mind. For me. For us. You’ve already been through so much. I need to know you’re prepared if, God forbid, something happens.”

Rhea hesitated, his words sinking in. She knew where he was coming from, the depths of his worry, especially with everything that had happened over the past five months. The threats, the incidents, the constant uncertainty—they weren’t living a normal life, and she couldn’t deny that.

Finally, she let out a resigned sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “Fine,” she said, her voice softer now. “But don’t expect me to turn into some sharpshooter overnight.”

Jey grinned, his relief evident as he leaned over to kiss her hand. “Thank you, baby. I promise, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Rhea muttered as they stepped out of the car.

Inside the facility, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. The hum of faint activity echoed in the background, but it wasn’t the chaotic, intimidating scene Rhea had envisioned. Jey approached the front desk, where a clerk greeted them with a polite nod.

“Private class for Fatu and Bennett,” Jey said confidently.

The clerk tapped a few keys on her computer and looked up with a smile. “Got it. Right this way.”

Rhea followed reluctantly, her steps slower than Jey’s as they were led toward a private training area. Her mind was already racing with doubts and questions. Would she even be able to handle this? Could she do what Jey was asking of her?

As they stepped into the private room, a friendly-looking instructor greeted them, gesturing to a counter lined with safety gear and training pistols. “Welcome! First time for both of you?”

Jey shook his head. “Nah, I’ve done this before. But it’s her first time.”

The instructor nodded with a warm smile. “No worries, we’ll start with the basics.”

Rhea glanced at Jey, who gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “You got this,” he said.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea stepped forward. “Alright,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Let’s do this.”

[sirensought]

witnessing the cautiously mindful and guarded facade crumble didn't award eric the satisfaction it should have. ariel stumbling over her words, the emotion behind them— all it did was make him feel guilty. for the accusation and challenging her motives. for upsetting her. for not believing her. or remembering her. he bites back an apology, instead allowing her to speak as he attentively listens. the hand he'd held between them returning to his side. 

"...your mother was worried she'd lost you." the stranger's words spark something within him— not quite a memory but something. there was something there. as if an instinct or a visceral reaction, his eyes give an exasperated roll. "my mother is always worried, she worries too much." as soon as the words leave him, his eyebrows pinch together. taken aback by his own response. it had come so naturally, inexplicably. moments ago, he couldn't even remember his parents. he still couldn't— not who they were or what they looked like— but this detail of his mother's fretful nature had come through. 

he's quick to brush off the thought, to dismiss the wave of confusion. every parent worries about their child, to an excessive degree. that's all. that wasn't some epiphany or anything. 

with his attention drawn back to ariel, he gaze catches on the glistening of her eyes. she's crying. because of him. a lump of guilt forms in his throat. his body lurching forward to comfort her but then a question he hadn't been anticipating hits his ears. "are you...happy here?" he hesitates. storybrooke is a nice place to live— it's beautiful, quiet, the people are friendly. but was he happy? truly? his shoulders give an unconvincing shrug before slumping. "i'm. . . not unhappy but," his eyes fall away from ariel momentarily before he glances around the two of them, as if looking for someone, "it's so small here, do you know what i mean? i just, i don't know. . . i almost feel trapped, restless, like i want to see what else is out there— i'm missing something. my girlfriend always says that's silly, i have everything i need here but. . ." his shoulders bounce once again.

The instant he steps back from her, Ariel knows that something is wrong. Something about his stance, his posture. The way he puts his coat back on. Panic begins to rise in her chest as he puts distance between them. She can feel that she’s losing him. That he’s about to leave. She doesn’t know what she said or did to cause the sudden change in his demeanor. Then her brown eyes widen at his words. The accusation in his tone—as if she was only there to force him to go somewhere he didn’t want to. She had assumed that Eric would go back with her, but that was because she thought he would want to go back with her. She would never make him do anything he didn’t want to. And she knew she couldn’t—he was stubborn. Just as stubborn as she was.

But now she can feel herself panicking that she might lose him, that he’s going to leave & then he might never speak to her again. Her composure slips away as her words spill out. “What? No! They didn’t—I—” She can hear how upset she sounds. She takes a breath. “When you didn’t return, they wanted to send out search parties for you. Everyone was worried something had happened to you—we were afraid there had been an accident—your mother was worried she’d lost you.” Again. Like the last time he’d had a shipwreck, when he’d nearly drowned.

Her eyes are wet with tears but she continues. “So I left to search for you. To make sure you were okay. And now—” She swallows, trying to steady her emotions. “Now I can tell everyone you’re alright.” She hesitates. Her voice comes out softer. “Are you…happy here?” All she can think is, if Eric won’t come back with her, if he doesn’t want anything else to do with her, his mother will want to know. She’ll need something to tell the queen.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Five foot something and he's royalty.