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eu-nicola · 2 days ago

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Morocco part 2

summary: Rafe says goodbye to Sofia and leaves her in outer banks while he goes to Morocco, where you are also and the danger that happens there rekindles the spark both of you thought had lost

warnings: mention of death, weapons, cheating, pregnancy, kidnapping, etc. only things of s4

word counter: 8530

author's note: spoilers of s4, many things have been changed but there are still spoilers, english is not my first language, this is long so get ready to read

The heavy silence of the room enveloped you as you sat there, sitting on the bed, staring at your hands as if you could erase what had happened. He had killed someone. You still felt it on your skin, the tension of that moment, the fear, the adrenaline, and in the end, the inevitability of the action. You knew you had done it in self-defense, that there was no other option. The guy was going to kill you or someone else, and you didn’t let yourself let that happen. But still, the feeling of having taken a life crushed you.

Rafe had stayed close, always by your side, as if he knew what you were feeling without you having to say it. He had been there, watching, but he hadn’t said anything about it. None of the Pogues had said anything. In a world where survival was the only thing that mattered, everyone knew that the lines between right and wrong could become blurred. It had been an extreme situation, and in the end, only the weight of what had been done remained.

You laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling feeling like you were trapped in your own thoughts, in a tangle of doubts you couldn’t untangle. Rafe was beside you, silent, but his presence was comforting. His words hadn’t come yet, but that didn’t matter. You knew you didn’t need him to tell you anything; not at that moment. What you needed was to be there, with someone who wouldn’t judge you, who understood that sometimes decisions weren’t so simple.

“You did it because you had to,” Rafe said, finally breaking the silence, his voice low, but firm. As if he had read your thoughts, as if he had felt everything that was going through your head. He approached you, placing a hand on your right hand, giving you the feeling that, despite everything you had done, you weren’t alone. “I know you didn’t want to, but there was no other way out.”

You looked at him, searching for something else in his eyes. A word, a comfort, a way to make the weight lighten, even if just a little. But as you looked at him, instead of finding judgment or disapproval, you found something unexpected: understanding. Rafe understood what had happened, even without having to explain it.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling a lump in your throat. “I did it because I had to. But I didn’t want to. I don’t want it to haunt me.”

He nodded, his gaze locked with yours. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. And I know that if you had stopped, if you hadn’t, you’d be worse off now. But that doesn’t make you any less… human.”

The words weren’t what you expected to hear, but they carried a different weight. In that moment, you felt like maybe, just maybe, the guilt wasn’t so absolute.

You felt him close to you, and before you could react, he sat next to you on the bed, his arm around you with a comfort you hadn’t expected. There was something about the way he held you that made you relax, if only for a moment. “We’re the survivors, you know?” he said softly. “What we’ve done, what we’ve seen, what we’ve had to do to get here… all of that makes us who we are. And if you ever ask yourself the question of whether you did the right thing, I want you to remember that it was always about surviving.”

Your eyes filled with tears, not from weakness, but from the intensity of everything you felt. The weight of the decisions, the inevitability of the circumstances, and the fact that sometimes, the only thing left to do was to keep going, even if the burden was heavy.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely a whisper. You didn’t know what else to say.

The Pogues hadn’t weighed in, nor had you asked them to. They had seen what you did, they knew. The truth was that at that moment, no one dared to judge, because everyone knew that in those kinds of situations, life or death wasn’t always in your hands. You had done what was necessary, what instinct told you to do to protect yourself, but still, you couldn’t escape what had happened.

Rafe lay down beside you, his presence giving you the space to breathe, to rest, to not think so much about how irreversible it had been. “It’s done,” he said, unhurriedly, without pressure. “Now, all that’s left is to move on.”

Little by little, you felt the weight lighten, although it didn’t disappear completely.

After that, you had recovered quickly. The guilt, confusion, and restlessness you felt after what had happened slowly faded away. It wasn’t easy, but you knew you couldn’t stay stuck in that moment. Time was still ticking, and you had to move on.

What really helped you recover so quickly was the conversation with your father. Even though things between you hadn’t always been easy, hearing his voice on the other end of the line gave you the calm you needed. You told him what had happened, what you had had to do to defend yourself. You didn’t go into all the details, but you did tell him the gist. The silence on the other end of the line lasted a few seconds before you heard his voice, firm and calm.

“I’m proud of you,” he told you, and those words resonated with you more than you imagined. “You did what you had to do. There are no regrets that are going to change what happened. You’re my daughter, and I will always be your biggest support.”

Something in his voice, in those simple yet powerful words, made you feel like everything you had done was, in some way, justified. You had done the right thing, even if it wasn’t easy to accept. What you needed most at that moment was his support, and hearing those words from him gave you the strength to let go of the guilt. You reminded yourself that you had acted in self-defense, that you had done it to survive. It helped you regain control of your thoughts, to not get caught up in what had happened.

“Thank you, Dad,” you said, the words coming out with a calmness you didn’t know you had. “I really needed to hear that.”

When you hung up, you felt different. You knew the weight of what had happened wouldn’t go away completely, but something inside you had changed. Your father’s approval, his pride in what you had done, gave you a push to keep going without looking back. You didn’t want to stay stuck in guilt.

When Rafe saw you calmer, more focused, he asked if everything was okay. “It seems like something has changed,” he said, watching intently.

“Yeah,” you answered, a small smile creeping onto your face. “My father talked to me, I feel… good. More at peace, I guess.”

Rafe looked at you for a moment before nodding, as if he understood what that meant to you. He didn’t say anything else, knowing you didn’t need any more words at that moment. Your father’s had been enough. Now, you could move on.

In one of those calls with your father, which Rafe knew nothing about, you learned something that left you paralyzed. Sofia had betrayed Rafe. The news hit you like a blow, every word from your father reverberating in your mind.

Your father, as always, recounted the events with a calm that only he could maintain. He didn't go into unnecessary details, but he made the essentials clear: Sofia had betrayed Rafe. This was more than just disloyalty; it was an act that put not only Rafe at risk, but you and everyone else's as well.

The knowledge hit you hard, a mix of fury and pain that you tried to hold back. You couldn't help but feel protective of Rafe, despite how complicated their relationship had been in the past and still was. Watching him go through another betrayal, especially one this deep, made you question whether you should tell him or keep quiet for a while longer.

You decided not to tell him. Sofia's betrayal was a bomb that could make him explode and you didn't need that now. That night, Rafe was sitting on the edge of the bed, his profile silhouetted against the dim light of the room. His eyes settled on you with a softness you didn't see often.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke the silence, direct but with a hint of concern that he rarely showed. “You’ve been tense all night.”

Your heart raced a little, but you tried to stay calm. You had rehearsed in your mind over and over how to evade his questions without raising suspicion. You gave him a tired smile, one that you hoped was convincing enough.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, and though it sounded almost believable, you noticed his blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read past your words. Rafe was observant, and the thought that he could tell the lie made your throat go dry.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you said anything. Finally, he relaxed a little and stood up to approach you. “Let’s rest then,” he murmured, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you towards the bed. You let yourself be led, relieved that he didn’t press any further.

You kicked off your shoes and slipped under the sheets, feeling the coolness of the fabric against your tired skin. Rafe did the same, moving beside you with familiar movements. The bed, though not the most comfortable, was a refuge at the moment.

When he turned off the lamp, the room was plunged into darkness, and the sounds of the night in the Moroccan city remained as a soft backdrop. You felt his body close to yours, the warmth emanating from it comforting.

You turned slightly, turning your back to him as you tried to calm your breathing and quiet the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. However, Rafe, in his silent and protective way, noticed your uneasiness and moved closer. His arm went around your waist and pulled you towards him, pressing your back against his chest. The contact, so natural and comforting, made your worries fade away for a moment. You felt his warm breath against your hair, and a barely audible whisper escaped his lips.

“Whatever you’re worried about, we’ll take care of it,” he murmured sleepily, as if the words were an involuntary reflection of his thoughts.

You closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn't know how long you could keep the secret, but that night, at least, you decided to hold on to the feeling of being safe in his arms. You responded to the hug, settling in a little more and allowing yourself a moment of peace.

Slowly, tiredness overcame anxiety, and you both fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before the truth came out. Rafe was cunning, too cunning, and even though you had done your best to keep it a secret, the built-up tension and the little clues you missed had him starting to put two and two together.

It was one afternoon, as the two of you were going over some notes at a makeshift table, when everything exploded. Rafe was focused on the papers in front of him, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. There was something about his posture that made you feel a twinge of unease. Without looking up, he murmured, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The seemingly casual question made you stop dead in your tracks. You knew he could read the subtleties, the changes in your behavior, and you understood in that instant that he already suspected something. You tried to keep your composure, keeping your expression from giving you away.

“What do you mean?” You asked, your tone trying to sound carefree, but the slight hesitation in your voice made him raise his head. His blue eyes caught you, cold and calculating, searching for answers.

“You know, right?” His voice was low, controlled, but charged with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. “About Sofia.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t need to answer; he already knew. The tension in his body turned into suppressed fury, and he slammed a fist on the table, causing papers to fly and some objects to fall to the floor.

“Since when?” he exclaimed, taking a step towards you. There was no physical aggression in his gesture, but the energy he emanated was enough to make you back off. “Since when did you know and decide not to tell me?”

“Rafe, I… I did it for you.” The words came out in a rush, clumsy and full of guilt. “I didn’t want to ruin what little you had. I thought it wasn’t the time…”

“The time?” His laugh was dry, humorless. “All this time I’ve been struggling, trusting someone who betrayed me, and you knew it! What kind of support is that?”

The hurt in his words was evident. You knew his trust, something so fragile and complicated, had been shattered once again, and this time, you were part of the reason. You tried to get closer, reach out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, as if your touch burned.

“Rafe, it wasn’t easy for me. I wanted to protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if you know something that affects me. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

The question cut through you like a blade. The pain in his voice, mixed with rage and disappointment, left you speechless. There was no justification enough to calm him down. All you could do was watch as the distance between you grew larger, deeper.

Finally, Rafe stepped back, putting a hand to his head and sighing in frustration. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher, and before you could stop him, he turned and walked out the door.

You knew Rafe better than anyone. You knew that when things got tough, he tended to walk away, to hide from everyone. You set off, visiting several places. But in all those places, the answer was the same: nothing.

The heat of Morocco stifled you, sweat running down your forehead, and anxiety made the air feel thicker. Still, you didn’t stop. You asked around in shops and at street vendors, and though a few curious glances and vague answers tried to calm your search, nothing was enough.

You decided to go check on the boys. If anyone might know something, they would have at least a lead. When you arrived, you found them gathered in a corner of a coffee shop with the windows fogged up from the heat. The atmosphere of the room, normally filled with humor, felt different when you entered. John B was the first to notice you, and his expression hardened at the sight of your countenance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Have you seen Rafe?” The question came out in a tone you couldn’t soften. Your voice, cracked with urgency, had everyone exchanging quick glances.

Sarah, who was sitting next to Kiara, looked away, uncomfortable with the subject. “No, I haven’t seen him since… since yesterday,” she admitted, her voice barely a murmur.

Pope, who had been quiet, nodded. “No one’s seen him. I thought he was with you.”

There was no sign of him, not a trace, not a word. You left the café before anyone could say anything else, frustration and worry fighting for control of your thoughts.

You were so focused on finding Rafe that concern for your own safety took a backseat. The city, with its narrow streets and maze of passages, had become a space where every shadow seemed to lengthen, and every sound multiplied into echoes. But you were so absorbed in your thoughts, so consumed by guilt and the need to find him, that you didn't notice what was happening around you.

The murmur of voices, the soft creaking of footsteps behind you, began so subtly that you barely noticed. The night was thick, the heat and sweat clinging to your skin, making you feel more tired than you were. As you walked down a dimly lit street, the streetlights cast your shadow against the walls of the buildings, a long, lonely silhouette.

It was only when you turned a corner into a darker alley that a cold sensation ran down your spine. A sixth sense warned you that something wasn't right. You paused for a moment, listening to the silence that seemed to breathe around you. You weren't alone. Confirmation came the instant you took a step back and felt a hand grab you tightly by the arm.

You tried to get away, your first instinct was to fight, but you didn't have time to react. Another hand landed on your mouth, stifling the scream that choked in your throat. Three men surrounded you, their faces barely visible under the shadows of their hoods. One of them spoke to you in a low, threatening tone, in a language you barely recognized, but the message was clear: you weren't to resist.

They pushed you forward, forcing you to walk as your senses went to full blast. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, making you tremble with rage and fear at the same time. You tried to observe, to memorize details, anything that might help you escape later: the tattoo on the neck of the man holding you, the smell of tobacco and sweat, the way they clenched their fists. But they were experts; there was no room for error.

The ride was short, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, they bundled you into a car, dark and dusty, and tied your hands with rough rope that bit into your skin. You felt the engine roar and the car jerk as it started, taking you away from familiar streets, away from any chance of help. You tried to stay calm, to control your breathing and not let fear paralyze you.

In the dim light of the car, one of the men spoke to the driver in a low tone, while another watched you closely, his piercing gaze searching for any sign of defiance. The city lights faded, and the landscape grew more arid, more lonely, with each passing mile. The idea that you were being taken to an unknown place, with no one knowing where you were, hit you with the force of a wave.

What followed after that car ride was even more disconcerting. You were taken to an abandoned building, with weathered stone walls and broken windows that let in the dry night air. You were pushed inside, your feet stumbling over the threshold, and you fell to your knees on the dusty floor. You tried to get up, but one of the men's rough hands pushed you back down.

The space was large and dark, lit only by a dim light filtering in from a hanging lamp in the center. The men began talking to each other, their deep, rapid voices filling the room, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. The language barrier made you feel even more vulnerable, like you were in a tunnel you couldn’t get out of. You tried to catch some word you recognized, something that would give you a clue as to their intent, but it was in vain. Desperation began to set in, digging into your chest like a thorn.

As they argued, you took a moment to assess your situation. The ropes binding your hands were strong, but if you could find a weak spot, maybe you could break free. You watched the men’s faces carefully, trying to remember details: the eye patch on one, the scar on another’s cheek, the golden ring glinting on the third’s finger. But they showed no sign of empathy or doubt. Their cold, calculating gazes were diverted from you as if you were just an object, a pawn in their unknown game.

Far away from there, Rafe had returned to the place where they both stayed. The air in the room still smelled of you, a persistent memory that he tried to ignore as he moved through the space with firm steps. The rage and pain from the previous fight still burned inside him, and he repeated over and over what he had said, what you had said. However, not seeing you when he arrived, a subtle echo of worry tried to make its way into his mind. He dismissed it at first, convinced that, like him, you had only gone for a walk.

Rafe let himself fall into bed, closing his eyes as the night progressed. Dawn arrived, and with it a restlessness that he could no longer ignore. When he got up, he noticed that your side of the bed was still empty. He searched the small house for you, checking the kitchen, the makeshift living room, even the terrace where you sometimes sat to think. Nothing.

The initial annoyance turned into a shadow of fear that led him to look for the others. He headed to the place where the Pogues usually met, and found them having breakfast with tired and sleepy faces. John B looked up and saw Rafe approaching, his eyes reflecting the surprise of seeing him there so early.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Rafe asked, without preamble. His tone was firm, but there was a crack of anxiety that he couldn’t hide.

The others’ gazes met for a second before Pope answered, frowning. “No, not since last night, when she came to ask us if we had seen you.”

Rafe’s heart beat faster. Worry became a tangible weight, and he felt guilt begin to sink into him. You had been looking for him, and he, blinded by his anger, had done nothing for you. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as he tried to remain calm.

“What happened, Rafe?” Sarah asked, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Rafe gritted his teeth, his jaw set with tension. “I don’t know… but I have to find her.”

Back at the place where they had you held, the men had begun to lose patience. One of them approached you, his gaze icy as he examined you from head to toe. You tried to remain calm, even as the man crouched down to your level and issued a threat in broken, rough English. His words were fragmented, but you understood enough to know he was trying to intimidate you.

“Don’t move. Don’t… scream,” he said, his accent thick. “If you do, it will be worse for you.”

You tried to keep a neutral expression, but you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking, still bound tightly behind you. You tried not to make eye contact, knowing that any show of fear could only make the situation worse. However, he seemed to be enjoying your discomfort, a crooked, cocky grin on his face.

Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, another man entered the room. There was something about his bearing, the way the others looked at him, that suggested he was in charge. His clothes were neater, his posture more relaxed, but his eyes held a coldness that made your skin crawl.

He approached slowly, and as he stopped in front of you, you noticed that he spoke much clearer and more fluent English.

“Forgive my men,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “They don’t usually deal with foreigners, especially not a woman who butts into matters that don’t concern her.”

You tried to compose your expression, looking at the man firmly, although inside you felt how each word of his intensified the weight of your situation.

“What… what do they want?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, but clear enough to show that you still had some control left.

He smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s up to you,” he replied, lacing their fingers together calmly. “We’re looking for something, and we think you might be able to help us find it… or at least lead us to the people who could.”

Your mind began to work quickly, trying to connect the pieces. You knew that your arrival in Morocco with Rafe and the search for the Blue Crown hadn’t gone unnoticed, but still, the speed with which you’d been found, threatened, and now interrogated caught you completely off guard.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to say, but your voice betrayed a slight hesitation, and he noticed it.

“Don’t play naive. We know what you’re looking for… we know what you want. So, I’m going to make it easy for you,” he said as he leaned a little closer, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “You give us what we want, or you’ll see how things can get worse.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, each second growing more terrifying. You knew your only option was to hold on and buy time.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic drumming of your heart as the man in front of you watched you with unsettling patience. You tried to keep your composure and buy time, knowing that each passing second increased the chances of someone, somehow, finding out where you were.

“What they’re looking for isn’t so easy to find,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “Even we’ve had trouble following the right leads.”

The man cocked his head, evaluating your words. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read between the lines. “We’ll see about that. I hope you have more to say when we speak again.”

As he retreated, leaving you alone for a moment, you tried to move subtly, searching for any hint that you could loosen the ropes holding you prisoner. Your wrists were sore, but you ignored the pain, focusing on the simple act of resisting.

Far away, Rafe was in a constant state of agitation. He had spent the morning searching for clues, moving quickly between contacts and temporary allies who might be able to offer him some information. Every second that passed without seeing you increased his worry, and though he tried not to let guilt take over, his mind kept replaying the moment he realized you had disappeared.

“Did you see her last night?” he asked for the umpteenth time to one of the contacts he had managed to track down. The man, a local merchant with connections in the underworld, shook his head, his eyes watching Rafe with measured interest.

“I heard there was some activity in the old part of town,” he finally answered after a pause. “Someone brought a girl, but I don’t know who they are or what they’re looking for.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of frustration and renewed hope. It wasn’t enough information, but it was a start. With a quick “Thank you,” he walked away, his mind already calculating the next move, thinking about how to get to that part of town without raising suspicion.

Rafe didn’t stop until he found more answers. He had navigated through dark alleys, bustling markets, and bars where curious eyes followed his every move all day long. The night in Morocco brought with it a thick air, and Rafe knew how to play in that environment.

With a handful of bills and a steady gaze, he approached a group of men moving like shadows on a dimly lit corner. After a few words of exchange and the handing over of money, one of them, a young man with scars on his face, finally spoke.

“The girl was taken to a warehouse near the old part of town, where the houses are crowded together and the streets are like a maze,” he said, his accent thick. “I don’t know much else, but those who have her aren’t known for being kind.”

Rafe nodded, absorbing the information and processing it quickly. The gears in his mind were working tirelessly, calculating routes and strategies. He now knew who had taken you, and most importantly, where you were. Getting to you wouldn’t be easy, but for him, it would be a piece of cake compared to the idea of losing you.

Rafe just nodded before turning away, already focused on what would come next. He knew he needed to act quickly and precisely. He imagined you in that moment, alone and scared, and the fire inside him grew more alive.

In your dark corner, the minutes passed with unbearable slowness. The distant sound of footsteps and murmurs kept you alert, your mind working on every possible way to resist and endure.

In the two days you were held, time became an endless torture. You were given nothing but a few drops of water, and hunger made you feel weak, almost ghostly. Your thoughts were intertwined between worry for your safety and the persistent question of whether Rafe and the others were looking for you. The blindfold kept you in constant darkness, increasing the fear and feeling of isolation. Every noise around you was a reminder that you were not alone, but neither were you in good hands.

The voices of your captors echoed through the space like menacing echoes, their words in a language you did not understand. You tried to stay conscious, clinging to hope and the idea that this would end soon, somehow. Your body was exhausted, every muscle shaking from the effort of staying alert, every breath weaker than the last.

As night fell on the third day, the air was filled with a distinct murmur, a whisper that slowly turned into screams and the rumble of combat. The sound of doors breaking, banging, and gunshots made you turn around in desperation, even with the blindfold tight over your eyes. Your breathing quickened, and a cold fear ran through your body.

Time seemed to stop as everything fell silent. You could hear the frantic beat of your heart as you waited, vulnerable and alone in the darkness. Suddenly, you felt firm, familiar hands on your shoulders, and the pressure of the blindfold loosened. The cloth fell from your eyes, and the light, though dim, made you squint. In front of you, Rafe looked at you with a mix of relief and desperation, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“Rafe...” you whispered, a weak smile forming on your lips. He wasted no time; He quickly untied your wrists, and before you could make any move, he lifted you into his arms, not asking if you had the strength to walk.

You looked around as he carried you out of the place, and your eyes landed on one of the men lying on the ground, motionless. Blood pooled around him, and the question left your mouth before you could stop it. “Did you kill him?”

Rafe didn’t stop looking at you as he answered, his voice low and full of a certainty that chilled your blood and made you feel safe at the same time. “I’ll do anything for you, do you understand?” His tone left no room for doubt, and although his words were harsh, something in them made you feel protected, as if, despite everything, you were safe in his arms.

The world began to spin around you, the strength finally leaving your body after days of suffering. The last image you saw was Rafe's face, a mix of determination and fear in his eyes, before darkness enveloped you and everything faded away.

Hours later, the first thing you felt was the soft rustle of the sheets. Your eyelids were heavy as if you had slept for days, but you finally managed to open your eyes and see the ceiling of an unfamiliar room, illuminated by the morning rays. Turning your head, you saw him: Rafe, sitting in a chair next to the bed, his face covered by a mixture of tiredness and relief.

As soon as he noticed that you had woken up, his eyes lit up and he quickly stood up, approaching you. His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he wanted to make sure that you were really there, awake and alive. “I worried about you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and sincere. There was something in his words that carried all the weight of the last few days, of anguish and guilt.

The silence that followed was heavy, but you couldn’t help it. “Rafe, I’m sorry… about Sofia.” Your words were a whisper. His expression changed slightly, his eyes darkening momentarily before he shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he replied, a slight smile trying to ease the tension. The seriousness faded a bit when, with a soft laugh, he added, “You need to take a bath. You seem… well, you’ve been through a lot.”

You let out a weak laugh, agreeing with him with a look. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been worse in my life.” Your body felt heavy, muscles still sore from the lack of food and water, but you knew you needed to get up. “Help me, please. I need to get to the water.”

Rafe nodded without hesitation and put an arm around your waist, helping you stand carefully. Your legs shook at first, but with his support, you managed to stay upright. He slowly carried you to the other side of the room, where a tub of hot, steaming water awaited.

“You can go if you want,” you whispered, not looking at him directly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. But he shook his head, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.

“No, I’m staying,” he replied, and without adding anything else, he began to help you undress. His hands moved carefully, as if he were afraid of hurting you. When you finally submerged yourself in the water, a sigh escaped your lips as you felt the relief of the heat enveloping your battered body.

Rafe knelt at the edge of the tub and, with a damp cloth, began to gently run the water over your arms and shoulders. You couldn’t help but look at him, the attention and delicacy in his movements contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. Suddenly, he made a comment that made you smile, a joke about how no one would believe it if they knew he was taking care of someone this way. You laughed, even if it was weakly, and responded with something equally sarcastic.

His eyes met yours, more serious this time. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, not looking away. The air grew thick between you, and you felt the warmth of the water mix with the blush on your skin. “I told you once not to say it,” you said quietly, looking away.

“Why not?” he asked, and before you could answer, he took your hand, the same one he had been cleaning, and pulled you close to him, carefully encircling you. He leaned in and kissed you, a gesture that was gentle at first, almost a test, but soon became deeper, as if he wanted to make sure you felt what he felt.

You stood there, letting yourself be carried away by the warmth of his lips and the safety of his arms. For a moment, everything that had happened, all the hurts, faded away, leaving only the certainty that, in the midst of so much chaos, you had each other.

Once the bath was over and you felt clean for the first time in days, the tiredness seemed to fade a little, giving way to a sense of calm that you had almost forgotten existed. You put on a light white linen dress, which softly caressed your skin and made you feel freer and lighter. Rafe had left the room for a moment to give you space, but he returned shortly after, his eyes scanning your figure with a mix of concern and something deeper, something you recognized instantly.

You settled on a chaise longue by the window, letting the soft evening breeze come in and caress your face. Rafe sat beside you, his presence comforting despite everything that had happened between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke; you simply stayed silent, sharing a breath of peace that you both needed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking the calm with a low voice that was almost lost in the sound of the wind. There was a note of anxiety in his words, as if he feared the answer.

“Better,” you said with a soft smile, tilting your head towards him. “Thanks to you.” You didn’t add anything else, because you knew he understood everything those words meant. What he had done for you, what he had risked, was something you would never forget.

Rafe nodded, a shadow of a smile appearing on his lips before he reached out and gently caressed your cheek. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. His eyes were a sea of conflicting emotions: relief, remorse, affection.

He laid down beside you, and without thinking too much, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting a sigh escape your lips.

The silence in the room stretched on for a while longer, only broken by the soft whisper of the wind. You stared at the shadows cast by the sunset on the walls, trying to process everything that had happened in the past few days. Finally, you broke the silence with a question that had been burning on your tongue since you woke up.

“What happened to the men?” His words were slow in coming, as if he was carefully choosing what he was going to tell you.

“I took care of them,” Rafe said, his voice deep and firm. There was no room for doubt in his tone, but no trace of remorse either. “Your father… helped make any problems they might represent disappear.” There was a glint in his eyes at the mention of it.

You nodded slowly, letting the information settle in your mind. You knew what it meant when your father got involved; there were no loose ends, no mistakes.

Rafe seemed to pick up on your silence and let the words trail off, not forcing the conversation.

Rafe took care of you in a way you hadn’t expected. He made sure that every meal arrived to you on time, insisting that you eat and drink enough to regain your strength. Although you sometimes gently argued that you could get up and help in the search, he always answered you with the same firmness: “Leave it to me. I promise you that everything will be fine.”

The determination in his eyes and the conviction in his voice were enough to make you believe him. So, for the first time in a long time, you decided to let yourself go and do what he asked of you. You ate every dish he brought you, even if the appetite was not always present, and little by little you began to notice how your body regained its lost strength. Now you needed to eat more than before.

Meanwhile, Rafe moved around the house and the town like a ghost, always searching, always planning. Although you knew that the situation was much more complicated than he told you, you believed him. His confident and protective gaze left no room for doubt.

Your mind, which had been stuck in a constant state of alert, finally allowed itself a respite.

That same night everything was quiet, with a starry sky stretching out over the outskirts where everyone had gathered. The lights of the lanterns hanging in the trees and the crackling of the campfire provided a comforting warmth amidst the cool of the night. It was rare to find a moment of peace, and everyone appreciated it in their own way, laughing and sharing stories around the fire.

You were sitting next to Rafe, your gaze lost in the dancing and crackling flames. The boys were talking amongst themselves; JJ was dramatically telling an anecdote about one of his recent escapades, causing Kie to laugh and throw him a twig in mockery. John B, who was a little further away, was watching Sarah with an expression of complicity and tenderness.

Sarah stood up and ran a hand through her hair, a mix of nervousness and determination. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you wondered what she was going to say.

“Guys, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, and immediately the attention was drawn to her. The conversation died down, leaving only the sound of sparks from the campfire and crickets in the distance. Kie and John B exchanged a look, knowing what was coming, while JJ and Pope seemed surprised by Sarah’s serious tone.

“I’m pregnant,” she finally said, her voice barely shaking, but firm enough to be heard by everyone. There was a moment of complete silence, and then JJ let out a low whistle as a smile appeared on his face. Pope blinked a few times, processing the news, and then smiled widely.

You stood up and walked over to Sarah. Although your relationship with her hadn’t always been easy, at that moment you only felt sincerity in your words. “Even though we never got along as well as we’d like, I’m happy for you,” you said, looking into her eyes. “You’re going to be a good mother, I know it.”

Sarah looked at you with a mix of surprise and suppressed excitement before nodding and giving you a small hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her smile reflecting both gratitude and relief.

Rafe, who had been silently watching the scene from where he stood, merely smiled sideways and nodded slowly, in a sort of silent approval that Sarah immediately picked up on. Their eyes met, and in that gaze they shared an understanding that only siblings could have. Sarah seemed to understand him and smiled back, softer, more sincere.

The night continued with a different energy. JJ joked about how they were going to teach the baby to sail before he could walk, which caused general laughter. Kie offered to make her a small seashell pendant for when she was born, and Pope said he would teach her to solve puzzles and understand ancient maps.

Rafe came up to you and put his arm around your back. “This is going to be interesting,” he murmured, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. You smiled back, feeling the warmth of his touch.

Several hours had passed since Sarah’s announcement. The atmosphere was still light, with a calm that was rarely present among everyone. Laughter and stories continued as the flames of the fire slowly dwindled. You and Rafe, feeling the need to be alone, decided to retire before the others. Night enveloped the outskirts in a blanket of tranquility, and the walk back was silent, accompanied by the crunch of grass underfoot.

The next morning, the heat was overwhelming, and every movement seemed to require double the effort. You got up to find Rafe sitting near the window, lost in his thoughts. Her jaw was set, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for answers in the distance. You knew she had been dealing with something since your kidnapping, something she hadn’t wanted to share, and you couldn’t help but feel the awkwardness hanging in the air.

That same day, when everyone gathered under the shade to escape the scorching sun, Sarah suddenly paled and swayed a little. John B quickly grabbed her, concern evident on his face.

“I’m fine, just a little dizzy,” she murmured, but everyone knew she needed more than fresh air.

JJ rummaged through the backpack and pulled out a half-beaten apple. “It’s the only thing there is, but it’s better than nothing,” he said, offering it to her. Sarah accepted it with a weak smile, biting slowly as John B looked at her with a mix of love and concern.

Rafe watched the scene with the same distant expression, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. JJ, unable to contain his annoyance, uttered an acidic comment: “What’s the point of all your money if you can’t even help your sister with some decent food?” The tension cut like a knife, and Rafe, without a word, abruptly stood up and began to walk away.

You looked at Sarah, who was avoiding her brother’s gaze. Driven by an instinct you didn’t even fully understand, you approached her and pulled a wad of bills from your bag. You placed it in her hands with a gentle gesture. “It’s for you to buy food, Sarah. You need to feed yourself well in your condition,” you said in a low but firm voice. John B looked at you, surprised and grateful in equal parts.

“Thanks,” he murmured, as Sarah gave you a genuine smile. “Seriously, thanks.”

Without saying anything else, you walked away in the direction where Rafe had gone. You found him at a makeshift market, where a few local vendors had gathered. He was standing in front of a stall, buying a basic-looking cell phone and other necessary items. You watched as he held the phone out, dialing a number and bringing it to his ear with a grim expression.

“Is it true?” he said, his voice filled with suppressed fury. “After everything I did for you… you betrayed me? Is it true?” There was a pause, with only the bustle of the market and your labored breathing to be heard. Then, in an icy tone of voice, he added, “Get your stuff out of my damn house. We’re done.”

He cut the call and stood still, tension drawn in every line of his body. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually approached. Just when it seemed like he was going to reject you, you noticed how his gaze softened at the sight of you. His lips moved, wanting to say something, but he only managed to murmur, “We have things to do.”

You had lost track of time since you had left that market following in Rafe’s footsteps. The hot afternoon breeze hit your face as you tried to keep up with him, not really knowing where he was taking you. One problem more or one less, you thought, it didn’t matter anymore. They walked through labyrinthine streets and narrow alleys, the echo of their footsteps resonating between the adobe walls. There was a latent tension in the air, something that made you lock your gaze on Rafe’s back, watching the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands clenched into fists.

Without warning, a group of men stepped out of the shadows. You recognized one of them, someone Rafe had had problems with before. It all happened so fast, the exchange of words was brief before the fists started flying. Rafe fiercely fought as if his life depended on it. You, without thinking, took a few steps back, your heart pounding, searching for something to defend yourself with in case it was necessary.

The noise of the fight filled the narrow street, screams, the thud of fists, the sound of a body hitting a wall. Rafe won, as always. He never lost. When the last man fell to the ground, panting and cursing in his native tongue, Rafe turned to you, his face and knuckles marked by cuts and bruises.

Without saying a word, you took his arm and led him to a more secluded corner, your hands already shaking as you searched for a clean tissue in your bag. “Let me help you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pressed a wound on his eyebrow. Blood dripped from it, tracing a trail down his cheek.

He watched you in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he broke the silence, “You know, I should have known from the beginning. I should have chosen you… you never betrayed me.” His words, laden with a sincerity he rarely showed, made your hands freeze for a moment.

You sighed, removing the tissue and looking at him with a mix of sadness and resignation. “It’s too late, Rafe. There are bigger things at stake now than choices of partner.”

He shook his head, a hint of desperation flashing in his eyes. “It’s not too late. I can choose you… if you let me.”

You felt your heart pounding against your ribs. You looked up at him, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but all you saw was determination. “Only if you get Sofia out of your life for good,” you warned, your tone more serious than you had planned. “Or I will kill her myself.”

A dark smile curved his lips, and he nodded, moving closer to you. “I know you would,” he whispered, before pulling your body into his. His lips sought yours, and the kiss was everything you had held back for so long. It was intense, passionate, a silent promise of all that could be and all that had been.

When he pulled back just a little, he tilted his head and whispered in your ear, “Future Mrs. Cameron.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Because, even though everything had been chaos, even though the decisions had been erratic and the wounds were still fresh, deep down in your heart, you hoped to be that: the future Mrs. Cameron. Because after all, you were expecting his child, and he, although he didn't know it yet, was already part of that future that you had begun to secretly imagine.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #obx4 #obx x reader

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reidsbabyhoney · 3 days ago

Text

second chances | s.r.

the one where Spence regrets everything that’s happened in the past six months.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.3k a/n: this took forever too write because every time i tried writing it i absolutely hated how it came out. i’m hoping i gave them the ending they deserved and that you all love it! also please let me know if there's any warnings I should add.

pt.1 masterlist spencer reid masterlist

The entire car ride home was a blur, and you mean that literally. The tears that coated your eyes never seemed to stop even after you arrived back home. The dull hum of the engine couldn't seem to drown out the noise-deafening pounding in your chest.

You couldn't help but replay every moment from tonight on a loop, the gut wrenching realization that Spencer moved on so quickly, so easily. It felt as if your entire world had been tilted on its axis and you were left to live in a reality that didn't make any sense.

Maya. You hadn't been able to look at her without a sharp pang of jealousy making its way though your chest. The way she spoke to Spencer, so casually, so possessively like you were going to take her from him at any second. But in reality that's what she did to you.

You told yourself that you were fine, that you had enough time to move on and get over that relationship, but its clear you were lying to yourself. Every moment you were in his presence were the few moments of bliss where you could pretend everything with him was normal.

You had loved him. You still did. The harsh truth of that might've hurt worse than tonight's events.

Once you finally arrived home you didn't bother to go inside right away. Turning off the car you sit staring at the dashboard, trying to ground yourself in something, anything but the whirlwind of emotions going on in your mind right now.

As your about to open the door, your phone buzzes in the passenger seat. Picking it up you see it's a message from Penelope.

From: Penny

Are you okay, sweetheart? If you need anything I'm just a phone call away. Please don't let his stupidity ruin your night, we all know how much of an amazing person you are!

A small smile painted its way across your features, though drained and not very genuine.

You quickly texted her back letting her know you were okay and just needed some time to process everything. With that you finally got out of the car making your way inside, preparing for another sleepless night.

You had taken the day off. Well technically you didn't request it, it was given to you by Hotch. The team had just gotten back from a long gruesome case and he decided that everyone needed some time to decompress.

It had been a couple weeks since 'The Incident' as Emily has so kindly labeled it. Since then the unkind thoughts hadn't left your mind.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch barely able to focus on the movies playing on the TV. Your mind was a storm of thoughts that blossomed from that night, though not into flowers, more so like weeds that didn't want to fully be pulled from the ground.

You replayed every word he said that night. Every glance, subtle expression. There was no warmth in his tone, nothing that suggested the gentle, awkward genius who had found solace in your presence.

You knew it hurt, but what hurt more was the realization that Spencer wasn't the only thing you lost that night. You were mourning the loss of what had been, what could've been.

The next morning, you showed up at the office. The decision half-hearted, debating on requesting for another day out of the crowded space. You're not sure what you were expecting, for something to just change overnight, or if you needed to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

You walked in to see the team gathered around the bullpen. Derek was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly to JJ, while Penelope was chattering away in her usual high-energy manner. They all seemed fine, but you knew they could feel your emotions. You had always worn them on your sleeve, and the team was nothing if not perceptive.

And Spencer? He was nowhere to be found.

Your heart dropped, but you quickly masked the disappointment with a neutral expression. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him right now, not with everything else going on.

As you slid into your chair, you could feel their eyes on you every now and then, but none of them dared to speak up. It was only when the elevator doors opened that you saw Spencer walking toward the bullpen. His usual awkward stride was missing, replaced by something… hesitant. His eyes briefly met yours, but instead of the usual spark of familiarity, there was something different. Something strained.

He was carrying a large coffee cup in his hand, but it seemed like he was just holding it for the sake of holding it.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that had been present in his eyes. You barely met his gaze, your stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him.

“Spence,” you said, offering a forced smile. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, but you couldn’t let yourself show it.

“I, uh, can we talk?” he asked, his words tumbling out in that way that was so quintessentially Spencer.

Your gaze flickered around the room, but you didn’t want to make a scene. “Now’s not the best time.”

He nodded, but you could see the disappointment in his face. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and heading to his own desk. You didn’t watch him go, how could you?

Hours passed, and the tension between you and Spencer lingered like a heavy fog. Every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away.

You were exhausted. Your mind was scattered. And when you finally gathered the courage to step away from your desk to grab a coffee, it was then that Spencer decided to approach you.

“y/n,” he called out gently, his voice softer now, less urgent.

You paused mid-step, not sure how to respond. His presence was overwhelming, and even though you wanted to retreat, you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

Turning around slowly, you nodded. “Spencer.”

“Can we talk?” he asked again, this time with more sincerity in his voice.

You studied him carefully, unsure whether you could trust yourself to keep calm. “Do we really need to? I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have. At least not yet.” He paused, looking down at his feet. “Please.”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, and for the first time since that night, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. You didn’t know what had changed, but you knew it was something important. You had loved Spencer for so long, and maybe it was time to let him explain himself.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s talk.”

The conference room door clicked shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you felt like you were trapped. The silence was thick, oppressive. Spencer stood by the window, facing away from you, his shoulders tense, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt impossibly wide, like an ocean stretching between two distant shores.

You wanted to scream. To demand answers. To ask why. But you couldn’t, because the truth was, you were too scared of what might come next. The flood of emotions coursing through you felt like too much to bear. And the pain? The pain was undying.

Finally, Spencer spoke, but his voice was soft, almost trembling. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his words breaking the stillness in the room, but they did little to ease the ache in your chest.

He turned slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’m so sorry. For the way I ended things... for pushing you away.”

His gaze finally met yours, but there was no spark there, no warmth. Just an empty, hollow ache, the same one you felt. The distance between you both was palpable.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was giving you space to breathe… to move on. To get away from the chaos that’s always been a part of my life.”

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. Protecting you? Was that what this was? Did he think he was being noble by choosing to shut you out?

“You pushed me away, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the rawness of everything you were holding in. “I didn’t ask for space. I didn’t ask for you to shut me out. I was here… I've always been here.” The anger, the hurt, it all poured out of you, and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “I just needed you to be honest with me. To tell me the truth, not hide behind your fears.”

His face faltered at your words, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble under the weight of your pain. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking as if he hadn’t even meant to say it. “I was scared that if I kept you close, I would ruin everything. That I’d hurt you more. I thought if I pulled away, you’d be better off without me. But all I’ve done is hurt you even more.”

The truth of his words hit you like a wave, but it didn’t bring relief. Instead, it left you feeling raw, exposed. How could he think that? How could he think leaving was the solution? You had been through so much together. But the thought of him choosing to walk away, of him choosing her, it crushed you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Spencer,” you whispered, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Your heart was breaking, the weight of everything that had happened too much to carry anymore.

“You didn’t just break my heart… you broke me. I was waiting for you. I thought... I thought we could work through this. But you didn’t give me a chance. And now you’re asking me to just… what? To just forget?”

Spencer’s face crumpled as if your words were a physical blow, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He was broken too, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable, scared even. “I don’t want you to forget,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I’m not the one who left you… that I’m the one who’s ready to fight for us.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, Spencer. I don’t know if I can trust you after everything.”

He stepped forward, his hands trembling as they reached out toward you. “Please,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve spent every second of the last six months thinking about how much I screwed up, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, erratic, unsure whether it was breaking or yearning for something—anything that might bring you peace. You knew Spencer had made mistakes, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. You had kept yourself at a distance too, not because you wanted to, but because you were terrified of what this might mean. Of what letting him back in might cost you.

“I’m scared, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll leave again. That you’ll hurt me again.”

He closed the distance between you, standing just inches away now. You could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his face was etched with guilt and regret. He reached for your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him. You let him hold you, as fragile as it felt, as broken as you both were in that moment.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. I’ll fight for you. For us. I’ll fight for as long as it takes.”

The raw honesty in his voice, his words full of pain, of hope. It made something inside you snap. The walls you had built around your heart were crumbling, piece by piece. You didn’t know if you could ever go back to the way things were, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something better.

“I’m not asking for things to be perfect,” Spencer continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the small touch making your pulse race. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze then, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, but this time they weren’t just born from hurt. There was something else there. Something like hope. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to see where this goes. If you really mean it.”

His face softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “I do,” he whispered, his hand still gently holding yours. “I mean it. More than anything.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you let yourself hold on, just for a moment. You weren’t sure where this would lead, or if you could ever truly forget the pain. But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone. And maybe that was enough.

It was one of those quiet mornings that felt like a small slice of heaven. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow through the windows, and the only sound in the apartment was the rhythmic hum of the coffee maker.

The air was still cool from the night before, but the warmth of the morning sun slowly crept in, filling the room with a gentle golden light.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, your bare feet tucked under you, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Your hair was messy from sleep, but you didn’t mind.

You had gotten used to waking up next to Spencer every morning, and the sight of him, still half-asleep, a little rumpled, and incredibly endearing, was one of the small things you’d grown to cherish.

Spencer was at the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flipped through a pile of paperwork. The clutter of his case files and textbooks was a normal part of your life now, but the way he had rearranged things over the past few months, more neatly than ever before, was a quiet testament to how much he had changed. He wasn’t perfect, but he was working on it. He was trying, and that was all that mattered.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked up from your coffee, meeting his soft brown eyes. He was still wearing his sleep-filled smile, the one that only appeared after a good night’s sleep, when he wasn’t overthinking or buried under a pile of cases.

“I was wondering… would you mind helping me with something later?” His voice was tentative, but there was something else there now, something more confident. He wasn’t afraid to ask for help anymore.

You’d noticed that shift in him over the past few months, the way he wasn’t afraid to lean on you, to let you in when before he would have kept his distance. It had taken time, but now, when he needed you, he knew how to reach for you without hesitation.

“Of course,” you said with a smile, your heart swelling at how far you’d come since that difficult conversation. “What do you need help with?”

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, glancing down at the paperwork. His fingers hovered over the pile, as though unsure how to ask. “I’m working on this case… and I just need to go over the details. I know you’ve got that… special way of seeing things,” he said with a playful grin, using the affectionate nickname you’d earned after countless cases where your instincts had been spot on. “You’re better at spotting the details than I am.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, playfully teasing. “Oh, so now I’m the expert, huh? I thought you were the genius here.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he shook his head, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from you. He didn’t even try to hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. “You are the expert,” he said softly. “And I’m just the guy who gets to learn from you every day.”

The words lingered between you, warm and comfortable. You reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his hand in a simple, affectionate gesture. A small smile played on your lips as you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back. There was no fear of losing each other, no worry that the cracks would reopen. Everything—every single piece of you—had found a place next to him, and for once, it felt right.

“I’ll help you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just like I always do.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet sense of gratitude. You knew, deep down, that he wasn’t just thankful for your help with the case. He was thankful for everything—for your patience, for your trust, for the fact that despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings, you were still here. You had come through the storm together, stronger than before, and you could feel it in every touch, in every glance. There was an unspoken understanding between you now. A promise that no matter what came your way, you would face it as a team.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice low, “I never thought I’d have something like this. Something so... real. So comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued your earlier months together. “I think we’ve finally figured out how to make it work,” you said, your voice steady and full of warmth. “No more pushing each other away. No more running. Just… us.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze softening as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. “I’m not running anymore,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice bringing a warmth to your chest. “I’m staying. For good.”

There was no need for more words. You leaned across the table, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and full of meaning. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desperation, but one of quiet comfort. One of trust and affection. One that said we’re here, and that was enough.

As you pulled away, you saw the same sense of contentment reflected in his eyes, a peacefulness that had taken months to build but was finally here. You didn’t need anything else, because with Spencer, you had everything you’d ever wanted.

The coffee and case files were long forgotten as the two of you sat there, simply enjoying each other’s company. There was no rush to get to the day, no lingering doubt or fear. Just the warmth of his presence beside you, and the certainty that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together.

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

divider: @fairytopea

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#reidsbabyhoney #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fic recs #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #angst with a happy ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #bau team #fluff

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byechristopher · 1 day ago

Note

hellooo can you write a fic where reader and chris have a pregnancy scare?

what could be.

Author's note: thank you for the request, and sorry for being so late, pft. I hope you like it anon, here is an angsty/fluffy fic with Chris. Him and babies make me giddy fr. Don't copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: uhm, none. But y'all.. use protection always. Didn't proofread!

⠀

It started with a simple sentence, one that hung in the air like a grenade waiting to go off.

"My period’s a week late."

Chris froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. The casual dinner we were having, sitting on the couch like we always did, suddenly felt like something fragile, ready to shatter. His face went pale as he put his fork down, staring at me like he hadn’t quite understood what I’d just said.

"What?" His voice was flat, cold.

I shifted uncomfortably, already regretting saying anything. "I’m late, Chris. A week late."

He sat back, his eyes narrowing as if he could will this entire conversation out of existence. "Are you serious?"

I nodded. "I thought it was just stress at first, but…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, the frustration already palpable. "How could this happen?"

The way he said it — like it was some personal failure, like this was my fault, made my blood run cold.

"Uhm, now I don't mean to break it to you.." I snapped, my voice rising defensively, "but we were both there, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you’re the one who keeps track of this stuff, right? Shouldn’t you have known?" His voice was sharp, accusatory, and it stung.

I stood up from the couch, the tension in my body rising like a tidal wave, "what the actual fuck are you even saying? You think I want this to be happening? You think this is something I wanted to deal with right now?"

Chris got up too, pacing in the small living room, his hands clenched at his sides, "no, I don’t know what the hell you want! All I know is, we’re not ready for this. We can’t be dealing with a fucking baby right now."

I felt the familiar lump forming in my throat, but I swallowed it down, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt. "Chris, we’re in this together, okay? Why are you acting like I did something wrong?"

"Because this is—" He stopped, running his hands over his face. "This changes everything, okay? Everything we’ve been working for. All our plans, all our.. us!"

"What, and a baby ruins all that?" I cut him off, my voice shaking with anger. "Is that what you think? That this would ruin everything?"

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence that followed was louder than any argument we’d ever had. He just stood there, staring at the floor, and I couldn’t tell if he was thinking or trying to come up with a way to end this conversation without making it worse.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Yeah. I think it would."

I blinked, feeling like I’d been slapped. I could feel my heart racing, the adrenaline pushing through me, making me feel sick. "Wow," I whispered, stepping back like I needed space from him, like I couldn’t stand being near him right now. "That’s really how you fucking feel?"

He looked up, his face tight with frustration. "We’re not ready for this. You know that. You’ve got your career just starting to take off, I’m still figuring things out. It’s not the right time."

"You don’t get to decide that for both of us," I shot back, my voice cracking under the weight of the argument. "This is happening, whether you like it or not. What are you going to do if I am pregnant? Walk away?"

Chris’s eyes flashed with something—maybe guilt, maybe regret, I couldn’t tell. "I’m not walking away," he said through gritted teeth, "but I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay with this either."

I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t. The hurt and anger tangled up inside me was too much, and if I opened my mouth again, I didn’t trust what would come out. Instead, I turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, his silence chasing me as I went.

For the next day and a half, we barely spoke. Every interaction was charged, electric with the weight of what had been said and left unsaid. He slept on the couch that night, and I didn’t bother asking him to come back to bed. I wasn’t sure I wanted him there.

The test sat on the bathroom counter, waiting for me, taunting me with the unknown. I couldn’t bring myself to take it, not when things between us felt so raw, so fragile. But after another restless night of tossing and turning, I couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore. I had to know.

When I walked into the living room that morning, Chris was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at his phone. He looked up when I entered, and for a second, there was something in his eyes—regret, maybe. Or guilt. I couldn’t tell.

"I’m taking the test," I said, my voice flat.

He stood up, nodding stiffly. "I’ll come with you."

"Yeah, you don't fucking have to." I said, but he followed me either way.

We walked to the bathroom in silence, and I grabbed the box off the counter with shaking hands. Chris stood by the door, watching me, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t even look at him as I went through the motions, my stomach twisting into knots.

When it was done, we sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the result. The timer on my phone ticked down, each second stretching out longer than the last.

"I’ve been thinking," Chris said suddenly, his voice softer than it had been in days. I glanced at him, unsure of what to expect.

"About what?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About everything. About what I said… how I reacted."

I remained silent.

He hesitated before continuing, "I was scared, okay? I still am. I’m terrified, actually. But… I’ve been thinking. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

I blinked, surprised. "What?"

He looked at me, his expression softer now, more open. "I’m not saying it’d be easy. But if you are pregnant, I mean… we’d figure it out, right? We’d get through it."

For the first time in days, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. "You really think so?"

He nodded, his gaze steady on mine. "Yeah. I don’t want to be that guy who just freaks out and runs away. If it happens, I want to be there for you. For both of you."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. Maybe we’d been fighting, maybe we were scared, but hearing him say that made me feel like we could actually do this, if we had to.

"And if I really think about it.." he continued, his thumb on my cheek caressing the skin so gently, as if I was a porcelain doll, "the idea of having a little baby with you that looks just like their mom.. yeah, I think I'm fine with that." he teased with a little smile and that's all I needed to hear.

The timer went off, the sharp beep cutting through the air. We both froze, looking at each other.

"Do you want to…?" Chris asked, nodding toward the bathroom.

I shook my head. "You can look."

He stood up, walking over to the counter, his movements slow and hesitant. I watched him as he picked up the test, his face unreadable. For a moment, he just stared at it, not saying anything.

Finally, he looked up at me, his expression a mixture of relief and something else I couldn’t quite place. "It’s negative."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. "Negative?"

He nodded, setting the test down and walking back over to me. "Yeah. You’re not pregnant."

Relief washed over me, but there was something else too. Something that felt almost like disappointment. I pushed it down, not wanting to think too much about it.

Chris sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I’m sorry," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "For how I acted. I didn’t handle any of this well."

I leaned into him, closing my eyes as I let the warmth of his embrace chase away the last remnants of fear. "It’s okay," I murmured. "We’re okay."

"Is it crazy that I've started to warm up to the idea?" he whispered against my hair and even though I didn't want a baby, I still felt giddy hearing him say that.

"Your mood swings are acting up." I teased and buried my face into the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss there, "although.. so did I." I whispered.

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geekgirles · 4 hours ago

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And let's not forget how people tend to conveniently leave out the fact that while Marinette's jealousy prompted her to spy on Adrien and Lila in the library, what really kickstarted the actual plot (Lila stealing the Grimoire, buying the necklace, claiming to be Volpina and insulting Ladybug to the point of the superheroine tearing her a new one causing her akumatisation...) was actually Lila's own jealousy over Ladybug.

For all the episode's flaws, it did a good job establishing the kind of character Lila was going to be right off the bat: an attention seeking liar and an abhorrent admirer for Adrien who isn't above disregarding his boundaries or invading his personal space.

Having said that, at that point she had been shown to be far from an ideal person, but not irredeemably evil like her later self. And though she did use implicitly dishonest methods to get closer to Adrien—such as dragging him off to a more private place so it can just be the two of them or trying to evoke a commonality collection by pretending to be interested in superheroes—, most of her actions up until that point were fairly harmless.

In regards to Adrien. She had already harmed her classmates and Ladybug's credibility by lying through her teeth just to be popular.

Up until that point, while definitely not honest, Lila's tactics to get closer to Adrien were relatively realistic. After all, we have all seen the "lying about shared interests" trope at least once in our life, and we might have even employed it ourselves at some point.

It wasn't until the topic of Ladybug was brought up that things took a turn for the worse.

At first, upon seeing Adrien's book Lila just seemed to be faking interest, just like she looked genuinely surprised to see Ladybug pictured there. But the moment Adrien expressed awestruck admiration for the heroine, that's when Lila's entire façade changes. Literally. She goes from looking surprised to sporting a nasty scowl to acting all sugary-sweet right after as she fishes for more information on Adrien's crush to use to her advantage.

And because she can't stand to be shown up by anyone, even if they're not even in the room, she went and started downplaying Ladybug's accomplishments even back then. Claiming that a girl doesn't need to a costume to be amazing, only to prove she's a hypocrite by setting out to become amazing by claiming she isn't just actually good friends with the costumed girl but, would you look at that, she's a costumed girl herself!

Lila: Ladybug! Adrien:(sighing) She's amazing. Lila: A girl doesn't need to wear a costume to be amazing, you know. (scoots her seat closer to Adrien) Adrien: Uh, I don't know—I mean, I— Lila: So you've got a little soft spot for the bug, huh? Adrien: Me? Oh, no! Not at all! (The book cart moves closer to them, but is unnoticed.) Lila: You know I actually happen to be very close friends with Ladybug. (Adrien and Marinette both gasp.) Adrien: Really?! Lila: We can chat about it if you want. Not here though. Why don't we meet at the park after school and I'll tell you everything.

That's why Lila stole Adrien's book. That's why she bought the necklace and came up with the whole Volpina thing. And that's why she kept on insulting Ladybug in order to make herself look better (other than to distract Adrien long enough so he wouldn't notice his missing book, that is). Because the moment Adrien expressed romantic interest in Ladybug, Lila became seethingly jealous and desperate to get him to stop paying attention to the superheroine and to focus on her.

Marinette's jealousy actually played a very small role in the episode overall, it was just meant to get her in the right place at the right time so Tikki would see the Grimoire and urge her to follow them to the park in order to retrieve it. From then on, Marinette's actions were a direct result of Lila crossing way too many lines at once. Absolutely everything else that happened can be linked back to Lila growing jealous of Ladybug and trying to have Adrien all for herself.

Everything that happened was Lila's own fault.

Wait, I was reading your posts and came across something I've found confusing. How is Adrien asking Ladybug wth she is doing in Volpina a bad thing? From Adrien's perspective, Ladybug's a celebrity tracking down a middle schooler with zero clout and humiliating her for lying about meeting her before. That's, uh yeah? Imagine if that happened irl lmao. Millions of teenage girls would perish at 1D's hands. My middle school would be a horror story. And it's made clear multiple times in the episode that her motivation is jealousy. It's one of the few episodes where the lesson Marinette gets makes sense I think, because she was genuinely spiteful in shitting on this random girl in front of her crush. That's significantly different than Ladybug just asking for a retraction from the Ladyblog. It's also one of the few times when Adrien's celebrity background actually affects how he acts, and it makes sense that Marinette doesn't make the connection between superhero=celebrity=not allowed to scream at middleschoolers in public. If half the kids in her school didn't lie about meeting Ladybug before, my suspension of disbelief is gone.

I've seen this argument before and it makes no sense to me, especially in the context of the lie that Lila actually told and the way the Lila confrontation actually goes down. A lot of people who have this take seem to think that Lila's lie was, "Ladybug saved me," and that Ladybug made a big public confrontation which is not what canon actually gave us. The confrontation was done in a mostly private setting and, while we never see Lila's full Ladyblog interview, this is how Ladybug sums up the interview in Volpina:

Ladybug:(sarcastically) Well hey Lila! How's it going? Long time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog, awesome job. Oh sure! I remember our instant connection when I saved your life and we've been really good friends ever since! Practically BFF's! Uh actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don't recall. Oh yes! Of course, now I remember. Never! And we're not friends either! Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her.

Lila didn't just lie about meeting Ladybug, she lied about having an ongoing, close relationship with Ladybug, two very different things. And Ladybug isn't just a celebrity, she's a superhero who is fighting an active terrorist. If I had to rewrite this confrontation, I'd keep it pretty much the same and just change the "Miss Show-Off" line to something like:

Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her, putting herself and all of you at major risk! You know that Hawkmoth would do anything to get these, right? (gestures at her earrings) Did you even stop to think about what he'd do if he learned the identity of my supposed best friend? Of course not. You were too busy trying to look cool to stop and think things through like an actual superhero! We keep our identities and relationships secret for a reason!

Is this the kindest, most gentle way to confront someone like Lila? No, but it's very in character for Marinette to be filled with righteous fury when she sees someone using her name for their own personal gain. I really can't blame her for getting incredibly angry at this total stranger presenting herself as a Ladybug authority and using that authority to manipulate Marinette's friends. As I've said before, take away the crush complication and Marinette's actions still make total sense to me.

I'm not a huge proponent of virtue ethics. That's the idea that you need proper motivation for an act to be morally justified. If you do the right thing for the wrong reason, then the act is bad no matter how good the results and vice versa. If you view the world that way, then sure, you could possibly argue that Marinette's actions were wrong just like you can also argue that Gabriel's actions were totally fine, but I don't view the world that way. Switch Marinette's motivation from jealousy and a little righteous fury to pure righteous fury and almost nothing changes. She'd still need to confront Lila, the words would just be a little different.

It's not like this confrontation stops Lila, either. Chameleon gives us this:

Lila: (in flashback) Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends. Marinette: She lies with every breath. Nino: Wait. You eavesdropped on Lila and Adrien? That's not cool. Alya: A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?

Quick mini rant before I give the next Chameleon quote: this isn't how verifying your sources works, Alya! You should be verifying that Lila does know Ladybug, not the other way around! Right now, Marinette and Lila have equal authority on the topic as far as you know and there is no evidence to support either claim, so you should be looking for proof that Lila isn't lying! Proof isn't a first come, first serve problem even though a lot of people fall into that trap. This is especially true since Lila goes on to make claims like this:

Lila: Of course Ladybug saved my life. She never misses an opportunity to rescue her best friends. Max: Didn't your tinnitus give you vertigo when you went up the Eiffel Tower? Lila: Oh no. Ladybug knows me so well that she brought me an earplug to stick in my right ear.

So Lila keeps right on lying about her relationship with Ladybug, presenting them as close friends, making it even harder for me to get on the "Marinette was in the wrong for privately confronting Lila" train. If anything, Marinette was too tame! She needed to go full scorched earth and have Alya post a public retraction that included a message about the dangers of claiming to be personal friends with someone you don't actually know.

If the show went that route and had Ladybug give an equally furious smack-down and Alya posted it without a second thought, THEN I'd probably be on team "Marinette needed to tone herself down because she went too far" because that isn't a heat-of-the-moment reaction. It's something Marinette would have time to think through. But Volpina didn't go there. Instead, we just get Marinette reacting live to someone using her name to flirt with her crush. Remember, this is the setup to Marinette transforming and jumping in to stop Lila:

Lila: Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends because we have something very special in common- it's what I wanted to tell you about. I'm the descendant of a vixen superheroine myself, Volpina. Adrien: Volpina? Marinette: Volpina? Adrien: Wait a minute! I think I read about her in my book. Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. My grandma gave me this necklace. [Marinette runs off to transform] Adrien: (holding Lila's necklace) Are you telling me this is a Miraculous?! (Ladybug lands in front of them)

This wasn't a planned confrontation. It was Marinette reacting live to some pretty massive lies. If Ladybug had been swinging by and just overhead this, then the scene once again wouldn't change much. That's why blaming Marinette for confronting Lila in the "wrong way" feels so victim blame-y to me. "How dare Ladybug not be perfectly poised at all times and react with grace when someone lies about being her close friend and teammate!" is not a take I'm ever going to agree with. And if you want to use the middle schooler defense? Then it applies to Marinette, too. She and Lila are the same age. Why the different standards just because Marinette has fame that she never asked for or sought out?

I've never been much of a fan of holding celebrities to an "always on" standard where their every interaction needs to be done with poise and grace even if the interaction happens out in the wild and not at a planned even where the celebrity can be mentally prepared for dealing with fans. That's extra true for accidental celebrities like Ladybug. Marinette didn't take up the earrings for fame and they certainly haven't brought her fortune, plus she has no PR training. Expecting her to be a PR master who knows how to handle her accidental fame is, once again, a little too victim blame-y for my tastes. Ladybug is here to save the world, not sign autographs. You can hold her to politician standards when you start paying her for risking her life on the daily.

There's a version of Lila where I would have a different take. A version where the lie really is minor and Marinette really did "overreact", but even there my lesson wouldn't be "Marinette was totally in the wrong" because I genuinely think that sends the wrong message to kids and kids are the show's target audience. Think about what you're actually saying here, "Because Marinette is famous, she needs to accept that people will lie about her and just ignore them even if people believe the lie."

While that isn't exactly a wrong take, it's still really messed up. It's not okay for people to use Marinette's name like that just because she's famous. The reason she needs to learn to let it go is because that's what's best for her mental health, not because her fame makes her lesser than others when it comes to things like personal privacy. The lies are not magically okay just because she's well known.

Remember, Marinette is a fictional character, but the kids watching this show are very real and they're way more likely to be Lilas than Marinettes. And the kids that do relate to Marinette in this episode? They'll be kids who have dealt with the rumor mill spreading lies about them or their friends without the celebrity complication. The show should not be telling either set of kids that Marinette is the one in the wrong here. That is the wrong moral and why I hate this episode so much. I might feel differently if the intended audience was teens and if this plot was allowed to be more complex, but none of that is true. The show is aimed at kids ages 5 to 12 and every episode is supposed to teach its own moral with Volpina's moral being "Marinette was explicitly and totally in the wrong here."

This is the age of internet personalities where there are more easily-accessible celebrities than ever and where many of them do not have the wealth needed to protect themselves from fans nor the PR training to know how to handle extreme fans if there even is PR training for that! That means that it's honestly really important for kids to learn to view these individuals as people who it's wrong to lie about and who deserve the same respect as non-famous people. Treating celebrities as public commodities is how we get things like the Kit Connor scandal where an 18-year-old actor felt forced to publicly come out because the internet wouldn't shut up about his sexuality. Oh, and since you brought up one direction, I'll also note that the band members have publicly stated that online shipping discourse has negatively impacted their relationships. So, yeah, I'm never going to agree that kids should be told that it's okay to lie about celebrities or treat them as fictional characters to play with and that the celebrities are the ones who are wrong if they get upset about that behavior. That shit is toxic.

If we go the "minor" lie route, then my version of this episode would be a very sad one where Marinette learns that people are going to ignore her boundaries and lie about her and there's nothing she can do about it. A lesson in mental health training that will hopefully help kids who are dealing with bullies, but that does not present Marinette as totally in the wrong. It just teaches her when to pick a fight and when to let it go, which is a very important skill to learn even outside of lies about your own person. There will be many times when you hear people say something that you vehemently disagree with and it's important to learn when to pick a fight and when to just let it go, knowing that no good will come from speaking up even if you're 100% in the right. It's a very sad, but also very necessary skill.

I think Adrien has a place in that story. A place where he still tells Ladybug to let it go, but it should NOT have been played the way it was in canon where he acted like Ladybug was totally out of line. He needed to be way more compassionate and understanding of her very justified anger. I've written Adrien giving advice on this topic before and it's always presented as, "people are going to be assholes and you have to learn to ignore them for your own well being," not as, "you are wrong to be upset about strangers telling lies about you. You agreed to deal with this when you decided to be a hero" because what kind of asinine lesson is that?

You could also keep Adrien's canon reaction and have the lesson be him learning that it's okay to have boundaries. That his fame doesn't negate his bodily autonomy and right to be treated with dignity. That people chasing him down, invading his personal space, and otherwise preventing him from living a normal life is wrong. I love it when fanfics take this approach to Adrien's part in the Lila conflict. It's very cathartic to see his friends supporting him and protecting him from Lila.

I really have tried to see Volpina from the "Marinette was totally in the wrong" perspective because I've come across it several times, but I just can't wrap my head around it. If you've got a counter argument, then feel free to try to change my mind because I've given you my full thoughts here, but know that I'm probably not budging on this one. You'd have to make some pretty dramatic changes to canon for me to feel like this take has a point. I think the only way that I'd be on Lila's side is if it was very clear that no one believed Lila and Marinette still had the same reaction that we see in canon as that does feel like going too far. But everyone believed Lila so that's not a solid argument and I'm just never going to agree that people have to be cool with others lying about them just because they're famous. I honestly despise celebrity culture so much and hate that people are basically forced to deal with that bullshit if they want to be successful in certain artistic fields.

#miraculous ladybug #ml analysis #ml salt #lila salt

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cambionkami · 3 days ago

Text

Arcane Season 2 Spoilers you've been warned!

I love the team's attention to detail shown in Arcane. Especially this scene here:

Here we have Caitlyn. Her face shows her trying to be strong and push aside her grief to do "what needs to be done." Her back is straight, and her head is held high. She is aware of the horrors that Jinx can do. Back in season 1 episode 4, she was the sole survivor of one of Jinx's attacks on Piltover, then again at the end of season 1, she was kidnapped and watched the very attack that killed her mother.

Caitlyn is aware of her role and the power she's both been given and earned, making her believe she is responsible for taking out Jinx. This is reinforced by her saying to her father in the first episode of season 2 "I had the shot". She holds onto that grief of knowing she was in the position to prevent what Jinx did, maybe if she had taken the shot her mother would've survived. Leading her to take charge and create a strike force to assassinate Jinx, both in duty to the people who died due to the many attacks and revenge for her mother.

Then you have Vi, who follows behind Caitlyn, to show both support for her and her actions. She wears the enforcer uniform and the gauntlets and is standing side by side with other enforcers to take down the threat. But her body language speaks the opposite, her eyes are adverted and darting downward, frowning with a slouch, the whole time she's shown here her head is down. Sure she feels awful for what Caitlyn's been through but is also facing the responsibility of what her sister, Jinx, has become.

Vi carries the weight of her sister's actions and believes it is her responsibility to stop Jinx from hurting anyone else, she's seen the damage her sister can do firsthand and is fully aware that it can get worse if no action is taken. Sure, she doesn't want to kill or bring harm to her sister, nobody does, she spent all of season 1 tracking her sister down to be with her family again. Up until meeting Caitlyn, Vi has been all alone, without her family, her parents are dead, her adoptive family is dead, and her sister is still out there.

These two characters are the two faces of the same coin. They've both lost family and stability in their lives and feel the responsibility of correcting the terrors Jinx has caused is theirs to face and neutralize. But a lot of their direction in how to go about dealing with the issue are the same thing these characters accuse Jinx of being.

Vi clings to hope, hope that Powder is still inside of Jinx, any reasoning to see her sister as the way she remembers her being. A mindset that is slowly breaking her as she witnesses the horrors "Powder" is unleashing on the innocent, affecting men, women and children alike. She wants to cling to the idea of her sister being there, but she slowly starts echoing the people around her. Ekko mentions how Powder is no longer there, how she "changed", this is also reinforced by Jinx herself, "Powder fell down a well".

Vi is adjusting to these new changes, learning about Jinx alongside with the audience. Her face, voice and body language are soft when she addresses her sister when she views her as "Powder". She wants to view her sister as what they were long ago, two kids, sisters, and family. Vi struggles with seeing the anger that is Jinx bubbling to the surface in her sister and when it comes to the confrontation in Season 2 Episode 3, she is fully aware she is unable to do the job of killing her sister. Looking for someone else to do the job for her or any excuse to avoid the task.

We see in the same episode that she turns her back to allow Caitlyn to take the shot for her, apologising as she closes her eyes. She knows there's no undo button for what Jinx has done and knows the only resolution to the battle is her sister's head. There is no more reasoning, no more bargaining, and no more begging, what's done is done. Vi is in complete turmoil over her sister knowing that even though she's just gotten her back that she will soon have to say goodbye to her.

So we jump to later that same conflict, she's pinned down Jinx, and vi has won in securing the threat to neutralize for the greater good. But when Isha runs up, with a gun in hand, blocking Vi from stopping Jinx, she freezes in place. There is nothing really stopping Vi from disarming Isha and/or removing Isha from Jinx to secure a better shot. Even extending this excuse to Caitlyn, jumping in front of the shot to interfere with the 'shot'.

Vi grew up being the role model for her 3 younger siblings, a major influence in guiding people down the correct or incorrect path. She grew up with people following her lead and is now blocking Caitlyn from completing their mission. Vi only wants to help Caitlyn do what's right but also wants to protect what's left of her remaining family unintentionally.

Sounds a little familiar, doesn't it?

Caitlyn on the other hand is in complete turmoil over the grief of her mother's death, knowing she could've prevented it had she gone down and taken a different path. She grows distant and isolated in her grief as if disconnecting from her reality to best hide the pain she is suffering from as we see in season 2 episode 1. In season 1, she echoes a similar belief that her mother held, "the people of the underground deserve to breathe", this line can be taken both literally and metaphorically for the story and its symbolism. But with the death of her mother, this idea also dies in Caitlyn, voicing her views on them as "animals" with a bite to her words. In the very scene she says this, she bares her teeth, much like an animal would. Voicing her growing rage.

She believes she's at fault, and with the fact that she had the shot back at the end of season 1, she could've ended the madness Jinx unleashes. This drives Caitlyn through her grief in an attempt to 'fix' what has been broken and correct the wrongs that have been brought into her world. She knows Jinx will only take more lives if her abuse is left unchecked, many men, women and children count on Caitlyn to take the next shot as quickly and swiftly as possible. This leads to her conflict with Vi and Isha in episode 3.

She wants to take the shot, to neutralize Jinx, to secure the threat and eliminate it for good. In her mind, it would prevent any more terrors and stop the growing threat of war.

When Isha jumps onto Jinx and holds her close, Caitlyn attempts to take the shot, she is narrowed in on securing the death of Jinx, and she doesn't care that there might be the risk of hitting Isha or Vi. After all, the death of a few here in this fight might prevent the deaths of thousands. She wants to protect what's left of her family and destroy everything that is Jinx.

When Caitlyn is unsuccessful in assassinating Jinx yet again, it explains easier why Ambessa was easily able to single out and recruit Cait to lead in Marshal Law over Piltover and ride into Zaun to the drums of war. Caitlyn needs Jinx dead, she will not stop unless something breaks her current driving force, which is grief. She wants peace after all, which is what will aid her in justifying her actions and doing what she believes is the right thing to do.

Caitlyn is becoming the very threat she accuses the Zaunites and Jinx of being, as in war there will always be the innocent that are caught in the cross fire.

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nqueso-emergency · 2 days ago

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This is a long one but I'm pissed off...

I'm no one to tell people to have hope, you believe what you want to believe but here's an exception to that: it kinda pisses me off when I read asks based on Buddie journalists shitty biased interviews and saying they've lost hope.

I don't know if those are Buddies faking to be BuckTommys (it wouldn't be the first time) but why would you guys take into consideration what they say??? Have you not seen their behavior on line??? The hypocrisy??? when you call them out or come to them with facts they just block you or don't reply at all??? Why would you believe someone who said she was being attacked by bucktommys when in reality it was ppl from a completely different show just to shit on BT??? Have you not seen the posts about them here??? The tweets are there and even though they bock you, you can still see them.. Is queso wasting their time???

They are BUDDIES first and journalists after.. They need those clicks to keep the lights on.. they are not neutral, they are not professional and mainly, they are not to trust like AT ALL..

Let me ask you this, why were buddies soooo confident online saying that BT were going to break up since monday the week of 8x06??? Even making hit list to harass people??? It was weird bc as BT break up it was out of nowhere.. so they knew something we didn't... why is that?? I'll leave it to your interpretation.. Just keep in mind they get to watch the episode before anyone else.. So, would you take the word from someone like that???

And just as examples I'm gonna leave here some SS from the TVLine OS interview for you.. But do something for me.. Read the Questions Without reading the answers and it'll help you realize what their were trying to do. (Even though OS shit on himself with some of his answers) but still..

What country would unite with the let buck fuck thing if even the GA liked Buck being with Tommy???? There's only one answer and you know what it is..

Mind you I think this is the least Biased... If you read the other interviews were these "journalists" themselves not the actor, are actually implying Tommy won't come back using frases like "most likely won't", "seems like it's final" it's even worse.. Being the interviews with Lou the worst ones... Why would they want an interview with Lou if they're a buddie and don't like him??? Looks like mission accomplished for them..

Now again you believe what you want to believe but don't come here using Buddie journalists as a reliable source....

And a final recommendation DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT BUDDIE "JOURNALISTS" SAY... but don't stop calling their shit out though bc they are awful people...

I rest my case..

Say that! 📢

#nquesu wanna block #911 abc #911 discourse #911 show #bucktommy #nquesu want receipts

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hydrobunny · 21 hours ago

Text

i can't say anything to your face (cause look at your face)

tags: established relationship, fluff

a/n: wrote this within a day in a burst of inspiration somehow,,, enjoy fellow kaiser lovers

------------

"are you trying to make me look stupid?" michael kaiser asks, barely an inch away from your hands.

automatically, before you can really think about it, you snap back. "that's not hard."

with an expression of dramatic hurt, he leans away from you. "excuse me?"

the eyeliner in your hand wobbles. only one of kaiser's eyes sports his signature red swoop.

he does kind of look stupid.

you bite back a smile.

unfortunately, kaiser is much more observant than he seems. his mismatched eyes narrow.

his hand snaps out to latch around your wrist, stopping you from bringing the eyeliner any closer.

"i don't trust you with this," your boyfriend snarks. "i have to go out with it on my face."

you weakly try to pull your hand out of his grasp. "you asked me to."

his eyes linger on yours. "that was when i thought you actually had hand-eye coordination."

you gasp with mock offense. "my coordination is perfectly fine, thank you. you haven't even seen what it looks like!"

he lets go of your hand, leaning back onto the wall. "i can already tell you're unsteady."

you glare at him. "it's a little hard to be steady when you're refusing to stay still."

he looks extremely unimpressed. it's a lot dumber with the mismatched liner.

an idea sparks in your head. before you can convince yourself otherwise, you .

"what-"

"stay still," you warn again, and shift yourself onto his lap.

kaiser stiffens like a rock. it's a little flattering.

"there you go," you whisper, smiling.

his eyes are dead-focused onto your own as you bring the pen closer. "careful," he mutters, voice low.

his hands lock themselves around your waist.

and in a single motion, you swoop the flash of red under his eye.

he blinks. you admire your handiwork.

"see?" you laugh. "only needed you to cooperate!"

you move to get up- his grip doesn't loosen.

kaiser tilts his head. from your proximity, you can trace every stroke of ink marked into his skin.

"you have places to be," you remind. "things to do."

he hums. "i'm fine where i am."

"you're really annoying, you know that?"

he flashes you a lazy smile. "i've heard worse. and better."

you roll your eyes. "whatever you say. can you let me go now?"

he shrugs. "you came here."

you shift your weight, still annoyingly trapped on his lap. the eyeliner pen falls to the floor, its purpose done.

"i think you need to stop arguing with me," you sigh. "it's annoying. just sit still and look pretty."

"i don't-"

you shut him up the only way you know how: pressing your lips onto his.

you can feel him grinning into the kiss- because it was obvious what he was going for from the start- and it only motivates you to press further.

"you're so gonna be late," you grumble.

he only laughs into your mouth. "worth it."

in the next movement, you rip yourself away off of him. he blinks up at you. the remnants of your lip gloss have left a shine on his lips.

"and your eyeliner's uneven."

there's a pause. you turn on your heel.

"wait, what?"

#hydrobunny #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser michael x reader

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josephandrewstarkey · 2 days ago

Text

beach fight — part 5

warnings: not really any i think

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

part 1 — part 2 — part 3 — part 4 — part 5

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

After the chaos on the beach and Rafe’s revelation that he’d been the reason Alex ghosted her, Y/N was furious. She felt betrayed, hurt, and done with Rafe Cameron. She couldn’t believe how possessive and controlling he’d become, always tearing apart anyone who got close to her. That night, JJ was the one who stayed by her side, listening to her vent, offering the support she needed. Over the next few days, he kept her distracted from the mess that was Rafe—taking her surfing, watching old movies, and going on long walks along the beach where they’d talk about everything, life, dreams, and escape. JJ helped her through the anger, the sadness, and even the guilt she felt over her tangled feelings for Rafe. He became her escape.

Tonight, they’d planned to let go of everything—to drown out their emotions with laughter and liquor. y/n and JJ had taken the Twinkie for a quick run to the liquor store, their last stop before joining the others.

As they turned the last corner, there stood the one and only, Rafe Cameron, standing right in front of them with that same intense stare. Before she could pull back, JJ leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “Play along.”

Y/N shot him a curious glance, but his smirk told her all she needed to know. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, JJ steered them down the aisle, and she leaned into his touch, letting herself laugh as he murmured random things to make her smile. They strolled right past Rafe, and she could feel his eyes like a searing brand on her skin. She bit back a smirk, feeling her pulse quicken as JJ’s hand slid down to rest on her butt, almost on instinct.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just glared, simmering with barely contained anger. JJ caught his glare and decided to make it worse, resting his hand on her hip as he whispered something else that made Y/N giggle. She kept her expression cool, keeping her gaze averted from Rafe’s furious stare as they paid for their drinks and walked out.

Once outside, she thought they were finally free of him, but then came the familiar voice, tinged with desperation and anger. “Y/N.”

She paused, rolling her eyes, and turned around with a sigh, JJ standing firmly at her side. “What?”

Rafe ignored JJ, his eyes fixed on her. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “No.”

“Y/N, please,” he pressed, voice softer this time, almost pleading. “Just hear me out.”

JJ looked at her, raising a brow as if to ask if she wanted him to intervene. She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and frustration bubbling up. Against her better judgment, she nodded for JJ to give them a minute. He shot Rafe a glare before stepping a few paces away, just close enough to intervene if he needed to.

“What do you want, Rafe?” she asked, voice sharp and cold.

Rafe’s gaze softened, regret visible in his expression. “I want to apologize, alright? I know I fucked up, fucked this up. All I’ve been able to think about is you. I miss you.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s what you said last time, Rafe. And the time before that.” She took a step back, her voice dropping to a tired whisper. “I don’t trust you. Not anymore.”

His face fell, desperation evident in his eyes. She started to turn, wanting to end this exhausting conversation, but Rafe grabbed her wrist, pulling her back toward him. She shot him a glare, her body tense as she remembered how their last confrontation had gone.

He hesitated, loosening his grip just enough for her to snatch her wrist back. JJ stepped forward, fists clenched, ready to jump in if needed. But Rafe held up his hands in mock surrender, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

Y/N turned sharply and stormed back to JJ, who protectively threw an arm over her shoulder as they headed out, leaving Rafe standing alone, clenching his fists and barely able to hold back his anger.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Back at home, Rafe was still furious, every memory of Y/N and JJ at the liquor store playing in his mind. The idea of JJ being so close to her, the sight of him with his arm over her shoulder, and especially the thought of him being the one to comfort her—it all pushed Rafe to the edge.

He stomped into his house and slammed the door shut, not even noticing Sofia standing nearby until she approached him. She looked up, concerned, trying to get his attention.

“Hey, baby, you oka—”

But Rafe ignored her, brushing past her and heading upstairs, lost in his own thoughts. Sofia trailed after him, not giving up, until he finally stopped in his room, turning around to face her.

“What do you want?” he asked, annoyed.

Sofia’s face fell. “Nothing. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Well, I’m clearly fine,” he scoffed, sitting down on his bed. “So can you leave? Thanks.”

Sofia turned to walk out, her shoulders slumping, but Rafe suddenly called after her.

“Hey, Sofia.”

She turned around, looking hopeful. “Yeah?”

“We’re over.”

Sofia’s face went pale, and her voice shook. “W-what? Why?”

“Because I said so,” he replied coldly, his patience snapping. “Pack your shit and leave.”

Tears welled up in Sofia’s eyes as she stood there, stunned, before she quickly left the room, crying.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

We got back to the house,I was still processing everything that had happened. JJ and I were quiet about it, both of us not wanting to bring any of that drama to the night.

Everyone was already getting comfortable outside, smoking and drinking as usual. It was like nothing had happened, and for a little while, I let myself get lost in the fun. JJ was by my side, as always, his arm draped around my shoulders or pulling me into side hugs. He’d whisper jokes in my ear, making me laugh and forget the mess of emotions swirling inside of me. We drank, we smoked, and for a while, everything felt right.

Before long, everyone was asleep. I could hear the soft breaths of the others in the hammocks, the sounds of a peaceful night settling in. But I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. I stood up, slipping quietly past everyone, making my way inside to go to the bathroom.

I hadn’t noticed JJ was still awake until I turned around at the sound of footsteps behind me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him standing there in the hallway, a look of quiet intensity in his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice soft, almost teasing.

“It’s fine,” I smiled, though there was a sudden flutter of something else in my chest, something I couldn’t quite name.

I tried to open the bathroom door, but before I could, JJ was there, stepping closer, his hand on the doorframe as he leaned in. His lips crashed into mine, deep and urgent, surprising me. But before I knew it, I was kissing him back, my body responding to his in a way I hadn’t expected.

He pushed me back against the wall, his hands roaming, fingers pressing against the soft fabric of my clothes as he kissed me harder. It felt different than anything I’d ever experienced—intense, full of raw energy. My breath hitched as he moved even closer, the heat between us building.

Without saying a word, he scooped me up, carrying me effortlessly upstairs, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as I pressed against him. He kicked the door shut behind us, locking it with a quiet click that seemed to seal us in, alone in this moment.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

@thepopcultureaddict @lovrsin @heartsforrafecam @aerie717 @4ria790 @idkimagines @trapistani @ravngers @stardrewkey @poisonedsultana @toterry @esquivelbianca @rrosiitas @izurelia @faephoria @alayaaaahhhhhh @effyssky @frankoceanluvr11

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey fic #rafe outer banks #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #my husband #outer banks #obx

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roryyyys · 2 days ago

Text

Prongs what's wrong?

(Quick thing I wrote mostly at school about James not feeling so great after a quidditch game sorry if it isn’t as good it’s kinda rushed and like I said I was at school <3)

It was early evening after a quidditch game the boys in the common area were planning a victory party. James sat through with his head resting in his hand Remus picked up on this and spoke to James since he was usually ecstatic after winning a game “Prongs you alright? We can always save the party for tomorrow night if you're too tired mate..” James shook his head at Remus and started adding things to the party list.

Sirius was ecstatic about the party, Remus rolling his eyes knowing he's gonna have to take care of a hungover Sirius in the morning if he got shitfaced.

“Moons..moons..moons..moons” Sirius bothered Remus over and over again till he answered “what do you want pads jesus christ.” Sirius laughed and smiled “can you make blueberry tea? You make it so much better than everyone else.” Of course Remus smiled and nodded leaving the boys alone for a bit Peter and Sirius bothered James to his limit where he snapped and left the room to their shared dorm to lay in his bed.

James whimpered in his bed he didn't feel that great to be honest his head was pounding and his body just felt overall sore. Remus brought up some blueberry tea to James and set it down with a smile asking him if he was sore since he was so tired.

“Sore prongs? You can take a nap. I'll wake you up like an hour before the party.” Remus assured and James smiled and nodded “thanks moony..Im really tired..game took everything out of me tonight i guess..” Remus nodded and smiled.

“Anytime Jamie..” and with that Remus left the room to go talk to the idiots in the common room. The boys looked up at Remus and Sirius said “what's up with prongs is it his time of the month or something.” Sirius laughed softly and Remus gently hit him.

“He's not feeling great, he's a bit sore from the game.” They continued to talk and write out a list for the party.

Then of course Sirius sent Remus and Peter to go get the stuff while he went to his room to finish up a page in a scrapbook he was making for Remus' birthday.

Sirius saw James knocked out in his bed and laughed, sneaking a picture of him with the polaroid he saw a more uncomfy look on James face and thought he was having a nightmare.

So he sat on his bed, took his glasses off his face and rubbed his back before getting up and going to his own bed. Sirius was never that sappy but nobody was around and he knew how it felt to have nightmares.

James snored softly a few moments later making Sirius laugh. James woke up around twenty minutes later and sat up looking at Sirius and spoke “what the hell is the glitter for..” the sudden speech made Sirius jump “fuck! Prongs, it's nothing! Um..none of your business!” Sirius panicked. James panicked at the sudden panic, making both of them laugh a few moments later.

James laid back down just “defrosting” in his bed as he described it. He laid there for a good while eventually getting up for an outfit change.

He still felt horrible even worse but he didn’t care, he needed to go to this party only because he was the star player of the quidditch team. But it was getting harder and harder by the second he had a pounding headache that was turning into a migraine.

He was nauseous beyond belief his stomach was churning and he whimpered to himself while getting ready. Once done he heard Remus on the other side of the door. “James is up? I promised I'd wake him..” James stopped listening and walked out.

He looked at Remus and smiled, Remus smiling back “feeling better prongsy?” James just nodded because he didnt wanna tell them that he felt like absolute shit if he did Remus would go all mother hen and Sirius and Peter would tease and make fun of him like a bunch of little kids.

He hated when they did that it annoyed him even though he did it back. “What did you guys buy..?” James asked softly, still half asleep even though he had been awake for a little over thirty minutes now.

Peter answered him “just some drinks, snacks and decorations, not much to be very honest.” James nodded at that feeling awfully dizzy anytime he tried to nod or shake his head but he didnt wanna speak so he didn't. He decided to risk stumbling around and being dizzy just so he didn't have to talk much.

He of course asked about what he should wear and Sirius answered telling him to wear something more casual and comfortable and James nodded, throwing on a jumper and some sweats.

He helped Remus set up the decorations ignoring the pounding migraine he was getting and how tired he was. Remus was catching on quickly but ignored it hoping James would admit sooner or later that he was in fact not “fine” once they finished setting up streamers and pouring out snacks it was around eight pm.

People started showing up and it got loud very quickly, making James' headache worse. Regulus was there mostly because Sirius made him come to the party to see James since they were “kind of” dating Regulus did not consider them dating but James did. Though Regulus was in love with James the same. So Regulus was a bit happy to see James.

When he saw James a look of concern crossed his face seeing his well mostly “secret lover” looking as if he were to pass out any minute. James didn’t drink which made Sirius catch on since James usually drank at a celebration party “Come on have a little drink Jamie might help take your mind off of whatever you're thinking of!” Sirius said already mostly drunk but could still tell something was up with his friend.

James laughed softly and took a drink to not seem suspicious. “Yeah, Yeah I'll have a drink if you shut up.” Sirius smiled all tipsy and giggling. Regulus made his way over and pushed Sirius aside “don't be a prick Sirius he doesn't have to drink if he doesn't want to.”

James smiled at Regulus “It's fine I'll have a drink it's just one anyways.” Regulus pulled James aside “You look sick James. C’mon we're going to your dorm you idiot.”

James pulled back “im fine i swear just sore.” Regulus obviously didn't believe him one bit. “Bullshit potter. Let's make up an excuse for you hm..?” Regulus said getting soft with James seeing how sickly he looked in bright lights.

“James nodded with a soft yawn feeling exhausted Regulus took the tallers hand thinking of an excuse and walked over to Remus since he was the only one that wasn't drunk or tipsy.

“Im taking James to the dorm to shower, someone spilled a drink on him and he’s really upset..” What the hell kinda excuse was that regulus!? He thought to himself facepalming internally. Remus nodded, waving them off Regulus, grabbing James' hand again making their way to the dorm.

In the hall on the way to the dorm James felt incredibly nauseous and leaned on Regulus catching on hurrying up slightly so James didn't puke in the hallway.

Once back in the shared dorm that James Sirius Remus and Peter shared he grabbed some comfortable clothes for James consisting of a jumper and some soft shorts and he grabbed a bucket from the corner of the room in case James decided to lose his dinner.

James flopped over exhaustively on his bed Regulus sitting next to him ran a soft cold hand through James curls speaking softly yet still firm and cold like he usually did “You wanna drink or a snack? Might help you feel better I promise darling..” James shook his head and spoke sleepily “you read me a book?” Regulus’ heart melted but he wouldn't admit it.

He grabbed a book James had gotten yet never read and sat down next to him James putting his head in Regulus lap curling up in a ball while Regulus read to him. Falling asleep quickly Regulus kept reading for over an hour before falling asleep with James.

James woke up a bit later with a horrible nauseating feeling in his stomach. He sat up and tried to get up to get water but immediately sat back down with a soft heave he put his hand over his mouth and shook regulus who stirred before sitting up to see James on the verge of puking so he passed him the bucket and James instantly vomited into the bucket Regulus pulled his hair back and took his glasses off him setting them on the side table then rubbing his back.

“Jesus Christ James..” James whimpered “I'm sorry I didn't think this would happen…” Regulus shushed him and reassured him it was alright. “It's okay, things happen but next time I'd like a better warning idiot..” James nodded, they sat there for around twenty-five minutes James vomiting and or dry heaving. Finally he was done and Regulus asked him just to be sure “all done?”

James nodded and curled up on the bed while Regulus got up to get water for him. Seeing the time Regulus sighed it was only ten at night meaning everyone was still in the common room partying.

When he brought James water the door swung open and in came Sirius stumbling into the bathroom to vomit Remus trailing behind him talking to him “please darling don't throw up on the tile!” James laughed softly. Sirius always got way too drunk for his own good. “Your brothers are an idiot..” Regulus smiled and handed him the water.

“Trust me I know you know and his boyfriend knows.” James sipped the water and Stared at his laptop. “Can we watch a movie..?” Regulus smiled and nodded “what do you have in mind?” James took the laptop and pulled up “monsters inc.” Regulus smiled and got in bed with him “great choice darling..”

James curled up to his partner and watched the movie falling asleep around forty-three minutes in regulus and smiled “feel better darling..” Regulus said softly falling asleep around an hour into the movie. James was so lucky to have his boyfriend and Regulus the same.

Though Regulus' brother was annoyed the next morning when he found out they fell asleep together but it didn't matter because as long as they were happy Sirius didn't mind to much at all.

Should I do more marauders??

(Please do send me requests I love taking them and I’d love to do them‼️‼️‼️)

#james potter #regulus black #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders #plsreadthisiworkedreallyhardonthis #please request #pls reblog #james potter needs a hug #jegulus #wolfstar #teen maruders #sickfic #fanfic #harry potter

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unknown-cold · 1 day ago

Note

Some people be missing vital points of your post about people forgiving jinx but not Caitlyn. Just because she’s a rich nepo baby, doesn’t make her trauma any less significant than jinx’s. Like wtf. That’s shit I’m sick of. Mental illness and grief don’t stop because you have money. Ppl have an understandable anger towards privilege but i think it’s warped some of their perceptions of the show. Both Caitlyn and jinx’s reactions to trauma/grief are realistic, neither better or worse than the other. I’m more interested to see the end game for both of those characters and how they manage that grief/trauma in the long run. I have my thoughts on how they will mirror Cait and Jinx’s endings to reflect that

Say it LOUDER!! 🗣🗣

And you know what's worse than that is when I saw a post saying that Caitlyn was going to kill the child because she's a cop, what does being a cop or an enforcer have to do with killing a kid?

They completely ignoring that she's in a condition of hysteria from fear and anger at that moment, (literally, was Silco a cop when he decided to kill Vander and his children in episode 3 in season 1, or not? He's from Zaun so he has the right to do bad things, but if he's someone from Piltover, then no. "Of course I'm not saying that these actions are good, of course not. I just want to show how hypocritical these people are when it comes to comparisons and accepting actions from other characters and characters even though they're exactly the same actions")

But anyway, the important thing now is that they should know that trauma is trauma no matter what, whether the character is rich or poor, adult or teenager. Sadness and anger are emotions that are difficult to control, and this is the reality. There is no need to lie to ourselves. Go and search even on Google, and you will see that when writers make a character act in a certain way, whether it is good or bad, there is a clear and logical reason for it. And if these people sympathize with Jinx and her actions, then they should sympathize with Caitlyn as well because she is also a victim like Jinx, not only in terms of trauma, but Caitlyn also became a victim of Ambessa's manipulation. Same when Jinx was a victim of Silco's manipulation.

In my opinion, these people should calm down a bit because until now we haven't seen anything from the show. They should trust the writers of the show to make the characters look like this.

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midnightbears · 1 day ago

Text

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: medical stuff. mentions of pain. no appearance of canon characters.

#NOTES: i’ve realized it’s a hassle to carefully use cybertronian terms, especially for time units. after rewatching tfone and reading some of the idw comics, i noticed they don’t stick to those terms either, so i’ve been complicating things for no reason. starting from chapter five, i'll use some 'correct' anatomy terms but stick to regular expressions otherwise. also i'm not proud of this chapter but tbh i'm still worldbuilding so i need to set the scene and show you things sorryyyyy!!!!! enjoy!

part one | part two | part three

"Primes, how did you keep your mandible from falling off your face?" the aged medic asked, discombobulation painting the tone of his voice. “Sheer will?"

A sharp grunt tore from your voicebox as the medic messed around with the cables sustaining your helm. It was a searing and stinging discomfort, sure, but momentary, in contrast to the gradual torment the mech had imposed on you throughout the match. Your servos were clenched into fists at your sides, and a grimace pulled at your features every now and then, followed by a vocalized grunt.

"Stop that," he hissed at you, swatting your servo away when it instinctively reached your own injuries. "You’re gonna open your weldings if you keep at it."

You were lying on a berth, the occasional beeping of monitors filling the otherwise sterile space. The scent of scorched metal and disinfectant lingered in the air, blending with the sharp, acrid smell of your own energon, along with a couple of other stenches you couldn’t quite place. Your frame ached from helm to pedes, every servo and circuit buzzing with residual pain.

Through the barriers, your auditory sensors detected the roars of the crowd, likely coming from another match occurring at that very moment. You wondered if it was one of your comrades from the Mining Outpost. Would you be able to tell which one was missing when you reencountered with your group? You hoped so. If you ever did, that is.

The same mech who had brought you to the lobby had now accompanied you to the infirmary and leaned against the doorframe, watching the medic work. Truthfully, you didn’t know why he was following you around, but a small part of you appreciated that he was friendly enough to show you around. His optics flicked over your battered form with something like mild fascination.

"Is it always this dramatic?" he asked dryly, breaking the silence.

He was friendly, yes, but a gladiator of Kaon nonetheless.

You glared at him out of the corner of your optics. Generally, you weren’t the kind of bot to react aggressively towards others without justification, even in your former satellite. However, for some reason, the frustration from your match had yet to subside. "You think this is funny?"

"Not funny," he replied, shrugging. "You took down someone twice your size, and now you’re laying here acting like getting patched up is the worst part."

"Worst part was nearly getting killed," you muttered through gritted teeth as the medic pulled at another cable. "This is just a bonus."

The medic shot the mech a look as if to say, Can’t you see I’m busy? But the mech only gave a half-smirk and stayed put.

"You got some nerve coming in here and making jokes," you added, your tone sharper now as the pain began to ebb, your tension starting to release. "You act like I asked to be thrown into that pit."

"I didn’t say that," the mech responded, his optics narrowing slightly. "But if you want to survive here, you better learn to roll with the punches. This is just the beginning. There’s worse to come."

You weren't even making an effort to conceal the intensity of your anger, allowing a contemptuous look to dominate your features as you contemplated how difficult it would be to garner even a small measure of sympathy for your situation. Primus below, at this point, the feel of the various tools examining your protoform was just an afterthought. Instead, you sharply turned your helm in the mech’s direction.

"Why are you even—?"

The medic sighed, giving the mech a pointed look. "Do me a favor—either help or shut up. I’m trying to make sure she can still function after that scrap you gladiators call a match."

"Hey, I’m not the one who—" the mech began, but the medic cut him off with an irritated wave of his servo.

"Don’t care who did what. She’s here, you’re here. If you’re gonna stand there, at least keep it down." The medic’s optics glanced at you, still adjusting the cables. "You're lucky you're still functional. You lost a lot of energon out there, and that helm of yours—" He gestured quickly, frowning deeply. "I've seen mechs offline for less."

You weren’t sure whether his tone carried a grudging admiration or just plain disbelief.

"I won, didn’t I?" you finally muttered, optics staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the stinging pain running through your frame.

"On the ugliest fight I’ve seen for a couple of stellar cycles now…" The mech mumbled.

Ugly, brutal, maybe—but the win had been yours.

"Yeah, yeah, you won," the medic said, scoffing lightly. "But you also wrecked yourself in the process. If you keep fighting like that, no amount of welding will keep you standing for long."

Another spark of pain surged through your helm as the medic continued his repairs, and you hissed, optic shutters fluttering as you struggled not to wince. Your thoughts, however, were drifting far from the berth. Bullway’s parting words haunted the back of your mind.

There’s always someone bigger and stronger waiting.

"I know," you said quietly. The medic didn’t respond, and his attention was back on his tools. But you knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it—your next fight could be your last if you didn’t find a way to get better, faster.

With a final tug, the medic stepped back, satisfied with his work. "There. You’ll need to rest for a few cycles."

"I don’t have time to rest," you replied, shaking your helm slightly, careful not to undo his work. "If I’m not ready, someone will be."

The mech pushed himself off the wall and moved closer, his optics scanning over your damaged frame. "She’s right. Rest gets you killed. You either stay on your pedes or get flattened."

The medic glared at him but said nothing, his attention returning to you. "Well, just try not to get yourself killed too quickly. I’m running low on parts."

You managed a weak chuckle. "I’ll try to keep that in mind."

With effort, you swung your stabilizers off the berth, testing your balance before standing. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead, but you forced yourself upright, refusing to show weakness.

The other mech stepped forward. "You good to walk?"

"I’m fine," you muttered, brushing him off. Even if you were grateful for the gesture, you weren’t about to show it. Not here.

He shrugged, stepping back with a half-smile. "Suit yourself."

Before you could leave, the medic grabbed a tool and tossed it between his servos for a moment as if considering something.

"One more thing," he added, optic ridges furrowing. "That wasn’t a normal fight out there. Bullway set you up."

You paused, turning to look at him. "Set me up how?"

The medic shrugged, but his expression was grim. "That mech you fought—Hazard—he wasn’t supposed to lose. Word is, Bullway wanted to see you fail. Guess you weren’t supposed to make it out of that arena."

The information sank like the cold and heavy metal you were forced to mine in your processor. Of course, it made sense. Bullway had never expected you to win—just wanted you to put on a show for the crowd. And now? Now, you’d made yourself a problem by surviving.

The other mech, who had been watching quietly, frowned. "That’s a serious accusation. But it makes sense. Bullway likes his fights brutal. You surviving wasn’t part of his plan."

You looked between them, the cold realization hardening in your spark. Bullway wanted you gone. He had underestimated you, and now he’d be looking for another chance to finish the job.

"Good to know," you muttered, your optics narrowing.

"Listen," said the medic. "I’ve been around long enough to know that the stunt you pulled was your anger fighting for you. You were lucky today, but it won’t serve you well the next time you fight. You gotta learn to fight like a proper fighter, not just use adrenaline to swing a sword around."

Your irritation grew with every word that spilled from him, "And how, pray tell, should I learn to fight here?"

"I’ve got a few bots in mind who would be delighted to meet you." Bluey’s voice (at least, that is what you had heard the medic call him when you stepped into the infirmary) was all-knowing, as though he was telling you something obvious.

"What?"

A small smile tugged at his dermas at the shock on your face. "If you need a reminder, you, a rookie, during her first match, spent the better part of five klicks demolishing a mech’s helm with his blade. We thought you’d busted a gasket until you stopped. Some bots actually betted shanix on you, and most of my colleagues got the short end of the stick."

Meteoric mottles of golden dust seemed to sporadically shimmer inside his optics, ochre-colored, which had suddenly grown wide with an almost childlike admiration as he chatted your audial receptors off.

You couldn’t explain why, but it comforted you.

"... Is that so?" Tilting your head, you raised your servos, staring at the energon drying around the crevices.

"Here."

Luckily, your reflexes made you look up just in time to catch whatever object the medic had thrown your way. Once your vision refocused, you saw that it was a… rotary buffer. Questioningly, you looked up at him.

"Oil baths and all that scrap are gonna cost ya shanix," he said, turning his back to reorganize the tools on his table, "and you gotta win a few more fights to start receiving your parts, so that’s as much as I can give you if you wanna get those energon stains off. Once you’re done with it, give it back."

"You have the right to one energon ration daily and the usual basics for free, but shanix gets you the real juice here." Bluey chimed in, staring at the buffer in your servos. Then, he moved toward the door, "Here, I’ll show you. I was starving anyway. Let’s see if I can introduce you to some of my pals on the way."

"Thanks," you told the medic, turning to follow Bluey out the door.

As soon as the automatic door closed, your companion snorted, starting an airy, light walk toward one of the halls. "Primus below, I think Rumble hates you."

"Rumble?" You parroted, awkwardly looking at the buffer in your servos before using your right servo to grab it. Were you going to have to carry it the entire time?

"Rumbleburner, that’s him, the medic. He’s got a temper, but he’s good at what he does. Just… don’t expect him to sugarcoat anything."

You snorted softly, gripping the buffer a little tighter. "I noticed."

Bluey laughed, turning his helm to glance at you. "Yeah, well, you’re going to get used to it. He’s patched up mechs worse off than you, believe me."

"Worse than me?" you muttered, recalling the medic’s earlier comments. The pain still echoed through your frame, though it had dulled now that you were on your pedes again. "Can’t imagine what that looks like."

"Trust me," Bluey replied, his optics gleaming as he glanced over his shoulder. "You don’t want to."

You followed him through a winding series of hallways, his light-hearted chatter somehow easing the weight in your frame. He pointed out the occasional landmark—crude etchings in the metal walls, dents from past fights, even a faint, half-burned insignia of a past arena champion left to rust over. It was clear he'd been here a while, the easy way he moved through the pits almost reassuring in this unfamiliar maze.

Finally, you reached a wide, dimly lit mess hall filled with mechs in various states of repair, leaning against walls or seated at battered metal tables, energon cubes scattered in front of them. Bluey motioned to the energon dispenser against the far wall.

"Help yourself. That there’s the standard ration," he said, nodding toward the machine. "If you ever get lucky, sometimes you can find the premium stuff, but that’s rare. Around here, energon that pure costs shanix most of us don’t have."

You pressed a few buttons, and the dispenser spluttered to life, filling a cube with a thin, pale blue liquid that looked just on the edge of functional. You took it gratefully. Bluey grabbed one for himself, and the two of you leaned against a nearby wall, sipping in silence for a moment.

"That mech there’s Furnace," Bluey whispered, nodding toward a tall, narrow bot covered in faded red plating with scorch marks running up his arms. "He’s one of the oldest still fighting. Almost made it to the top once but got his servos shattered."

You took another sip, the thin energon buzzing faintly as it settled into your systems. "And he’s still fighting?"

Bluey shrugged. "What else is there for us here?" He waved his cube vaguely. "Not all of us have somewhere else to go if we wanted to. Furnace hangs on like the rest of us—figuring that maybe next cycle will be different."

You gazed at Furnace for a long moment, trying to imagine the strength it must take to keep fighting when every match was a struggle to survive, knowing the system was rigged from the start. It made you wonder, deep down, if you’d be able to do the same when your turn came.

Bluey watched you with a sidelong glance, a flicker of sympathy in his optics before he leaned back and let out a short, quiet chuckle. "It’s a raw deal, huh?"

He swirled the remaining energon in his cube like it was some fine vintage, though you both knew it was anything but. "But you get used to it. Even the rust, the grime… the constant buzz of the generators in the walls. It starts to feel like home if you’re here long enough. Like a really lousy, beat-up home that you can’t leave.”

His voice had a certain lightness to it that didn’t quite match the words. There was an edge of humor, but it felt like something he had practiced—a way to make the harshness of the pits a little more bearable.

You could tell that Bluey was the kind of bot who wore his optimism like an armor, deflecting the gloom with a crooked smile and a quick joke. It was in the way he’d gesture with his free hand as he spoke, like the tales he was telling were grand adventures instead of harsh realities, his animated movements almost distracting you from the scars lining his frame—the patches of mismatched plating, the faint welding marks that told stories.

“Me?” He continued without prompting, a grin creeping back onto his face. “I’ve been here… oh, longer than I probably should have. Since before Furnace even. I was still shiny when I got here. Fast, too—faster than anyone expected. And trust me, you need speed down here more than strength. Half the fighters don’t last a cycle if they don’t learn that quick enough.”

He looked around the room, his optics lingering on a few battered mechs before settling back on you. “I’m not the best fighter—never claimed to be—but I’m still standing, yeah? That’s gotta count for something. They call me Bluey ‘cause, well—” He tapped his chest, drawing attention to the chipped blue paint that had faded to a dull, washed-out hue over time. “—it used to be brighter. Didn’t want to change the name, though. I like it. Besides, it’s good to keep things simple. Easier to remember when everything else starts blurring together.”

His laugh was genuine, if a little worn at the edges, like he was used to laughing alone. You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling some of the tension leave your own shoulders. For all his jokes, Bluey had the air of someone who had seen it all—the good, the bad, the desperate—and had come out the other side with his humor intact, even if it was more jagged than it used to be.

He was stubbornly alive despite the decay of the pits, and you found yourself wondering just how many times he’d leaned against this very wall, sipping energon and watching newcomers stumble through the same uncertain steps you were taking now.

He raised his cube to you in a mock toast. “Welcome to the pits, rookie,” he said, the smile lingering. “You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll need that. Everyone comes in with big plans, y’know. Dreams of glory, of winning it all. But the ones that make it—the ones that survive—they’re not always the strongest or the smartest. They’re the ones who learn to roll with the punches. And you gotta want it. Really want it. Or this place eats you up."

His optics dimmed for a fraction of a second, like he was remembering something from a long time ago, then flickered back to life with a casual wink. “But hey, don’t let me scare you off. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he added, clapping you on the shoulder a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll even show you a few tricks—later, when you’ve had time to settle, eh?”

You raised an optic ridge, willing to see if his sense of humor remained the same, "How come you're being so friendly? Do you greet every single rookie like this? Are you going to stab me in the back as soon as you have the chance?"

He shook his helm. "Nah, I kinda wanna be your friend. You look like you've lost a lot, and it intrigues me. What could you have been so angry about back in the pit, then?"

Bluey noticed how your expression turned eerily serious, how you went back to minding your own energon cube, and how your optics dimmed. Ah, seems like he had hit the nail right on the head.

He drained the rest of his energon in a single gulp, crumpling the empty cube in one hand before tossing it over his shoulder with a practiced flick. It landed in a bin across the room with a dull clang, and he grinned like he’d just pulled off some impossible feat.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the far door, his voice suddenly brisk and business-like. “I think it’s time I show you to your quarters.”

As you followed him out of the mess hall, you found yourself catching the rhythm of his stride, the easy confidence that came from knowing every corner, every turn.

For a moment, you almost forgot how harsh the pits were—how every mech in the room had fought for their survival more times than you could count. Bluey’s chatter, his easy laughter, made the shadows seem a little less deep. It was clear he was the kind of bot who could make you believe things might just work out, even when every circuit in your system told you they wouldn’t.

Maybe that was his greatest trick.

The corridors seemed to grow dimmer and narrower as Bluey led you deeper into the complex. Rows of closed doors lined the way, their metal panels dented and scraped, tales of past collisions and careless encounters. Mechs lounged in shadowed alcoves, their optics barely flickering as you passed, casting you brief, uninterested glances before settling back into their own quiet lives, their own silent spaces.

Somehow, the Pits seemed endless, stretching far beyond the modest outer structure you’d glimpsed upon first entering Kaon’s underbelly. You couldn’t help but wonder how far these corridors twisted and turned, if there were rooms and sublevels you’d never see, housing more than just fighters—a hidden network of bots, secrets, scars.

Each corridor seemed to break into smaller passages, branching like veins through metal sinew, with barely-lit paths and tight corners where other mechs lingered. You glimpsed layers upon layers of living spaces, training rooms, and armory holds—each a small world in itself.

It struck you then, in a way you hadn’t quite understood until now, just how immense this place was.

Bluey glanced back, perhaps catching the tension in your expression, and gave a faint smile that wasn’t unkind. "Starting to feel how big it is, huh? You’ll get to know these halls eventually. Takes a while to know where everything leads. And longer to realize you’ll see only what they want you to."

The thought settled coldly in your mind as you continued forward, step by step, passing into deeper shadows, where the lighting grew dim and sporadic. Even as you moved forward, the feeling of being watched—by the walls, by some unseen optics—never left you.

"Supplies depot’s just ahead," Bluey filled the silence again, gesturing toward a metallic door.

The depot was a cramped room lined with shelves holding bins of basic gear, hastily sorted with no real regard for organization. Heaps of scratched metal plating, half-dented tool kits, energon rations, and other essentials were scattered around like an afterthought.

Bluey guided you to a shelf and motioned to the bins stacked haphazardly. "Take what you need—don’t expect much. They don’t keep the depot well-stocked, but it’s enough to get by. Berth stuff, an extra canister or two for energon… You can snag a cleaning rag if you’re lucky."

You sorted through the supplies, picking up a battered energon canister, a thin mat meant for the berth, and a few other necessities. Most of the items looked worn, clearly passed down through countless hands. Even the cleaning cloth you found had patches where the fabric had thinned from overuse. You left the rotatory buffer inside, making a mental note to return it to Rumbleburner the following day.

Bluey didn’t say much as he handed you a small, dull toolkit, his optics dimming slightly as he examined it. "Might come in handy. Things break around here more than they’re fixed."

You took it, feeling a quiet gratitude you weren’t quite sure how to express, and nodded instead. "Thanks."

"Let’s get you to your quarters, then." He inclined his head, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. He didn’t elaborate, but there was something in his tone that left your circuits buzzing. You followed him silently as he led you through a few more twisting corridors.

The only resemblance between the Pits of Kaon and Mining Outpost R–02, which you could applaud, was that the bosses were gracious enough to give their workers proper berthrooms with the minimum necessities.

When you finally stepped through the door with Bluey following behind, you took your time to gaze around the room with mild interest.

There was a berth wedged against the far wall, barely more than a slab of metal with thin padding, its edges scarred and dented as if the last occupant had spent restless nights or wrenched themselves off it with a little too much force. The berth was barely wide enough for a bot to lay down comfortably, but it was all the room had for recharge purposes, the metal showing the unmistakable signs of prolonged use with a dull sheen and countless tiny scratches across the surface.

In one corner sat a small, beat-up energon dispenser bolted to the wall, its spout slightly bent and showing signs of rust. A few empty energon canisters were scattered haphazardly underneath it, as if somebot hadn’t bothered with any notion of tidiness, just drained and tossed them aside.

The floor was the same dull grey metal as the walls, layered in faint scuffs and marks as if countless feet had worn patterns of use and wear, giving the space a gritty, bare-bones charm. The dull lighting, flickering now and then, cast the room in a faintly sickly yellow that made every scratch, dent, and discolored metal patch seem a little more prominent.

One wall held a small locker, the door slightly ajar, revealing an empty compartment save for a few metal scraps and something resembling a makeshift hook—a place to hang armor plates, maybe, though none remained now. A crumpled, dirty cleaning cloth had been left on the floor beside it, suggesting they had either attempted to wipe something down or had given up midway through.

The room wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it looked like it had served its function. Its practicality reflected the cybertronian way of living here—survival, nothing more. There were faint traces of oil smudges along the door frame and berth, reminders of a mech who’d lived here in this cramped, sparse space, leaving minor signs of themselves despite how little they had to leave behind.

"Whose room is this?"

"Hazard’s," Bluey replied.

"Oh."

You tried to recharge that night, you really did, but every time you closed your optics, the painful churn in your spark only seemed to tighten, tugging you back to consciousness. So, instead of resting, you spent the long hours of the night crying, quiet sobs shaking your frame as you tried to keep them muffled, hoping no one else could hear.

You didn’t want to give anyone a reason to see you as fragile, vulnerable—or worse, as an easy target. The last thing you needed was a reputation of weakness in a world where strength and resilience defined your worth.

But part of you also wondered if your cries might create a different impression. Maybe the others would view you as a frightened, unassuming thing—small, naïve, easily overlooked. An image you could use to your advantage, catching enemies off guard when they least expected it.

Or maybe your pain was simply a strength in its own right, hidden beneath a layer of rust and weariness. Perhaps it was okay to feel, to show that you could be strong and hardcore and ruthless on the outside while still carrying the weight of sorrow and rage within…?

Scrap it all. You weren’t sure anymore. You didn’t know anything. What were you doing here?

All you knew was that you wanted the hurt to stop.

You wanted to reach inside your own spark and rewind time, to return to a moment when things were simpler, clearer, and before you’d made mistakes you couldn’t take back.

Before you’d lost pieces of yourself you couldn’t easily rebuild.

You wanted to look forward and see a future where everything didn’t feel so fractured.

But even as you wished for a reset, you knew that wasn’t how this worked.

You would have to keep going, piece by piece, until you found the strength to face your next day.

So you lay there, optics dimming in the darkness, bracing yourself for what tomorrow would bring.

‘Starlight, I promise you, they will not see me cry.’

#midnightbears #transformers x reader #transformers one #transformers #transformers x you #megatronus x reader #megatron x you #megatronus #megatron x reader #megatron #cybertronian reader #d 16 #d 16 x reader #d-16 x reader #orion pax #elita one #tf #transformers prime x reader #optimus prime

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aliceintheworld · 7 hours ago

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PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

summary: "I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: angst 😭 (I know, but I promise it will pass soon) kiss, crying, Jungkook being an idiot, but regretting later (he will suffer a bit more in the next chapters, I promise) alcoholic drink, confession 😍

A/N: I know, I promised I would post this yesterday, but my internet stopped working and there was nothing I could do 🤷‍♀️ anyway, here it is: finally things are aligning a little bit. Spoiler alert: the OC's mother will soon find out what’s going on, and things will get ugly 😬. Speaking of which, PURE ATTRACTION is coming to an end, and I'm already thinking about new projects. I hope you can join me on this journey 🤟

Previous Chapter

CAPITULO 11

The fright pulls me away from Y/N instantly. When I look back, it's Bora calling me. She stops walking and stares at us for a few seconds. Then she smiles in a mischievous way, almost as if we were doing something more than a near kiss. I can't ignore the bad feeling that overwhelms me when I can't achieve my goal. I know I'm confused and should avoid playing with someone else's feelings, but being apart from her these past few days, has been my greatest martyrdom.

“Sorry to interrupt.” She giggles, biting her lower lip.

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” Y/N quickly shakes her head, embarrassed. “I need to see Hayun. Is she around?”

“Yes.” Bora nods in agreement. “Jungkook, Namjoon was looking for you. Please go see him. No one can stand him anymore, seriously. It feels like a funeral over there.”

“I’ll be right there.” I sigh, feeling I have no choice. I didn't want to go, but I know I need to. I glance at Y/N one last time before heading inside Yoongi's house. I try to maintain a calm expression, but I can’t. I’m so dazed by everything happening that I can barely think straight.

Namjoon came to Busan out of the blue, and even though I have some regard for him, I didn’t want him to do it. I shouldn’t have mentioned the party to him, but I'm so used to having him in my life, I didn’t expect him to travel, just to see me. I didn’t want to do this to Y/N; she must be thinking horrible things about me—part of which are true—but before heading to Seoul, I wanted to talk to her and clear things up, not this mess that just happened. When she left my apartment that day, I spent hours in my room, echoing her words in my head.

I’m a proud person. I don’t like being wrong, and when I am, it’s hard for me to stop, breathe, and ask for forgiveness. However, that same day, I knew I needed to do it. I knew I needed to talk to Y/N and resolve everything before it was too late. Contrary to what she says, I really do like her. She makes me feel good, makes me happy... whenever I’m with her, I don’t think about anything else. My world, filled with problems and worries, becomes a world that is only hers. I wanted to say this to her, but I'm so confused about Namjoon that I'm afraid to make the situation worse and regret it even more.

As I approach the house, I see him among my friends, leaning against the wall. He seems unfazed by the grim situation, but I know he is bothered. I’ve known him for years, and I know he liked everyone before all the shit hit the fan, throwing our dreams and what we built together, in the trash. He smiles at me when he sees me, and I can’t reciprocate in the same way. The pride I once felt being with him, no longer exist.

“Is everything okay?” I ask when I reach Namjoon. He shrugs and shows me a red cup with a clear drink. It looks like water, but I'm pretty sure it isn’t.

“I’ve been better.” He explains in a slurred voice, watching Taehyung and Yoori kissing in the corner. It used to be the two of us, the lovey-dovey couple. “Is everything okay? You were with that girl for a good while.”

“I needed to talk to her.” I say honestly, feeling anxious; it’s like I’m doing something wrong when I know I’m not.

“She seems important... the way you looked at her...” He suggests, but it doesn’t seem serious. It’s as if he’s saying all this, but knows there’s no possibility of any involvement. Y/N isn’t the type of person I would have approached with interest, in the past, and Namjoon knows that.

“She is important.” I confirm, trying to stay relaxed. Namjoon bites his lip and looks at me with an expression I can't decipher.

“You’re joking, right?” He asks; his jaw tightens, waiting for a response.

“I’m not.” I shake my head; my heart pounding almost as loud as the music. “We had a connection, and she’s important to me, that's why we talked.”

“Wow.” Namjoon scoffs, drinking more of his drink. He rolls his eyes ironically, and then sighs. “You really bounce back quickly.”

“What did you expect me to do? Wait for you?”

“No, just that you’d wait until everything could align.”

“You didn’t wait, Namjoon.” My throat burns with my growl. How can he be so hypocritical? “You ended everything. You slept with that guy from your work when we were about to move in together.”

“I made a mistake. You needed one mistake to end everything.” He replies.

“I needed one mistake to realize you weren’t the right person for me.” I say, clarifying the fact for both him and me. “Love doesn’t hurt, doesn’t deceive. What you did... you just ruined everything. What are you really doing here?”

“I thought I was welcome in your life.” He argues, and it’s the first time I see pain and regret in his eyes. He steps closer to me, his short breaths hitting my face. Him being taller than me never bothered me, but now it feels like he’s a tower over me. A mountain. “I thought you still loved me.”

“I loved the person I thought you were.” I say, closing my eyes. My throat tightens and my chest feels heavy. All the good moments we had together flash in my mind. The first time I saw him, the first time we made love. The first time I said I loved him, scared that he wouldn’t feel the same, and Namjoon reciprocated, exceeding all my expectations. All of that no longer exists. The Jungkook who was crazy about him, who admired him, is just a shadow of who I am now. I loved him so much that I almost overlooked his betrayal for us to be together. I no longer see a future for us, I see nothing but emptiness.

“I made a mistake once, Jungkook. Just once.” He says with a slurred tongue. He looks drunk and sad. A bad combination.

“Namjoon, that’s enough. This is serious now. I want this to end. Go back to Seoul. Stay in your apartment. You need to forget me and move on. We’re not good for each other.”

“We can fix all this. We can move on together.”

“We can’t, because I’ve already made my decision. You no longer fit in my life.” I’ve never been so decisive as I am now. I remember, in the back of my mind, the way I feel every time I see Y/N; none of this feels right.What he did is unforgivable, and I could never trust him again. It just seems wrong. His dark eyes fill with tears, and he takes another step closer to me. His scent mixed with alcohol is still good, but doesn't draw me like three months ago.

“I can show you that you still want me. That I still have you.” He whispers, and even though I don’t want to, I close my eyes to welcome him. For the last time. Just this once, and then everything will be over.

His mouth crashes against mine with ferocity. He seems to show through his actions that he’s regretful, and I can feel it, but it’s not enough. In the midst of the kiss, I take everything from him. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him against me. Namjoon is mine, for the last time. All these years together, I thought it would be forever, but we can’t be anymore. His tongue meets mine in a wildness I recognize. I grunt between his lips as I feel his hand on my back, so forcefully that it’s as if he wants to merge with me. The kiss is sexual, but devoid of feeling. Y/N echoes in my head once again, from when we kissed in your room while her mom was knocking on the door. When our lips met, I felt so much more than just physical contact or her touch. It’s then that I realize it’s not worth it. All the suffering has passed, and I don’t need this anymore. I abruptly pull away from him. Our heavy, quick breaths mix as I stare into his eyes. He tries to get closer again, but I don't allow it. I push him away with my hands, trembling, anxious and sad.

“It’s over.” I whisper. His face contorts as if I’ve punched him. I feel sorry for him, but I can’t deceive us anymore. “It’s over. That was the last time we kissed. The last time you touched me. I didn’t end our relationship. You did.” I conclude; my voice comes out hoarse and in a grunt from deep in my throat. There’s no anger, no resentment towards him. Namjoon doesn’t respond, completely silent, and how could he?

I cover my face with my hands, and let out a sigh mixed with relief and anguish, escaping my soul. When I turn around, my eyes unconsciously go to the woman who, since I met her, changed something within me. Her eyes, however, are filled with tears; her cheeks flushed as if she’s holding back an impending cry. Only then do I realize that Y/N must have seen the kiss with Namjoon, and I can’t imagine what she must be thinking. Before I can react, she turns her back and walks away from the crowded room.

“Y/N!” I shout through the people, but my voice sounds low amidst the music. I move instinctively and hurry after her. Her body almost disappears down the hallway, but I run faster, pushing past two guys who look like they want to kill me, and a girl, who yells at me for bumping into her. None of this stops me until I manage to catch her by the arm. “Y/N, stop!”

“Let me go!” She twists her wrist, shaking her body so I’ll release her. I loosen my grip on her skin, afraid of hurting her, and she pulls away again, faster this time. She heads for the main door of the house and flings it open.

“I’m not letting you go!” I yell at her, walking faster as the facade of the house gets further away from us. “Y/N, listen to me!”

“Stop following me!” She screams at me; her usually sweet and soft voice sounds angry and hurt. I run faster until I can stand in front of her. I don’t touch her, but I don’t let her pass, using my body like a wall to block her path. “Let me through, Jungkook.”

“No.” I shake my head. Her face twists. Her nose crinkles, and her forehead furrows. I’m sure if she could hit me right now, she would.

“Let me through.” She pleads again, taking short steps that I once again block.

“No, not until you listen to me.” I say with such force that she flinches. Her angry, hardened face transforms into an ironic laugh, which fades as more tears fill her eyes. Her white, smooth neck is filled with veins, as if she’s about to burst with rage. Her breath comes fast, as if she doesn’t have enough air.

“You’re a fucking bastard, a total son of bitch. I don't want to listen anything.” She growls at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen her curse; it’s so strange that it feels like those words don’t belong to her. “How can you do this to me? Yo-You are... I don’t even have words to describe you!”

“I know! I know! I’m a fucking mess, do you think I don’t know that?”

“You’re a son of bitch!” She screams again at me, pushing against my chest. “I want to punch you right now! I want to hit you until you turn into someone Irrecognizable.” She pushes me again, but I hardly budge. Although she’s angry and furious with me, I’m much bigger and stronger than her. I remain silent, watching as the trapped tears begin to flow down her face. The face that so often had been lit up with joy when she was with me, now looks defeated.

“I know... Y/N, I know.” I respond in a whisper. I stop her from pushing me again, holding onto her fist. I imagined she would use her strength against me and pull away one more time, but she doesn’t. Her silent crying takes over her body, and her shoulders shake. The pain I feel seeing her this way, knowing that I caused it leaves me frozen, but my arms move before I can think, and I hug her.

Her face aligns against my neck, and her sobs grow deeper. I open my mouth to say something, to apologize for everything I’ve caused her, but the words stick in my throat, and a voice in my head tells me that even if I tell her how sorry I am, nothing changes what I did. I hurt her, regardless. Apologies, unfortunately, don’t help much in this case.

“I’m sorry.” I say, contradicting all my thoughts. Even knowing that words don’t help at all, I say again: “I’m really sorry. Forgive me, Y/N.” I plead, closing my eyes. I feel her arms wrap around my body, bringing me a pleasure I can't even describe. How long has it been since I felt that excitement from just a hug?

“Stop apologizing.” She asks, pulling away from me. In the place of her warm body, only coldness remains in mine, with her distance. “Why did you kiss him? Why did you say all those things to me and then kissed him?”

“Because I needed to.” I clarify. Y/N opens her mouth to say something, perhaps to curse me again, but I’m quicker. “It’s over. We are nothing more than strangers now."

“How come?”

“That was the last time we were together, after almost five years. After everything, I needed this ending. I realized he no longer fits me.” I say, and not feeling the sadness I felt before, just imagining such a situation, brings me hope. Hope that I won’t have to suffer for Namjoon anymore. That I won’t have to feel anguish and pain over him.

“I don’t... I don’t know what to say.” Y/N shrugs, wiping her wet, swollen face. “But I don’t take back what I said. You really are a bastard.”

“I know.” I agree, unable to deny any of her statements. “And I also know that I hurt you, but I want to fix what I did. I want to fix all the shit I made you go through.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” She presses her lips together; those red lips I love so much, that for a second, I get lost in thought. I miss kissing her. Talking to her. Observing the little wrinkle at the corner of her right eye, every time she laughs. Not when she smiles, but when she giggles heartily. I never thought this could happen so quickly, even after Namjoon, but my heart leaps just thinking about her. Thinking about our kisses.

“Y/N, I can finally fix what I did wrong. That day I was so confused. I told you I didn't want something serious, but I did. I was scared; I just didn't want to get hurt again.” I confess to her, recalling the memories of that morning, when I turned my back on her because I couldn't bear to look into her eyes, as she left my apartment.

“Do you really think I'm going to believe all of this? After everything you've done to me? You're being a damn liar, a manipulative jerk." she grunts; I can see the anger in her eyes, the disbelief radiating from her.

“Y/N, I needed that. To finally know what I wanted.”

“You needed a kiss? You're a joke. Seriously.”

“Believe me.” I plead, my voice a whisper. I lean closer to her, holding her face in my hands. Her cheeks are flushed from crying, from the turmoil of emotions. “I want you.”

“I won’t be your consolation prize.” She whispers back, furrowing her brows. Y/N seems so determined and strong, that it's like all my words means nothing to her.

“You’re not.”

“I won’t be your second option.” She repeats, grunting at me.

“You’re none of that.” I repeat, irritated that she even thinks that way. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks away, as if she could be saved by someone amid the darkness of the neighborhood. When she finds no one else, she sighs, biting her lips hard.

"I wish you had said all of this earlier. How can I believe anything you say now?" she asks, and unfortunately, I have no answer for that question.

"I'm sorry again," I beg, defeated. "Y/N, can I take you home? Can we talk about this somewhere else?" I ask, a bit hesitant. I want her to understand that even though I made many mistakes, I'm willing to do anything to show her how important she is to me. Y/N shakes her head, however, breaking all my hopes.

"I can't be near you. Every time I'm close, I end up losing control." She says, and I completely understand what she means. Whenever we're alone, I feel an energy between us that draws us together like an invisible magnet. I smile, agreeing with her.

"I can't control myself when I'm with you, either," I respond earnestly, and her previously sad face lights up with embarrassment.

"Jungkook, stop," she pleads, almost through clenched teeth. Her cheeks are flushed now, thanks to my words.

"I'm telling the truth. Deal with it."

"I really need to go," she changes the subject, shaking her head. Then she sighs, looking at her fingers. "I... I’ll call a taxi." She turns her back to me, before I can react.

"What? What do you mean?" I follow her again, as she walks back to Yoongi's house. Y/N looks at me, as if mentally questioning what I'm doing so close to her, but I don't care.

"Jungkook, go back to your party," she commands, walking faster.

"I'm not letting you take a taxi home at this hour. Forget it." I shrug, annoyed. She may not want to listen to me or look at my face, but nothing will convince me to let her go with a stranger in the middle of the night.

"What does it have to do with you?" she questions without looking at me, and I have to walk faster to get in front of her again. Her irritated, mocking, and sarcastic expression fades, when I look her in the eyes.

"Stop talking like that. Do you really think I don't care about you?"

"You are a—"

"I’m a jerk. I know. I just asked if you really think I don't care about you. Do you really think I don’t want what’s best for you?"

"I don’t know," she replies, shrugging. "After tonight, I can't think about anything else," she argues, furrowing her brows. I step closer to her, taking a short step forward. Her perfume, different from Namjoon's, completely captivates me. It's as if everything about her is designed to drive me crazy.

"Y/N, let me take you. My car is over there, across the street," I whisper, locking my gaze with hers, noticing how her pupils dilate when she accidentally glances at my mouth.

"I don’t know," she repeats, as if she’s fighting something internally.

"I'll take you. We don’t have to say a word to each other. You get in the car and then get out when we reach your place," I conclude, hopeful. She pauses for a moment and sighs, looking at her fingers again. It seems she's contemplating my offer for a few seconds, still uncertain.

"Okay," she says softly, as if afraid of her own decision. Her voice, once filled with anger, now sounds neutral. If I could choose any superpower right now, it would definitely be the ability to read her mind.

I clear my throat, nodding, and slowly step back from her, wary that any sudden movement might make her change her mind. My car isn’t too far away, so we walk in silence for just a minute. Yoongi's house still seems lively, with people coming and going through the main gate. I take one last look at the place, mentally thanking myself for leaving the car key in my pocket, as I glance at Y/N without saying a word. She remains silent the whole time, while I quickly open her door and then mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice how she pulls on her seatbelt and looks at me for a moment, as if she’s examining me.

Even under her gaze, I don’t utter a single word. My whole body feels tense, alive, electric. I dare to contemplate her, the same way she does with me, taking in her from head to toe, from her Converse sneakers to her dress that’s much larger than her body, with a small slit opening on her left leg that, for God’s sake, reveals her smooth, soft skin –the same skin I had touched and taken everything from, just days ago. I clear my throat and start the car, reluctant to leave my spot.

A sudden rain starts to wet the windshield, and I thank the universe for, even if not intentionally, give me more time with this. The entire drive is a torture and, at the same time, a source of pleasure. I keep thinking to myself that if I can’t convince her, this might be one of the last times I ever see her before I go to Seoul. I savor everything about her: her scent, her presence, her calmness amidst so many storms, trying to imprint all these details in my mind. How did I get to this point? How could I be so confused about Namjoon when I’m clearly in love with her? Obsessed with everything she does?

When her house comes into view, I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry. I want to say so many things, yet no words seem right. I look at her face, and almost immediately, she looks at me too. We both sit in silence, listening the rain and lost in thought. Then she smiles shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Thank you for bringing me," she says, looking down. "And I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have cursed at you. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I... Jungkook, I wanted to see you hurt, just like I felt, but I had no right. I was wrong for that. I want you to be happy. I want you to be loved, no matter who you’re with." She confess, and her eyes crinkle the way only hers do, calm and serene. I open my mouth to say something, to affirm she had every right over me, but she gets out of the car before I can tell her everything. "Goodbye." She whispers with a weak smile, giving me her back and entering before the rain makes her wetter.

I stay there for a moment, frozen, breathing heavily. I look at the door of her house, and then at my mother’s, thinking that, unlike my father, I’ve always considered myself brave. I’ve always seen myself as a confident person. With everything that has happened in my life, I have never taken a step back, and I have never let fear paralyze me or hold me back from anything. I get out my car hesitantly, but I don’t stop. I walk quickly to the short steps, and ring the doorbell, freezing with cold and the water. Y/N opens the door a second later, almost as if she was waiting for me on the other side. Her face illuminated by the yellow streetlight.

"Y/N, I don’t want you to leave my life," I declare breathlessly; my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. "I have no right to say this and I don’t even deserve you to listen to me, but I want you to know that since the first time I saw you, at your bedroom window, everything about you caught my attention. The way you speak, the way you look at me, how you listen to everyone as if they all deserve your attention, how empathetic you are, and how simply good you are... I can’t stop thinking about you. I talk about you to my friends, to my mother. I miss you even when we haven’t seen each other for a short time... I don’t want this to end. Us. I don't want us to end." I laugh desperately, not even knowing what I am doing, filled with hope and moments of us together in my mind. I can literally feel my blood rushing through my body, pulsing strong like never before.

"Jungkook, you—" She tries to say, but I stop her by placing my hands on her cheeks. I lean in so close I can feel her breath on my face.

"I know I’m an idiot, but I’m so damn in love with you that I deserve a second chance, just to show you that I’m worthy of you, that I can make every day, from now on, the best day of your life." I whisper, gazing into her eyes. They widen in shock and surprise. Tears form in them, and one falls onto my thumb, on the apple of her cheek.

"I’m in love with you too," she confesses in a whisper, and I have to lean in closer to assure myself that I’m not dreaming. She smiles, as if she senses my confusion. "I’m in love with you too," she confirms, just for my ears.

And I can’t hold back any longer. I can’t anymore. It's when I kiss her, so intensely and suddenly, that it takes her a few seconds to respond. Her soft lips form a sweet smile against mine, and I can't help but chuckle too, happy, content, all at once. She places her hands on my face, tenderly, and then winks at me. Her eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks because of the rain.

"Come in, I don't want you to get sick from the cold," she invites me, pulling me in. Then she kisses me one more time.

Thank God for this fucking rain.

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