#it's good not to answer the door for once! ;)

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion.

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all. 

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie. 

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,” he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time. 

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated. 

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking. 

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. 

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t. 

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. 

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face. 

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

 “Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

 “Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off. 

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. 

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her.  “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to. 

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about. 

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop. 

Stop. 

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone. 

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it. 

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched. 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it. 

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry. 

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged. 

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you? 

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out. 

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both. 

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. 

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again. 

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

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

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[nochepsicodelica]

It's two in the morning and you're knocking on your own front door after a night out with your friends. Your mind has been occupied by static, not allowing you to remember that you have a key to let yourself in, so you stand there alone, waiting to be let in. You plant your hand on the wall to keep yourself balanced, looking left and right to see if anybody or any car is looking at you as they pass by.

Just as you're about to knock, again, the door opens and you flinch, your other hand flying to the wall to remain steady on your feet. You look up at your man with warped vision, blinking a little to try and clear your view of him. You can't contain your laughter when you see the stern look on Toji's face, his green eyes laced with concern you can't process in this state.

"What the fuck..." Toji mutters, to himself. What kind of friends would just drop you off without making sure that you get inside your house, safely? It's late. Who knows how long you had been standing there before you knocked. Anyone could have snatched you away.

Toji will catch you. You know he'll catch you if you just lean forward into him, like a backwards trust fall, so you set the plan in motion. You drag your feet and move your hands along the wall until you're in the safe zone, and then you just fall forward.

"Woah, hey." He's quick to hold you up against him, to prevent you from sliding down his body and to the floor. "Hey, you good? Talk to me. Can you walk?" Toji doesn't receive much of a response from you. Just quiet little giggles and incoherent mumbles. He sighs and picks you up, draping you over his shoulder. The door is shut and locked, before he makes his way to the bedroom. The light is already on, because he was awake the entire time, awaiting your arrival. Toji sets you down on the bed and briefly sits on the edge, by your feet.

"You didn't answer my calls, and I texted you like twenty times." He lifts your feet and takes their place, before setting them down on his lap so that you are comfortable. His fingers make haste of undoing the buckles on your high heels and he sets the shoes down, placing them under the bed.

You simply hum in response, not entirely sure of how you got to the room. The light is so bright and it's irritating your eyes, making it hard for you to hold them open.

"Told you to let me know if you needed me to pick you up, dummy." Toji wraps his hands around one of your ankles, his fingers kneading with little pressure, incase the area is tender.

"N-Nooo, i'm... here. Here," you babble.

It's so frustrating to be unable to get a full explanation out of you, right now. Your responses are borderline illogical and it's not doing Toji any good. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He can't calm down, after he spent the last few hours wondering why you stopped responding to him and why you weren't answering his calls. To open the door and instantly get a whiff of your night out was enraging, not because you got extremely intoxicated, but because there was no one looking out for you by the end of your time out.

Toji understands that there is no point in digging into this, now. You can't even walk or see straight, so he settles for making simple conversation that you can easily digest.

"Did your phone die or something?"

You shake your head, side to side, and his blood boils all over again. This was supposed to be an easy conversation, but he was just so damn worried. His entire body is tense with concern.

"Fuck." He sighs, nodding slightly at your response. "Yeah, okay."

A few seconds of silence go by and Toji thinks you may have fallen asleep, but then you speak up, out of nowhere, again.

"Took lots of pictures..." you mumble, eyes closed as you dig into your pocket for your phone. Once it's in your hand, you toss it on the bed for Toji to grab. He puts your massage on hold and picks up your phone, unlocking it and going to your photo gallery, where immediately, he sees previews of the pictures of you and those so called "friends" who abandoned you on your doorstep. The only reason he cares for those group photos is because you're smiling widely, seemingly laughing, and overall looking extremely happy in every one of them, but as much as he loves the look on your face in those, he loves the pictures you took of yourself and the ones your friends took of you, more. Some you had already sent to him, others he hadn't seen until then, so he sent those pictures to himself.

Toji turns your phone off and sets it aside, before grabbing ahold of your other ankle and repeating the same treatment that he did for the first one.

"There was... ugh..." you sweep away some strands of hair that almost went into your mouth. "A man. I dropped my phone and he- and he got too close behind me when I bent down to pick it up." You nod, with your eyes as wide as they can be in this state, like you're trying to prove that you aren't lying by looking him straight in his eyes.

"That's fucking disgusting, mama." Toji's eyebrows furrow, discomfort written all over his face with this new information you revealed. He squeezes your ankle a little tighter, his mind beginning to cloud with thoughts of never letting you go out without him again, but before he even thinks of spilling these thoughts to you, he asks you the most important questions.

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

"Mm-mm, no." You shake your head as quickly as you can without getting dizzy. "Saw his legs behind my legs and I got up and gave him this look..." You furrow your brows and lid your eyes, a gaze that doesn't seem intimidating or warning enough, now, after so many drinks. Your face quickly relaxes after and you roll your eyes with a tired sigh. "Yup, that was the face I made and then I walked away," you say, your attitude more upbeat.

"Did he leave you alone?" Toji asks, hoping nothing more happened. If there is more, he'll have you describe this man to the best of your ability, and he will hunt him down until he can positively assure that he's no longer part of the world's population.

"Yeahhh, don't know where he went." You hum like you're trying to remember, as if you even have that knowledge. You walked away and didn't turn back around, something that finally concludes your brief inability to recall. "Think he got lost." You giggle.

"Good. I'm glad," Toji says. You hum in agreement, and your eyes fall shut, gracing you with two seconds of sleep before your head nods and you wake up, again. Your bashful smile evolves into a short laugh, one that has Toji smiling at how precious you are. "You tired, mama?"

You nod and blink slowly in response, fighting the urge to shut your eyes for longer. Your lips curl into a lazy smile, when Toji presses a kiss to your ankle, before he moves your feet and sets them on the bed so he can get up.

"Let's get you ready for bed, then."

[felassanis]

VEILGUARD SPOILERS

So while I'm in the "Solavellan slept together during Inquisition," camp because I'm a degenerate for that elf. I do think the idea that they didn't. And when they're in the Fade prison together....

It's not immediate. He's too banged up from his fight to be of much use, his heart too heavy from everything he's just experienced. But Lavellan is there to pick him up when he crashes to his knees as the rift closes behind them.

She'll heal him first. Maybe they'll try and talk but...God, how do you begin a heart to heart that's been a decade in the making? But it's alright. For once, there's no world shattering event, no ancient evil banging on their door, no demands of duty. They've got all the time in the world.

But they need to talk. And once they do...

They'll slowly settle into an easy dynamic, one that's like what they had back during the inquisition. She'll kiss his cheek, he'll kiss her hand. They'll hug. Hold each other as they sleep *if they sleep cuz they're in the fade idk* and debate. She'll ask questions and he's finally, FINALLY, free to answer without dressing up the truth.

And then maybe one day, they're laughing. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips. And he chases after her. Kissing her back.

But lavellan doesn't pull away. She keeps kissing him.

His hands might tentatively reach for her waist. It's not the first time they've kissed passionately like this, but something *is* different this time.

Lavellan maybe came onto him back in the Inquisition days. Teasing and taunting but he always politely refused. "Was it her? Did he not want her?" Her insecurities would insist. But then everytime he kissed her HE'D INHALE her. Grabbed her ass. Caged her body with his. But always, always, reluctant to cross the threshold.

But now she knows the real reason. And so she keeps kissing him. Because it all makes sense, and she wants him to finally let himself have his desire. And when Solas sighs against her lips....

That's it. It's tongue, and teeth, and greedy hands and MAKER it's been a decade of nothing but searching. Hunting. No communication save a distant figure in the far edges of the Fade when she dreamed. But he's here now, not Fen'harel, but Solas. Here with her just as he always wanted but couldn't let himself have. Until now.

So yeah, celibate solavellan fans may have been onto something cause the DECADE LONG YEARNING FINALLY CULMINATING AT THE FADE PRISON!? Good lord Dread wolf Take her.

[cherie-doll]

Hellu, could you maybe do a drabble or hc or whatever you feel comfortable with, of the cod men reacting to reader being in a car crash??

(I was just in a car crash, my head hurts, I’m coping 💀)

If not then that’s okay ❤️❤️

my goodness, are you okay dear?? ૮ ㅇㅁㅇ ྀིა

𓏲 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

🝮 Price finally got some downtime to rest and catch up on his sleep debt at home. You insisted he stay home while you go to the grocery store only a few blocks away. Now imagine how his body tenses and he's up from the recliner in a heartbeat the moment he receives the phone call about your accident. He's supposed to drop the tense and hard face off while he's at home with you but this is worse. He's trying to keep calm on the surface but a can of worries within, just wanting to spill out. Thankfully, the accident didn't result in fatalities nor major injuries. He's holding you and checking you all over, listening to everything you're saying. Does something hurt? Feel dizzy? Need water? He's taking you right home, don't worry about the wrecked car.

🝮 Simon's mood when he picks up the phone initially is that he's annoyed, his answering "yes?" is a little sharp because you had just had a small argument over him once again not paying attention to the list of items you insisted he take when grocery shopping but didn't. So now you had to pause everything and go get the thing yourself, which means he'd have to wait at least another hour before he could eat dinner. Your voice over the phone was weak and scared, your frail voice that barely answered because your mind was all over the place and fading. You couldn't think straight after the crash. Simon dropped everything and staying on call with you made it faster than the cops would've. He carried you out of the car and cradled your body in his arms even in the ambulance, all the while muttering lowly how reckless you could be and how stupid and idiotic he was for letting you drive while mad. He swears he'd never let it happen again.

🝮 Johnny wasn't expecting you to answer with "was in a car crash" to "how was your day?" Like why are you telling him just now that you're arriving home. He gets off the couch he's by your side in an instant. Why didn't you call him? Because you thought it was nothing big? He almost thinks you're bluffing, why he can't help but assume the worst or imagine a terrible accident. You're sitting down this instant and- did you go to the hospital? And if you did he's surprised they just let you walk out. You argue back that you barely got a bruise but he insists you're going again and getting an examination done just in case. You have to tell him these things else he'll have a hard time letting you go out alone again.

🝮 The only thing Kyle knew was that you'd be hanging out with friends. And that's how it was supposed to be, he could expect you to come home late in the evening or maybe nearing night. But the clock marked the midnight hour and you hadn't walked through the front door yet; very unusual of you. He paced the living room from one wall to the other, he had the right to be worried so he wasn't being a controlling nor clingy partner if he just wanted to know where you were past midnight. The worry only increased when he called and it went straight to voicemail. Okay, maybe your phone died. And he kept trying to come up with plausible reasons as to why you weren't home yet when the bell rang and he threw the door open to a distressed looking friend of yours explaining the car accident you had been caught up in. You were conscious when taken away but in pain, your friend was still explaining this when Kyle grabbed his shoes and was already walking to the driveway.

🝮 Roach and you frequented bars pretty often and usually took a cab home. You hadn't had more than one drink however and decided to drive home while he dozed off in the backseat. He woke up to the sound of tires screeching and before he could make out what was happening his body was jerked and thrown forward. Groaning and rubbing his neck he called your name only for you to weakly respond. A soft gasp left his lips followed by his fingers reaching out to the bleeding gash, blood staining his fingertips. When he called emergency services and had you taken to the hospital, the cops has questioned how the accident happened and he was ready to take the blame on insisting you drive despite both having consumed alcohol. He knew there wasn't any other believable lie he could sputter, surely the one drink you'd had would show up on the tests.

🝮 Alejandro didn't think it'd ever happen to you. An accident bad enough that you had to be taken to the hospital? He's there as fast as he possibly could get there. He ignores the nurses who are trying to tell him that you're okay for the most part, just a little shaken. But he's checking you all over and almost loses it when he sees a bruise, demanding for the doctor. It takes you forcibly holding him back and holding his head so he can meet your eyes and see that you're fine, you're not in severe pain. From now on you're not driving anywhere alone because he doesn't another scare like that to happen again.

🝮 Rudy is worried sick when you insisted on driving the last stretch of the way home, at night too. Your driving skills are passable during the day but at night it can be difficult to tell from the high beams of other car's lights flashing at you. When you tried braking at a stop sign you saw last minute, due to the ice already forming on the road the car didn't come to a complete stop and nearly skid off the road. His hand instinctively reaches across to hold against your body, making sure you don't fly forward despite you having the seatbelt on. It's just instinct for him to protect you in every situation. He gets off, running over to your side and the time doesn't matter anymore. He'll sit out on the hood of the car however long you need to recover from the close call until you're ready to go back home. Except he's not letting you drive.

🝮 Phillip was waiting at a second location for you to come pick him up after his car was getting fixed for something. He wouldn't have bothered you but the repair shop was half an hour drive away, something was just bound to happen. And he doesn't realize this because his mind is so preoccupied with the petty shop owner over what was the problem with his truck that when his phone rings and he picks up he sounds a little mad, not at you though. Soon he hears a dispatcher's voice instead of yours his mind goes to the worst place. Don't know where he gets the car from but he's speeding down the highway praying that you're fine and he gets to you. But he gets there and sees you sitting on a strip of grass off to the side of the mess and holding an ice pack to your head.

🝮 Makarov is hiring a chauffeur to drive you everywhere and anywhere you need from here on out and finding out who was the idiot who rammed into the back of your car while at a stoplight. He can't believe you didn't ask the other driver for their information, doesn't matter though, he'll get the information later. Maybe you should quit going out altogether, no? Okay it was worth a try, whatever you want. From now on you have to promise to not ever get into an accident ever again. "How am I supposed to control tha-"

🝮 Keegan didn't freak out after you told him you just veered off the main road and were now stuck in some rundown road. He calmly gathered whatever tools he thought he might need and started his truck. The scene he encounters when he arrives is somewhat off, you're waving him over, sitting on the hood of your car with a sheepish smile. He walks around the car and finds the dent on the side and back of the car. And before he can ask what the hell happened- shit, you're bleeding? You're going to have to start from the beginning if you don't want him ignoring your requests and taking you to the emergency room instead.

🝮 König left the car parked with you waiting for him in the passenger seat, and when he came back he sees his car in pieces, absolutely destroyed from a car speeding off the road and ramming into the side. He panics, tries to pry the door open to get to you, even breaks a window before you're tapping him from behind. "I'm right here" He turns around, lifts you off the ground and lets out a sigh of relief. He seriously thought he would have to search through the wrecked car for you. How had you even gotten out? You saw stray cat and got out before the car had been hit. But now you have to be the one worrying over König's hand and forearm which has glass embedded.

🝮 Horangi blames himself for the car crash. He wanted to teach you to drift because you'd seen how he does it and you're eager to nail it too. Things escalate rather quickly and it's no longer a smooth Saturday drive when you loose control and drive off the road, the tires slipping onto the grass and slamming sideways into a tree. He's holding your head, not knowing if you're got knocked out unconscious or not, but his mind doesn't fully register the bigger dent is on the rear doors not the driver nor passenger side. With one hand he's holding your head to his chest, his other shaky hand attempting to dial emergency services, feeling faint himself before you come to and look around confused. He's grabbing your face in his hands looking you all over making sure you didn't receive a single bruise.

🝮 You assumed Nikto would be cross if he saw the state his car was in. He was hesitant to let you drive out alone knowing you still went a little hard on your turns and it had been raining frequently. The moment he arrives, you're fixed on his eyes, carefully determining whether he's already thought of what he'd do to you the moment he saw the disaster his car was. But you're surprised and speechless when he strides over to you, silently looks you over, barely assesses the car and just picks you up. "Aren't you mad?" "About what?" "Your car!" And he barely glances at it, shrugs and drives you home.

[ylangelegy]

After MAMA awards I'M VERY PROUD OF MY BOYS and seeing Woozi crying, nooooo my mannnnn

So can I request Woozi or anyone after awards, all members celebrating with their partners hehe LOVE YOUUU!!!

PLEASE PLEASE 🛐🛐

🍑 i will really live the rest of my life repaying you.

you don't see seungcheol until the next day. such is the life of the general leader, it seems— the never-ending heralding, the non-stop worrying. he deals with his boys, first, then the fans, then the staff. but once that's all done, he's at your front door, collapsing into your arms before he's even past through the entryway. it doesn't matter how many awards its been. he is still overwhelmed by it every single time, and you are a soft place to land. he comes home to you and whispers the sweetest nothings in your hair. i'm so proud of them and they did so well and they're so happy. as he holds you tight— like you're the only thing keeping him upright— it's your turn to let him hear those words. i'm so proud of you. you did so well. you get to be happy, too.

the jeonghan on the other end of the video call has been quiet for the most part of the past half-hour. you'd be more worried if you hadn't already predicted where his solemness was coming from. "hannie? still with me?" you prompt gently, and he finally tears his gaze away from the ceiling to look back at you. "yeah. yeah, i'm with you," he answers. a beat. there are some things you no longer have to say out loud. how he wishes he was there. how he misses them and tries not to let it show. instead, you give him a reminder that's quiet and firm. "this is yours, too," you say. this award. this moment. these boys. all still his. there's a ghost of a smile on his face as he mumbles, "right. of course. how could i forget."

joshua likes keeping lists. a running one he has with you is that of gratitude, where the two of you try to end each day with acknowledgements of what you're grateful for. you're expecting a whole essay for him after tonight. he surprises you by keeping it short, sweet, and straight to the point. in no particular order, he types out into your shared note. music, the boys, you. hours later, he adds a footnote like it'd occurred to him as an afterthought: i'm always grateful for those three, but especially so today.

"look at them!" jun shrieks. his video call pixelates, either from spotty connection or his sudden burst of enthusiasm. you have half a mind to warn him that he may get a noise complaint again, but this time it'd be completely warranted. he's positively vibrating with excitement, his eyes glued to the livestream of his twelve brothers ascending the stage for their second award of the night. "look at them," he repeats, and this time his voice is more reverent than anything. you could comply, could do as he's asking, but your eyes are trained elsewhere. and look at you, too, you want to say. look at you and all that you've done to get this far.

even though it's been an exceptionally long day, soonyoung comes home brimming with adrenaline. he does dance routines in your living room. he jogs around your block until you beg him to just come back. he sings in the shower before collapsing onto the bed next to you, where he suddenly becomes boneless. the glow of pride stays even as the exhaustion hits. he pulls you against him and cuddles right into you. to soonyoung, this is as good as any trophy: the peace that comes with falling asleep next to you.

wonwoo has no destination in mind. he has a car with a full tank, and a playlist of all his favorite songs, and you in the passenger seat. that's more than enough. you pass through tunnels with warm lighting; expressways where he keeps the windows down so the wind will whip at your hair. occasionally, you'll stop to grab a snack or take a photo of something interesting on the side of the street. after hours of just going in circles, he'll ask, "should we keep driving?" even though he knows you'd never deny him this. this. his little celebration in the form of getting 'lost' with you.

nobody hears from jihoon for the next couple of days. the managers are worried, but the boys all just shake their heads and say that he's in good hands. which means: he's wherever you are. the two of you don't talk about his speech, about his public breakdown, because both things make him want to hide forever. instead— he sleeps in. he watches movies from months ago that he promised he'd get to. the two of you go on walks at night, and have breakfast at lunch time. the vicious cycle will soon have to begin again. jihoon knows that. but for a few, precious moments, his heart is not a heavy burden because it's safe and sound in your capable hands.

seokmin takes you on the textbook definition of your perfect date. a shopping spree? here's his black card. an amusement park? he'll rent out lotte world for the day, if he must. you're understandably baffled. he's the one who just won big, and yet you're the one being treated like royalty. try to resist and he'll only push back on you. seokmin already spoils you enough as is, but this is just a little more over-the-top than the day-to-day stuff. at the end of it all, his rationale is as sweet as it gets. "you keep me going," he tells you. "and so you deserve just as much credit as i do."

mingyu has always liked to celebrate with a meal. you'd expected his usual fare of some swanky restaurant or high-end café, but, this time, he asks for only free reign of your kitchen. he props his phone up against the salt shaker and pulls up a youtube video before flashing you his best 'just-trust-me' grin. your trust is not misplaced; the two of you do manage to bake the celebratory cake, though whether it's any good is an entirely different story. the end result doesn't matter as much as the process. mingyu is happiest about the flour marks on your cheeks, about the kisses he steals while you whisk eggs. it's not a birthday cake, but you light up a candle for him anyway. just for the hell of it. "make a wish," you tease. he's looking straight at you as he blows at the flame.

minghao asks for a beach day. the two of you set out for the nearest one. maybe the sand is a bit rocky; the shore, lacking in shells. he doesn't care. he only seeks out the sun beating on his back, the saltwater clinging to his skin, the first punch of air after emerging from the water. as the stolen weekend winds to a close, the two of you sit at the point where the water lap at your toes. neither of you have to speak. here, minghao lets the tide wash away the ache of homesickness. here, minghao redefines 'home' as a future with the boys of his youth, with the music that is as constant as the waves— and with you, of course.

the ferry ride to jeju is about four or so hours long, but seungkwan doesn't mind. there's just something so right about getting on the first vessel that will take him back where he has family waiting with a homecooked meal and a play-by-play of the award show. besides, the ferry means having four hours of uninterrupted leisure time with you. the pair of you literally have nowhere else to be except this boat and this point in time, which seungkwan is a little guilty to be so happy about. he's a glutton for your time and attention, and these ferry rides— these trips home— remind him just how much he likes taking the scenic route.

vernon treats it almost like it's just another day. almost. you're thrown off by his initial nonchalance, by the lack of utter fanfare in the way he asks you out to lunch and the two of you barely discuss the recent accolades. when you prompt him about it, you realize it's not because of arrogance or ignorance. "we're just doing what we always do," he says with an expression of mild confusion. winning?, you almost inquire half-jokingly, but that's only part of it. he elaborates, "we were just ourselves, y'know?"

when chan suggests a rage room, you're understandably confused. the wrath-based activity doesn't seem like the most optimal celebration, but you're not about to cramp his style. the two of you queue the angriest songs known to man before smashing some defunct appliances and throwing empty bottles against a wall. once your time is up, chan looks at you with that familiar spark of fire in his eyes. that dedication you fell in love with, that passion that has always burned bright. "again?" he asks, and you know it's not just the rage room that he's asking for.

[joaniscruzing]

reuniting with jinx <3

everyone... that was quite the rollercoaster. but, i choose to believe that jinx is alive. i'm not ready to let go of arcane for a good while, and I'll do my best to upload fics more often, especially with the holiday breaks coming up too, so reel in whatever arcane requests you have! i write for vi, caitlyn, and jinx. i do take smut requests for these characters too if you guys would like to request some...

obviously though, jinx wouldn't leave without finding her amazing gf though... right??

summary: jinx surprises you while you're grieving, and you both escape and go elsewhere.

warnings: angst at the beginning, season 2 act 3 spoilers, kissing, emotional, lots and lots of fluff, I PROMISED A HAPPY ENDING AND DELIVERED

you couldn't believe it. your whole body crumbled to the ground as vi told you the devastating news.

"I'll tell you one thing," vi tried to quip, a small smile on her face, "she went out with a bang."

vi explained that she heard an explosion sound when jinx fell down the vent, and how she guessed she had set off one more bomb. you take vi close to you, hugging her tightly.

"she really did love you, you know." vi admitted, "i think she's just had a lot come her way. and i can't say I'm the most innocent in that realm myself."

you left vi to continue staring at the fireplace, about to leave and go to jinx's workshop, hoping to take a few things to remember her by. you see caitlyn looking at the vent diagram, studying it closely. how could she possibly studying the place where your beloved girlfriend died? you knew that caitlyn had grown to not hate jinx anymore, so you decided to just leave it at that.

after leaving the kiramann mansion, you traversed back to zaun, thoughts racing through your head. had you not done enough? loved her enough? given her a reason to live? you wanted to scream as loudly as you could, and let whatever you were feeling out.

you finally made it to where jinx had her things, and you took a deep breath before entering. this was it.

the once lit-up place was darker and worn-out in her eyes. the once neon, bright-colored place seemed to be dark and empty now. like you without jinx. a tear rolled down your face as you picked up small tools and things, even parts of a flower she was making for you out of scraps. you sat on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, trying to make sense in your head of what you should do next.

"did you really think i was gone, hun?" jinx questions, right behind you. your entire body leaps at the sound of her voice. it can't be.

"jinx?" you ask, shooting your head up and turning around.

"did you really think i was gonna die that easily? now stop moping. we have to get on the hot air balloon."

shocked, you hug jinx quickly before shoving one thing you collected in your pocket. you both start running. hand in hand, you make a beeline in order to get on the next hot air balloon.

"you know what i realized? things aren't so great here, so why don't i just go somewhere else to do my thing? but, i knew i couldn't leave without you." jinx explains while running.

"how did you even get out?" is the only thing you manage to say.

"my shimmer, silly! i got the hell out and escaped through the air vents."

"and how did you get back to zaun?"

"simple hacking and tweaking of the hexgates. nothing special."

you both finally make it onto the airship, jinx holding your hand as you get on so you don't fall. she closes the door behind you.

"so. this is it. any last wishes before we leave forever?"

"my biggest one has been granted," you answer before pulling in jinx for a sweet kiss. you had missed her, as you hadn't seen her for a week or two with everything going on. jinx pulls away, explaining that you two had to go.

"you know, i've always wanted to drive one of these," jinx admits, steering the ship, "i have since i was very young." you notice a new sense of peace in her eyes as she drives the ship. she doesn't seem so... tortured anymore. in fact, she seems free of any past issues.

her newly cut hair blows in the wind, as you go up behind her and hug her waist, your head resting on her shoulder. no matter what the future held, you knew you were going to be happy. as long as jinx was there, you would be at peace.

"i love you," jinx says softly, taking one hand off the wheel to rest on top of yours.

"i love you too."

[4701rose]

... I want to start by this art is utterly amazing, so much so that I needed to write a scene of what is going on inside this world.

Title: good things do happen

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1,445

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love

Miklan was rifling through the kitchen cabinets, looking for something to eat, when he heard the key turn in the back door. He looked down at the mostly empty box of protein bars he knew Sylvain was saving for lunches and the jar of peanut butter they had no bread to spread on and shut the cabinet. When he turned around, Sylvain was standing in the hallway, wiping his snow-covered boots on the black dirt-encrusted doormat that was here when they first moved in. There was a radiator by the back door. 

Miklan watched as Sylvain pulled off his gloves with his teeth and put them on top of the radiator. Sylvain shivered as he pulled the zipper on his jacket down. He was wearing the outer layer of Miklan’s coat. The zipper was broken, so Miklan couldn’t very well use it, now, could he? 

Sylvain looked up and saw Miklan watching him. He smiled one of those corny little smiles that made Miklan want to go over and smack him. “Hey,” Sylvain said as he stepped out of his winter boots and into their kitchen. The floor was linoleum that had once been white, dotted here and there with blue flowers. There was dirt strewn all across the floor. In black socks, you didn’t notice it as much, but Miklan did notice Sylvain kept the jacket on. 

Sylvain stroked his red hands up and down his upper arms before he buried his hands in his jacket pockets with a shiver. “Did you manage to get the heat working?” Sylvain asked, his chestnut eyes twinkling like he knew the answer already and was asking just to be annoying. Typical. 

Miklan grunted as he turned around to inspect the other cabinets in their tiny kitchen. “No,” he huffed. “The landlord said he’ll come by tomorrow.” 

Sylvain chuckled. “You don’t sound convinced.” 

“He hasn’t come over the last two times he’d promised to.” Miklan opened the fridge and studied its contents as his annoying little brother draped himself against Miklan’s lefthand side, like leech. “What the hell, brat.” 

“You’re warm,” Sylvain huffed into his ear. “How was work today?” 

Miklan made a face at the jar of mustard and the carton of eggs with three eggs remaining in it. “It was work,” Miklan said, noncommittal. 

“Dorothea told me you scared the piss out of some dude.” 

When Miklan looked down at his little brother, Sylvain’s eyes were laughing. Miklan sighed and then shook Sylvain off his arm so he could crouch down. Inside the vegetable drawer was one lonely wilted head of lettuce. When Miklan opened the drawer and pulled it out, it was wet to the touch. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Sylvain asked. 

“What’s there to tell? Besides, Dorothea probably already gave the whole story already. What’s the point in retelling it?” Miklan moved around Sylvain to toss the wilted lettuce into the trash can, Sylvain moving with him. They hadn’t been here very long, but Sylvain always had a sixth sense for where Miklan was in proximity to Sylvain. Miklan supposed that was his fault. He tried and failed to dredge up anything other than tiredness. 

“I still wanna hear it,” Sylvain said as Miklan pulled out their only fry pan. 

“He was an ass.” Miklan said as he reached for the last of the vegetable oil. “I dealt with it. End of story. Pass me the eggs.”

Miklan didn’t jolt as Sylvain pasted himself against Miklan’s back. “You’re no fun,” Sylvain whinged. Through the black leather jacket Miklan was wearing, he could feel Sylvain’s body heat. The kid was like a walking furnace. 

“Then you tell it,” Miklan said, disinterested. “Hey, I asked you to pass me the eggs. Can you do that, or should I tell Dorothea her boytoy is broken?” 

“You’re so mean, Miklan,” Sylvain grumbled. He put the eggs on the counter next to Miklan’s hand. Miklan clicked on the gas stove as Sylvain jumped up on the counter on the other side of the stove. Miklan glanced at Sylvain’s black skinny jeans with the purposefully ripped holes in the knees and wanted to scoff. He held his hand above the pan to see if it was hot yet. 

It was not. 

Miklan fried them both an egg each as Sylvain rattled on about anything and everything under the sun. After the eggs were cooked and sitting on a clipped blue and white plate they’d found at the local thrift store, Miklan turned and went to go cook the rice. It was broken short grain rice, the only kind they’d been able to afford when they went to the store last weekend.

Sylvain trailed off into silence while Miklan was washing the rice in the sink. Miklan flicked water off his fingers, his hands growing numb from the cold, and looked up at his little brother. Sylvain was wearing that brittle smile that meant he was thinking too much about dumb things. 

“What?” Miklan said. “I got something on my face?” 

Sylvain didn’t rise to the bait. Miklan stood there, waiting, as Sylvain leaned forward, one elbow on his bent knee, his chin resting on his fist. “Hey, Miklan,” Sylvain said softly, his brown eyes uncharacteristically somber, “Do you ever regret it?” What It was laid unspoken between the two of them, like a dead horse you could smell but had to pretend wasn’t there. 

“No,” Miklan said. “And neither should you.” 

Miklan turned and put their cheap Aroma rice cooker to boil. From behind him, Miklan heard Sylvain sigh. Miklan looked down at the thin scars running criss-cross up and down his thick paper white wrists, the sleeve of his blood red cotton shirt not long enough to cover them to his satisfaction. He felt a brief surge of the anger-hatred-pity, then pushed it back down again. 

Miklan had left that all behind when he took Sylvain and ran. He didn’t have time for it, not when Sylvain was trusting him to keep them warm and safe. Miklan swallowed thickly. “No,” he said, softer, “I don’t regret it.” 

Miklan was staring at the little pinkish-orange light on the rice cooker, listening to the sound of rice beginning to boil when he heard a loud thump. He was about to turn around and ask, What the fuck was that, Sylvain, when Miklan got slammed into the sharp edge of the counter by his annoying little brother. “Ow, fuck,” Miklan cursed. He twisted until he was facing Sylvain. 

Sylvain was clinging like a limpet, Miklan’s leather jacket clenched so tightly in his fists it was making a weird creaking sound, and Sylvain’s nose was smashed so closely against Miklan’s skin-tight shirt, he could feel it stir when Sylvain breathed. Miklan didn’t know what to do with his hands. His hands hovered uncertainly in the air before coming to rest hesitantly on Sylvain’s back. Sylvain took a long deep breath in like just this much was killing him. 

Slowly, Miklan tucked Sylvain’s head of hot dry hair under his chin. He brought up one hand and stroked the back of Sylvain’s head, wavy curls springing back into place after each pass of his heavy head. Miklan’s heart felt like it might be breaking, like a vase someone threw a rock at. 

Miklan remembers his mother holding him like this, once, after a nightmare. It was before Sylvain was born. Miklan doesn’t remember anyone holding him like this after Sylvain was declared heir. He wonders if he was supposed to be watching out for a reaction like this from Sylvain. They haven’t been gone that long. Long enough for Sylvain to pick up a girlfriend and for Miklan to pick up a job beating others black and blue for entertainment. 

When Miklan had gone back to pay his little brother back for all the times their dad looked at him like he was a disgusting little spittle barely worth his time, he hadn’t expected Sylvain to ask him to leave with him. And now they’re here, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, in an apartment with no heat and no food and no dad riding their asses to kingdom come. 

Miklan holds Sylvain tight against his chest and tries to pretend that it’s enough, that the inside of his brain isn’t a hellscape few dare tread, that his anger isn’t molten lava waiting to overflow, that Sylvain isn’t going to get himself killed one day, stealing another guy’s girlfriend. It’s cold and dark outside, but for one single blindingly simple moment, Miklan tries to believe that good things can happen to bad people.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

you’re not sorry - m.s.

summary: could’ve loved you all my life if you hadn’t left me in the cold

warnings: angst, sensitive topics, no happy ending.

{read with caution}

wc: 3k+

Another night.

Another night waiting up for your boyfriend who could never be bothered to let you know when he’d be home; if he’d even be coming home that night.

It was like this for months at this point. Day after day of you waiting up just for him to stumble inside smelling like alcohol and weed, clothes disheveled as he plows through your front door. You didn’t even know what had changed, but it had.

Things were so good, beyond good, to the point where you guys were considering marriage, considering a family. Maybe it was all too much for him, but that wasn’t your burden to bear.

Your perfect, loving boyfriend had turned into someone you barely recognized, having to look so hard to find pieces of the man you fell for in the man you no longer knew.

You were about to give up and head to bed when you heard keys jingling at the front door, the man outside clearly struggling to unlock it. You stayed planted on the couch, waiting for him to finally come crashing in and make up some excuse about what he was doing out so late. You never believed him anymore.

When the door swung open and your boyfriend stumbled through it, his eyes met yours almost instantly, a small, forced smile appearing on his face. “Hey, baby,” he calls out, shutting the door behind him and kicking his shoes off before he made his way towards you, tripping over his own feet once or twice until he sat down next to you.

You let out an aggravated sigh, standing up and walking away from the couch, not wanting to sit next to him and smell the alcohol leeching off of his breath. It was beyond disgusting and if the smell didn’t make you sick, the thought of everything would. The thought of your life crumbling in a matter of months was enough to make you cry so hard you threw up on multiple occasions, the depression caused by this man that swore he loved you being the culprit of so many breakdowns you couldn’t even count anymore.

“You’re drunk, Matt,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

His eyes trail up to you, shaking his head quickly. “I’m not drunk, just tipsy, I swear. I stopped drinking a few hours ago.”

Your heart dropped. A few hours ago?

“And where have you been in those last few hours, hm?” You question, not really knowing if you wanted to know the answer.

Matt groans, throwing his head back on the couch. “Here we fucking go. All you do is nag on me fucking constantly, why do you think I’m gone all the time? I’ll tell you. Because you can’t fucking shut the fuck up and let me live for two minutes. You’re always up my ass asking me what I’m doing or who I’m with.”

Your heart starts to race in your chest, knowing you’re about to get in another fight with the man you used to never argue with. You used to have perfect communication, always able to work through your issues and things that bothered you, but now it was like a flip switched and he wanted to argue about everything, sober or not.

“I never see you anymore, Matt! You’re never home to just spend time with me! All I fucking want is to lay in bed and watch a movie with my boyfriend who cuddles with me and tells me he loves me! You act like I don’t exist and it hurts and I’m trying to stay but sometimes I wonder why I do.” Your voice is shaky as you speak, the adrenaline and emotions quickly getting to you. You never were good at fighting without crying.

“Why?” Matt questions quietly, dropping his gaze to his lap.

You’re confused. “Why what?” You ask him dryly, arms still crossed in an attempt to protect yourself, almost like you were protecting your heart.

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “Why try to stay? If I’m so awful?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Was this it? Was this the fight you’ve been fearing for the last few weeks? Has everything you both have worked towards finally hit a wall?

“Because… because I keep hoping this is just a phase and you’ll snap out of it and love me again,” you choke out, tears filling your eyes. “I don’t understand what I did to make you not love me anymore and every day that I sit here by myself and think about it, I can’t come up with an answer and you won’t tell me. I would do fucking anything for you and you can’t even tell me you love me anymore.”

Matt let out a big sigh, picking at a rip in his jeans absentmindedly. “I do love you, I just… I need some time to myself.”

You scoff, crying now and not trying to stop it. “You don’t think I would’ve given you time? Space? Matt, all you had to say was that you were getting overwhelmed and needed time think about what you wanted, I would’ve understood that. Do you understand the fucking weight behind that? You have a woman who would let you take a step back from a relationship just because she knows how much you value your own space and time and your own autonomy. You will never fucking find a woman that will treat you the way I treat you. You will never find someone who loves you unconditionally through everything, including this. I swear to god, Matt, you better get your act together before you come home to fucking nothing.”

“Maybe that’s what I want!” Matt yells suddenly, getting up from the couch to walk over to you. You weren’t afraid, you knew he’d never hit you, but he’s also never yelled in your face like this either. “Maybe every fucking night I come home hoping you’ve packed up all of your shit and left. Hell, you could pack my shit and I’d be happy, I don’t fucking care, I just want to come home and know that you’ve finally given up on me. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to make it easy for you. I’m trying to be the worst boyfriend I could possibly be and you still won’t leave!”

The moment he’s done speaking you swear you could hear a pin drop. You felt like your world had completely stopped spinning on its axis.

You’re lightheaded as you stare at Matt, tears flowing freely down your face. He really was completely unrecognizable.

“What did I do?” You cried, still wanting nothing more than to feel your boyfriend’s arms wrap around you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But he wouldn’t, and it wasn’t. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Matt listened to your cries with a straight face, barely even seeming like he cared. “I just… don’t want to be with you anymore. Our relationship has run its course.”

You drop your head and let out a broken sob, reaching a hand up to try to wipe away your tears, but it was to no avail, they would just keep coming. “I love you with everything I have, I… I need you, Matt, how could you do this?”

Matt is silent, feeling like he’s already said all he needed to say. If he cared at all, he really didn’t show it.

You pick your head back up and look at Matt, your own eyes red and puffy, when you see it. You think it’s a shadow at first, but the more you stare, the more you realize your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You take a step forward and reach towards Matt, pulling the hood off his head and tugging the collar down, another choked cry falling from your lips.

“Is that a fucking hickey?” You accuse, looking up to meet his eyes. “You’re fucking cheating on me, too?!”

Matt grabs your wrist and pulls it away from him, throwing your arm back towards yourself before pulling his hood back up. “Back the fuck up, dude, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You laugh in his face, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are so fucking pathetic, Matt,” you spit at him. “You are so much of a pussy that you couldn’t even be a man and break up with me, you needed me to do it for you. Do you feel good about yourself? Knowing you cheated on someone who would literally give you the world? God, I can’t believe I almost gave you a fucking kid, you’re a joke of a partner. I feel bad for anyone that has to deal with you for the rest of their life.”

Matt clenches his jaw tightly at your words, hating how you knew exactly how to strike a nerve with him. “You think I feel good about this? I fucking don’t but I didn’t know what else to do, you would’ve never listened if I tried to leave you, you would’ve talked me into staying and I would’ve been miserable for the rest of my life!”

“You are the one that said you wanted a family! The one that said you wanted to marry me and buy our own farm and live in the middle of fucking nowhere! You said all of those things, not me!” You wanted to hit him so bad. To shake him, to kick him, to do anything to make him see how none of this made sense to you. How could he say all of those things and turn on you so quickly?

You two were laid in bed under the blankets, neither of you ready to get out of bed for the day just yet. The sun shone through the blind, illuminating Matt’s face perfectly, his blue eyes reflecting the light in a way that had you damn near in a trance, unable to pull your own eyes away from him. “I hope our babies have your eyes,” you tell him quietly, both of you laying on your sides to face each other.

He smiled shyly at you, closing his eyes for a moment. “Stop admiring me, it makes me awkward.” He mumbled, making you laugh.

“I’m your girlfriend, I’m supposed to admire you. Plus, it helps that you’re really hot and easy to admire.” You reach up and brush your hands through his hair that definitely needs a trim, pulling it back from his face to get a better view. “I’m serious, though. Your eyes are so pretty compared to mine.”

Matt opens his eyes and shoots you an annoyed look. “Stop it, our kids would be lucky to have any of your features, you’re fucking stunning.”

You giggle and roll over onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before speaking. “Do you ever think about that? Like what our kids will look like? I think about it all the time. Especially like… a little girl, running around with your bright blue eyes and your big smile. I just know if we had a little girl she’d be so beautiful, Matt.” You turn your head towards your boyfriend to see him already smiling at you.

“I think about it all the time,” he starts, reaching a hand out to rest on your stomach that had been exposed by your shirt riding up, softly trailing his thumb back and forth. “I think about how protective I’d be if we had a daughter, or daughters. I think about how much of an honor it would be to raise a son with you. I think about what would happen if you got pregnant with twins or, god forbid, triplets.” You laugh at this, knowing it would be an absolute shit show. “I think about our kids, sure, but a lot of times I think to myself, ‘wow, if I love her so much now, I can’t imagine how much I’ll love her when she’s the mother of my children.’ That’s what I think.”

Your eyes become glossy and your vision goes slightly blurry as you stare at Matt, seeing the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke to you. “I love you,” you tell him and his face lights up, leaning in to place a small kiss on your lips.

“I love you more.”

“I did,” Matt shrugs his shoulders like it was no big deal. “But feelings change. People change.”

You shake your head angrily, not believing him. “No, not like that. Feelings don’t change like that, Matt. You met somebody else, didn’t you? All this time you’ve been seeing someone else.”

Matt groans, rubbing his eyes harshly. “So what?! It doesn’t matter, we’re over now, right? I’ll sleep on the couch and pack my shit tomorrow, can we just go to bed?”

You sniffle, the truth finally setting in that he’s completely given up and there was no getting him back. The Matt you once loved was gone forever and there was nothing you could do about it.

So you decided to land the final blow and make him realize how stupid he really was.

You grab his right hand with your left, facing it palm up as you reach your free hand into your pocket, grabbing the strip of paper you had kept in there, waiting for the perfect moment to drop this bomb on him. You slap the paper into his open hand before taking a step away, crossing your arms again.

“What is this?” Matt asks, staring down at the photos in front of him, panic setting in his chest. “Babe… babe, what is this?” He looks up at you, eyes wide. You swear you could almost hear his heart pounding.

“It’s an ultrasound, jackass.” You snap at him, completely over his shit.

Matt’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, eyes snapping between you and the photos. “You’re… pregnant?” He chokes out. Despite all the alcohol he’s consumed tonight, he feels the most sober he has in weeks, the reality of the situation crashing into him like a truck.

You laugh at his reaction, hating how he suddenly cared about you again. “Was,” you tell him bluntly, shrugging your shoulders like nothing you said mattered. “Turns out never getting any sleep and stressing out over your loser, lowlife boyfriend isn’t good for a baby.”

Matt lets out a huff of air like his lungs had collapsed in on him, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “You… you were pregnant, and now you’re not?” He asks quietly, his own voice now shaking.

“Yes, Matthew, I was and now I’m not. That’s how that fucking works.” You walk over and snatch the pictures from him, ignoring his pleas of denial. “While you were out doing whatever the fuck or whoever the fuck you wanted, I was here throwing up every day by my fucking self, barely even able to eat oatmeal without getting sick. I was here reading up on how to get through pregnancy or how to be a good mother. I was here shopping for fucking baby clothes and decorations. And I was the one here miscarrying in our bed, by myself!” You have no idea when you started crying again, but you were, and there was no stopping it this time. “I was the one going to doctors appointments and listening to our baby’s teeny tiny heart beating. I was here looking at pictures of her tiny feet and tiny toes, wondering if she’d look like you or like me. I was here picking up the pieces when I found out her teeny tiny heart had stopped.”

Matt’s eyes had filled with tears now, too, his bright blue eyes only made brighter by the reflection of the lamp lit in the corner of the room. “Her?” He croaked, voice failing him. “It was a girl?”

You let out a sob, nodding your head weakly. “I found out the day I found out she was gone,” you cry, voice entering a higher pitch from your throat tightening. “I wanted her so bad, Matt, and I was just waiting for you to come around so I could tell you, and… you just never did and now we’re over. I went from a girl who wanted nothing more than a family with the man she loves to being a girl who’s oddly grateful she lost a baby so she doesn’t have to deal with looking at her daughter that reminds her of the man that broke her heart.”

Matt reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, releasing a shaky breath out. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, looking you dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry, if I had known-.”

“If you had known then what? You wouldn’t have treated me like shit? You wouldn’t have cheated? That should’ve been the bare fucking minimum, Matt, and now you’ve let down who was supposed to be the two most important girls in your life.” You point your finger at him as you speak, wanting to drive your point home and let him know how badly he had fucked up. “I would’ve done fucking anything for you, including growing your baby, and you threw that away, not me.”

“I was just scared, it was all happening so fast!” Matt wails, reaching out for you. “I got overwhelmed with the thought of settling down and I freaked out, I’m sorry.”

You push his hands away, ignoring his pleas. “You said it yourself, Matt. It’s over. Besides, I can’t bring her back. I’m always going to look at you and remember how you treated me when I had your baby inside me, and how you treated me when I dealt with the loss of our baby.”

Matt sobbed, placing his head in his hands as his shoulder shook. “I didn’t know!”

“You shouldn’t have to know!” You cried, hands flailing in front of you as you spoke, or more yelled. “You shouldn’t have to know I’m pregnant just to treat me like your fucking girlfriend! I would’ve done anything for you, including give up my body for nine months to give you a family, and you couldn’t even be loyal, and you have to live with that for the rest of your fucking life.”

Matt sunk to his knees in front of you, head resting on your stomach as he wraps his arms around your hips. You just stare down at him, your tears dripping into his hair. “I���m so sorry, please let me fix this,” he sobs into your sweater, hands gripping the back of it. “I fucked up so bad, I see that now.”

The sight of him made you want to crumble. You wanted to give in, to comfort him, to forget these last few months and go back to being the perfect happy couple you used to be. You didn’t know how you were supposed to live without him after all this time.

But you deserved better.

“Get up,” you tell him quietly and he turns his head up to look at you, cheeks soaked with his own tears. You reach down and cup his cheek, thumb swiping under his eyes to wipe new tears that fell. “Get up, Matt.”

He sniffles and obliges, standing in front of you once again, closer this time.

“You’re not sorry you hurt me,” you start, voice surprisingly calm. “You’re just sorry it backfired so badly.”

Matt grabs your hand that still rested on his face, holding it close and leaning into it. “Please,” he says, voice raspy. “Can we spend one more night together?”

You break eye contact to drop your eyes to the floor, shoulders shaking with the sob that ripped through your body.

“Yes,” you croak out, immediately melting into the arms that wrapped themselves around you like you’d disappear if he let go, your face tucking into his neck that smelled like cheap floral perfume, the scent feeling like a dagger to your heart.

You ignored it, though. Anything for one more night with the love of your life.

-

taglist

[nickynclark]

The Psychology of Love and Loathing

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Enemies to lovers! 

Word count: 7,584

Warnings: no use of y/n, reader goes by 'bunny', discussion of a case (nothing too far from usual Criminal Minds gore), reader has three PhD's (bet you didn't know that), briefly mentions readers mother committing su!cide, mentions of toxic parents, alcohol consumption, jealous! Reader, jealous! Reid, pet names (good girl, silly girl, baby, sweetheart, sweet thing), degradation, oral f! Receiving, like one line of oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (pls wrap it before you tap it), no mention of reader being on birth control, anal play, overstimulation, after care. If i missed anything let me know!

Author’s note: i’m so sorry im ovulating. This is porn w a shit ton of plot. We’re talkin WORLD BUILDING

MDNI BELOW THE CUT

You blink at the papers in front of you, checking once, twice, double checking three times to make sure what you're seeing is correct. 

You were on a case in Texas, called in by local police after four bodies, two wealthy couples, were found shot execution-style and posed on different park benches throughout Amarillo. While at first, it seemed as though it was your average serial killer, the autopsy report showed that the gunshot wound was done post-mortem- all four victims were murdered by being forced to drink household bleach. 

You looked down at the papers one more time, noticing that one man, Adam Gilman, cleaned houses of the wealthy, and he purchased a lot of bleach. Way more than needed to clean a few bathrooms. 

You quickly dial Garcia, and she answers within the first ring. 

"Ask and you shall receive." 

"Garcia, what can you find out about Adam Gilman?"

You hear typing from the other end of the line before spewing information, "35-year-old white male, he grew up super rich until his dad pulled his college funding his senior year when his sister went to school to be a doctor. He started paying for her," She suddenly sucked in a breath, "It looks like he had to drop out. He was at Harvard Law. Spiraled downhill from there, sending you the files and address now." 

"Thanks, Garcia!" 

You rush into the room where the rest of the team is and run up to Hotch. 

"Look at this! He fits the profile to a t!" 

Hotch looks down at his tablet, and you feel eyes glance over to you, about to speak, but Spencer Reid bursts through the doors. 

"Guys our unsub is Adam Gilman! He lives five minutes from here, and his job is on the way." 

Hotch nods at you, acknowledging that you have the same information but Reid said it louder, "Let's go." 

Since you joined the Bureau last year, Spencer Reid has been competing with you. Whereas he was thirty-three with three PhDs, you were twenty-five with the same amount. Of course, he got his when he was much younger, but he still seemed to overcompensate. 

He was intimidated by you. 

This wasn't the first time a situation like this had happened. It's almost like he had a radar for when you made a big break, and he wanted to steal the spotlight. 

And not to mention he hates you for some reason. 

Ever since your first week in the BAU, Dr. Reid has acted indifferent to you. You understand that change can be uncomfortable, but you have done nothing to deserve this cold shoulder. 

On your first day, you strutted into the office dressed in a pair of black slacks, a black, v-neck blouse, and some hot pink pumps; being honest, you looked like you owned the place. 

When Aaron introduced you to the team, you shook everyone's hand except Reid's. 

"The number of pathogens passed through a handshake is staggering," he stated mater-of-factly while staring at your hand, "it's actually safer to kiss." 

You laugh and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, "Although I appreciate the concern, a handshake is actually a sign of peaceful intentions. Soldiers would cover their swords on their left side and shake their right hand to show they mean no harm," you shrug, "but I understand the mysophobia." 

He nodded at you, a glare suddenly hardening his features, "interesting." 

He has refused to hold conversation with you, maintain eye contact with you, or be in the same room with you for an extended amount of time ever since. 

He hates it the most when you're right. 

After arresting Adam, the team desperately needed to interrogate him. He was denying all claims despite all the evidence against him. In fact, all he has said has been denials. Besides that, he didn't speak. He hadn't asked for a lawyer, hadn't shown any recognition to the couples, and hadn't said anything besides I've never seen those people before.

"We need to make him uncomfortable," Morgan says, "he's running this whole show. We gotta flip the tide." 

Emily looks up from her Chinese takeout, laughing, "Let's throw Bun and Reid in there." 

Your eyes widen, and you are suddenly incredibly red. Your face is on fire, and you start looking around panicked. 

The team started referring to you as 'Bun' over the summer when you all went to a bar together. You accidentally had one too many drinks, and Derek said you were bouncing up and down the whole time. 

"She's like a Bunny." 

"Don't call me a Bunny!" You slur, "I'm mean. And vicious." 

Penelope laughs at you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, "Alright, Bun. Let's go dance!" 

Ever since that night, the nickname 'bun' stuck. 

Although Emily suggested you and Reid distracting Adam as a joke, Rossi's lips pull into a smile, "That just might work." 

Emily sets her food down, suddenly aware that she presented the first good idea so far, "we could dress them up some, make them look like a wealthy couple, and have them ask Adam some questions. It might make him mad enough to break." 

Aaron looks at you and you gulp subtly, then he looks to Reid, "It's up to you." 

You look at your feet, frowning, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get this guy in jail." 

Reid simply nods. 

"Okay," Aaron says, "we'll go get the stuff." 

You and Spencer remain in the small room while the others rush out to get the things you require for your transformation. 

"Hi." Your voice comes out quiet. 

"Hello." He responds blandly. 

You suddenly realize this is the first time you and Reid have been in a room alone together, so you take the opportunity. 

"What have I done to you?" 

Reid's eyebrows shoot up at the confrontation "Huh?" 

You roll your eyes, "ever since my first day you've avoided me. What did I do?" 

He scoffs, "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Sure you don't." You sigh and run a hand through your hair, "I'm the only person on the team you practically refuse to talk to." 

"I'm talking to you right now," he says as if that's a counterargument, "I talk to you all the time." 

"Yeah, when you're forced to!" You say exasperatedly, "You know everyone on the team's birthdays, all except mine. You know their family situation because you've asked." 

He shrugs, "I know plenty about you."

"How old am I?" 

He looks into your eyes calmly, "You're twenty-eight." 

"I'm twenty-five." 

Emily suddenly bursts into the room, "There isn't anything for you guys in lost and found. You have to go on a shopping trip. Strauss said a 300 dollar limit." 

You nod, "I assume that's just for clothes?" 

"Yes," She answers, "Reid is going to wear Rossi's watch and a wedding band JJ's going to pick up. Both of you will wear a ring." She then looks to you, "We have a lot of jewelry for you to pick through." 

You nod, standing and Reid rises next to you. 

Emily tosses you some keys, "be back in an hour." 

***

The ride to the mall was quiet. You didn't bother talking to Spencer as you drove, and he didn't bother speaking to you. 

He also kept turning down the radio when you tried to turn it up. It was painfully awkward. 

Once at the mall, you and Reid split up incredibly fast. 

He ran to some men's warehouse, and you rushed to the women's section of a department store. 

You quickly pick up a pair of black pinstriped slacks that hug your curves and a tight, white blouse. You finally grab a black, pinstriped blazer, and you head to check out. 

On your way, though, a pair of stunning, emerald heels grabs your attention. 

You walk closer to study them, and god do they look lavish. 

If you weren't here for work, you would grab them in a heartbeat, but you were, and you had already met your price cap. 

"Buy them." 

You hear Spencer's voice from behind you, and you jump, grabbing your chest in fright.

"What?" 

"Get them," he shrugs, "it's obvious you want to." 

You laugh shyly, and he stuffs his hands into his jean pockets, his bag of clothes hanging around his wrist. 

"I've already met my limit." 

"Okay?"

You frown, studying him. He looks calm and relaxed. You tilt your head slightly, and he matches your movement. 

No, that can't be right. 

You cross your arms in a silent stare down, and he does, too. 

"You're mimicking me." 

He scoffs, "God, Bun, not everything I do is to spite you!" 

Your eyes widen and you suddenly point at him, "You!"

"What?" 

"You just called me Bun!" 

His eyes barely widen, but he catches himself, staring straight ahead. 

His foot stops tapping, "you're hearing things." 

"And that's your tell!" You point at his foot, "You just mimicked me, called me 'Bun', and then lied about it!" 

He rolls his eyes, "what size are you?" 

"You're avoiding the question!" 

"You didn't ask a question." He gestures to the heels, "What size?" 

"Why?" 

"Answer the question, Bunny." 

His tone is stern, and you freeze under his stare. 

"Nine." 

He nods and grabs a box in that size. 

"No!" You protest, "Don't!"

"I still had a hundred bucks left over, it's on the company's card." 

You blink twice, confused as to why he's being so nice to you. 

"Okay. I need to pay and I'm done." 

He nods to you, and you both check out. He hands you the heels and you let out a quiet thanks while headed to the car.

***

When you got back to the station, the turnaround was dizzying. 

You were shoved into a room to change, as was Reid. 

After you changed, JJ came in and whistled. 

"Sheesh, Bun, you look good!" 

You laugh and straighten out your jacket, slipping on the heels Spencer bought you today. 

"Are those new?"

You nod, "yeah, Spencer said he had some left in his budget." 

She shook her head, "Reid must've bought those with his own money." 

Your eyes widen, and she laughs, "C'mon, Bun. You need to look at jewelry." 

You picked out a pair of dainty, diamond earrings, a matching necklace, and several expensive bracelets that had to be physically screwed onto your wrists. 

Once standing in front of Hotch, Emily gave you the wedding bands JJ had picked up. 

Yours was a gorgeous gold band with an emerald-cut diamond on top. It was simple, but, God, was it stunning. 

You slipped it onto your finger and Reid slipped the simple golden band over his, his hands looking all that much better with the ring on it. It makes your mouth water just thinking about his fingers.

You quickly shake your head. No. You hate Spencer Reid. Nothing will change that. 

Hotch gives you and Reid strict instructions on how to talk to Adam, and then he's sending you in. 

"Sell it," Aaron says, "this might be our only shot." 

You give him a curt nod, linking your arm with Reid and smiling as you walk into the interrogation room. 

Spencer looks down at you with a look of passion you've never seen before. One that you aren't convinced could be fake. 

As soon as you looked at Adam, you could tell there was something off. He was picking at the skin around his nails and chewing on the skin of his lips where they looked raw and painful. 

As you sat down in front of him, Spencer was the first to speak. 

"Who is this guy again, babe?" 

You held back the shock in your face at the pet name as he put a hand on your thigh. You made a point to twist the wedding ring on your finger before opening the files in front of you. 

"Adam?" You look up at the man in front of you, "are you Adam?" He nods, and you hum, "Who are you, exactly?" 

Reid smiles and looks to you, "Play nice." He slides the files over to him, "Harvard law, that's impressive. Did you apply or did your father buy your way in?"

Adam's eyes narrowed, "I applied and got accepted. I was a prodigy." 

You smile subtly, knowing you and Reid have already gotten him to show more of himself than he had to anyone else. 

You look at your fake husband and laugh, "I don't think you can decide that you're a prodigy." You look Adam up and down, "my husband, here," you place your hand on Spencer's shoulder, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars, "he is a prodigy. How old were you when you got your first PhD?"

"Seventeen," he laughed humbly, looking at you, "you flatter me." 

You smile softly as Reid squeezes your thigh, something Adam could not see and, therefore, was unnecessary. You look at Spencer, but he refuses to meet your eyes. 

You turn back to Adam, pulling out the photos of the four bodies and showing them to him, "have you met these people before?" 

He shakes his head, "I've never seen those people before." 

"Really?" You ask calmly, "You've never, ever, seen Andrea Haskins?" 

Adam shakes his head. 

"Never, not once, seen her husband, Kent Haskins, either?" 

He shakes his head again. 

Reid sits up straighter, linking his hands together on the table in front of him, "you received a pretty generous amount of money from him every month since... August?" 

You mentally thank Garcia for that information, and mentally thank Reid for remembering it. 

Adam sits up straight, too, but falling shorter than Reid, "I clean their house for them, don't mean I've ever met 'em." 

You hum, "I wouldn't let a stranger into our home, would you?" 

Reid shakes his head, and Adam gets visibly upset at your interactions. His hands clench to the table ledge, knees bouncing, eyes narrowed. 

"Say, Adam," you perk up, "how much bleach do you use per house you clean, about?" 

Adam's eyes trained on me, "you're a smart girl," he then looked to Reid, "with an even smarter husband." He spits the words as if they are poison on his tongue, "You do the math." 

You stand, smiling softly, "So, not 10 gallons per week?" 

Adam shrugs, "If that's your calculation." 

You walk closer to the man, sitting on the table next to him and leaning down to him, "And I assume you also have never met the Coleman's?"

He shakes his head. 

"Never met anyone in the Coleman family?" 

"No. God, you people suck at your job."

"That's actually interesting considering we have video footage of your picking up Lacey Coleman from school last Monday. A family doesn't let a stranger house cleaner pick up their child from school." 

Adam's eyes widen, and you know you have him cornered. 

"How long had your sister been friends with the Colemans?" Reid interjects. 

"Don't you dare talk about her." 

"Why not?" Reid asks simply, "Does she bother you?" 

"I was going to be a Lawyer, I was going to be successful and make my dad proud of me. Until she ruined it all with her perfect schooling and perfect husband," Adam spits.

"Halley is a pretty successful neurosurgeon, huh? She gets all of daddy's special attention, doesn't she?" You say.

"Get your wife on a leash," Adam says to Reid. 

"All you wanted was to feel loved, to hear your dad say he's proud of you," you keep talking, "and you were going to kill him because he wouldn't say it." 

"Shut the hell up, bitch!" 

"You were getting ready to kill your mom and dad because, hey, why not go straight to the source? Why not kill who made you like this?" 

"What if your family pulled your funds for a sibling, huh?" He yells to you and Reid, "How would you feel?" 

The room goes silent and Reid allows you to keep talking, keep getting on his nerves. 

"His daddy left him when his mom got sick, and my mommy killed herself when I was seven. We worked for our degrees, and we worked even harder for the scholarships that paid for our three PhDs." You hiss, "I would've worked harder to get what I want instead of just expecting it." 

"You're a bitch," Adam spit in my face. 

"I could be worse. I could take away a little girl's family. I could kill four innocent people out of my frustration and failure." 

Reid finally stepped in, grabbing your hand softly and pulling you back to your side of the table. 

"I didn't kill those people." 

"That's not what your body is telling us, Adam." Reid states simply, "You are hurt and still are hurting, I understand that. But now so is Lacey. That's on you." 

Adam's lip quivers, "I didn't hurt Lacey! Lacey was at her friend's house!" 

Reid rises, grabs your hand gently, and walks to the door, and you follow.

"Hey!" Adam screams, "where are you going? Get back here!" 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you let go of Reid's hand. He turns to you and watches your expression shift. 

"Good work, Bun." 

You nod, and he looks like he's about to say something else, mouth opening, but then Hotchner walks in. 

"Great work.” 

You smile at Aaron, and Reid stares at you with something dark behind his eyes. He looks nervous, and hungry, and concerned, and certain. 

"We'll be heading back in 30. Wrap up. Great job, Doctors." 

***

On the plane, you and Reid are still in your "Rich Couple" personas, not having enough time to change out. 

You sit near the back of the plane, headphones in, and reading Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience by William Blake. 

"Little Lamb who made thee, Dost though know who made thee?" 

You hear the words of "The Lamb" spoken, causing you to take out your headphones and look to the source: Spencer Reid. 

He sits across from you as you ask, "You read Blake?" 

"Blake to Poe to Plath, I don't mind." 

You narrow your eyes at him, "what do you want?"

"Really?" He asks, "We can't just have a nice moment?" 

You raise your eyebrows at him, "Not you and me. We don't have nice moments."

His facial features soften, and he sighs, "I'm sorry for acting so harsh toward you. You didn't deserve that." 

You're shocked by his statement, "Pardon me?"

He runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "I was scared, Bun. I was the smart one. I convinced myself that was all I could be," his breath hitches and his eyes connect with mine, "I thought if there was someone smarter, more sociable, and nicer than me, they wouldn't need me anymore." 

"Spence..." you start, and you realize it's the first time you've called him his nickname. 

He notices it, too, eyes shifting from one of concern to one of understanding, "You're incredibly smart. You're kind, and you're fun to be around. I'm sorry it took me so long to notice that."

You nodded, "thank you." 

He nods and goes to stand.

"Wait." You quickly speak up and he freezes, "What's... um..." you stutter, "what's your favorite Poe?" 

Reid smiles, sitting back down, "Annabel Lee." 

You smile, "Gold-Bug."

He laughs, "Really?" 

And you nod. 

**** 

"Let's go get drinks!" Garcia announces as you and the team wrap up your paperwork, and you laugh. 

"I don't think so," you smile, "not tonight." 

"C'mon, Bun," Garcia whines "It'll be fun!"

Reid suddenly looked at you, eyes darker, eyes that held you tight in a grip, "Yeah, c'mon, Bun." He says the name with a sensuality you had never heard before. It sent a shiver down your spine, "it'll be fun." 

You look at him, taking in a shaky breath, "I.. uh, don't have a ride." 

"I'll drive you," Reid says simply, and the rest of the team just stares at the interaction. 

Things have changed since the interrogation room, you know that, but did you want to be alone with him already? 

You look at him, his messy hair, his stubble, and chocolate brown eyes, and your pussy clenches around nothing. 

You find yourself nodding, mouth too dry to speak.

"Good," he smiles, "follow me."

Your team watches with uncertainty as you walk off with Spencer, and it's almost like they've seen the change, too. 

No, they're profilers. They know Reid had you wrapped around his finger while reciting Blake. 

They also knew Spencer had been pining after you since you wore those hot pink heels on the first day of work. But they didn't need to tell you that. 

Reid guides you to the elevator, and you comply silently. Once the door closes and it's just you two, you turn to Spencer.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" He responds simply.

You turn to face him, "why are you being so nice to me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Bun." 

You roll your eyes, "yeah right." 

The elevator doors open, and he walks you to his car, opening the door for you.

"Thank you," you smile cautiously, and he nods. 

He sits down in the driver's seat and pulls out of his parking spot. One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other placed on the gearshift. His eyes focus on the road, but they occasionally slide over to you. The silence- although comfortable- practically kills you.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" 

He glances over at you, and he smirks, "I want to." 

You look at him, "why?"

He shrugs, "spent too long not doing it." 

You nod and glance out the window, just as Spencer puts the car in park. 

As you step out of the car, you hear Derek and Emily from behind you, making a show of letting you know they are also here. 

You walked over to Morgan and hugged him.

"Hey, Bunny," he smiles and kisses your forehead, "first rounds on me tonight, sweetheart." 

You laugh, "thank god! Need a handsome man to buy me some drinks!"

Reid scoffs from behind you, but you shrug it off, assuming it was about something Emily had said. 

It wasn't. 

As you walk into the bar with Derek's arm around your shoulder, you quickly make your way to the table with Garcia and Rossi. 

"What are you drinking?" You ask Garcia, gesturing to her hot pink drink in front of her, garnished with cotton candy, strawberries on sticks, and a big, twisty straw.

Gracia's eyes widen, "oh my gosh! You've never been here before??" You shake your head, and she squeals with excitement, "Okay, so, it's called the Cotton Candy Chameleon. It's basically strawberry vodka and coconut rum with strawberry soda! Look!" She picks up the cotton candy and places it into the liquid, watching as it rapidly dissolves, "did you see that?!" 

"That's why it's called a Chameleon," Derek laughs, arm still around you, "want me to get you one?" 

You nod happily, "and a shot of Titos? I'll pay you back!" 

Morgan winks at you, "It's on me, Bun." 

As he walks toward the bar, you and Garcia continue to chat about anything and everything, her childhood cat, where you grew up, and how Garcia got put on the team. 

"You were so good at being bad," you laugh, swirling your third Cotton Candy Chameleon that Morgan brought over to you, "that the FBI gave you a job instead of jail time?" 

She nodded, giggling, "Pretty much. Are you going to take that shot?" She points to the round Rossi had bought for the table. 

You laugh, quickly picking it up and downing it, "god!" 

"Woah!" Morgan laughs, hands catching your hips to keep you steady, "careful, Bunny." 

You feel eyes glaring into you, and you trace them to Reid sitting at the bar. He has his elbow on the bar, leaning into his hand as he watches you with a look of unhappiness. 

You roll your eyes, finishing the final chug of your drink, and placing a hand on Morgan's chest. 

"You're warm," you say with a goofy smile, and Derek laughs.

"Oh, really, sweetheart?" 

You nod, leaning further into him as his hands rest on your hips. 

You make eye contact with him before you smirk and push away, "I'm going to get another drink." 

"Hey, Bun!" You turn around to Rossi, his empty glass raised to you, "Get me another old fashioned." 

You nod, smiling at the older man, and waltzing to the bar, right next to Reid. 

"You having fun, Bunny?" He asks, voice low. 

"Yes, sir." You smile, waiting for the bartender to walk over. 

He sucks in a breath at the title, "You sure are touchy with Morgan," he grits out, staring at you, not quite your eyes, but something a little bit lower. 

You scoff, "What's it to you?" 

"Nothing." He spits, eyes connecting with yours, pupils taking over the brown of his eyes. 

The bartender finally comes up to you, a cute girl in a black, low-cut tank top and some black, short shorts. She has short blonde hair, barely reaching her shoulders and it's curled up and pinned back so her hair is framing her face. 

She was gorgeous, actually.

"What can I do for ya?" She asks, shaking a drink before breaking the seal and pouring it into a glass. 

You tell her your order, and that it's on David Rossi's tab, and she nods. 

Then she turns to Spencer, "What about you handsome?" She says it sultry like she's trying to seduce him, "Need another? I'd be happy to get you somethin' else." 

Your eyes narrow on her, a deep, red-hot feeling forming in your gut. She doesn't see your stare though, completely focused on Spencer, leaning over the counter so her cleavage is on full display, biting her lip and twirling her hair. 

You decided then and there that you hated her. 

Reid tells her that he's okay, water if she insists, and when she comes back with his water, she hands him a napkin with ink scribbled on it, "I get off in 45 if you're interested."

"He's not." 

The words come out of your lips faster than you could think, your brain taking longer to catch up with your mouth. 

"Pardon?" She asks you, calm and calculating, "Didn't know you could decide that for him." 

You laugh cockily, "Oh?" You act fast pulling yourself into Reid's lap before he can protest, but his hands wrap around you, trapping you where you sat, "I think I can." 

Reid looked at the bartender, then his eyes trailed back to you, "Sorry, Brooklyn, I'm spoken for," his eyes darkened, a sly smile rising on his lips. 

The bartender walks away to work on your drinks, and you turn all the way to face Reid. 

"What are you doing, Bun?" He asks, voice low. You shift your hips and he hums, grabbing your waist to stop the movement, "Stop that. Talk to me." 

You whimper, leaning into his chest, "You were really going to choose some bottle blonde over me?" Your words come out harsh, but it's also the first time you've said what's truly on your mind in front of Reid.

His eyes land back on Brooklyn, and he smirks, "She's pretty, I'll give her that," he looks down at you, right as the bartender places the drinks in front of you, "But you? You're on a whole different level, Bun." 

You blush and shake your head, just as Brooklyn walks back over to hand you your drinks. 

As she sets them down she says, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you two were a thing." 

You quickly shake your head, "Don't worry about it," you smile, "neither did he." 

"In my defense," Spencer laughs, his lips close to your ear, "I didn't know you were an option. If I had, there wouldn't have been a competition."

You shiver when you feel his breath on your neck, "yeah, right. You've hated me since I joined the BAU."

His eyes widened, "Hated you?" 

You nod softly, a little confused by the question. 

"Hated isn't the word I would use," He laughed. 

"What is?" You ask quietly. 

He leans his head side to side, as if pondering the best way to answer, "obsessed? Intimidated?" He looked at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, "Lusted?" 

Your eyes widened, "what?"

He shrugs, a hand falling to your thigh, thumb drawing circles, "The way you are entrances me. The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you exist." He leans his head down so his eyes meet yours, "I knew I couldn't do anything about that, so I stayed away. I guess it came off as hatred." 

The hand that wasn't on your leg reached up to pluck the cotton candy off of your drink, opening his mouth and letting the sugar melt on his tongue. 

"Mmm," he hummed, eyes still locked with yours, "so sweet, Bun." 

Your jaw dropped slightly, thighs clenching, and he grips your flesh, "Nuh, uh. What's wrong?" He chuckles as you whine against him, "Use your words." 

You sit up, straightening and sliding off of his lap, "You're a sick freak, Spencer Reid." 

He licked his lips, eyes trailing down your body, "I'll bring Rossi his drink, wait by the door." 

You cross your arms over your chest, but your heart is pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears, "what makes you think I listen to you?" 

"Oh, Bunny," his finger lifts your chin, "I'm a profiler. Absolutely everything tells me that you'll listen to me." 

You roll your eyes and scoff, "And if they ask where we're going?"

A devilish smirk flashes across his lips, and he leans toward your ear, and you can feel his breath on your skin, "you already told them you're tired," he pauses, "I'm going to fuck you to sleep, Doctor." 

You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes glazing over as he chuckles, pulling away from you. 

You take a step back, mumbling, "Hurry back." 

He smiles widely, pupils practically taking over his chocolate eyes, "good girl." 

You suck in a breath as he turns on his heel, walking over to the team as you wait by the door. Penelope frowns at you, waving, and Emily blows you a kiss. 

Rossi looks at you calmly, and Derek raises a smooth eyebrow with a smirk. 

Spencer walks back to you, grabbing your arm as you walk to the car.

Once you get back to his black Dodge Challenger, he presses you against the door, “How drunk are you right now?”

“From one to ten?” You ask, voice quiet, Reid looking at you like you’re a meal.

He nods, hands gripping your hips, “Goddamn it, Bun,” he hisses, “Yes, one to ten.”

“Four,” you answer, and his lips slam into yours in a frenzy.

It’s all tongue and teeth like he couldn’t wait a single second longer to taste you. Like it would kill him. 

Your chest arches into his, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for life in the bruising kiss. 

He pulls away, his eyes nearly black, eyes filled with an undeniable hunger, and it makes you shiver. 

A smirk comes over his face as he steps away from you, opening your door, “get in.”

You don’t have to be told twice, stepping into the car, carefully so you don’t fall in the emerald heels he bought you.

With his own money.

“Spencer?”

He turns on the car and pulls out of the parking spot, “Yeah?” 

You look at him, studying how you are both still dressed like a posh-rich couple, “You bought me these heels.” 

He nods, chuckling and placing his hand on your thigh, “Excellent observation.”

You shudder at the contact, “with your own money.” 

He smirks, “Who told you that?”

“JJ?”

“Ah,” he laughs, “Yeah, green’s your color.”

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you decide that?”

“A few weeks ago you wore this emerald green sweater,” he says, “It looked so goddamn good on you.”

You recall the memory, smiling softly, “Is that why you were avoiding me? You thought I looked pretty?”

His voice gets stern, face serious when he looks over at you, “Stop talking, Bun.”

A belly laugh escapes your mouth, head thrown back as you cackle, “I thought I pissed you off somehow!”

He gives your thigh a sharp squeeze, “I don’t think I’ve ever been genuinely angry with you.”

You sit dumbfounded, a quiet oh slipping past your closed lips. 

He looks at you and parks the car, “I’ve been upset, frustrated, and God have I been irritated with you,” he turns to look at you, pulling his hand away from your leg, “But I have never been angry with you.” 

He unbuckles quickly as you stare at him in surprise, and he gets out of the car, rushing around to open your door, “hurry up.”

You stumble out of the car, and he puts a hand on the small of your back, ushering you into his apartment.

You don’t get a chance to fully appreciate the chaotic charm of Spencer Reid’s place. As soon as you notice the books piled up everywhere, he spins you around, pressing your back against the door and capturing your lips in another kiss. This kiss is slower and more controlled, with his hands sliding up your sides to your back, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You ball his shirt into your hands, pulling him impossibly closer.

“God, Bun, your fucking intoxicating,” he sighs against your lips, hands slipping under your shirt to rest on your bare hips, and you sigh at the contact. 

He smirks, trailing wet kisses down your neck, gently grazing his teeth over your pulse point, and you moan, “there she is,” he mumbles, “been wanting to hear you make those pretty little sounds for a while.”

You whimper, “Shut up.”

He laughs, tugging you away from the door, and guiding you into his bedroom. 

You shed off your suit jacket, and he rips your shirt over your head before pushing you down on his mattress. You gasp as you fall, Spencer's hands quickly move to your slacks, unbuttoning them and looking up at you with eyes so fiery you feel your whole body set aflame. 

“Yes,” you say, noticing the silent question Spencer is asking you, “please, yes.” 

He smirks, kissing the skin just above the waistline of your pants before tugging them down, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

He throws the items into the corner of his room, sitting up and looking at you: dressed in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, his eyes darken. He slides his hands down your body, and he practically growls when he feels your sopping wet cunt.

“God dammit, you’re so wet Bunny,” he says, his finger sliding over the soaked fabric of your panties, “such a silly girl, thinking I could want anyone but you.”

You whimper at the comment, and he leans down to kiss your upper thigh, slowly spreading your legs apart with the palms of his hands. Your legs widen as he settles in, kissing slowly up and around them, licking, sucking, and biting until you’re littered with heart-shaped marks. 

“Gonna show you how much I wanted you,” he hisses, his hot breath fanning over your covered pussy, “gotta let you know how dumb you are for thinking I was anyone’s but yours.”

You whimper shamelessly at the comment, your legs trying to close, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, Bunny?” he laughs, looking up at you from between your thighs, “You like it when I tell you just how stupid you are? How fuckin’ useless that little brain of yours is?”

You nod rapidly, and Spencer licks a thick stripe over your clothed core. You let out a loud gasp, your head lolling to the side at the much-appreciated attention. He pushes your underwear to the side, diving into your pussy like a man starved. Spencer kitten licks your clit before pulling it into his mouth and sucking harshly, and your back arches from the bed.

“Fuck, Spence,” you moan, hands shooting into his hair, “so fuckin good, feels so good.”

��Mmm, there you go, baby,” he says, his index finger circling your entrance, “let me know how good I’m doing,” and his finger slowly pushes into you as his mouth reconnects to your hot skin.

Spencer Reid was talented with his tongue, but, god, his fingers were a whole other story.

He curled his finger toward him, finding that sweet, gummy spot inside you almost immediately, abusing it before inserting another and scissoring his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbles against your cunt, and a loud moan slips from your lips, your hands tangling into his hair as you desperately try to grind against his tongue, but he puts a hand over your stomach, holding you down.

He continues his torment, fingers working you open and his tongue moving rapidly through your folds. His fingers drag down your front wall slowly, and you can’t help his name slipping off of your tongue. 

He smirks, looking up at you, “Atta girl, Bunny. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

You moan loudly as he continues his torment. Your legs start to shake, his tongue swirling circles around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and one of your hands grabs your breast to ground you. Your breathing gets ragged, and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming.

“You gonna cum for me, Bunny?” He asks, voice low, “Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, and he tsk’s.

“Without asking?” He says, a smirk on his perfect lips, slowing his fingers down and moving to kiss the insides of your thighs, “Not even going to ask after I’ve worked so hard for you?”

You throw your head back with a groan, “Please, Spencer!”

“Please what?”

You consider slapping him, telling him to stop treating you like some desperate slut, but in your current state? You might as well be.

“Please let me cum! I’ve been so good for you, Spence, I’ll be so good!”

“Yeah? You going to be my good girl?” he asks, eyes locking with yours, eyebrows raised, as he speeds up his fingers inside of your spasming pussy, “You promise?”

“Promise! Please, Spence, let me cum for you!”

He pauses for a second like he’s thinking, the smirk on his face growing, “cum for me, Bunny,” and he watches your face, jaw dropped as you orgasm around his fingers, your slick coating his palm and dripping onto the sheets below you as he works you through your bliss.  

Once you come down, though, his fingers don't stop moving, his thumb moving to rub tight circles on your pulsing clit, “You’ve got another one in you,” he says as you bite your lip and your eyes water slightly, “C’mon, baby, you can give me another, right?”

You nod your head, your lip tugged between your teeth, your legs still shaking. He doesn’t give you time to breathe, just continues to suck and lick on your clit like it’s what he was made for, and, before you know it, your eyes clench shut as you rapidly approach another orgasm.

Little whimpers leave your lips, and Spencer chuckles slightly, “My poor girl, so desperate for me. I can tell you’re getting close again, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and he speeds up his pace, your jaw dropping into a silent ‘o’.

He kisses your stomach, holding your shaking legs with his free hand, “Give it to me, Bun.”

And you release with reckless ambition, thighs flung open and a hand gripping the sheets for your life as a string of moans leaves your lips. Spencer removes his fingers and moves down to lick up your come, and you have no choice but to whimper. He smirks and pulls away from your cunt, placing his lips hot on your own, and you taste yourself.

“You’re so sweet, Bunny. Sweeter than candy,” he sighs, hands sliding down your chest.

You whimper, forcing your hands into his hair in another soul-crushing kiss, and he chuckles into it. 

“Desperate for something?” 

And you nod, one hand trailing down the front of his body, grabbing his dick covered by his pants and he groans.

“You want this cock, Baby?” He lifts off of you, sitting with his knees on either side of your body while he quickly undoes the top two buttons of his shirt before deeming it useless and pulling it over his head while your hands make quick work of his pants, pulling off his belt and tugging his pants and boxers down enough to free his aching cock.

You moan at the sight, immediately leaning forward to kiss his tip, before he pushes you back onto the bed. 

“Another time, Bun,” he grumbles, “need to feel you around me.” 

You moan, nodding and lining him up with your quivering pussy, and he pushes forward just slightly, enough for his tip to pop inside of you, and the groan that leaves his lips is pornographic. 

“She’s so fuckin’ tight, baby, can feel her squeezing me.” 

You whimper, “please! More!” 

He chuckles darkly at your request, “yeah? You need something?” 

You roll your hips forward, pushing him in a little further before he slaps the outside of your thigh harshly. 

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He emphasizes his words by pulling out slightly, and pushing back in, fucking you with just his tip, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips. 

“Look at you,” he groans, continuing his torturous motions, “so desperate for my cock. Such a nasty little thing.” 

And the thrusts harshly, abruptly sheathing his whole cock inside of you, and your head throws back. 

He has the audacity to laugh at you, quickening his pace, each thrust hitting causing him to hit your cervix in a blissfully painful way, your eyes rolling back, begging for something. You're not quite sure what, though. 

“So fucked out you can't think straight?” He coos, his pace never slowing, “if I knew this was all it took to shut you up I’d have done it a long time ago.” 

And you whine at the thought. 

He raises an eyebrow, “You like that idea, don't you, Bunny?” And you nod. 

Suddenly, he pulls out completely, slapping your thigh again, “Roll over. Hands and knees.” 

You quickly comply, supporting yourself on shaky arms and legs, and he trails a hand up your spine before pushing down, forcing your chest to the bed below you. 

He groans as you arch your back, quickly pushing himself back inside your sopping cunt.,

“Such pretty holes you got here, baby,” he whispers, spitting onto your asshole as one of his thumbs spreads out the lubricant, causing your breath to hitch. 

“Wanna fill both of them for you, can I do that?” 

And you nod recklessly, your head bouncing against the pillows at the speed and power of his thrusts, and he takes your permission to push his thumb into your virgin ass, and the moan that rips through your throat is almost humiliating. 

“You like being so full of me, don't you, Bunny?”

And you groan out, “yes! Fuck, I’m so close, Spencer!” 

He laughs as your cunt starts quivering around his cock, his tip bullying that sweet spot inside of you. 

“I know sweet thing, give it to me. Cum around my cock.” 

With permission, you release around him, your pussy clenched around his dick and your ass squeezing his thumb, but he keeps fucking you through it.

His free hand laces through your hair, pulling your head back as you whimper in overstimulation. 

“Take it,” he groans, mumbling more to himself as his cock twitches inside of you, “come on, take it like the dirty whore you are. Love having me fill both your nasty holes, fuck.” 

His rhythm falters, and he thrusts one or two more times before spilling inside of you, fucking his seed deeper inside of you. 

Once he calms down, he slowly removes his thumb before carefully pulling out of your pussy, and you whimper at the empty feeling. 

“Stay here,” he whispers, kissing your hip before scrambling to the bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth. 

He gently wipes you off, murmuring about how good you did for him, saying he’s proud of you before he helps you roll over onto your back. 

He chuckles at the goofy smile on your lips, eyes tired and droopy, and he pushes the hair that had matted to your skin with sweat out of your face.

“You okay?” He asks, voice low, and you nod happily. 

“‘M perfect.” 

“Good,” he smiles, pulling the comforter over you and cuddling up to your spent body. 

You lay in silence for a moment, happy and relaxed in his arms, before you speak up.

“So, you never hated me?” 

“Jesus Christ, Bun,” he sighs exasperatedly, “go to sleep.”

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> speed isn't all that matters

word count: 1.6k TW: slightlycold!wonwoo, tiny sliver of angst (we're getting there!), overworking, passing out, FLUFF, comfort italics are interview moments cut between other scenes a/n: second htr! we're starting that landslide into the angst (ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ ) they are so cute in this omgomgomg

Wonwoo sat awkwardly on the pedestal, doing his best to balance while still posing for the camera.

"We had a lot of photoshoots and interviews while touring in Japan." Wonwoo explained to the camera. "Feels like we were posing for photos everywhere."

Wonwoo stood up once the photographer had finished his series of shots. He was tired and couldn't wait to get back to the hotel.

"Wait a moment, Wonwoo." Their manager called out to stop him. "They want a couple shots of you and Cyana."

Wonwoo sighed, nodding as he reluctantly returned to his seat. Cyana walked over, bowing politely to the staff. She stood awkwardly next to Wonwoo, a clear gap between them as she waited for instructions.

"Cyana-yah, can you stand behind Wonwoo?" Their translator smiled kindly as she directed the girl. "Wrap your arms around his shoulders, yes- that's good."

Wonwoo glanced up at the girl, looking away when their eyes met. He couldn't help but stiffen up as they both turned towards the camera. "I thought you went home with the others." He mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, smiling as the photographer clicked away. Most of the members had already finished their photoshoots and gone home.

Cyana's lips quirked down into a suppressed frown. "I stayed back. The car could only take four of us and Seungkwan looked dead on his feet."

"Look this way!" The photographer yelled, cutting off whatever had been Wonwoo's reply.

"Schedules forced Wonwoo to actually talk to me." Cyana couldn't help but grin despite the topic. "It was fun, I guess."

"I've always been a very introverted person." Wonwoo said to the camera, wringing his hands nervously. "I enjoy having time to myself."

Cyana smiled when the interviewer finished talking. "Yeah.. Wonwoo's always been a bit of an enigma to me. Like a mystery I just can't figure out."

Cyana's sitting with Dino in their hotel room, busy eating the lunch they had grabbed from the staff room. They're both mid-bite when the door opens.

"Nana~" Seungkwan walked in, fixing his hat. He was dressed and ready to go out. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Spotting the camera, he waves. "Oh- Hi~ We're going to Super Junior's concert."

Cyana shook her head, still chewing. "It's okay." She managed to say once swallowing. "I think I'm going to stay in today."

Seungkwan nodded, ruffling both her and Dino's hair before leaving. Neither maknae gave any indication they had even noticed the action, continuing to enjoy their meal.

"I'm gonna go to the sauna with Vernon later." Dino told Cyana through muffled chewing. "Do you want to come?"

Cyana made a face. "To the sauna?" She mimed gagging. "No thanks, Chan."

Dino made a face back. "I keep forgetting there are things you can't do that other members can." He smiled when she frowned. "I guess going to the sauna would be a little weird."

"I guess??" Cyana questioned, amazed at his lack of modesty. "A little??"

Dino shrugged. "You're a bro, bro."

"Where on earth did you learn that-" Cyana asked, though she already knew the answer. Vernon. Duh.

Jun and Cyana lazed in bed, Cyana watching Jun's phone from next to him. The girl was half-asleep, eyelids drooping and head lulling against the wall.

Wonwoo walked in, fresh from a shower, double taking when he saw Cyana. Gears turning in his head, he reluctantly slid into his own bed, throwing his blanket over himself.

"What did you do today, Wonwoo?" Jun asked, eyes still focused on the phone. He looked over at Wonwoo before checking on Cyana, smiling to himself when he saw her tired expression.

"I played tennis." Wonwoo answered. "Worked out, went swimming, then ate with the others- what did you guys eat?" He subconsciously said guys, including Cyana into the question. She perked up from Jun's side, suddenly awake.

"I ate with Donghae and Eunhyuk hyung after their concert." Jun replied, nudging Cyana. "What about you?"

"I ate with Dino."

Both boys frowned. "I thought that was your lunch." Jun said, both confused and worried. "You didn't have anything for dinner?"

Cyana paused. "I had some snacks. Not that hungry, since I didn't do much today." She shrugged. "I ate a lot for lunch anyways." Redirecting the topic, she turned to Jun. "Was the concert fun?"

Jun nodded. "It was so much fun." Sitting up straighter, he placed down his phone, fully engaged now. "They speak Japanese so well."

Wonwoo hummed. "We should learn to do that."

"Jeonghan and Hoshi are both great." Cyana sighed. "I think if I have one more language in my head I might combust."

Her quip brought both boys to laughter. "It's okay." Wonwoo said quietly, once the laughter died down. "You can just speak a lot for our North American tours."

"I always had a kind of weak presence, and I never fit in well as a kid." Wonwoo told the camera. "But with Seventeen I didn't get that feeling. They made me feel welcomed, always made me shine without needing to." He paused for a moment, thinking. "They're very important to me- because of that."

"Mingyu once told me Wonwoo cared deeply about his place in the group - he said it might sound selfish but I don't think so." Cyana's eyes were a little sad as she looked at the interviewer. "Mingyu said Wonwoo only has Seventeen. I guess he was just trying to tell me Wonwoo's very protective over the people he loves - and that was the only reason why it felt like he didn't like me." Cyana shrugged. "It made me hate him less."

"Ah. Mingyu told her that?" Wonwoo grimaced once hearing what the interviewer told him about Cyana's interview before him. "I guess he's right. I didn't want Seventeen to break apart because of her." He looked away, embarrassed. "They were my first friends. I only have them."

"What do you mean Dino's ill?"

Cyana stared at a worried Hoshi. "Is it serious?" She asked, verging on panic. It felt like the boys were dropping like flies around her - what with Jeonghan's body decay, DK's sore throat, Seungkwan's ankle, Seungcheol's unstable mind and now Dino.

"He's getting it checked." Hoshi told her, not wanting to worry her further with the details. "You won't do anything - panicking like that."

Cyana took a few breaths, knowing he was right. "You're right. Okay." She let out a deep breath. "He'll be okay."

"On in 3 minutes!" A staff member called from the door.

She stood up, following everyone as they shuffled out towards the stage. Wonwoo stumbled a few paces in front of her, making her look his way.

"You good?" She whispered, speeding up to stand beside him.

He only gave her a curt nod, refusing to look at her and instead focusing on the lift in front of them. They could both hear the cheers from here.

"Go, go!" A staff rushes them both onto the lift before either of them could break the silence. Cyana could only glance at him again as they were lifted up onstage.

She thought she was mistaken when she saw him go down. The area behind the stage was dimly lit, and there was a commotion as the Hiphop Unit finished their stage and came down to switch with the Performance Unit. Cyana thought maybe her eyes were acting up, when she saw Wonwoo run down the stairs, take a few steps and drop.

Staff members were on him in an instant. Cyana was shoved aside as they rushed to lift him, moving him out the walkway and onto a table- it's sole purpose was to serve as a bed in case this very thing happened.

She felt like her limbs were falling her, leaving her frozen in place.

"Go." Mingyu mouthed the words at her, pointing at Wonwoo. He pointed next at the tent, gesturing that he needed to get his mic checked. "Stay with him." He pointed again at Wonwoo.

Cyana willed her legs to move, shuffling over to Wonwoo's side. The crowd of staff had dispersed, leaving him alone with two staff members- one with a fan and one with an oxygen tank.

She took the oxygen tank from one of them and told them she could do it instead.

"Wonwoo." She muttered, lifting the oxygen tank and placing it gently in front of his mouth. His chest rose dangerously fast as he tried to catch his breath. "Breathe." She found only English in her mind as she tried not to panic. "Please breathe."

His eyes darted around until they landed on her face. Eyebrows furrowing slightly, he raised a hand and pushed the oxygen tank weakly away from his face, trying to speak. "What- what's going on." He panted out, his speech slightly slurred.

Cyana felt her heart crack. "Don't try to talk." She reprimanded him, gently pushing him back down to rest. "You passed out."

If Wonwoo could breathe, he would've snapped at her to leave him alone, that he could take care of himself. He couldn't. Instead, he closed his eyes, allowing her to take care of him. Just this once.

"She was gentle with me." Wonwoo recalled. "Even though I hadn't been kind to her."

"Breathe." She mumbled again, mindlessly repeating it as her brain turned numb from everything going on. She stayed next to him, raising the oxygen tank to his lips whenever his lungs failed to do the job. "It's okay."

"She stayed throughout the whole thing." Wonwoo looked sheepishly at the camera. "I don't think I even said 'thank you.' We just returned on stage."

Cyana shrugged at the interviewer's question. "He didn't need to say anything. Sometimes words fail us - his eyes said enough."

[jjangwonie]

DOUBLE LIFE

DOUBLE LIFE MASTERLIST

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary: With your anonymous Twitter account, you've acquired a pretty good following and popularity, throughout your school as well. Jake, your long-time crush, is one of them, head over heels. Yet when you once confessed to him, he had rejected your confession, saying that he already has his eye on someone else. What happens when he finds out that his online crush is the person that he rejected? And... How are you going to deal with this?

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: ~2.1k

THIRTY SIX - Hey

The door creaks open and Jake practically stumbles inside, shoulders hunched from the cold. You quickly step aside as he hastily walks around, before closing the door behind him.

"Jesus, it's freezing," he mutters, rubbing his arms before suddenly freezing in place. He turns around, facing you properly for the first time in what feels like forever.

"Hey," he says, voice softer now.

"Hi," you reply with a small, uncertain smile, one hand rubbing your arm nervously. You're drowning in fluffy pajamas, your hair falling messily around your face, and even with slightly flushed cheeks from the fever, you're...

Jake has to remind himself to breathe.

"Oh, um," you gesture to the bouquet he's still clutching, "the flowers..."

"Right! The flowers. I, uh..." He looks down at the colourful bundle like he's forgotten he's holding them. "I got them because... well, remember when we were talking about favourite flowers? When you said- I mean, when everythingblue said- or, no, when you said..."

He takes a breath, starting over.

He's rambling now, words tumbling out faster than he can control them. "I didn't actually know which one was really your favourite. You gave such different answers, so... I just... got them all? Which probably looks ridiculous now that I think about it, but the florist was really nice about it, even though it was almost closing time, and-"

He stops abruptly, realizing he's been talking non-stop. A faint blush creeps up his neck.

"I just... wanted to get them right this time." He sighs out while his eyes flicker between you and anywhere else.

"It probably looks like a mess," Jake continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "The florist tried to make it look nice but I kept adding more and-"

You can't help but smile as you watch him ramble. It's endearing, really. The way his hands move slightly while holding the bouquet, how his ears are turning pink (and not just from the cold), how he keeps glancing between you and the flowers like he's not sure where to look. This is a side of Jake you've never seen before. Nervous, a little unsteady, words tumbling out unfiltered.

This is the same boy who could expertly control a football, who always seemed so composed in school, now standing in your hallway just before midnight, clutching a mismatched bouquet and rambling about flower arrangements of all things.

"Jake," you cut in softly, and he stops mid-sentence, looking at you with those wide eyes. "I like them. Really. The fact that you remembered all of those random flowers I mentioned months ago..." You trail off, feeling your own cheeks warm slightly. "Thank you."

He lets out a small breath, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Oh," he says, and there's that tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Good. That's... good."

The silence that follows feels heavy, and you find yourself fidgeting with your sleeve. "You must be freezing," you blurt out. "Do you want a blanket? Or I could make some tea? I always have some ready and-"

"Actually," Jake interrupts, his expression shifting to something more determined (though the effect is somewhat ruined by his pink-tipped nose from the cold).

"You're the one who needs to be taking care of yourself. Sunghoon told me you haven't been eating properly, and YOU should be resting, wrapped up in blankets, not walking around in the rain, and definitely not eating ice cream at midnight-"

His hands are moving everywhere as he talks, the bouquet swinging dangerously through the air with each gesture. You watch the flowers wobble precariously as he continues,

"-and what were you thinking sitting at a bus stop for an hour? You could have called- anyone would have picked you up, you know that right? And-"

You reach out instinctively, steadying his flower-wielding hand with your own. "Jake."

He freezes mid-gesture, words dying in his throat as his eyes flicker between your hand on his and your face. You can practically see his brain short-circuiting, mouth slightly open, caught mid-word.

"You're going to make the flowers fly away," you say softly.

"Oh," he breathes out, then swallows hard. "Right. Yes. The flowers. Flying. I mean- not flying. They shouldn't fly." He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to collect his scattered thoughts.

"What I was trying to say is... I'm not exactly a chef or anything, but I make pretty decent ramen. Would you... would you eat something if I made it?"

You can't help but smile at his earnest expression, at how he's standing in your hallway offering to make you ramen, at how he's still letting you steady his hand.

"Okay," you sigh, fond exasperation colouring your voice.

"I'll just put these in water first, alright?"

The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft bubbling of water on the stove and the quiet snips of scissors as you trim the flower stems.

Jake busies himself with unpacking the ramen, three different flavours because he wasn't sure which one you'd prefer so he decided to just mix them, trying not to make it obvious how his eyes keep drifting to you.

But they do. They always have.

There's something about seeing you like this - hair slightly messy, drowning in oversized pajamas with little stars on them, careful fingers handling each flower like it's precious. It's so different from how he usually sees you around school, yet somehow exactly the same. The same gentle attention you give to everything, whether it's editing photos or arranging flowers or just... existing in this quiet midnight moment.

You're humming something under your breath, probably not even aware you're doing it, and Jake finds himself holding his own breath, afraid to disturb this moment.

You look so... at home. So real.

He watches as you gently touch a daisy petal, adjusting its position in the vase with such care that something in his chest aches. It hits him then, how much he's missed this, missed you, even the parts he didn't know existed until now.

The water starts boiling more vigorously behind him, snapping him back to reality.

Right. Ramen.

He's supposed to be making ramen, not standing here like an idiot, watching you arrange flowers with what he's sure is the most embarrassingly soft expression on his face.

But he can't help stealing one more glance, memorizing how you look in this moment, slightly fever-flushed but smiling, surrounded by the flowers he brought, looking so perfectly, wonderfully real.

"How's it going?" you ask, turning away from the now-arranged flowers.

"Almost ready," Jake responds, quickly pretending he wasn't just staring. "Just waiting for the noodles to cook properly."

You hum, moving towards the fridge. "Want me to add some eggs? Make it a proper meal?" You're already pulling them out before he can answer, and he watches as you move around your kitchen with familiar ease, grabbing a smaller pan and some vegetables.

Jake tries to focus on stirring the ramen, he really does, but his eyes keep wandering back to you.

Your hair keeps falling in your face, and each time you brush it back with the back of your wrist, careful not to touch it with your cooking hands...

"The water's boiling over," you say without looking up.

"What? Oh- shit-" Jake quickly turns down the heat, feeling his ears burn as he realizes he's been caught not paying attention.

But when he glances back at you, there's a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth as you continue chopping, and somehow that makes his embarrassment worth it.

He should probably say something, make conversation, but there's something so peaceful about this moment.

The tips of his ears are still pink, but he can't help stealing another glance. Just one more.

You carefully balance your bowl as you lead the way upstairs, Jake following a few steps behind. When you push open your bedroom door, he pauses in the doorway, taking everything in.

"This is..." he trails off, eyes wandering from the fairy lights strung across your wall to the polaroids scattered on your corkboard. "Okay, it's weird seeing your room in real life. I mean, I've seen parts of it in your photos, but-"

"Jake," you interrupt, settling cross-legged on your bed with your bowl, "if you say it like that, it sounds like you've been stalking me."

"What- no! I meant- I just-" he sputters, then catches your teasing smile. "Oh, you're making fun of me."

"Maybe a little," you admit, patting the space next to you.

He hesitates for a moment before carefully sitting down, trying not to spill his ramen. The silence that falls feels thick with everything unsaid, the only sound being the soft clink of chopsticks against bowls. Jake's hyper-aware of every movement. How close you're sitting, how your shoulder almost brushes his when you reach for a tissue, how your room smells like vanilla and something floral and you.

"This is pretty good," you say softly, breaking through his thoughts.

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly.

"Yeah?" he asks, and he's not just asking about the ramen.

You nod, giving him another small smile, and something in his chest unclenches just a bit more.

With the empty bowls set aside on your nightstand, the silence creeps back in. You're suddenly very aware of everything.

"Oh, right," Jake says suddenly, reaching for his bag. "I brought some... stuff." He starts pulling things out, setting them on your bed with careful enthusiasm.

"Some chocolate - which I know probably isn't great when you're sick, but Sunghoon mentioned you've been eating ice cream anyway, so I figured... And medicine, because fever, obviously. And this-"

He pulls out a small box with a Lego flower set logo. "I saw this and thought... since you like flowers..."

The keychain on his bag catches your eye as he moves - a small plushie, gently swaying with his movements. It's identical to the one sitting behind you besides your pillow. Your throat feels tight suddenly.

"Jake," you say softly, reaching out to still his hands that are still pulling things from his bag, seemingly endless. He freezes at the contact, and when he looks up, your eyes meet.

The fairy lights reflect in his dark eyes, creating tiny constellations, and you're close enough to see the slight flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

There's that familiar awkward tension again, but it's different now. Softer somehow, more delicate. Like you're both holding your breath, waiting for something neither of you can name.

A strand of hair falls in your face, and Jake's fingers twitch like he wants to brush it away, but he doesn't.

Instead, he just looks at you, really looks at you, in a way that makes your heart stumble over itself.

You're both so quiet you can hear the gentle hum of your heater, the distant sound of cars outside, the slight rustle of the bag's zipper as it finally settles.

It's strange, you think, how someone can feel like both a stranger and the most familiar person in the world all at once.

Your hand is still on his, and Jake swears his heart actually stops for a second when you say his name like that, so soft and careful, like it's something precious.

He's spent so long being angry, being hurt, but right now, with you looking at him in the gentle glow of your fairy lights, hair messy and cheeks still slightly flushed from fever...

"You're really pretty," he murmurs before he can stop himself.

You let out a surprised laugh, pulling your hand back to cover a small cough. "I am literally coughing up a storm," you say, looking down at your attire. "I look a mess."

"No, you don't," Jake says, too quickly, too honestly. The words hang in the air between you.

His eyes can't seem to stay still - taking in how your hair falls around your face, flickering to the way your lips part slightly in surprise at his bluntness. You look soft and close enough that he can see your soft breaths, and his heart is doing something dangerous in his chest.

Then you cough again, small but enough to remind him that you're sick, that this probably isn't the time for... whatever his heart is trying to do right now.

Jake clears his throat, reaching for the Lego box perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Want to make this together?" he asks, voice slightly rougher than usual. It's an escape route, a way to ease the tension that's been building, to quiet the loud beating of his heart that he's sure you must be able to hear.

But when you smile and nod, scooting closer to look at the box, he thinks maybe his heart isn't going to quiet down anytime soon.

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[rose24207]

Interrupted Stream

Summary: Lando is streaming and the chat seems to like his girlfriend more than him.

TW: None!

Genre: fluff, humor

A/N: English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando was in the middle of an intense game, his eyes glued to the screen. His chat was alive with their usual chaotic energy, commenting on everything from his questionable aim to his random screams whenever he got ambushed.

“Alright, chat,” he muttered, leaning closer to his mic. “This is it. Big brain plays only. I’m clutching this—wait, WHAT?!”

A sniper shot from across the map ended his game, and he threw his hands up in disbelief. “That’s so unfair! How did he even see me?”

The chat erupted with laughter:

“Lan, you’re blind.”

“Bro, he was RIGHT THERE.”

“Classic Lando meltdown.”

He sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Chat, you’re supposed to be on my side. You’re supposed to support me. Where’s the loyalty?”

As he rambled on, the door to his office opened, and you walked in holding a mug. “Lando, do you—oh. Are you live?”

He spun around in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. “I am, indeed, live. And now so are you.”

You froze for a second, glancing at the camera. “Oh no,” you said, setting the mug on his desk. “This is why I avoid this room when you’re streaming.”

The chat immediately exploded:

“Y/N REVEAL!”

“WE’VE BEEN BLESSED!”

“OH SHE’S HERE!”

Lando leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. “Chat, look who decided to join us. Everyone say hi to my very lovely girlfriend.”

“Hi, chat,” you said reluctantly, waving. Then you turned to Lando with a suspicious look. “Wait. Why do you look so smug? What did I walk into?”

“I was just showing chat how amazing I am at this game,” he said innocently, gesturing at the screen.

You raised an eyebrow. “Amazing? Didn’t I just hear you screaming about getting sniped?”

The chat went wild again:

“SHE KNOWS!”

“Y/N CALLS HIM OUT!”

“WE LOVE HER ALREADY.”

Lando groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Why are you always on their side?”

“Because they’re right,” you teased, sitting on the arm of his chair. “Let me guess. You ran straight into the open without looking, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me,” he said, pointing at you. “I’m a tactical genius. They just got lucky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, babe. Tactical genius. That’s why you once threw a grenade at your own teammate.”

The chat was losing it:

“EXPOSED.”

“LAN, SHE’S TOO GOOD.”

“PLEASE LET HER STREAM INSTEAD.”

Lando groaned, covering his face. “This is cyberbullying. From my own girlfriend.”

“Call it tough love,” you said, smirking. “Besides, you’re the one who left your socks on the kitchen counter this morning, so you deserve it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Lando exclaimed, his cheeks turning red as he glanced at the camera.

“Everything,” you said, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you and chat to... whatever this is. Try not to embarrass yourself too much, yeah?”

Lando turned to the camera with a dramatic pout. “Chat, she’s so mean to me. Don’t you feel bad for me?”

The responses were immediate:

“NOPE.”

“WE STAN Y/N.”

“JUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE, LAN.”

Before you could leave, Lando grabbed your hand. “Wait, wait! Before you go, answer one thing.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “What?”

He turned back to the chat with a grin. “Alright, chat, here’s the question: Who’s better at Mario Kart—me or Y/N?”

You snorted. “Oh, that’s not even a question. I destroy you every time.”

The chat erupted again:

“Y/N SUPREMACY.”

“GET HER ON STREAM!”

“LAN IS FINISHED.”

Lando shook his head, laughing. “Unbelievable. I’m outnumbered in my own stream. You’re supposed to be on my team!”

“I am,” you said with a smile. “But only when you’re actually good at something.”

The mock gasp Lando let out was so over-the-top that you couldn’t help but laugh. You kissed the top of his head. “Good luck, babe. Don’t lose again.”

As you walked out, Lando turned back to the camera, shaking his head. “Chat, this is my life. Constantly roasted, no support, but hey... I think I kinda like it.”

The chat spammed hearts and laughing emojis as Lando launched into his next game, grinning from ear to ear.

Thank your for reading!

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 13

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: As Y/n spirals out of control, Feyre steps in, forcing a change that leaves the sisters at odds.

Warnings: substance abuse, mention of death, trauma, angst.

WC: 4 K.

A knock sounded on Y/n’s door. Then another, and another, insistent, until she finally opened it. She was high as hell on some new drug when she saw Azriel standing in the hallway. Squinting, she rubbed her eyes. 

“Am I hallucinating, or are you really here?” Her voice was languid, tinged with disbelief.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, scanning her face. “What the hell did you take?”

Y/n shrugged, swaying slightly. “What do you want? I think it’s too early in the morning. I just fell asleep. Come back another time.” She moved to close the door.

A groan sounded from her living room, low and slurred. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he glanced past her. “Who’s in there?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a lazy shrug, her lips curling into a careless smile. “I don’t usually let anyone stay over. I guess whatever I took was good enough to make me forget.” She let out a giggle, her hand hovering over the door as she moved to shut it again. But before she could, Azriel’s foot slipped into the gap, holding the door open. His expression hardened as he stepped inside, casting a critical gaze around the dim room.  This was the first time he’d been here, though there wasn’t much to see.The sparse, cluttered apartment revealed little about her, save for the state of the coffee table, scattered with substances potent enough to kill with a single wrong dose. He wasn’t sure if she was lucky or if she hadn’t taken much, but judging by the state she was in, he guessed it was the former.

On her couch lay a male, barely conscious, his eyes glazed. But one piercing look from Azriel sent him scrambling out the door. Y/n pouted, throwing herself onto the couch where the male had been seconds earlier. 

“Aww, you scared the poor thing,” she murmured with a mock scold. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “What the hell is this, Y/n?” He gestured to the array of vials and powders on the table. A flicker of anger shadowed his eyes, tinged with something close to concern. She shrugged.

“Feyre wants you at the house,” he informed her, his voice taut.

“Which one? Doesn’t she, like, own a dozen?” she replied with an eye roll.

“The new one.”

She smirked, “And why send their lap dog? Couldn’t she have come herself?”

His gaze darkened. “Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court. She has more important things to do.”

“Since this is not important, she can come another day. When she’s not so busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some sleep,” she muttered, closing her eyes and sinking back into the cushions.

“That’s not happening. I was specifically instructed to get you there by nine.”

She cracked one eye open, glancing at him with feigned irritation. “What time is it now?”

“Seven.”

“Then let me sleep for two hours, and then we can go.” She closed her eyes again.

Azriel folded his arms. “You need to look… presentable.”

“Fine. Whatever. Leave, and I’ll be ready by then,” she grumbled, rolling onto her side.

“The moment I leave, you’re going to fall asleep again.”

She huffed, opening her eyes fully to glare at him. “Fine. What will it take for you to stop talking?”

“You need to take a bath,” he replied, his voice still firm, ignoring her question.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Well, I’m not doing that while you’re standing here.”

He sighed, his expression exasperated. “I’ll get you some food. Just be done when I get back.”

When he returned with breakfast, she was nowhere in sight. He assumed she was still in the bathing chamber and set the food on the small table before scanning her chaotic apartment. Fifteen minutes passed, and concern began to cloud his patience. He knocked on the bathing chamber door, once, twice, three times. There was no answer. Then he asked, his voice tinged with worry.  “Y/n, are you in there? I’m coming in.”

She finally spoke, her tone sharp. “Don’t you dare.”

He exhaled, relief barely masking his frustration. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Mother above, I was just relaxing,” came her indignant reply.

“Be out in five minutes,” he ordered.

Her laughter was faintly mocking. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Azriel’s patience thinned, his tone sharpening. He was done playing her little games “Let me make this clear: if you’re not out in five minutes, I will have to come in and get you.”

“You’re such a brute,” she muttered, but after a pause, he heard movement. 

She emerged a few moments later, dressed and looking marginally more awake. He handed her a cup of tea, his expression still neutral.

“Did you put poison in it?” she quipped, an eyebrow raised.

“If I wanted you dead, that wouldn’t be the way I’d go about it,” he replied dryly.

She chuckled, amused. “Oh? And how would you do it? Please, do tell.” 

Azriel’s eyes lingered on her, a brief flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“What’s there left to care about?” she replied, her voice hollow. “And if you say my sisters, I will electrocute you.”

“You still have your powers?” His question was calm, but his eyes searched hers intently.

Her gaze shifted, guarded. “That is none of your business.”

—

The riverfront house loomed before them, its elegant structure casting long shadows under the morning sun. Y/n gazed up at it with a flicker of disdain. She had been here only once before, when Feyre had shown her around during its construction. They even had a room made for her, not that she’d appreciate it.

The rooms had felt cold and empty then, even with her sister’s warmth. Now, they felt like a cage.

Azriel led her inside without a word, his pace brisk and purposeful. The scent of fresh wood and lavender filled the air, but it only heightened her unease. The inside was as pristine and lifeless as she remembered. Her gaze flicked over the walls adorned with portraits, smiling faces of people she knew. But there were none of her, none of Nesta, and none of their mother. She felt the absence like a sharp knife to her chest. 

Y/n loved her mother dearly. With her, she had been different—kind, caring. Everything a mother should be. At least, that’s how Y/n remembered her. She had been four and a half when her mother had Nesta, and even at a young age, Y/n could recall how happy her mother had been before marrying her sisters’ father. He hadn’t been horrible to her; on the contrary, he had given her a luxurious life and loved her deeply. But she did not love him. She had married him for stability, and for Y/n’s sake, and then she had his children.

Although her mother grew colder with time, Y/n never felt the brunt of it. She had been her favorite, her constant, and she knew from a young age that she was destined to grow into a stubborn woman. Her mother had believed Elain would marry for love—she looked like a doll, after all. She trained Nesta to marry a prince and mostly ignored Feyre. Y/n, however, was simply allowed to be. She had been spoiled, indulged, never told no.

She had enjoyed dressing up, but not the attention that came with it. Balls were tolerated, not loved. She would attend one or two with her mother, then leave the rest for Nesta. She even endured dancing and etiquette lessons with her sister but never stayed long enough for them to leave an impression. They just didn’t interest her. What did interest her was adventure—exploring new places, finding hidden corners of their world. She had done that with her childhood friend. But that was a story for another time.

The scent of lavender snapped her back to the present, clashing with the memories that swirled like smoke in her mind. Those fleeting moments of joy and comfort felt so distant now, their warmth overshadowed by the cold reality of the house she now stood in.

Azriel led her into the spacious sitting room, where Feyre, Rhys, Amren, and Cassian were gathered, their expressions expectant. 

Y/n leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as a smirk tugged at her lips.

“So, this is what kept you too busy to fetch me yourself?” Her tone was cutting, her gaze flicking to Feyre.

Rhys bristled immediately. “She doesn’t have to answer to you,” he snapped.

Feyre rested a calming hand on his arm, but her gaze remained steady on her sister. “You look like hell. I heard you had a rough night.”

Y/n tilted her head, her smirk widening. “That’s none of your concern.”

“It is,” Amren interjected, her voice like steel. “When you spend exorbitant sums on substances and parties...You and your sister.” She shook her head, clearly disappointed.

Y/n scoffed, ignoring her, and flicked her gaze back to Feyre. “Why is she even here?” 

“We’re here to have a discussion with you,” Feyre said evenly.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. “We? I don’t want to discuss anything with you.”

“You will sit and listen,” Rhys ordered, his voice cold.

Her posture straightened, her smirk vanishing. “Do not tell me what to do. I don’t take orders from you.” Her words were sharp, deliberate, and the tension in the room rose several notches. 

Cassian exhaled heavily, muttering under his breath. “Mother above. You are just like your sister.” 

Y/n turned to glare at him, her voice dripping with venom, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Yet here you are, panting after her like a stray dog.”

“That is enough,” Feyre said sharply, her authority cutting through the brewing argument, before Cassian could respond. She turned to look at Rhys and the others. “I told you to keep out of it. You can either leave or stay and keep your mouths shut.” Then she focused on her sister again. “Y/n, you need to make some changes.”

“Like hell I do,” Y/n shot back.

Feyre softened her tone, standing up and taking a step closer. “Listen, I know you’ve had it rough. I understand how you’re feeling-”

“You understand nothing about how I’m feeling,” Y/n interrupted, her voice rising.

“Then talk to me,” Feyre pleaded. “Tell me.”

“I’d rather drown myself,” Y/n spat, her eyes flashing with defiance.

Feyre’s expression hardened. “And that’s exactly why things are going to have to change. Starting now.”

“Oh?” Y/n arched a brow, her smirk icy. “You think you can do anything about it?” 

Feyre squared her shoulders, her voice steady. “The life you’ve been living the past year is over. You will move to the House of Wind and train with Cassian and Nesta in Windhaven.”

A snort escaped Y/n as she shook her head. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” Feyre said. “Elain is packing your things as we speak. You’ll move in after this meeting.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Amren’s sharp voice cut through. “This is not up for negotiation.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, her defiance unwavering. “And if I refuse?”

“You’ll either go to the House of Wind or back to the mortal lands, Amren replied coldly, offering her the same deal they had offered Nesta.

“That’s not an option,” Feyre clarified quickly, casting a warning glance at Amren. Apparently, they forgot to mention to Amren that Y/n is not like Nesta. When it came to her pride, Y/n’s was a fortress, unyielding and absolute; she would sooner die than  allow anyone to tear her down. And seeing as she had wanted to leave long before the war with Hybern, this wasn’t an option. If they thought the threat of the mortal lands would deter her, they were sorely mistaken- she’d choose them in a heartbeat, and Feyre knew that.

Y/n’s grin returned, but it was colder, crueler. “Interesting. It’s like you knew what I’d choose.” She turned her mocking gaze to Feyre. “I’m not going back to that house.”

Feyre faltered for a moment. “Well, you can’t go back to your apartment either. You’ve burned through all your money,” Amren interjected coolly.

“Amren-” Feyre warned, her tone low, but Y/n cut her off.

“That’s fine,” Y/n said with a careless shrug. “There are plenty of ways to make money.”

“Rhys offered you so many positions, and you turned down every single one,” Feyre reminded her, her voice tight with frustration.

“And I never will. I will not work for your mate,” Y/n replied with a sneer.

“You wouldn’t last a day,” Cassian muttered. “Rhys could have every employer in Velaris turn you away with a single word.”

Y/n’s sharp gaze shifted to him, looking him up and down like he was nothing, a dangerous smile tugging at her lips. “And you think that would be a problem for me?” 

“I know it wouldn’t,” Feyre interjected. “And I know you’d rather go back to the mortal lands than face any of us or your problems, which is why that is not an option.”

Y/n’s smirk twisted, colder now. “Well, I’ll just walk there then.”

“Again, not an option,” Feyre repeated.

“So, what? You’re going to drag me to the House of Wind against my will?” Y/n’s voice dripped with mockery., her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“If that’s what it takes,” Rhys said, his tone calm but his jaw tight with restraint.

“Lo and behold,” Y/n clapped her hands slowly, her smirk sharp. “The people fighting for freedom and free will are the same people who want to lock me up. Magnificent. Could’ve fooled me with that act.”

“Y/n, you’re not well,” Feyre pressed, her voice soft . “We’re not keeping you a prisoner.”

Y/n let out a short, bitter laugh. “Coming from the girl who let her ex lock her up for months and stayed with him? I don’t think you understand the definition of being a prisoner.”

“Do not talk to your sister like that,” Rhys said, his voice lowering as he rose up from his seat and took a step forward, his tone darkening. 

“Oh, so you and your self-righteous clowns are allowed to say and do whatever you like, but when someone else gives you a taste of your own medicine, you can’t handle it?” Y/n’s sharp gaze darted between Rhys and Feyre, her words deliberate.

Feyre took a breath, trying to steady herself. “Y/n, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Y/n shot back, her words biting. “You’d just tell me to move in with that brute and Nesta, that I’d have no say in the matter, and I’d just thank you for it?”

“I- I didn’t want it to come to this,” Feyre stammered, the weight of her words visible in her expression. “But with the amount of money you’ve spent on your nightly activities-”

“Oh! There it is.” Y/n cut her off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You’re saying I owe you, aren’t you?”

Feyre flinched at the accusation but didn’t back down. She didn’t want to say that, but she knew  it was the only way Y/n would stay. If she felt like she owed someone a debt. So, she nodded.

“Because my life wasn’t enough for you. My help wasn’t enough?” Y/n’s said, her voice low, dripping with venom. “Fine, you got what you wanted. I’ll stay until my debt is paid.”

The silence that followed was heavy, every word reverberating in the space between them. Finally, Y/n’s tone dropped further, each word laced with ice. “I’d like a word with your High Lady. Alone.” This was the first time Y/n had called her sister that, the title a deliberate choice. The formality of it created a barrier, a cold, impersonal distance that made it clear just how far apart they had grown.

The others hesitated, exchanging glances, but eventually filed out of the room. Rhys lingered by the doorway, his dark gaze warning, before following the others into the hall. They stayed close to intervene, should things spiral out of control.

When it was just the two of them, Y/n spoke again. “Why the sudden care?”

“I’ve always cared, Y/n” Feyre reached out, her hand brushing her sister’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Y/n snapped, stepping back sharpy, her eyes blazing with something Feyre couldn’t quite name.

“Y/n, please. I’m your sister.”

“And you only remembered that now? Because I spent a little bit more than usual?” Y/n’s voice cracked slightly, but her expression remained hard.

“A little more than usual?” Feyre’s tone rose slightly, the tension breaking through. “Do you know how much money that was? How embarrassed I was when Rhys got the bill-”

“So that’s what this is about?” Y/n interrupted. “I embarrassed you in front of your new family?... I think you stopped caring about us the moment you became High Fae.”

“You think I stopped caring about you?” Feyre’s voice trembled, and for a moment, the hurt in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “If I did, would I allow you to stay here, disrespect everyone, spend our money recklessly, and destroy yourself?”

“We are here because of you!” Y/n shouted, the words spilling out in anger. “Sometimes, I wonder what our lives would’ve been like if you had stayed dead.” The words left her mouth faster than she could stop them. So cold, and sharper than any blade. It was the last thing she wanted to say to her sister, but now it hung in the air, irreversible. Feyre’s face crumpled, the weight of the statement hitting her like a blow. 

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, her voice barely audible. “I guess we’ll never know.” 

Y/n turned her gaze away, her expression unreadable, but her hands trembled slightly at her sides. “Once the debt is paid,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I want to leave. And I never want to see you again.” 

Feyre blinked, struggling to hold back tears. “Y/n, please-”

“No,” Y/n cut her off, her tone final. “We’re done.”

Y/n had perfected this- pushing away anyone who dared to show they cared about her. With those chilling words, she turned on her heel, striding to the door. She yanked it open and stepped into the hall, where the others stood waiting. Azriel’s heart ached at the sight of her in this state. He had stayed silent through it all, unable to find the right words or intervene in the confrontation. When she stepped out of the room, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, the weight of his silence pressing heavily on him.

To Cassian’s surprise, Y/n didn’t say anything when he flew her to the house. The flight was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic beat of his wings and the rush of the wind. She stared right ahead, her posture tense but her face carefully blank.

They made sure to place Nesta and Y/n on two separate floors, seeing as they weren’t on speaking terms. No one knew why, and they didn’t dare ask. Feyre hoped they’d at least train together, but Y/n made it clear that she doesn’t wish to be in the same room as her sister. 

When they landed, Cassian let her step down before speaking. “You still have your Illyrian leathers from the war? You’ll need them tomorrow,” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I’m never wearing that thing again,” Y/n replied, her tone icy.

“It’s going to be cold. You’ll need them.” He hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“You’ll be on your own floor. Nesta has settled in her old room. Mine is a level above, and Az’s is just down the hall from me,” Cassian informed her, his tone soft and cautious, despite the tension between them.

Y/n glanced around the sprawling House, her expression still unreadable. “He’ll stay here with us?” she asked flatly, her gaze flicking to the horizon.

“When he’s in Velaris, yes,” he replied, watching her closely. “Don’t worry, though. You won’t see him much.”

“Good.” Her voice was clipped, her eyes fixed on the mountains in the distance. But beneath her detached tone, a storm churned. The mention of Azriel, his proximity stirred emotions she couldn’t quite place, ones she had long since tried to bury. She had told herself it didn’t matter, that his presence or absence had no bearing on her. And yet, the idea of him being just down the hall brought with it an uneasy tension, one she refused to examine too closely.

Her gaze remained fixed on the distant peaks as though they could steady her. She couldn’t let her thoughts stray, couldn’t afford to acknowledge the flicker of something unfamiliar threading through her otherwise rigid defenses. It was nothing, she told herself firmly, Just an echo of some old familiarity. Nothing more.

Cassian tilted his head slightly, studying her before hesitantly asking. “Did something happen between you and Az?” 

Her head snapped toward him. “No. Why would you think that?” she replied dryly, her posture stiffening.

“It’s just… before the war, you two seemed to get closer and now-”

“Your observation is wrong,” she interrupted, her voice flat and dismissive. “There was nothing to begin with.”

“Whatever you say.” Cassian raised his hands slightly, signaling he wouldn’t push further. “You should eat something. You’ll need all the energy you can get for training tomorrow.”

“I’m not training with you. Especially not at that horrible place.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t you have a debt to repay?”

“I’d rather see that place burned to the ground than train there,” she snapped.

“You sound like Az,” Cassian muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned away.

—

That night was a horrible one for Y/n. She had nothing to dull the pain, to quiet the voices in her head, and mostly, to stop the nightmares. She screamed her father’s name in her sleep as she watched his death replay over and over again in her mind. 

Azriel had just returned from wherever he had been, and the sound of her screaming pulled him toward her room like a magnet. He stopped just outside her door, hesitating. He knew she didn’t want him there, or around, she had made that clear. She didn’t want his help, didn't want his presence, didn’t want anything to do with him since the war. But the sound of her suffering clawed at him, each scream like a blade twisting in his chest, a cruel reminder of how powerless he felt to reach her.

He debated whether to go in and wake her or just stand there and wait for the nightmare to pass. As another anguished cry shattered the silence, he decided to go with the former as he couldn’t just stand by and listen. He reached for the door, his resolve firm, until his shadows whispered, informing him that she had just woken up. 

His hand froze, hovering over the handle. Relief flooded him, but so did disappointment. He stood there, torn. He wanted to hold her, help her, tell her it would be okay, to be the comfort she wouldn’t let herself have. But he knew better. She would never let him in, not in that way- not now, not ever.

Inside, Y/n sat upright in the bed, her breathing ragged. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to block out the lingering images of her father’s death. The nightmares had been worse than usual, sharper, more vivid, without anything to dull the edges. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady herself.

Azriel lingered outside her door for a moment longer, his shadows brushing against the wood like a quiet offering of solace. When the silence in her room stretched, he finally turned and walked away, his footsteps silent as he made his way to his own quarters.

Tags: : @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03 @elaselat @minnieoo

[conretewings]

A Good Name 🌟

-Set some months after the trio's conversation that night at the bar, the guys get a visit from their friend..and new companion. My heart is broken and I need some fluffy healing okay I really wanted to write a thing with Vander meeting baby Vi sue me.

A light rapping at the door makes Vander look up and Silco glance over his shoulder. They weren't open, and unexpected knocks usually came with some sort of headache or trouble.

They catch each other's gaze in a silent question of if they should answer, and whom if so. Silco's pen hovers above the ledger in front of him, brow raised a measure, his glass-green eyes sharp and steady. They dart towards the sound before meeting Vander's again, his head tilting slightly. Vander nods and reflexively rolls his shoulders, stepping around the table he was cleaning and takes a couple steps forward when there's a second knock-only this time it comes in a very distinctive, two-three-two pattern and both men are instantly fully alert.

Vander makes it to the door in a few hurried strides, undoing the locks and throwing it open to have two people dart inside. Closing it again he whirls and steps toward them, Silco also approaching now.

"Felicia, Connol!" he huffs, irate and concerned all at once, "We haven't heard from you in over a week! We were starting to think-"

She whips a hand forward and presses a finger to his lips, "Shhhhh...she's dozing-oh, not anymore."

It's then a small, thin cry is heard, the sound suddenly the only one in the room, and certainly not normally heard.

Vander and Silco freeze for a moment before the larger man barely finds his voice, "Is...did you..?"

Felicia rolls her eyes with a smirk, "Sorry guys. Been a little preoccupied."

Pulling aside the loose cloak she wore, she turns to reveal a wide piece of fabric wound around herself, and securely bound in the middle, cradled against her chest, was a tiny, wiggly bundle. Connol smiles broadly, weaving an arm around her shoulders, "Mates, meet our daughter."

As if knowing she was being talked about, the infant's wriggling increases and she turns her head, topped with a fluff of pinkish-red hair and gapes at the adults with brilliant, sky-blue eyes.

There's a beat of silence, save for the newborn's whimpers and soft cries, as if the reverence and significance for this moment was an unspoken agreement. Felicia tenderly brushes her fingers across her cheek and the puff of hair, a soft, peaceful smile on her face.

It's Silco who breaks the quiet with a simple, understated, "Ah...I see." still at a loss how to properly react to the situation.

"Lookit her...so small..." Vander breathes, moving closer, a lopsided grin slowly growing, "Hello there little one...lemme be the first to welcome you here though eh, it'll be a bit before you're a customer yeah?"

Connol rolls his eyes with a snort, yet Silco's face hardens just the slightest degree, "Not that I'm questioning your judgement, however is it not incredibly risky to whisk a newborn all the way here?"

"We know the best routes, and besides, this is about the safest place she could possibly be." answers Felicia.

Connol nods, "Ain't no better spot than the one that means so much to us all. It's practically our home, and we felt there'd be no better for ya to meet her."

Silco clears his throat with an understanding nod in return, a smile playing at his lips as he turns and steps back toward the bar, "Well then. I do believe congratulations are in order. How old is she?"

"Five days now," Felicia answers as she and Connol go to sit at a nearby table, readjusting the sling so she can hold her on her shoulder, "And already giving me sass!"

Vander laughs, a bright, warm laugh that bounces off the walls before he sits with them, "I don't know what you expected, bein' the result of you two!"

"Oy man what's that supposed to mean?" says Connol with feigned indignation and a smirk.

Silco joins the group then, carrying a tray with several glasses-and one deep blue tumbler. He passes a glass to each of the men, then with a little flourish and gallant bow, sets the cup in front of Felicia, who laughs and does a slight bow in return.

"A toast then. Congratulations to the new parents, to your new addition, and many hopes for the future..." says Silco proudly, raising his glass, and the others follow suit.

"Oh! Right!" Vander snaps his fingers, "So, what's her name then?"

Felicia catches his eye, a glimmer both sly and yet softened with pride in her own, "Violet, of course."

Vander freezes, mouth half open in disbelief, feeling his heart leap, having to set his glass down before he dropped it, "...What?"

"You heard me." she grins, Connol adding, "We talked about it, considered others, but we kept coming back around and decided...Violet is a good name."

Swallowing thickly, Vander takes a moment before responding, "I...don't know what to say..."

Silco shakes his head with a smile, patting the larger man's shoulder, "I think he means he's honored."

"Of course I am, just also...wow. I didn't think..." Vander laughs, much more softly, running a hand through his hair, "Violet. Yeah."

Felicia turns so the newborn is facing them, "Say hello to your uncles Vander and Silco, Violet! They look like dorks, and they can be, but I'll tell you something...there's no one who cares about us down here as much, who'll fight harder for us, who will love you more, besides me and your pa, then these two."

The baby stares at them, and Vander is surprised to feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes, "Hello, Violet...what your mum said is true. No matter what happens, we've got ya."

Noticing, Silco breaks into a mocking grin, "Oh dear dear what's this? Is the great Hound of the Underground actually crying?"

"Shut it. It's dusty in here." grumbles Vander, yet unable to hide his own grin. All laugh, then the conversation carries on...

[auroracalisto]

opposites attract, or so they say

simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street. a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help. tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea

Simon was a lot of things.

Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.

But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.

And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.

His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.

His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.

And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.

Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!

The universe was always laughing at him.

But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.

But you were always on his mind.

Shit.

He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.

Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.

Why the fuck was he even nervous?

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.

It wasn't like he didn't know you.

There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.

Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.

You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.

Ethics be damned, am I right?

"Simon?"

Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.

Dammit.

"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"

You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.

You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.

"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"

He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.

"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.

Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.

Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.

You smiled a bit. "What bar?"

He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."

"Will I meet you there?"

He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."

"Cool. What time?"

He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.

"I'll be there," you said.

He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?

Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.

He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.

Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?

Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?

What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?

Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.

Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.

He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.

When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.

His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?

"Y/n," he said.

You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?

What. The. Fuck.

"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."

Just for him. Fuuuck.

You were cute.

He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.

But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.

He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.

He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.

"Yeah. I said nine," he said.

You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.

Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.

Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?

Long enough.

Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.

"How've you been?"

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.

"Busy," he said.

"You still playing?"

He blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"

You remembered that? Shit.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."

Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"

"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."

You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.

He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.

He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.

"You think that—"

He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."

You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"

He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—

"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."

Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.

Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"

"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."

"You... you want me? How?"

He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."

He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.

"Simon—"

"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not gonna protest—"

"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."

"But I—"

"—I'm serious, Y/n."

"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."

He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."

"You..."

"Yeah. I do," you said.

"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.

"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.

"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.

Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?

[eliossun]

LAST SHOT - ego death

synopsis : interning at a random ship in space sounds like a great idea for your paper. don't you think? part -> 2 | other chapters -> 1 3 ?

characters : anya, swansea, daisuke, curly, jimmy, gn!reader (daisuke x reader implied)

content : continuation of part 1! i suggest you to read part 1 first, but if you're insistent, you can read this as a stand alone! descriptions of panicking, minor character death, the birthday party (pre crash), and . jimmy. ew

wc : 4.6k+

before you read, reader is : cold, non expressive, and the worst crime of all, a psychology major...

i tried to stick to canon interpretation as much as possible, but i put in some hcs about anya's background ^^; it's only mentioned in one part of this story, but if that bothers you, you can skip! it's not that imp in this chapter !!

- today, you weren’t woken up by your body alarm.

- normally, you would wake up earlier than everyone else, and by the time you folded your ‘bed’ properly by the door, anya’s also awake. that’s how you get to greet each other first at the start of every day. (which daisuke tries to do, but you could tell that he’s going to ignore his alarm for the first few minutes .. as usual.)

- instead, footsteps wake you up. 

- they get closer, and closer, and -

“why the fuck are you sleeping in the hallways again?”

your eyes blink open, slowly. it’s been a few hours after curfew. even with that much sleep in your system - not an ounce of sleep seeped into your body, actually - you manage to seem completely awake at the voice; like you were expecting it.

because you were. you’re surprised it took this long for him to approach you.

peering up at the figure, you find your co-pilot standing before you, looming.

“you have a bed, don’t you? why don’t you use it?”

it’s a valid question. but you can’t just say that he was the reason directly, right? no, he would throw a tantrum. you’re not afraid of what will happen to you - you’re an intern, after all. but the fate of possibly being stuck with an angry manchild for the next few months was in your hands. 

so for now, you hold his glare. 

“was i bothering you?”

if your tone was too sharp, you could just excuse it for the ‘sleepiness’. 

he seems to get that you wouldn’t falter that easily. if he answered anything remote to a yes or a no - he knows that you would just push further.

“you’re going to make more work for anya.” 

so , he diverts the conversation. 

it’s a smart tactic, and you would enjoy conversations like these with your friends. but this man before you is not a friend; you hold nothing but wariness for him. he’s trying to get a reaction out of you, and you’re not going to provide that.

“i think i can take care of myself well enough.”

you look at him, up - then down after you say those words. 

‘unlike you.’

his scowl only got worse, and by now, you’re already all cozied up, and ready to fall back asleep - even if it was only for show. you take a last peek at him, before ending the conversation.

“night.”

after a few moments, you can hear his footsteps getting further away, and you inwardly sigh.

you don’t dream that night. 

but you fall asleep with a smile on your face, and to you, that’s good enough.

- after that little confrontation of yours, jimmy has not held back in his hostility against you.

- instead of bringing down people in your presence, he had opted to bring you down as well during your psych tests.

- you don’t respond, and maintain your usual attitude when it comes to processing his psych tests.

- however, around others, he simply stares daggers into you. there is no bark; nor bite.

- he’s not scared of what others might do once they know - just.. mildly unconvinced - or so he thinks. that’s your hypothesis.

- because, what would the crew do if they knew that one of their members was being bullied only because they were resting unusually, bothering no one, and doing no harm?

- you hold it above his head every single moment; wordlessly.

- and you both know it.

- you win for the moment. but you’ll still have to watch out for him.

- nowadays, your routine.. has changed a bit. 

- unlike before, you’d wake up an hour earlier than the crew, fold your blankets, place them in the room, and then check on your supplies. 

- the bag filled with airtight seal snacks, still very abundant due to your careful rationing, check.

-your already half-filled journal, filled with months worth of research and journaling, check.

- your thrifted power banks (they are a bit more drained than you expected), check.

- your ds with additional stickers on it (mainly from daisuke, but you managed to get one from swansea. it’s a warning label for one of his tools..), check

- your taser and gun (never used, and hidden for safety), check..

- and your emotional support mp3. 

- you stare at this particular item often.

- it contained the ambiance that came from your favourite part of town. your local cafe, the buzz of the aircon in your apartment, the library, and the rain. and not to mention, your favourite books. it’s perfect.

- now to think of it, you really do miss the rain. 

- the closest you got to rain here was.. the showers. pretty sad.

- after doing your item checkup, you head towards the lounge with anya right after you’ve showered.

- the communal shower is more private now, thanks to you placing an occupied and not occupied sign - right on the small window on the bathroom door. (why was that there, anyway?)

- you both eat breakfast; then either relax there, or you’d immediately go to the medical bay. sometimes, if you had time, you’d play games with anya and daisuke until it’s time to start your day. the latter is increasingly more rare occasion by the day, though.

- sometimes curly comes in right after you and anya. sometimes, it’s daisuke who comes in, pleading for you to play with him before the day starts..

 - and on very rare occasions, swansea comes in first. 

- before doing anything, he visits the coffee machine and grabs a can of.. whatever’s available, at this point.

- .. now you’ve nearly ran out of coffee. 

- you think that’s horrifying. a whole vending machine’s worth of coffee.. 

- but to be fair, you have done the same in exam seasons. and you’re not quite dead yet, so..

- eh. maybe you shouldn’t be too worried.

- your daily work includes: learning as much as you could from anya, writing down your conclusions/observations in your journal (for academic purposes), and checking on medical supplies. 

- most of the time, people who come in request for medicine, or have sustained some cuts/bruises. people rarely get sick, and when they do, you’ve tried your best to stop them from working. it’s dangerous to work whilst sick, especially considering that everyone’s job is pretty .. dangerous.

- think about it. if you had to work as a mechanic whilst you’re sick, what are the chances of damaging the ship? and if you were piloting while you’re sick.. the ship might crash.

- you don’t want to entertain the possibilities, so you end up forcing them to their rooms.

- at the end of the day, you take another shower, before changing into another set of pony express uniform. 

- you’re starting to get tired of looking at the same yellow and reds. perhaps you could’ve brought more personal clothing.. 

- after lounging in the living room (what daisuke likes to call it), you pull your blankets out once again, and sleep.

- that has been your routine for these past few months.

- it’s not that bad. surface wise - it’s not as bad as your daily life before the internship.

- but mentally? this is challenging. 

- you’re starting to miss grass, of all things. grass. 

- that green weed that grows from the ground- the dirt? yeah. you’re starting to miss that.

- you realise you’ve taken a lot of things for granted whilst you were in this metal hunk. 

- that includes the sun.

- recalling this all just as you’re about to eat dinner made you suddenly miss the moon too.

- as you open the door, it revealed the entire crew already seated, and you were the last person to join dinner.

- your seat is empty, in the middle of anya and curly.

- your eyes linger on the group, laughing together on the dining table. 

- as you were observing the whole crew from afar, daisuke manages to spot you, and then calls you over. 

- anya sends you a smile as she looks in your direction as well. curly follows after, sending you a smile, swansea nods at you. 

- your chest felt warm that night.

- .. maybe you really should treasure these moments more as well.

- there is one extra addition to your bi-daily tasks.

- laundry with daisuke. 

- or laundai… can you guess who made that pun?

- every three to four days, you meet up with him in front of the laundry room, basket of laundry in your arms, and his own laundry in his. 

- it’s not that he’s incapable of doing it - but he insists that you do it together on the day of the detergent accident. ever since then, you’ve been accompanying him.

- you try to spot if he adds too much or too little detergent, taught him which buttons to press on what occasions, and you also teach him how to pick up his laundry quickly.

- sometimes you do machine maintenance.. removing the tray at the bottom and washing the insides of the machine.

- while the laundry runs, you often just sit there together. seeing the laundry tumble, soap and water mixing together. 

- one time, he asked to go on a surfing trip with you. he made a comparison between the two of you and the clothes in the machine. 

- you pointed out that the clothes are, quite literally, drowning in water. 

- he immediately counters you - by saying that he meant the bubbles looked fun - and continues to try and convince you, saying that he’ll teach you how to surf

- .. that conversation ended with you saying maybe. 

- he cheers, and you were only able to sigh (fondly).

- he talks a lot, and you try to incorporate enough words in between your listening. 

- you talk about all sorts of things. how your day was, how you missed the sun (this topic was brought up by you), the amazement you held for the crew for working here for so long.

- daisuke also talks about the little things as well. how he learnt how to fix the pipes today, how he saved the last time you gave him sunshine - the candy - and ate two today, and how he managed to draw swansea properly today.

- the last one was a slip up, and you can watch his expression grow hesitant when you asked if he draws

- although shy, he shows you his notes- and by extension- his doodles.

- one time you saw him drawing the entire crew, live, whilst you were doing laundry. and somehow, he managed to get the courage to ask you to model for him. (mainly just staying still as you look down at your hands, to replicate the look you had when you were doing your journal)

- you roll your eyes at his request -not to belittle it, but to laugh at the cheesiness of it all - and whilst doing so, a small smile was painted on your lips.

you could feel your lips quirking up at the shy tone of his voice, your eyes looking at him with a fond crease subconciously.

"you could draw me, sure."

"wait, do that again."

daisuke watches you eagerly, a certain shine of disbelief in his eyes as you tilt your head at him, face now back to your usual expression.

"do what?"

he stares at you for a beat. then by the next, his face has already turned away from you, his eyes tightly shut and his hands clenched in front of him in faux defeat.

"noooo.. i can't believe i didn't get a picture of that- man!"

his mumble doesn't get unheard.

"get a picture of what?"

and as soon as you asked that question, his head is facing back in your direction, smiling and giving you a thumbs up.

"nothing!"

you hum in amusement.

"alright."

another smile slips by your lips. and this time, he exclaims, slamming his clipboard (for his drawings) down.

"you just smiled again!"

"i did?"

he continues to pester you to smile once more, and you kept on insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about.

- you had fun playing dumb in front of him, and him getting all frustrated. he looks like an angry puppy, which turned into .. a begging puppy?

- you watch as he pulls his puppy eyes on you, to no avail.

- but you somehow still remember the look on his face. the way his lips were downturned into a small pout and his eyes were wide open, peering at you. it's.. cute. to a certain extent.

- you eventually went back to drawing, and he offered you a little sticky note with a small doodle of him encouraging you on it.

- you still keep the note to this day. he's incredibly endearing sometimes.

- on a few occasion he doesn’t talk at all, but that’s pretty rare.

- the last time he remained silent for the entire session was when you brought your journal along for the wait.

- you had already recorded the past month’s results, and the day you set for data analysis lined up with laundry day. 

- so you brought the book with you, and you kept your eyes on the book the entire time. 

- you did the laundry with one hand, essentially. you only looked up from your book to respond to daisuke, or to check on his laundry. 

- the silence only comes to your attention at the end of your laundry session. 

- the machine often plays a tune once it’s done with it’s job - when it doesn’t, you’d slap the lid, and then it plays the song.

- and usually, it’s accompanied by daisuke’s own hum of the tune.

- at first, you didn’t even realise that he didn’t follow along with the melody. but after a moment, you felt something was off.

- your eyes flicker towards his direction, and you see him napping. 

- he’s snoozing away, hugging his own laundry basket. 

- and he looks.. peaceful.

- this wouldn’t be the first time you saw him asleep. the first time was when you brought him to his room after game night. the second time was when you spotted him on the sofa, napping the evening away on the same day swansea was sick - and this.. would be the third.

- your fingers subconsciously reach out to brush his hair back. you stopped once you realised what you were going to do - your hand inches away from his face.

- dropping your hand back onto your lap, you sigh again. it’s an action you find yourself doing more often.

- you try to focus on your research again, flicking to the next page - your eyes following the lines you’ve written before.

- so you both sit there, his soft breaths filling in the air every now and then, and the flicks of pages accompanying them right after.

- he wakes up sooner than you expected, and you briefly suffer the wrath of the sleepy daisuke.

- half-asleep gibberish about you not waiting for him, and leaving him in the laundry room alone. (while you were right there)

- it takes a few minutes before he falls back asleep, this time, on your shoulder.

- you really hoped he really would’ve truly woken up, even if it did mean sitting through more of his sleep induced rants. 

- .. now you’ll have to stay in this room, in the same position - your shoulders possibly freezing up at this rate - and .. perhaps also face swansea’s wrath later for keeping his intern for too long.

- oh well. 

- you’ll face it later. 

- for now, you’ll just continue reviewing your data… with a snoozing mechanic intern on your shoulder.

- the other day, curly went by your office. 

- it’s odd enough for him to approach you first before you call him for evaluation.

- but it wasn’t psych eval day; and you watch as he enters the medical bay warily, avoiding your gaze after a brief moment of your eyes meeting.

- you could already feel like it would be a long session. or at least, a heavy one. 

- so you place down your clipboard, and instead focus entirely on him.

- he struggles to get a word out other than “hi, sorry for bothering you, do you mind if i.. talk to you as a patient?”

- so you wait. your eyes remain glued at him, and he takes a few breaths in; then out. and it repeats, over and over again.

- the machine buzzes beneath your feet. it’s louder in the silence.

- so are your breaths. and so is his.

- and finally, the silent tempo is broken by a sigh.

“the crew is getting laid off,”

the words are spoken in a low mumble, so soft that you wouldn’t hear them if you weren’t paying attention. but you did hear anyway.

he looks visible distressed; hands messing his own hair up, his fingers fidget more, and eyebags looking heavier than usual. he refuses to look you in the eyes. 

this would be the first time you’ve seen him like this. it’s been sixteen minutes since he came in, and this was the first words that he said, aside from the greeting he gave you.

he's waiting for something. your breath faltering, or perhaps your expression dropping. you can tell by the way he looks at you. 

he seems guilty. 

“.. i just talked with jimmy. before the news, about how i felt stuck in this job.”

he takes a heavy drag of air into his lungs.

“i didn’t mean to.. i didn’t know that this would happen. he’s going to think that i had involvement in this.”

“but you know you don’t.”

your eyes continue to pick up on the little quirks on his body. his faster way of speaking - the way he tumbles over his sentences. and it also explains why he wasn’t seen at the lounge for the past couple of days.

these are behaviours that distressed individuals display. you remember this clearly in a textbook you had reviewed previously.

for the first time, in the past nineteen minutes, he looks up at you. 

“will you let his beliefs prevail over your own?”

you continue to stare at him, he stares back.

after a brief moment of strength, he seems to give up. his body falls back into himself - his body fully leaned back onto the chair.

“.. i don’t know.”

he takes another deep breath in, and you can feel your eyebrows temporarily furrow.

“his views matter to me. so does everyone else’s views. i can’t discount their thoughts about this.”

“but you can discount your own?”

your question rings in the room. this time, he doesn’t dare to hold your gaze anymore.

“you’re not at fault here. you want everyone to win in this situation, and that’s impossible.”

you tap your finger on the table, producing a stable rhythm on the table.

“there is nothing you can do to change this outcome anymore.”

you close your eyes, and your finger comes to a stop.

“...the best you could do now is to not let others write your narrative for you. help others write their own narrative as well.”

you watch as he sinks deeper into his seat.

“...you’re right.”

and this is as far as you can go. 

you can’t help with anything more as a faux therapist.

you’re not qualified for it either. the best you could do is to make him understand that it isn’t his fault, and no, he should not be carrying this burden, nor allowing people to blame him either.

you know he knows this. but does he understand it?

so all you can do is wait; wait until he does.

the blonde man lifts himself up from the seat in front of you, taking a deep breath as he walks around the medical bay.

his eyes are closed, before he attempts to harden himself again. 

he sends a smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“..sorry for coming out of the blue. i’m not sure what made me do that.“

he even tries to throw in a chuckle, but it just sounds dry. you send him a sour expression.

another exhale sounds in the room; and this time, the sigh didn’t come from him. 

“.. you can do this, curly. don’t doubt yourself either.”

you meet his eyes for the final time. 

this time; he’s completely defeated. no longer is he standing before you as captain, but as a man, grieving for his friends’ futures. for the stable future that they might’ve once believed in. that man sends a weak nod in your direction.

“.. i’ll try.”

the male leaves with a small thank you, and silence follows after.

your eyes are trained at the false sky as the door shuts in on itself. your calm demeanour slowly unfolds on the wooden desk, your head now buried in your arms. 

.. now that his burdens are shared with you, what should you do?

- everyone knows by now that your work with anya in the medical bay are split into two.

- anya with physical injuries, and you.. working on psych tests. 

- you don’t want to say that you work with mental injuries just yet. that’s a horrifying thought. you’re seriously not qualified yet.

- hell, you probably didn’t give proper treatment towards curly that other time.. you don't think you're quite ready to become a therapist yet. that's one thing you've learnt in this internship.

- but point is, you’ve barely dealt with physical injuries prior to this.

- why are you bringing this up? well..

- anya got sick.

- it’s a fever and flu of some sort. you say it’s the airconditioning in her room, and she denies it - saying that it was fine last night. 

- then you suggest that it might be her habit of waking up way too early, and this time, she agrees that it could’ve been what played part in making her sick.

- she laughs when you sigh; mostly due to the fact that she knew you were joking.

- you’ve been helping her do mundane stuff. examples were.. bringing a basin of water of warm water and a small towel for baths, medicine and food prepared for her, and making sure she gets enough entertainment whilst also making sure she slept enough.

- you would really prefer if you could’ve just cared for her in her room…

- but she refused - and instead, remains at the medical bay. she wants to be prepared if anyone’s injured, she says, while she looks like she's dying. (you’re exaggerating)

- but since that’s the only way she would allow you to help her, you comply.

- she often sleeps hunched over the desk. that’s why you brought one of the pillows from the lounge to her. 

- she seemed concerned once she saw the pillow, and you get why - safety reasons, germs, etc. - but you promised that you would wash the entire pillow after it gets in and out of the medical bay.

- it was her time to sigh at your expense. you let out a huff of defeat.

- having a sibling-like relationship with anya meant that she kept you close enough to watch over you, but not close enough to know her.

- only throughout the course of nursing her back to health, do you get to hear more about her life.

- she wanted to pursue nursing due to her mother’s poor health throughout her entire life. 

- her father was the only source of income, and almost saw his wife as a burden.

- living with her older and younger sisters, she had tried to make sure that the two were alright as well, whilst taking care of her mother. this managed to affect her grades.

- miraculously, her mother’s condition got better after some time, and the burden on her older sister’s duties got better.

- but this meant arguments got worse. so she left, leaving her younger sister in her older sister’s care. 

- she promised to take care of her mother when she got older. but after a year she left home, her mother tragically died due to a heart attack.

- that’s how she told you that she never had anyone to care for her like this, ever since she moved and got a job in the city.

- before you knew it, you had something in your eye.

“..are you crying?”

you sniffle, looking away from her - a poor attempt of hiding away your .. emotional state.

“.. no.”

your voice gives it away. damnit.

- she only laughs at your attempts, before convincing you that it was alright now. she’s still alive. and you can only cry more.

- you compose yourself, before handing her another cup of water, and a replacement towel for her forehead. 

- she thanks you quite a lot during the entirety of it. you try to assure that she was welcome to ask for your help.

- but when swansea comes in with a particularly nasty cut - daisuke trailing behind the old man, panicking - you nearly panic as well.

- you try your best to stay calm, following what you’ve learnt from your mentor.

- disinfectant. don’t touch the wound with alcohol. clean the surroundings, and then secure the wrap with bandages. make sure that you handle it properly. 

- before you knew it, you were done.

- it’s not as good as anya’s, but you think you did well with the bandages. 

- swansea thanks you, and daisuke gives you two thumbs ups. it’s hard to not reciprocate his energy, so you give him one as well.

- anya, on the other hand, stares at you wide-eyed. 

you tilt your head at her expression.

“.. did i do something wrong?”

her expression doesn’t look like a dangerous expression - just more towards shock, and perhaps, something else.

“i didn’t know you improved so much..”

ah. she still remembers, it seems..

at the first day, she asked how much knowledge you had about first aid. and you responded by showing her what you’d do when you had a cut. it’s safe to say that you made.. leaps of improvement. 

“yeah. i’ve been paying close attention to you.”

you watch as she realises what she did.

“i.. taught you that..”

you nod in response.

“yeah. you did.”

she smiles at you, and now, it was her who had tears in her eyes.

- you tried your best to comfort her after that. 

- you used your newfound knowledge - that she likes tea - and brought her a cup.

- perhaps, due to the exhaustion, she immediately went to sleep an hour after she downed the tea.

- you made sure she was alright, before continuing your writing on the journal.

- you were informed of a communal birthday party (how cheap is the pony express?), and this time, you were celebrating curly's birthday. 

- everyone's wearing party hats - striped yellow and red, the same colours of your uniform.

- you’re seriously getting sick of seeing it.

- not sure why no one bothered observing and memorising the codes. but you did. and so, you baked the cake beforehand.

- daisuke practically wails at you, asking why you never told him that you knew the pass to the sweetener all this time. basically, putting on a dramatic show.

- you stare back at him, deadpan. the both of you know why you didn’t reveal it to him.

- he only grins once he got caught. you sigh.

- so, that didn’t go well.

- you surprised curly, but it seems like today was the day he decided to break the news to the members about the disbandment. he was told to wait until you were closer to the destination of the delivery but..

- you suppose this would be the best outcome, if you only had curly’s emotional state in mind.

- swansea makes a bitter joke, anya looks increasingly worried, and daisuke’s silent, unable to say anything in this situation.

- and jimmy…

“..so i guess you got what you wanted.”

jimmy laughs bitterly, his hands on the table.

“without the guilt.”

you watch as curly attempts to explain himself.

“jim.. if i had known..”

a poor explanation it was. you could only watch as the brown-haired man grows more agitated.

“i can go back to my, how’d you put it? “struggle of a life?””

the room is slowly growing more heavy at his words. 

he’s clearly talking about a previous conversation with curly. but at the same time.. he’s wording it particularly. sure, you weren’t there when the conversation happened, but you think you get the gist of what jimmy’s trying to do at the moment - and it’s starting to affect others in the room as well.

“sounds like you’re blaming him for this, jimmy.”

so you try to diffuse whatever he’s planning.

his furrowed eyes snap at you, and he immediately explodes.

“what would you fucking know, huh?”

his hands slam at the table, shaking the cutlery on the surface, and it becomes evident that he doesn’t care about the things that could break at this very moment. he’s only interested in expressing his own anger.

so, you conclude that you were right. he’s releasing his anger by picking arguments, instead of thinking rationally, disregarding curly’s emotion, and how it might cause misunderstandings.

you should’ve expected this much from him.

you decide to retort, tone calm as you speak.

“i know that this should be blamed on management. not the man whose a small cog in the machine right now.”

he only looks angrier after being presented with sound logic.

“oh, please, cut your poetic crap. you come out of this unscathed. you don’t have any rights to talk.”

at this point, you’re just more tired than confused. 

“and you have the right to blame someone that isn’t at fault? who gave you the right to do that?”

you slowly unfold your arms, staring at him, before scanning at the others.

they all have different expressions, and you could feel how heavy the atmosphere is. to think that someone like him could cause this much trouble.. 

you look at the perpetrator one last time, as you add in a final comment.

“stop trying to twist reality to your own narrative.”

with that, you could see him seething in his seat. 

his eyes are sharp on you, and you’d continue this little staring competition if you were any less sane. so for now, you place your party hat down on the table, and remove yourself from the conversation.

“i think everyone needs time to process this. so i’ll leave first. goodnight.”

those were your final words, before you stood up from your chair, and left the table.

- after you left, daisuke followed after. then anya, and then swansea.

- everyone’s hat remains at the table, either upright or simply discarded on the wooden surface.

- safe to say, you all agreed that time was the solution for the short while, and you can’t be more proud of them for having some sort of sanity - unlike a certain brunette. 

- but you could only watch as the door closes on you, with curly and jimmy sitting alone on the table.

- you just hope he doesn’t dig a deeper hole for himself. it would make your efforts of redirecting his anger towards you pointless.

- alas, you don’t have power over him.

- you can lead someone to water, but you can’t make them drink, after all.

i did NOT proofread this. oh man. ill edit it later on.. perhaps...maybe.

i also did not know what possessed me when i was writing this. jimmy feels really ooc but maybe it's because no one has tried to put that man in his place LOL.. only swansea did at the end (by attempting to kill him. valid btw)

hopefully i managed to flesh out each character's relationship with reader enough in this chapter .. i didn't get to write swansea in but tried my best to slip him in the details.. will focus on it next chap!

thank you so much for the support for this as well! i appreciate it tons!

extra notes: i'd like to think that the cake was stored in the fridge.. and eaten the next morning (although with a somber mood)

sun & moon dividers by : @/saradika nighttime screen & the lounge visuals from mouthwashing