#school is intense but I’m surviving

[girlspecimen]

MAYBE I CAN FORGIVE MYSELF!!!! FUCK!!!!!!! (drops to my knees and lets the rain cover me)

[idiopathicsmile]

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[littlelamy]

thinking about rafe being more involved with sarahs life after the baby and spending time with them and taking the kid to school or maybe picking the kid up and seeing reader who is a teacher and they flirt or maybe it’s parent teacher conference and rafe tags along with john b bc Sarah can’t make it and him and reader are cute and flirting

the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, painting golden streaks across the desks and scattering soft shadows on the floor. it was quiet now, the hum of kids long gone except for a few stray drawings left forgotten on tables and the faint creak of your chair as you leaned back, scanning through a pile of spelling tests.

the knock on your classroom door startled you, pulling you out of the mundane rhythm of grading. when you looked up, you expected john b, who had mentioned he’d be dropping by for the parent-teacher conference. instead, you saw him. rafe cameron.

rafe leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other gripping the strap of a sleek leather backpack. his usual cocky smirk softened into something more polite, almost uncertain, as his eyes swept the room before landing on you.

“hey,” he said, his voice low and warm, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged here but was trying anyway.

“hi,” you managed, your surprise fading into curiosity. “can i help you?”

“i… uh, i’m here for the conference,” he explained, stepping further into the room. “sarah couldn’t make it, and john b roped me into tagging along.”

you blinked, trying to reconcile the guy who had a reputation for being a little too reckless, a little too intense, with the man standing in front of you. “oh. yeah, of course. take a seat. john b should be here any minute.”

rafe nodded, sliding into one of the kid-sized chairs with an amused grin. “man, these chairs are tiny. no wonder kids are always squirming.”

you laughed, the sound light and unexpected. “yeah, they’re not exactly built for comfort. you’ll survive, though.”

he raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbows on the desk as he looked at you. “is that a challenge?”

before you could respond, the door swung open, and john b burst in, his usual whirlwind energy filling the room. “hey, sorry i’m late,” he said, dropping into a chair beside rafe without missing a beat. “traffic was insane.”

“it’s fine,” you assured him, pulling out the folder with their child’s name neatly printed across the front. “shall we get started?”

the conference itself was straightforward, mostly you going over their daughter’s progress, showing off some of her artwork, and sharing notes about her strengths and areas for growth. but every now and then, you felt rafe’s gaze on you, steady and curious, like he was trying to figure you out.

when the meeting wrapped up, john b stood, stretching. “thanks for taking the time. sarah’ll be thrilled to hear everything’s going so well.”

“of course,” you said, offering him a warm smile. “she’s a great kid. makes my job easy.”

john b nodded, then glanced at rafe. “you coming?”

rafe hesitated, his eyes flicking to you. “uh, i’ll catch up. i just have a quick question.”

john b smirked, like he knew exactly what was going on, but didn’t say anything as he left, leaving you and rafe alone.

“so, a quick question?” you prompted, arching an eyebrow.

he grinned, leaning back in his tiny chair. “yeah, just wanted to ask if you’ve always been this good with kids, or if it’s something you picked up over time.”

you tilted your head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “a little of both, i guess. i’ve always liked working with them. they’re honest, you know? no filter. keeps things interesting.”

he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “yeah, i can see that. you’re… you’re really good at it. i mean, i could barely survive babysitting her for an afternoon, and you do this every day.”

you laughed, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks. “it’s definitely not easy, but it’s worth it.”

there was a pause, the kind that felt like it held something unsaid, and then rafe stood, towering over the kid-sized desk. “anyway, i should let you go. but… maybe i’ll see you around?”

“maybe,” you said, your smile lingering as he made his way to the door.

but before he left, he glanced back, his smirk returning. “or, you know, if you ever need a break from grading papers, i’d be happy to grab a coffee or something. on me.”

you raised an eyebrow, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “i’ll think about it, cameron.”

he chuckled, giving you a small salute before disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone in the golden light of the classroom, your heart fluttering in a way you hadn’t expected.

lamy's notes: i wouldn't mind doing more fics about rafe x teacher!reader! i hope you liked it!!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesbabygirlx

[d1stalker]

Embers of Connection [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You're not like him. In fact, you're not like any of them. Maybe that's why he doesn't trust you-- why he doesn't want to trust you. But, time and time again, you prove him wrong.

Warnings: none really. lowkey enemies to friends to lovers.... kind of slow burn. fem!reader/afab!reader - maybe some grammatical errors

WC: 6.3k - MASTERLIST

The mansion was quiet as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the lawn. Inside, the halls of the Xavier Institute were just beginning to stir, the students slowly waking to another day of training, learning, and discovery. But in a room far removed from the rest of the school, a figure sat alone, her eyes fixed on the window, lost in memories of a past long gone.

You were not a mutant, at least not in the way the students at the school understood the term. You came from a lineage so ancient, so steeped in myth and legend, that even the oldest books could not fully capture the truth of your people—a race of beings who walked the earth with the grace and power of dragons, feared and revered in equal measure.

But that was long ago, before the rise of mutants, before the world had changed. Your people had been hunted, exterminated by those who feared the strength you carried within your veins. You had been just a child when it happened, too young to understand why your world was being torn apart. One of them, moved by pity or perhaps some deeper sense of guilt, had spared your life, hiding you away until the danger had passed.

You had wandered for years, alone and afraid, never staying in one place for too long. You learned how to conceal your wings, hide your sharp nails, and conceal your powers. The world had changed, and you had no place in it, no home to return to. It was by chance that you crossed paths with Charles Xavier, a man of immense power and wisdom, who saw in you not just a relic of a forgotten time, but a soul in need of protection and understanding. He had taken you in, offered you a place in his school, not as a student but as something else—something he himself could not fully define.

And so you stayed, a silent observer in a world that was not yours, learning from the shadows, watching as the young mutants trained and grew, honing their powers under Charles’ guidance. You were an enigma to them, a being from another time, another world. Some were curious, others wary, but none dared to challenge you.

Until Logan arrived.

You sensed his presence before you saw him, a raw, untamed energy that crackled through the air like a storm on the horizon. The students whispered about him, their voices hushed with a mixture of awe and fear. The Wolverine, they called him—a man who had seen more battles than he could count, whose past was as blood-soaked as it was mysterious.

You were in the garden when he first laid eyes on you. He was alone, his expression dark and brooding as he walked across the grounds, clearly uncomfortable in this place of peace and learning. His gaze swept over the students, then landed on you, standing apart from the others, your wings folded close to your back, your scales glinting in the morning light.

His eyes narrowed, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the suspicion that curled like a shadow behind those intense, feral eyes. He approached, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You’re not a mutant,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

You met his gaze, unflinching. “No, I’m not.”

“Then what are you?” There was no warmth in his tone, only a cold curiosity.

“A survivor,” you replied steadily, though your heart beat faster at the memory of what you had survived. “My people were hunted to extinction long before you were born.”

Logan’s expression hardened, and he took a step closer, his stance challenging.

“So why are you here? What do you want?”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him with the same intensity he gave you. “I could ask you the same thing. But I’m here because Charles offered me a place, a sanctuary. He’s curious about what I am… and he believes I need protection.”

“Protection from what?” Logan’s tone was edged with skepticism, as if he didn’t believe you were a threat to anything or anyone.

“From the world,” you answered simply. “And perhaps… from myself.”

He scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. “You don’t know what it’s like, being a mutant. You’re just hiding here, playing along, pretending to understand.”

You bristled at his words, your wings twitching with the urge to unfurl, to show him just how much power you held within you. But you held back, staying calm.

“And you don’t know what it’s like to be the last of your kind, to watch everything you’ve ever known be destroyed. We all have our battles. Just because mine are different doesn’t mean they’re any less real.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the lie in your words. But there was none to be found, and that seemed to unsettle him more than anything.

“Just stay out of my way,” he growled, turning sharply and walking away without waiting for a response.

You watched him go, a mixture of anger and sadness swirling in your chest. You had known the moment you met him that Logan would be a challenge, a force of nature that would not be easily swayed or understood. But you hadn’t expected the sting of his words, the way they cut deep into the wounds you had thought long healed.

Over the next few months, you and Logan avoided each other as much as possible. He made it clear he didn’t trust you, and you made it equally clear you didn’t care for his attitude. The students quickly picked up on the tension between you, giving you both a wide berth whenever you were in the same room.

But Charles Xavier, ever the strategist, saw something neither of you did—a potential for growth, for understanding, if only you were forced to confront each other. So, when a mission came up that required both your skills, he sent you out together, despite your protests.

The mission was simple in theory—retrieve an artifact from a group of rogue mutants who had stolen it. But from the moment you and Logan set foot in the field, it was clear that working together was not going to be easy.

Logan, used to working alone, resisted your attempts to coordinate, charging ahead without a plan and nearly jeopardizing the mission in the process. You, trained in patience and strategy, found his reckless approach infuriating, and the two of you clashed at every turn.

The mission was ultimately successful, but it came at a cost—your mutual respect for each other (well, whatever had existed of it to begin with). The animosity between you only deepened, cementing your status as strangers within the walls of the school.

---

Enveloped in the forest's ancient embrace, you walked among towering trees that stood like silent sentinels. Their gnarled branches wove together, forming a dense canopy that swallowed most of the light. Cool, damp air hung heavy with the earthy scent of moss and decaying leaves. Each step sank into the soft, spongy ground, the stillness occasionally interrupted by the rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird.

You moved with purpose, your eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. Logan walked a few paces behind you, his expression as unreadable as ever. Charles had sent the two of you on this mission with little more than a vague explanation, and the tension between you had only grown as you ventured deeper into the wilderness.

“You sure this is the right way?” Logan’s voice broke the silence, gruff and tinged with impatience.

You didn’t bother turning to face him. “I’m sure.”

He let out a low grunt, clearly not satisfied with your answer. “I still don’t get why Xavier sent me with you. Seems like you could’ve handled this on your own.”

You bit back a retort, knowing that engaging in another argument wouldn’t get you anywhere. “Maybe he thought you could learn something.”

“Learn what?” Logan scoffed. “How to wander aimlessly in the middle of nowhere?”

You stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “You’re here because Charles thinks you need to understand what I’m dealing with. This isn’t just another mission, Logan. It’s personal.”

His gaze hardened, but there was a flicker of something else—something softer—beneath the surface. “And what exactly are you dealing with?”

You hesitated, unsure how much you wanted to reveal. The memories of your past were painful, buried deep for a reason. But you knew that if you were going to work together, he needed to know.

“There’s an ancient temple hidden in this forest,” you began, “It’s said to hold a clue—something that could lead me to the mutants who destroyed my people. I’ve been searching for answers for years, and this is the closest I’ve ever come.”

“And you think finding this clue will give you what you need?”

You nodded, the weight of your words pressing down on you. “I have to believe that it will. My people were wiped out—hunted down and killed because of what we were. I’m the last of my kind, and I need to know why.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on yours. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and hoarse, almost hesitant. “I know what it’s like to lose everything. To have your whole world ripped away from you. But revenge… it doesn’t bring peace.”

“This isn’t about revenge,” you said firmly, though part of you knew it wasn’t entirely true. “It’s about closure. About understanding.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you he understood more than he was letting on. He turned away, resuming his trek through the forest, and you followed, the tension between you easing slightly.

The journey was long and arduous, the dense undergrowth making progress slow. The further you went, the darker the forest became, the ancient trees blocking out the sun entirely. It was as if the forest itself was warning you to turn back, but you pressed on, driven by the need to find the temple.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you reached a clearing. In the center stood the temple, its stone walls covered in vines and moss, its entrance a dark, gaping maw that seemed to swallow all light. The air around it was thick with an ominous energy, as if the very ground was infused with the memories of the past.

“This is it,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Logan.

He nodded, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the temple. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

With that, you stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the temple. The air inside was cool and damp, the stone walls slick with moisture. The only light came from the narrow beams of sunlight that managed to filter through cracks in the ceiling, casting long shadows across the floor.

The deeper you went, the more the oppressive feeling grew. You could feel it in your bones, a sense of foreboding that made your skin crawl. But you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, even as the darkness closed in around you.

Finally, you reached the heart of the temple. In the center of the chamber stood an ancient altar, covered in strange markings that seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie aura. But what caught your attention was the object lying on the altar—a small, intricately carved stone, glowing with a soft, ethereal light. You found yourself moving towards it subconsciously, almost in a trance.

Logan hung back, his senses on high alert. “Be careful. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

You nodded, reaching out to take the stone. The moment your fingers touched it, a surge of energy shot through you, and you gasped, the memories flooding back in a rush.

You saw your people, the Draconic, living in harmony with nature, their wings glinting in the sunlight, their scales shimmering like jewels. But then came them, their faces twisted with fear and hatred, their powers unleashed in a torrent of destruction. You saw the fires, heard the screams, felt the pain of loss as your world crumbled around you.

And you saw them—the creatures who led the charge, who ordered the slaughter. Their faces were burned into your memory, and now, thanks to the stone, you had the knowledge you needed to track them down.

But your moment of revelation was short-lived. As you turned to show Logan the stone, you noticed something else—a series of dark shapes lying dormant against the walls of the chamber. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what they were.

Dozens, hundreds of them, the ones responsible. Their bodies encased in some sort of stasis, their forms twisted and unnatural. These were the ones who had destroyed your people, the ones who had brought death and destruction to your world. And now they were here, waiting.

“We need to leave. Now,” you whispered urgently, your heart pounding in your chest.

Logan’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the sleeping mutants. “Agreed. Let’s get out of here before they wake up.”

You moved quickly, retracing your steps toward the entrance. But as you passed one of the mutants, Logan accidentally brushed against it, his claws scraping against the stone. The sound echoed through the chamber, and you froze, your heart skipping a beat.

The creatures began to stir, their eyes snapping open, glowing with an unnatural light. Groans and snarls filled the air as the creatures awoke. Panic surged through you, the sight of the mutants awakening bringing up old, buried fears. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted for the entrance, Logan close behind, but the mutants were faster, their rage propelling them forward.

“Go!” Logan urged, grabbing your arm as the enemies began to move toward you.

But, in a effort to delay their advances, you had an idea. A surge of primal instinct took over, and you felt a transformation deep within you. Your eyes flashed, glowing with a fierce, emerald shade as they narrowed into slitted dragon-like orbs.

With a deep breath, you summoned the power of your ancestors. Flames erupted from your mouth, a torrent of blazing fire that swept across the chamber. The first wave of predators got caught in the flames, their forms writhing in the intense heat. The ancient stone walls glowed with the reflected light, casting long, flickering shadows. Now was your only opportunity for escape.

You unfurled your wings, the leathery membranes catching the air as you leaped into flight, grabbing Logan’s arm and dragging him with you. The temple walls blurred past as you flew through the corridors, the remaining mutants hot on your trail.

“Hang on!” you shouted, your voice barely audible over the rush of wind.

Logan didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the creatures chasing you. They were relentless, their fury palpable as they closed in, their powers crackling in the air around them. Logan clung to you, feeling a mix of awe and frustration. The cool wind whipped around but inside, he felt the sting of helplessness. He had always prided himself on his physical prowess, his ability to fight, to survive. Yet here he was, carried like a child by someone he had barely trusted.

Whatever these predators were, they were fast in their pursuit. However, you were faster. You burst out of the temple and into the open air, your wings propelling you forward with all the strength you could muster. They followed, but they were no match for your speed.

You swooped low, diving into the dense forest below, weaving through the trees with precision. Logan felt his his claws digging into your scales, but you barely noticed, your focus entirely on evading the threat. Watching the forest shrink beneath him, he felt a deep sense of inadequacy. He had been the one to get them into this mess, and now, instead of being the hero or the savior, he was reduced to a mere passenger. The raw power you displayed was breathtaking, but it also highlighted just how little he had known about you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you lost them. You landed in a small clearing, breathing heavily, your wings trembling from the exertion. Logan released his grip, dropping to the ground beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling over you. The danger had passed, but the tension remained, a lingering reminder of how close you had come to disaster. 

Logan was the first to break the silence. “You saved my ass back there.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “You would’ve done the same.”

He nodded, his gaze meeting yours. “Maybe. But I didn’t know you could do all that. The wings, the speed… the power. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than I thought.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I’m just trying to survive.”

“You’re more than that,” he said quietly. “You’re a fighter. And I… I respect that.”

The tension between you shifted, the animosity that had defined your relationship beginning to melt away. You saw Logan in a new light, not just as a stubborn, solitary warrior, but as someone who understood pain and loss, someone who had his own demons to face. And as he stared at you, he caught a glimpse of the fierce determination that drove you. In that look, he saw not just a fellow X-Men but a formidable warrior with her own battles and her own story. He understood now that you were more than he had given you credit for.

“Thanks,” you said softly, “For helping me. For trusting me.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “We’re a team now, right? So let’s do this together.”

And in that moment, something shifted between you. It wasn’t quite friendship, but it was a start—an understanding, a shared sense of purpose. You smiled. 

---

A few days later you and Logan find yourselves on the balcony of the mansion, taking in the peaceful surroundings. Logan leans against the wooden railing, his eyes lost in the horizon.

“Never really get used to these quiet times, do you?” Logan mutters, taking a drag from his cigar.

You sit beside him, your posture relaxed but alert. “It’s a stark change from the chaos, that’s for sure. But I guess we need these moments to recharge.”

Logan exhales a plume of smoke, glancing over at you. “Recharge, huh? I guess you really did a number back there. Flying us out, unleashing fire… It made me rethink a lot of things.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What are you thinking now?”

He shifts, his expression thoughtful. “I thought you were just another oddity at the school. But seeing you in action… You’ve got a lot more going on than I realized. There’s a strength there I didn’t see before.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

Logan shrugs, a faint grin on his face. “I guess we both have our surprises.”

You laugh lightly. “Seems like it. I’ve seen a different side of you too. You’re not just the gruff loner I thought you were.”

Logan’s eyes soften. “Yeah, well, I suppose I’ve got my own stuff to work through. You’re not the only one with a past.”

“You’re right,” you say, your tone gentle. “We all carry our burdens.”

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you, the evening’s calm settling in. Logan reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, crumpled piece of paper. He unfolds it carefully, revealing a sketch of the ancient temple you explored. It captures the essence of the place—its grandeur and hidden menace.

“I drew this after our mission,” Logan says, offering it to you. “Thought you might like it.”

You accept the sketch, your fingers tracing the lines. “It’s really good. Thank you. No one’s ever taken the time to understand the significance of these places to me before.”

Logan chuckles, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I guess we’re not so different after all. We’ve both got our own battles”

“Yeah. And we’re fighting them together now.”

Logan’s grin widens slightly. “Let’s try not to make a habit of almost getting killed, though.”

---

Realizing the potential he saw in you and Logan wasn’t a hoax, Charles assigned you to more missions together, hoping to strengthen the bond between you and harness your combined skills. Each mission brought its own challenges, but the respect and understanding you had developed for one another made you an unstoppable duo. 

There was a palpable shift in the air during these joint ventures. Logan’s gruff exterior softened around you, and his trust in your abilities grew. You, in turn, found yourself relying on his raw strength and experience more than you ever expected. The missions, though often intense, became a testament to your growing synergy.

One day, however, Charles decided to send Logan on a mission without you. The decision came with good intentions—Logan needed to work independently to regain his confidence and show that he could handle situations on his own. He was sent to investigate a lead on a dangerous group of mutants that had surfaced. It should’ve been routine. In and out, minimal resistance, standard extraction. But nothing about your life ever goes according to plan, and this time is no exception.

The distress call came through late at night, jarring you awake from a restless sleep. The voice on the other end was strained, panicked. Logan’s voice. You had never heard him like that before.

“They got me,” he had said, the roughness in his voice edged with something you hadn’t heard from him before—fear. “Don’t know who they are, but they’re… strong. Can’t fight ’em off.”

The line went dead before you could respond, leaving you wide-eyed and breathless in the darkness.

Now, standing on the deck of a small boat cutting through choppy waters, you replay those words in your mind, over and over. The coordinates he managed to send you led to a remote island, far off any known maps—a place of whispers and legends, rumored to be inhabited by creatures of immense power and terrifying abilities. Mutants, yes, but something else too. Something different.

Cyclops-like mutants. You remember the stories from the older X-Men, of a time when creatures with a single, glowing eye roamed the earth. You had been too busy mourning the loss of your people to be aware of what else was going on around the world. They had been driven to extinction, or so everyone thought. But it seems that, just like the ones who destroyed your kind, they had simply been lying in wait.

You glance at the island now coming into view, its rocky cliffs rising sharply from the water, shrouded in mist. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you sense the power emanating from the place, the dark, ancient energy that pulses like a heartbeat beneath the surface.

There’s no turning back. You tighten your grip on the wheel, the wind whipping through your hair as you steer the boat toward a small, concealed cove. It’s time to see just how far your powers can take you.

You drop anchor in the shallows, the boat rocking gently as you strip down to your tactical suit. The fabric clings to your body, designed to be lightweight and flexible, perfect for what you’re about to do. With a deep breath, you dive into the water, feeling the cool embrace of the ocean as you slip beneath the surface.

As soon as you’re fully submerged, the change begins. Your skin hardens, taking on a faint shimmer as it transforms into scales. Your fingers and toes elongate, webbing forming between them, allowing you to cut through the water with incredible speed. Your vision sharpens, the murky depths of the ocean becoming clear as day.

You swim toward the island, your movements silent and fluid, a predator in your own right. The water is your domain, and you move through it with ease, your body perfectly adapted to the environment. You can feel the power coursing through your veins, the ancient, draconic energy that makes you who you are. It’s exhilarating, but you keep it in check, focusing on the task at hand.

The cove is narrow, hidden by jagged rocks that would tear apart any normal vessel. But you slip through them effortlessly, the scales of your skin providing protection against the sharp edges. You surface silently, peering over the edge of the rocks to get a better look at the island’s interior.

It’s as eerie as you imagined, a landscape of twisted trees and dark shadows, the air thick with the scent of decay. And there, in the center of it all, is a massive stone fortress, old and crumbling, yet still formidable. It’s clear that the cyclops mutants have made this place their home, and it’s equally clear that Logan is being held inside.

Your heart clenches at the thought of him, trapped and possibly tortured, and you have to force yourself to remain calm. Logan is tough—one of the toughest people you know—but even he has his limits. You have to reach him before those limits are tested too far.

With a final deep breath, you haul yourself out of the water, your body instantly adapting to the new environment. Your skin returns to its normal state, the webbing between your fingers and toes retracting as you prepare to move on land. You move quickly, keeping to the shadows as you approach the fortress. 

The entrance is heavily guarded, as you expected. Two massive cyclops mutants stand watch, their single glowing eyes scanning the area with unnerving precision. You study them for a moment, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. They’re strong, undoubtedly, but you have the advantage of surprise and agility. You crouch low, waiting for the right moment. When one of the guards shifts slightly, turning his attention away from the entrance for just a second, you make your move. In a blur of motion, you spring forward, your claws extending as you strike. The first guard doesn’t even have time to react before your claws rip through his throat, silencing him instantly.

The second guard is more alert, swinging a massive fist toward you, but you’re already moving, ducking beneath his arm and driving your claws into his chest. His eye widens in shock before the light fades, and he collapses to the ground with a heavy thud.

You don’t waste any time, slipping inside the fortress before anyone else can notice. The interior is as dark and foreboding as the exterior, with narrow, twisting corridors that seem to go on forever. You move silently, your senses on high alert as you navigate the labyrinth of stone and shadow.

You find Logan in the deepest part of the fortress, chained to a wall in a small, dimly lit cell. He looks battered but not broken, his eyes narrowing in defiance as he glares at the door, ready to fight anyone who comes through it. But when he sees you, his expression softens, a mixture of relief and concern flickering in his gaze.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles.

“Would’ve been here sooner if you hadn’t let yourself get caught,” you retort, already working on the chains that bind him.

He snorts. “Didn’t exactly have a choice. These bastards are stronger than they look.”

You nod, your expression serious as you focus on freeing him. “I know. But we’ll figure a way out. Together.”

Logan’s chains fall to the ground with a heavy clatter, and he flexes his wrists, testing his strength. “Together? Sounds good to me.”

You help him to his feet, steadying him as he takes a moment to regain his balance. He’s clearly been through hell, but he’s still standing, still fighting. It’s one of the things you’ve always admired about him, even when you couldn’t stand his attitude.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he mutters, his voice low and dangerous.

You nod, but before you can move, a deep rumbling sound fills the air, the walls vibrating with the force of it. The ground beneath your feet trembles, and you realize with a sinking feeling that the cyclops mutants know you’re here.

“Time to go,” you say urgently, grabbing Logan’s arm and pulling him toward the exit.

The two of you move quickly, navigating the twisting corridors with practiced ease. But it’s not long before the mutants catch up to you, their heavy footsteps echoing through the fortress as they close in. You can hear their growls, low and menacing, and you know you’re in for a fight.

Logan doesn’t need any encouragement. He’s already on the prowl, his claws extended as he charges toward the nearest mutant. The two of you fight side by side, a lethal combination of strength and raw power. Logan’s claws tear through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency, while you use your claws and wings to strike with precision and speed.

But the cyclops mutants are relentless, their sheer size and strength making them formidable opponents. For every one you take down, two more seem to take their place. The battle is intense, the air filled with the sound of clashing steel and guttural roars.

In the midst of the chaos, one of the mutants lands a heavy blow to Logan’s side, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. Your heart lurches as you see him go down, and something inside you snaps. A fierce, draconic roar escapes your lips as your wings unfurl, their scales gleaming in the dim light. Your body shifts, your scales hardening as your claws grow longer and sharper. 

You launch yourself at the mutants with a ferocity you’ve never felt before, your claws tearing through their defenses like paper. Your wings whip through the air, knocking them off balance, while your scales protect you from their attacks. It’s a dance of death, a whirlwind of power and accuracy that leaves the mutants reeling.

From his place on the ground, Logan watches as you take down the last of the cyclops mutants, your body glowing with the aftereffects of your transformation. You stand amidst the carnage, your chest heaving with exertion, but there’s a fire in your eyes that hasn’t been there before—a fire that burns with a fierce determination to protect the man you care about.

“Damn,” Logan mutters as he pushes himself to his feet, wincing slightly. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

You can’t help but smile, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “What if you already are on my bad side?” you tease, though there’s no real bite to your words.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “Fair enough.”

With the mutants defeated, you and Logan make your way back through the fortress, the oppressive atmosphere beginning to lift with each step you take. As you reach the outer wall, you glance up at the sky, the mist beginning to clear as dawn approaches. You can see the small boat you came in anchored in the cove, waiting to take you both to safety. Logan follows your gaze, then looks back at you, his expression unreadable.

“Ready to get out of here?” you ask, your voice low as you take a step closer to him.

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “More than ready.”

Without another word, you extend your wings, the powerful muscles flexing as they unfurl to their full span. Logan watches you with admiration and something else, something deeper that he’s not ready to voice just yet. You wrap your arms around his waist, and with a powerful beat of your wings, you lift off the ground, carrying him into the air.

The flight back to the cove is short, but it’s enough time for you to feel the tension in Logan’s body start to ease as the wind rushes past. You land gracefully on the deck of the boat, setting Logan down gently before retracting your wings. He lingers for a moment, his hands still on your shoulders, as if reluctant to let go.

“Thanks for the save… Again” he murmurs.

“Anytime,” you reply, your heart skipping a beat at the closeness between you. You pull away slightly, not wanting to dwell on the feeling too much, and move to untie the boat from the anchor.

Logan takes a seat on the bench, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. You’re aware of his gaze as you work, but you try to focus on the task at hand. The sooner you get back to the school, the sooner you can both recover from this ordeal.

The boat cuts through the water smoothly, and the silence between you is comfortable, the need for words unnecessary. Logan leans back, closing his eyes as he lets the sun warm his face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the lines of his face, the slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

You’re almost back at the mainland when Logan finally breaks the silence. “You know,” he says, his voice deep and filled with thought, “I’ve been through a lot in my life. Seen a lot, done a lot. But I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

Your hands still on the wheel, and you turn to face him fully, your heart beating a little faster.

“What do you mean?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You’re strong, tougher than anyone I’ve ever known. But it’s more than that. You… you don’t give up on people, even when they don’t deserve it. Even when they’re as messed up as me.”

“Logan,” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re always there, always fighting, and I… I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that. For everything you’ve done, not just today, but since the day we met.”

You’re at a loss for words, the sincerity in his voice taking you by surprise. Logan isn’t the type to open up easily, to admit to needing anyone. But here he is, doing just that, and it makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you finally manage to say, “I did what anyone else would’ve done.”

He gives you a look, one that says he doesn’t believe that for a second. “No, you didn’t. You did what you do best. You fought for me. And I think… I think it’s time I stop fighting against this.”

“Against what?” you ask, though you have a feeling you already know.

Logan takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he’s about to say. “Against what I feel for you. Against this… connection between us. I’ve been pushing it away, trying to ignore it, but I can’t do that anymore.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words sink in. You’ve felt it too, the pull between you and Logan, the way your hearts seem to beat in sync when you’re together. But you never thought he felt the same way, never dared to hope that he could see you as more than just a teammate.

“Logan, I…” You struggle to find the right words, the ones that will convey everything you’re feeling.

“I feel it too. I have for a long time. Since the temple. But I was scared. Scared that it would ruin what we have, that it would make things complicated.”

“Things are already complicated,” he says with a wry smile, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The boat slowly comes to a stop upon the reaching the shore, but you don’t make a move to get out. “So… what do we do now?”

Logan reaches out, taking your hand in his, the roughness of his skin a comforting contrast to the softness of the moment. “We see where this goes. And if it gets too complicated, we deal with it together. Like we always do.”

Logan’s eyes search yours, his gaze tender and filled with unspoken promise. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It’s a gentle touch, a careful exploration of the emotions that have been building between you.

You respond with equal tenderness, your hand still in his as the kiss deepens. The kiss is more than just a physical act; it’s a melding of hearts, a silent declaration of the feelings you’ve both been holding back.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, a shared smile lighting up your faces, and for the first time in a long time, the future seems less daunting.

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

A/N: Thanks for reading! I've been lurking for so long and have finally decided to start writing again. I think I gotta write smut or something after this - it was sooo dramatic and for what LOL.

[jromanoff]

Study Break II R. George

Pairing: student!Regina George (2024) x law student!Reader

Warning(s): Reader not eating enough

Authors note: I’m in the middle of uni exams this week so I wrote a little something to indulge myself :)

Summary: College!AU - Regina is worried about your study habits and decides to intervene.

Word count: 1.6k

Regina leaned against the door frame, watching you hunched over your textbooks, completely engrossed in your studies. The thick civil code books were laying open on the side, several coloured tabs sticking out to keep track of the laws you needed to use for your upcoming exams. Regina thought it almost looked like a rainbow at this point. That was the only pretty thing about the stuff on your desk though, it looked like a bomb exploded with the mess you’ve made.

"Babe, can you take a break? I miss spending time with you," Regina pouted, hoping to draw your attention away from the books in front of you. Her pout usually did the trick. She wanted to have some quality time with you since you haven’t been spending time with her these past few days, too engrossed with your studies. You even stopped having dinner with her.

You glanced up briefly, your brow furrowed in concentration. "Sorry Gina, I really need to focus. These exams are important."

Regina sighed dramatically, crossing her arms as she walked closer to you. Did you just really resist her pout? "You've been studying nonstop for days. Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

You paused, looking at Regina with concern. "I know, but I need to do well in this. It's important for my future. I don’t want to be a failure."

Regina softened, her concern for you overriding her desire for attention. Regina almost laughed at this realisation, her High School-self could never. "I understand, but I'm worried about you. You need to take care of yourself too."

You reached out to take Regina's hand, caressing it. "I appreciate your concern, babe. But I really need to study now, I’m fine.” you said with a reassuring smile, concentrating back on your books.

Regina frowned and decided she needed to change her approach, this was clearly not working. So instead of complaining or outing her concerns, Regina tried to engage in a conversation with you.

“What are you studying, anyways?” Regina curiously inquired as she saw her girlfriend so intensely focused.

She never asked you about the content of your studies before, because she probably wouldn’t understand it. She, on the other hand, always excitedly rambled to you about whatever she learned that day. From fashion designers to fashion history, Regina shared it all. You didn’t mind it, though. Seeing your girlfriend so excited about her studies made you happy too and extra knowledge never hurt anyone. It was a nice contrast to your law studies.

“Legal philosophy” you replied curtly.

“Sounds boring” Regina remarked. Her efforts were met with a dismissive attitude from you, causing Regina to frown in disappointment. But Regina wouldn’t let this deter her from trying again.

“What are you reading about now, then?” Regina asked once again, looking over your shoulder at the book you were currently reading.

“The Case of the Speluncean Explorers” you responded, perplexed by Regina’s sudden interest in your ‘boring’ law studies. Especially after she just complained about not getting any attention from you.

“The what explorers?”

“The Speluncean Explorers,” you explained, slightly exasperated. “It’s a fictional judgement where five judges with different opinions shed their light on a fictional case. Five explorers got stuck in a cave and eventually ran out of food so… they agreed to eat one person so the other four could survive. They decided who it should be by throwing a dice and when the remaining four explorers were rescued they got a murder charge. I really need to study now if you don’t mind.” You hoped this elaborate answer would satisfy Regina’s curiosity so you could refocus on your studies.

When Regina kept silent after your explanation you thought you managed to fend off your girlfriend for the time being. Wrong.

Regina felt increasingly ignored by your continued focus on studying and your dismissive attitude towards her. So she decided to retort to an old tactic – a kiss to divert your attention. Despite being in college now and attempting to leave her manipulative ways behind, Regina deemed this situation an emergency. You would definitely cave in after a kiss.

Regina put her fingers under your chin, turning your face towards her. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to yours.

That sudden display of affection caught you off guard, but as Regina deepened the kiss your resistance immediately faded away. The tension in your shoulders eased as you gave into your girlfriend. Regina gently took the book you were holding from you.

“Regina, no. I need to study” you pulled away and protested, but Regina just kissed you again.

“What was that for, anyway?” you questioned her as you finally broke apart.

“So you’d be focused on something else than your studies. I deserve some attention too, you know? Not only your stupid books” Regina smirked.

You narrowed your eyes at her “I know what you’re trying to do” you told her and turned back to your desk. As you attempted to pick up your books once more, Regina shot you an ice cold glare. "If you don't put that book down right now... I swear to god you'll regret it," she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument. Regina rarely used that glare on you, but when she did? She was serious about it. Her glare and tone of voice caused you to immediately put your book back down, holding your hands up in surrender.

"That's what I thought," Regina asserted, a smirk playing on her lips. "Now, you’re cleaning up this mess of books and notebooks on this desk first," she declared, taking charge of the situation and asserting her authority over the chaotic study environment you created over the last week. How you could even study in this mess was a mystery to Regina.

Reluctantly, you set aside your textbooks and notes as Regina took charge of making dinner in the meantime, bustling about the kitchen.

The aroma of home-cooked food soon filled the air, causing a low rumble to come from your stomach. You quickly finished cleaning up your stuff and walked to the kitchen where Regina stood behind the stove.

“That smells delicious” you told your girlfriend as you embraced her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“It does, huh? Can you set the table for me, please?” Regina requested.

“Of course” you replied, giving Regina a kiss on the cheek before removing yourself from her. You set the table for dinner and sat down, waiting for Regina and the food.

As Regina set the steaming hot plates of food on the table, you immediately started eating before Regina herself had even the chance to get seated.

Regina observed you quickly shoving down the food she made with concern. It's a confirmation of her suspicions – you hadn’t been eating well all week, too consumed by your studies to the point you forgot to eat. With a pointed look, Regina breaks the silence. “I'm definitely keeping a closer eye on you when the next exam period comes up. You're not taking care of yourself properly. You’re never skipping dinner with me again in an exam period," Regina said, her gaze unwavering.

You frowned at her and attempted to deflect her concern. “You really don't need to, that's asking too much of you." you insisted

But Regina's resolve remains unyielding. "I don't care what you think. I'm keeping an eye on you. And that's final," she declares, her words leaving no room for argument. With a sigh you accept defeat, knowing that Regina can’t be swayed once she has her mind set on something.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since high school: Regina always gets what she wants.

After dinner, you cleared the table and did the dishes together. Then, Regina insisted on cuddling with you.

Entering your room, you see Regina is already situated on the bed. She already removed her makeup and changed into something more comfortable.

"Come here, you," Regina said, opening her arms wide with a playful smile. "I need some cuddles."

You hesitated for a moment before relenting, changing into comfier clothes and joining your girlfriend in bed. As your head hit the silk pillow (that Regina bought for you, because according to her it’s better for your hair) you sighed in content. "I guess I could use some cuddles too," you admitted softly, smiling back at your girlfriend.

Regina pulled you close, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “Now, I know you’re tired so I’ll let you go to sleep in a bit, but you do need to promise me to give me attention tomorrow.” she said, softly stroking your hair.

“I promise, my love” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to Regina’s forehead.

Eventually exhaustion takes hold of you both, and you drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next day you would spend no time on your studies, but only on Regina. You were determined to make it up to her. You even took her out on a spontaneous date to one of the high end restaurants she loved to make up for the lack of attention you gave her the past week. Afterwards the two of you went shopping and then cuddled for the remainder of the evening.

And your exams? Passed with flying colours.

[birthanon]

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Finding Refuge.

Chapter two.

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry Richmond

“I’m so sorry, Raelynn. The position has been filled.”

Raelynn Matthews looked into the eyes of the receptionist standing behind a sleek front desk. The stillness within that corporate building in Downtown Atlanta left an eerie feeling she was intensely familiar of.

“E–Excuse me?” Raelynn finally found the words to speak, “I–I–I–don’t understand.”

The nonchalant receptionist stared back at Raelynn with a cool expression and a slow blink.

“I received an email from your company for a job opportunity. You have an opening here,” Raelynn displayed the email to the receptionist, “So help me understand…”

The sunken, almost lifeless eyes of the receptionist flicked down to her iPhone and then back to her face.

“That email was sent two days ago. We don’t wait around for a response. If you wanted the job, you’d have shown up within the allotted timeframe.”

The even, condescending tone of the alabaster bitch sitting before her was about to bring the evil out of Raelynn.

“Are you being sarcastic? The date says March 25th. Today is March 25th—”

“I’m trying to be nice here. What would you rather me do? Go grab one of the big boys and have him tell you what I just told you?”

Emerald green eyes stared into Raelynn’s coffee brown orbs. The receptionist with a nameplate that reads: Monica Caudle, started packing her patchwork satchel, prepared to leave Raelynn standing there. The sound of dress shoes against polished, concrete floors echoed around her as her fingers covered in various silver rings twitched against the desk’s surface.

“You know your way out—AHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Somehow, Raelynn’s hand smacked against Monica’s Big Gulp cup and spilled the contents of a blue slurpie all over her white capris and black, pointed toe, ballet flats. Monica leaped up and almost tripped from the velocity of her sudden movements. The blue, icy-cold liquid drifted all over her desk, soaking very important documents and Monica’s AirPod Pro case.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Monica screeched, “I OUTTA SLAP THE FUCK OUT OF YOU—”

Whoops,” Raelynn twisted her full lips and gave a single shoulder shrug, “My hand just…has a mind of its own.”

“I’m calling security—”

“Call them, I don’t care. You deserved it. I’m sure you’ve gotten by so far in your miserable life being nasty and rude to people. Today is the day you feel how it feels to be treated poorly. And it doesn’t help the fact that you’re so ugly on the outside. It matches that rotten core of yours.”

Raelynn beamed at Monica. Monica stared at her with her mouth agape.

“Think about what I’ve said. Really think on it, Monica. I could have done worse,” Raelynn placed her large, black, Telfar bag over her shoulder, “Have a good rest of your day!”

Turning, Raelynn walked away, ready to get so far away from that building. She refused to allow herself to cry over it. Maybe it was a sign for the heavens above that this job wasn’t for her. She was still in college working towards a certificate in medical billing and coding. Other opportunities were on the horizon.

Raelynn had a temper, one she couldn’t control when in situations. Slowing down, breathing deeply, and taking a break before responding were methods she tried to use to reduce her anger. Practicing relaxation skills and developing new anger-management strategies may also help. She just started therapy, so it was an adjustment for her.

A black girl from Decatur, apart of the 14.57 percent of African Americans within the eastern suburb. Her foster parents had her attend the best schools, put her in many clubs from ballet to karate, and made sure she got a full ride to Spelman.

You may have heard the expression “children are resilient,” promoting the idea that children can overcome and conquer hardship and trauma. While it may be comforting to believe in the rhetoric of childhood resilience — that children are immune to adverse experiences and won’t be damaged by trauma — it’s far from the truth. Raelynn suffered heavily from PTSD. She was neglected by her biological parents and abused by her mother’s boyfriend at the age of seven.

The cigarette burn in the center of her chest was a reminder. The sensation of piping hot water against her skin brought back memories of sitting in a hot tub after receiving a beating, the whelps on her skin so painful she couldn’t stand the heat against her skin. Nights without a meal because she ‘disrespected her mother’s man’. Going to school at the age of nine with a black eye was enough to have her 4th grade teacher call CPS.

“Take her, I can’t afford her anyway. One less thing to be concerned with.”

George and Tonya Williams adopted her. George was a Veteran and Tonya was a pediatric nurse. They drove all the way from Decatur to take her back with them. George was a very disciplined man. Very straight and very structured. He was like a drill sergeant. Tonya was loving and often times smothered Raelynn. They built a picture–perfect daughter to their liking, and Raelynn felt she didn’t have a say in the matter. Although she was forever grateful of them, she wished they could understand.

Raelynn became rebellious. She skipped school, got suspended multiple times, fought often, and stayed out way past curfew. It was a cry for help that fell on deaf ears. Eventually, George started to regret adopting Raelynn. And just like her mother’s boyfriend, he hit her. Slapped her in the face. Slapped her while her foster mother watched. Thankfully, she was of age to leave them both behind and figure out what she was going to do.

She left Decatur and moved to Atlanta where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, got her license, made poor dating choices, and partied till she couldn’t party anymore. It did nothing but numb the pain. She tried reaching out to her biological father, but discovered he had passed from colon cancer a year prior. Her mother was no longer with that abusive man but she was living in South Carolina with extended family until she got back on her feet.

Before stepping off the curb and into the street, Raelynn stopped herself, realizing what she was about to do. Was she about to…walk into incoming traffic? She took two wide steps back and closed her eyes. That wasn’t the answer. Raelynn noticed a bench and took a seat. She sat her bag down next to her and retrieved a small note pad and a pen with purple ink. Raelynn removed the top to the pen with her teeth and started jotting down what had just happened.

After what felt like an hour, Raelynn stood from the bench and walked safely across the street to her parked car and climbed inside. The drive back to her shared apartment with her roommate took longer than usual, cars bumper to bumper. Raelynn opened the door to their two bedroom apartment and dropped her shoes off where she stood. Walking inside, she spotted her roommate, Ashley, an art major with the beauty of a pageant girl and the body of an IG model. Ashley was wearing a matching, pale–pink pajama set with her honey blonde knotless braids cascading down her back.

“Raelynn? Did you see the news?” Ashley glanced over her shoulder at Raelynn with light–brown eyes, “look…”

This is a worldwide emergency broadcast; a viral outbreak has been reported and is spreading quickly. The virus is a fast acting strain and is passed through bodily fluids from the infected. Once bitten or contaminated in any way, it attacks your bloodstream and brain. The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

Raelynn’s eyes were hooked to the screen. Ashley stood from the carpet and began ringing her shaky hands as fear rushed through her. Life was about to get interesting. So, a worldwide pandemic? Great. What else can go wrong? They were behind in rent, she couldn’t get another job after being fired from her job delivering packages from Amazon. With a pandemic, she’d have no way to pay bills and survive.

Call up George and Tonya. Move back home to Decatur, she thought.

“It’s probably one of those distractions, Ashley. Just like all of that Area 51 bullshit—”

“Shhhhh! Listen!”

Ashley turned the volume up on their wall—mounted flat screen.

The virus is fatal and there is no cure as we speak; we have reports coming in now that the infected that have passed are rising and attacking the non–infected. Please stay in your homes and do not get close to anyone sick, in severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain. Do not try to come to emergency services or hospitals and wait for more information…

“Rae…”

Ashley was starting to have a panic attack right before Raelynn’s eyes. The intense fear and anxiety she was experiencing made her dizzy. Ashley almost lost her balance and fell face first against the carpet. Raelynn dropped her bag and rushed over, slowly lowering Ashley to the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body, rubbing her back in soothing circles. Ashley’s hyperventilating began to slow down.

“Ash, it’s okay…it’s okay—”

“I need to call my mom and my sister! I need to know that they’re okay!” Ashley shouted hysterically.

“Ash, Ash, please, calm down—”

“NO!”

Ashley shoved Raelynn, causing her to fall back against the couch while she stormed off down the hall. Raelynn shot up from the couch and followed Ashley, angered by her rage against her when she was only trying to help. She stood within the doorway of Ashley’s bedroom and watched her pack an overnight bag with random pieces of clothing.

“So, you’re just going to go out there when they just said to stay indoors—”

“I need to be with my family, Raelynn. They’re all I’ve got left. I don’t expect you to understand that—”

“HOLD ON,” Raelynn charged inside of Ashley’s room, “I was only trying to help you! If they’re saying it isn’t safe to go out, then why would you?—”

Raelynn wasn’t prepared for what just happened. Ashley bent over in front of her and vomited all over her bedroom floor. Raelynn rocked back on her heels to avoid it from getting on her. The putrid smell of her stomach contents filled the cramped space and Raelynn couldn’t stand there any longer.

Ashley looked up at her with a sweaty face and spit hanging from her bottom lip. They locked eyes and the silence between them was almost chilling.

The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Raelynn questioned.

Ashley avoided Raelynn’s penetrating gaze.

“Ashley, how long?”

Ashley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rushed past Raelynn and into their shared bathroom to grab cleaning supplies. Raelynn watched her scrub and clean, the scent of bleach mixed with vomit toxic to her senses.

“Do you think you were infected—”

“Shut up right now, Raelynn.”

“I need to ask these questions! Because if you are…if you are…”

Raelynn disappeared down the hall to her room. Fuck what that news anchor said on television. If Ashley was indeed infected, she would attack Raelynn and do the exact same to her. She packed an even bigger bag, grabbing all the important things she needed before heading back to Decatur.

Speaking of Decatur.

Incoming call…

“Tonya?”

Raelynn glanced down the hallway, the sound of Ashley scrubbing catching her ear.

“Raelynn, honey, is everything alright? Did you hear what’s happening? Are you safe?”

“Uh…” she lowered her voice and cracked her door, “I don’t think so…my roommate is sick…she just threw up everywhere.”

“You need to come home. Get out of there fast. I rushed home from work because the hospital is in an uproar. The things I’ve witnessed…come home, Rae.”

“How does George feel about all this?”

“…George wants you home too. Leave now and let me know when you’re on the way. I love you. Please be careful, Raelynn.”

Beep.

Raelynn started to feel her own sense of trepidation. She continued packing, and when she finished, she opened her door, silence ahead of her.

“Ashley?”

Nothing. Just an eerie silence.

Raelynn hated the unknown. She hated not knowing what she was walking into. That hallway was her only chance of leaving that apartment. Mustering courage, Raelynn gathered her things and began walking the hallway. Before she approached Ashley’s door. She stopped, reaching inside of her Telfar bag, gripping the handle of her licensed gun. She made sure to bring it with her if what the news was saying was true.

In severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain.

Raelynn stepped in front of Ashley’s door and it was empty. She’d left. Raelynn exhaled, hoping that Ashley wasn’t infected. She was on her way to her mother and sister. If she’s infected, she would definitely do the same to them.

Not wasting anymore time, Raelynn left the apartment behind and as she exited the complex, her eyes moved back and forth, taking in the sight of people rushing and screaming and crying. She hadn’t been in her apartment for an hour and already there was mass hysteria. She jogged with her bags to her Honda Civic, popping the trunk and throwing her bags inside. Raelynn made sure to keep her eyes focused around her. She hopped in her car and slammed the door shut, thankful she was safe.

We’re gonna die!

It’s the apocalypse!

Those words stuck with her the entire ride to Decatur. She could only hope it wasn’t true. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she needed to be woken up from this growing nightmare.

——

3:00 pm

The town of Senoia

located 45 minutes south of Atlanta. It was established in 1860 , the land was purchased by a Reverend. Cotton and Peaches where the agricultural products shipped from this area. There are still plenty of farms, now they have lots of honey farms and other fruits. The town was named after a captain's wife from the civil war.

Terry walked into that town with a shotgun flung across his body and a crossbow in his hand. He wore his favorite jeans, a grey T-shirt beneath a flannel shirt, and a beanie on his head. His hazel eyes took in the appearance of the charming little town, small shops surrounding him. The sound of shuffling feet startled him so he ducked low behind an abandoned, faded blue sedan.

It was a small group of zombies.

Terry silently watched while fixing his crossbow to shoot. He steadied his breathing, something he’d learned to do over the months. No use in making it known that he was highly anxious. His eyes peeked through the dusty window at the zombies moving along with weak attempts to stay on two feet.

It’s crazy to think that these were once everyday people. Waking up, going to work, driving, laughing, making love…

They stumbled around, moaning and groaning.

Rauuuhhh…guhhhhhhhh…

Another method that allowed Terry to keep the zombies away from where he hunkered down was to bait them. He’d tie dead animals to a wooden board and hang them in various locations within the forest to keep his scent away. It worked, because if they caught a whiff of him, they’d go crazy. He had to do it every several days. A lot of work, but worth your life.

When they were far enough away, Terry remained low, his eyes casing the area like a hawk. Solid back against a brick wall, Terry retrieved his walkie talkie from his back pocket. He’d made it to the first landmark Rae told him about.

“When you find the history museum, radio me and I’ll tell you what to do from there. Good luck, Terry.”

He was still unsure about Rae.

“Why are you helping me?” Terry questioned her hours prior.

“Because…I know what’s it’s like…and we have to have each other’s back, right?”

He’d like to believe that. Terry refused to travel in a pack. He refused to trust anyone else besides his cousin. But, with Mike gone, he had no choice but to let his guard down just a little. Only a little this time. As soon as he finds Mike, he’s leaving everyone behind. Including Rae.

“Rae, this is Terry, come in.”

Terry moved further away until he was hiding beside a dumpster, crouched low.

“Rae, what’s your 20?”

He couldn’t stay here any longer. What the fuck was she doing? His head snapped to the right when he thought he’d heard something.

Terry whispered a low “fuck,” before jogging as quickly and quietly as he could across to the other side.

“Rae, come in, I’m too exposed. You got me open out here.”

“Terry, Terry, I’m here, sorry…”

“What the fuck was that?” Terry whispered aggressively into the walkie talkie.

“Signal strength down. I’m trying here, Terry. Are you at the landmark?”

“Yes, yes. Now, where to go from here?”

“Travel north. You’ll notice train tracks straight away. Stick close to the trees. When you reach a tunnel, I’m waiting inside for you.”

“Will you? I need your word, Rae.”

“I promise. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Terry moved. He hadn’t been in this position for at least two months. His well, structured game plan to remain hidden most of the time was being tested. It took Terry about twenty minutes to find the tracks. He stepped over carefully and did as Rae suggested: sticking to the trees. Ignoring the twigs and pointy greenery scraping his skin, Terry could see the tunnel straight ahead.

“Argh!”

Terry dropped to his knees when the back of a gun collided with his head. He dropped his crossbow and turned around on his hands to see who had attempted to knock him out. He was resilient. it would take a lot to put Terry Richmond down. Not even a taser could subdue him for long. He’d withstood a bullet to his back. His bright eyes stared up into the eyes of a wild—looking white man with overgrown facial hair and thin, oily, dirty blonde hair.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Terry wanted to kill this man with his bare hands. He was going to draw attention to them.

“Get that gun out my face.” Terry warned.

“I don’t recognize your face ‘round here. We don’t take kindly to outsiders in Woodsbury. You could be infected…”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. And you’re right, I’m not from around here. But I damn sure don’t owe you an explanation. After all, you don’t own this town.”

Click.

Terry acted quickly and charged the man into the bushes. They wrestled, rolling around in the dirt. Terry took his arm and pinned it back, causing the man with rancid breath to wail in agony. He wouldn’t keep still. Terry had to put him in a choking headlock with his bulging bicep.

He squeezed.

The man tapped his arm frantically.

“You wanna go to sleep? Drop the fuckin’ gun. Do it now, motherfucker.” Terry spoke through clenched teeth.

The man loosened his grip on the gun. Terry gave his throat one more painful squeeze to let him know he meant business before releasing him. Terry picked himself up from the ground while the man tried to catch his breath. He picked up the gun and placed it on his hip.

“This mine now.” Better move along before they come find you after making all that noise.”

Terry snatched up his crossbow and adjusted the shotgun around him as he walked, with one final look of pure hatred down at the man, he continued on his way and fast. Terry lifted his forearm and studied the bloody abrasion with fierce eyes.

He wanted to scream. He couldn’t afford to walk around with an open wound. If anything, that man he was fighting back there could be infected.

Terry took off running as fast as he could, darting between trees like a track runner. Up ahead, he came out onto the train tracks and sprinted into the dark tunnel. He slowed his footsteps and pressed his chest into the wall of the tunnel, exhausted breaths billowing from his mouth.

He didn’t have a second to gather himself before he had his crossbow aimed at the face of a woman.

Ebony skin a deep brown with a dewy appearance.

Heart shaped face with eyes coffee brown and a flared nose decorated with a hoop ring.

Lips full and lush.

Hair styled in thick, rope twists that reached her waist

She had her hands raised in surrender. Those entrancing eyes didn’t look away for a second.

Staring down the length of his crossbow, his eyes that appeared green drifted down her tiny frame. She was wearing a hoodie beneath a thick, utility jacket. Her lower half was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and her feet were covered with dirty high–top Vans.

His eyes locked with hers again, and he slowly lowered his weapon. She released a shaky breath, the sound settling his nerves. He held the crossbow to his side and parted his dry lips to speak.

“Rae?”

She nodded her head, her own eyes taking him in from head to toe.

“Terry…”

She reached behind her and Terry’s eyes followed cautiously. Raelynn held up a hand to calm him down.

“I’m just grabbing the walkie talkie,” She displayed Mike’s walkie talkie, holding it out for him to take, “Here…figured you’d want this back—”

“Show me the worksite where you found it. Maybe there’s a clue there that’ll lead me to Mike—”

“That’s not a good idea…”

Terry tilted his head down at her short body. Rae had to crane her neck to look at him.

“That’s my family, Rae. And we had a deal. Did you forget that?”

Rae’s eyes darted down to her feet. Terry released a sigh.

“Fuck it, just point me in the direction and I can be out your way.” Terry said with a frustrated voice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Terry. It’s just…there’s guys from this group that are pretty dangerous…they’ve been on the hunt for anyone that could be infected and they’re killing them on the spot.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Terry looked left and right before his intimidating eyes fell on her again, “I just took down one of those guys not too far from here. I ended up with this,” Terry raised his arm to show her, “And I’m not tryna stick around to get infected. Got something on you to wrap me up?”

“Yes,” Rae started walking backwards towards a door, “This way—”

“Stop.”

Rae paused.

“What’s down there?”

“Our refuge. You coming or not?”

Terry hesitated. He looked around him one last time before following Rae through a door, darkness the only thing he could make out ahead.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r@kanafunee @helloncrocs @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 3

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

⋆˚࿔ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

⋆˚࿔ Warnings : None

⋆˚࿔ WC : 975

⋆˚࿔ Previous Chapter : 2

⋆˚࿔ A/N : Hope you enjoy!!!

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Chapter 3: The First Date

Sunday arrived far too quickly for Y/N’s liking. She’d spent the better part of the morning pacing around her dorm room, second-guessing her outfit for what Minho had so helpfully dubbed their “first date.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Y/N muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. She’d settled on a simple yet cute outfit: a cream cardigan over a fitted tank top, high-waisted jeans, and white sneakers. It was casual enough not to scream “I’m trying too hard,” but still flattering enough to fit the fake girlfriend image.

Her roommate, Hana, raised an eyebrow from her bed. “You’re talking to yourself again. What’s the big deal? It’s just Minho.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s Minho! The most insufferable guy at KISS. And now I have to spend the entire afternoon pretending I don’t want to strangle him.”

Hana smirked. “You’ll survive. Besides, isn’t he, like, ridiculously hot?”

“Hotness doesn’t make up for his personality,” Y/N retorted, grabbing her bag. “Wish me luck. Or don’t. I’m doomed either way.”

Minho was already waiting for her at the park, leaning casually against a bench like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. He was wearing a black turtleneck, tailored jeans, and a designer jacket, his hair perfectly styled.

Y/N approached him with a sigh. “You’re overdressed. This isn’t a K-drama.”

“And you’re underdressed,” he shot back, smirking. “This is supposed to be a date, Y/N. Put some effort in.”

“I look fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Wow, your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” Minho said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

The two of them strolled through the park, trying to look like a couple while keeping as much distance between them as possible. Minho, apparently noticing the gap, grabbed her hand without warning.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed, yanking her hand back.

“People are watching,” he said simply, nodding toward a group of students from KISS sitting nearby. “You want them to believe us, right?”

Reluctantly, Y/N let him take her hand again. “This is the worst idea ever.”

Minho grinned. “You say that now, but by the end of the day, you’ll be thanking me.”

After walking for a while, Minho led her to an ice cream stand.

“I’ll take vanilla,” he told the vendor, then glanced at Y/N. “What about you?”

“Chocolate,” she said.

Minho paid for both, handing her the chocolate cone. “See? I’m a great fake boyfriend. Generous and thoughtful.”

“You’re literally just doing the bare minimum,” Y/N replied, taking a bite of her ice cream.

“Details,” he said with a shrug.

As they sat down on a nearby bench, a little girl walked up to them, staring at Minho with wide eyes.

“Are you a model?” she asked shyly.

Minho beamed. “Why, yes, I am.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”

“What?” Minho said defensively. “She asked!”

The girl giggled, then ran back to her parents, leaving Minho looking oddly pleased with himself.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“I’m just giving the people what they want,” he replied, flashing her a wink.

As they continued their “date,” Y/N couldn’t help but notice how many KISS students they kept running into. It was almost suspicious.

“Did you tell the entire school to hang out here today?” she asked as another group of students waved at them.

“Of course not,” Minho said innocently. “But if people happen to see us together, who am I to stop them?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming,” he corrected.

She ignored him, but when they passed Alex and his new girlfriend, her heart skipped a beat. Alex froze when he saw them, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked suspiciously like jealousy.

“Y/N?” Alex said, his tone laced with disbelief.

“Alex,” she replied coolly, tightening her grip on Minho’s hand.

Minho, ever the opportunist, pulled her closer, slipping an arm around her waist. “Hey, man,” he said casually. “You doing okay?”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Fine. You two are…together?”

“Yep,” Minho said, smirking. “Crazy, right? Guess we were meant to be.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, we should get going. See you around.”

As they walked away, she glanced back to see Alex watching them, his expression unreadable.

“You’re welcome,” Minho whispered, clearly pleased with himself.

“For what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For making your ex jealous, obviously,” he said. “Did you see his face? Priceless.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Y/N muttered, but she couldn’t deny that it felt oddly satisfying.

Later that evening, after their “date” was officially over, Y/N found herself sitting on the steps of her dorm, reflecting on the day.

To her surprise, Minho appeared, holding two cans of soda.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Thought you might want a drink,” he said, handing her a can.

She took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, sitting down beside her. “I’m just being nice. Shocking, I know.”

Y/N snorted. “You, nice? That’s a first.”

“Hey, I can be nice when I want to be,” he said, opening his can.

They sat in silence for a moment, the awkwardness of the day fading into something almost comfortable.

“Do you think this is actually going to work?” Y/N asked finally.

Minho glanced at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, I do. But only if we’re both all in.”

“All in,” she repeated, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

He smirked, his usual cockiness returning. “Just don’t fall for me, darling.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

But as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made a promise she couldn’t keep.

[redvdress]

Ahem katsuki taking care of you when your sick? 🫣

I’m so sick lately I need something to devour rn to survive (you don’t have to tho dw bb)

DUMBASS FLU PATROL

A/N: i’m SO SO SO SORRY this and all the other requests are taking so long but i’ve been running out of ideas and school took a lot of time from me. This prompt was just so fun to write ‘cause I can perfect picture bakugo taking care of reader..in his own way..I’ve been sick to after hanging out for halloween night, we all need a bakugo to take care of us🦇

It starts with Bakugo noticing something off about you during class.

He wouldn’t say anything right away, but he’s sharp enough to pick up on small changes. You’re quieter than usual, your eyes look a little glazed, and you keep rubbing your temples.

At first, he thinks you’re just tired from all the late-night study sessions you two have been pulling together, but when you keep sniffling and coughing under your breath, he starts to get annoyed.

Not at you—no, he’s irritated because you’re clearly sick and trying to tough it out, which to him is just stupid.

As class goes on, he watches you like a hawk out of the corner of his eye.

You’re shivering slightly, even though the room isn’t cold. Finally, during a brief break, he leans over, his usual scowl firmly in place as he mutters,

“Oi, what the hell’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Bakugo. Just a little under the weather.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, barely lowering his voice. A couple of classmates look over, but Bakugo doesn’t care.

“You’re sick, dumbass. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t want to fall behind.”

Bakugo grits his teeth, muttering curses under his breath.

The fact that you’d drag yourself to class, even when you’re clearly unwell, pisses him off more than he’d like to admit.

Part of him is frustrated that you’re so stubborn, but another part—the part he doesn’t like to acknowledge—feels a strange pang of concern.

After class, he’s practically glued to your side, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he escorts you out of the room. You insist you’re fine, that you just need some rest, but Bakugo’s having none of it.

“Shut up,” he growls when you try to brush him off. “You’re goin’ back to your room, and you’re not leavin’ until you’re better. Got it?”

You try to argue, but Bakugo’s glare is unyielding. His hand finds the small of your back, firm but surprisingly gentle as he steers you down the hall. He’s not usually one for soft gestures, but something about seeing you weak and vulnerable sets off an instinct he can’t ignore.

Once he gets you to your dorm room, he practically shoves you inside, crossing his arms as he stands in the doorway, blocking any chance of escape.

“Get in bed,” he orders, his voice rough but laced with an unmistakable note of concern.

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with him at this point.

You climb into bed, pulling the covers over yourself as he watches, his eyes sharp and critical, like he’s assessing just how sick you are.

After a moment, he grumbles, “You got medicine in here?”

You nod weakly, gesturing toward your desk where you have a small stash of over-the-counter meds.

Bakugo grabs them, inspecting each bottle with a furrowed brow, clearly reading the labels with more intensity than necessary.

He pours out the recommended dosage and hands it to you along with a glass of water, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant care.

“Take it” he says, watching closely as you down the pills. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his intensity, which only makes him scowl harder.

“Quit laughing, idiot. You’re the one who’s sick,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Bakugo doesn’t leave after that.

Instead, he grabs a chair from your desk, dragging it over to sit beside your bed, his arms crossed as he watches you. You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his persistence.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like I’m gonna leave you here to get worse just ‘cause you’re stubborn as hell. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

There’s a warmth in his tone, buried under layers of gruffness, but it’s there.

The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he’s considering a smile, but he quickly forces his expression back into a scowl.

You settle under the blankets, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

For the next few hours, Bakugo stays put, occasionally checking your temperature with the back of his hand (grumbling something about “damn germs” every time he does it) and making sure you’re drinking enough water. At one point, he disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bowl of soup he somehow got from the cafeteria.

It’s barely warm by the time he returns, but the gesture makes your chest feel warm.

“Eat” he commands, holding the bowl out to you.

You take it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bakugo.”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get used to it.”

As the day goes on, you start to drift in and out of sleep, your fever making you drowsy. Each time you wake, Bakugo is still there, watching over you with a mixture of irritation and quiet worry. At one point, you feel his hand gently brush your forehead, checking for any sign of improvement.

The touch is warm—maybe a bit too warm, given his quirk—and you find it oddly soothing.

Just as you’re dozing off again, you hear him mutter under his breath, “Stupid… makin’ me worry like this…”

It’s barely audible, but it makes your heart flutter.

You feel yourself drifting back into sleep, a faint smile on your lips as you listen to him grumble, his voice softening in a way you rarely hear.

When you wake up again, it’s late, the room bathed in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. Bakugo’s still there, now slouched in the chair, looking half-asleep himself. He’s fighting to stay awake, his arms crossed, head nodding forward slightly.

You feel a pang of guilt, realizing he’s been with you all day. “You should go rest..” you whisper, not wanting him to feel obligated to stay.

He snaps awake, scowling. “I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like crap.”

You can’t help but smile, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you simply reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. He stiffens for a moment, surprised by the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you… really,” you murmur, your voice soft.

He looks at you, and for a second, his expression softens, his usual harshness fading just slightly. He lets out a small sigh, leaning forward to gently press his hand against your forehead again, feeling your temperature one last time.

“Tch. You’re still warm,” he mutters, but there’s a tenderness in his tone that he can’t quite hide. Not with you.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself drift back into sleep, his presence comforting and grounding.

Just before you drift off completely, you feel his hand linger on your forehead, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. It’s such a small, unexpected gesture, but it speaks volumes—his way of showing he cares without saying a word.

As you fall asleep, you can just barely hear him mumbling under his breath, his tone low and almost affectionate.

“You better get better soon, idiot. Can’t have you fallin’ apart on me.”

[woniehugs]

The Touch of Extinction

—✧ summary: in a future plagued by a deadly virus, scientist Y/N is unexpectedly paired with the enigmatic government official, Lee Heeseung, as they work to save a fractured continent. What begins as a mission for survival transforms into an intense, forbidden connection, only to be shattered when Heeseung’s own secrets come to light. With danger lurking and time running out, the truth behind their mission and their connection unravels in ways neither could foresee. Will their shared sacrifice be enough to leave a lasting mark on the world they tried to save? This isn’t a love story, it’s a story about love.

—✧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem! reader

—✧ genre: dystopia, futuristic fiction, not really romance

—✧ warnings: mentions of blood and abuse (only brief), non-consensual sex, let me know if i missed anything!

—✧ word count: 4.3k

—✧ author’s note: putting this out here in the meantime because i’m not finished writing the next chapter for “operation: fuck sim jaeyun” yet. i wrote this for a school project, and no, i didn’t actually use y/n and heeseung’s names lmao. and also, this is actually inspired by the handmaid’s tail and manacled, so if you’re familiar of those, you’ll know.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

Who would’ve thought the future would end up like this? We could never have predicted that life would slowly cease to exist.

50 years ago, in the country of Netherlands, a group of young and intelligent scientists from BioCorp worked on experiments that focused on enhancing human genetics. After much hard work, they had made vast progress, thanks to the advancement of technology over the years and took a week-long break to celebrate Christmas. However, during a hazy night on the 24th of December, the night of Christmas Eve, one of the scientists had gone inside the laboratory that contained their equipment and supplies, completely out of their mind— drunk. The scientist had accidentally knocked one of the containers used in their experiments, breaking each flask containing what seemed to him as “mystery fluid” and spilling it all over the laboratory floor.

Knocked backed into consciousness realizing what he had spilt, he panicked, and tried to clean it up before it could contaminate the entire room, but because of the state he was in, the broken flasks and test fluids had caught onto his dazed and drunken state, causing the scientist to drop on the floor, unconscious. It took 12 hours until the whole building was contaminated due to the open vents, notifying security and the other scientists about the situation.

Luckily, the scientist woke up the next day, completely healthy and well, which was a surprise. Authorities had brought him to the hospital, along with his colleagues who waited for him to wake up. While the other scientists continued working on the experiments a week after Christmas, they were stopped by the news of another colleague’s sudden death in the comfort of their own home, exactly a month after the laboratory incident. Days after, the scientist’s own wife was laid to rest on her deathbed, a month after she had made contact with her husband who had gone home from the hospital. This prompted BioCorp into a mass crisis. Taking multiple hours of rigorous research, studying, and hypothesizing, the scientists discovered that the incident had caused a new infectious virus to erupt. …Infectious, how? With the knowledge of the deaths of the scientist and his wife, the scientists concluded that the virus was transmitted by skin-to-skin touch and that the virus’s effect didn’t accelerate despite how much one has touched another infected person.

By the time the scientists had made this horrible discovery, hundreds and thousands of people had died in the lower parts of Europe. The virus had spread rapidly, with no one knowing who had it or didn’t. There weren't any symptoms showing and one could only know they had caught the virus when they had taken their final breath. The moment the Dutch government was made aware of this tragedy, they took in scientists from BioCorp, while in the meantime, putting the whole country on lockdown to protect the people from the virus and could conjure a cure. They supplied the scientists with everything they needed for their research, but as they did so, many Europeans died at their expense, the number of deaths increasing with every single day that passed. Choked up by guilt, the scientists persevered, but even so, they still had little knowledge of what they could do to solve the pandemic they had caused, and some died never seeing the day they could fix this mess.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, the European population dropped to an all-time low. Due to the pandemic, the continent of Europe was divided into two: the Eastern and Western Parts. A boundary was placed, dividing the Netherlands, Germany, France, Italy, and more countries in the eastern part, from the entire western part of Europe. A military base was placed upfront on the boundary to prevent anyone from trespassing. This sent the Netherlands government into turmoil, as the situation had not been handled well years prior, affecting their neighboring countries, most especially their own population.

The division wasn’t enough to make anything but a benefit. Soon, the governments of each country worked together and came up with a repopulation effort, a program attempting to revive the dying population. Women, from the lower class, and the ones who are single will be assigned to men and will bear children for them. Whether the men have wives and children is out of the question, they will still have to participate in the program. They will be monitored frequently by authorities if they have done the job, if not, a punishment shall be done. The selected women were quarantined in a prison-like building, yet still being fed well. However, because of how many of them were trying to escape the hell they had to go through, having to bear children they didn’t want with men they didn’t even know, the government grew strict and eventually became a totalitarian regime. For all the women, it was hell on Earth.

Y/N L/N, the daughter of one of the scientists who took part in the failed experiment, and followed in the footsteps of her parents, happened to be a part of the selected women for the repopulation program. With your last name at the forefront of people’s minds, “the daughter of one of those evil scientists who caused this animosity”, you get assigned to one of the higher-ranking government officials in Europe.

On your first meeting, you had been dragged by the authorities, hair secured in a bun at the base of your neck, wrists manacled behind your back, lip busted, one of your cheeks bruised purple, and your face bloody fighting off the authorities. You wore a robe as white as snow, streaks of your blood painted the areas near your waist, a skirt spreading down to your feet, and long sleeves covering your entire arms.

Screaming at the top of your lungs to let you go, the authorities pushed you until you fell to the ground, your face first hitting the ground with a loud crack. You heard the door close behind you, clicking with a lock as you groaned in pain, tears falling down her face. As you slowly tried to stand up from the ground, you hear a chair creak, someone standing up from their seat. You look up, coming face to face with the man you had to endure. Lee Heeseung, the son of the prime minister of the Netherlands. He had an unreadable look on his face, his eyes dark as he examined you carefully, looking you up and down. Filled with disdain, you gathered enough saliva and spat at his feet, a drop of spit landing perfectly on his polished shoe.

Before you could get any more disrespectful, you were brought up to your feet, Heeseung’s hand gripping your forearm as you yelped in pain. Dragging you across the room, he turned you around and pushed your body down on his desk, pressing your manacled wrists behind your back with one hand. You struggled to get out of his grip, trying to kick him but to no avail. He was too strong, and so much taller than you. You feel tears prickle on the corners of your eyes, one side of your face scraping against the wood of the table.

With your eyes shut, Get this over and done with, you think to yourself, hope slowly leaving your body as you count down the seconds until he is done with you. Barely 5 minutes had passed until he stopped moving, and as swift as a fox, backed away from you. You felt your wrists free from the manacles, and planted your palms on the table, slowly guiding yourself to stand up and turn to face him, but before you could utter a word to him, he was gone. Uncontrollable tears fell from your face then. You felt pain, disgusted, and used. Your whole world had been reduced to a room where you’d be forced to do things you didn’t want to do, and that hurt you. You could do better things than this. But no. For now, you fall back down on the ground, your body sprawled out on the floor as sleep takes you in.

You wake up the next day on a bed and in a room you don’t recognize. This wasn’t where I was yesterday, you think to yourself. Looking to your left, you see a doctor scribbling on his notebook with medical equipment laid out on a small table on top of the bed. The doctor notices you, a sad smile on his face, “How are you feeling, dear? You passed out on the floor yesterday and Mr. Lee had to carry you to your bed.”

Confused, you shake your head, “After being forced to do things against my will? Yes, I believe I’m feeling a lot better.” The doctor lets out a sigh, letting you drink your medicine before leaving your room quietly. You take in your room. It was huge and filled with everything she needed to survive this hellhole. Keeping yourself busy, you took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and read. There was a long shelf of books at the side of the room, so you grabbed everything that caught your eye. You read, and read, and read until you couldn’t anymore.

Food was served by two maids during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When you asked if you could get out of your room, one of the maids answered that you needed to rest and could only get out the next day as said by their master. Rolling your eyes, you nodded your head, grabbed the dinner from their hands, and sat back on the bed. As you ate, you thought about how grateful you were that Heeseung hadn’t gone into your room and took advantage of you again. Peacefully, sleep takes you in once again when you finished eating.

The third day. “It’s not so bad here”, you think — yet. While you ate breakfast on your bed, the door opened. Your eyes looked up to see Heeseung close the door behind him. You feel your heart race, dropping the utensils on the plate. The sound catches Heeseung’s attention, quickly looking at you to see what’s wrong. He takes a few steps towards you but you raise a hand to stop him. “N-not yet.” you managed to speak out despite your voice and hands shaking. Heeseung shakes his hand, and continues his way toward you, “I’m not here for that. Not this early, at least.” Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you nod at him in relief, picking your utensils up to continue eating. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, hands trembling.

“I wanted to let you know that you can come out of your room now, anytime you want.” Heeseung starts, “However, I expect that you’ll be back here by 6 pm. I have duties I need to attend to later that night, so we’ll have to…” he clears his throat to get his point across, “...do it, before I leave. Is that okay?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. You’ll do it anyway.” you hear his breath catch at that.

“How frequently does this have to happen?”

“Once every two days.”

“What? Who do they think we are? Rabbits?” you try to joke but Heeseung’s face remains expressionless. “I have something to ask from you. It’s the least you can do for, erm… me.” You cringe at your words but proceeds nonetheless when Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “I need a laptop so I can research, and books and studies on anything that could help me on knowing more about this virus. I can’t not do anything here but bear your children, the thought disgusts me as it is.” you explain, your tone desperate. “That’s all I ask for. I’ll do anything you wish, just let me continue my research. Please.”

Heeseung nods his head, “Of course. I’ll provide you with everything you need.” you thank him. He hesitates for a bit before returning to the door, about to leave. Before he does, he looks back at you, “I apologize for how I acted before. I had just been made known about you that day, and I acted… out of remorse. I’m sorry.” you nod your head at his apology, “It’s quite alright. I acted irrationally too. I was scared.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Heeseung replies, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. “Let me know if you need any help with your research. I’ll see you tonight.” The door shuts close behind him, leaving you alone in your room. That night, Heeseung visits you in your room, only this time, he acts gently and — you let him. Your business was finished as quickly as it had started. When you fall asleep in his arms, he carefully positions you back on the bed, covering you with a blanket, and delicately pats your forehead. Once Heeseung is sure that you are deep into your slumber, he leaves.

You immediately rise from your bed to start your fourth day with some research. A stab of pain erupts from your abdomen, making you groan in pain. You slowly get up on your feet, to the chair in front of the desk placed on the right side of the room. The moment you sat, you noticed a stack of books placed neatly on the table and your very own laptop that you were sure you left behind at home. You smiled at the effort that Heeseung had put into making sure you had everything you needed. Shaking your head, you began as you took a bite of mango and chocolate toast specially made for you. Hours passed and you were able to read most of the information you had already known: about the incident years ago, the non-existent symptoms, the lockdown, your parents along with other scientists locked away and dead, and the division. Searching on the Internet, most of the articles you came across were more on people’s predictions and not based on scientific evidence. That was all you did that day. Research, read, study, and make your hypotheses. — Why aren’t there any symptoms? you think to yourself. It was the most bizarre thing you had known, it was a virus with no symptoms. No wonder everyone was dying around you because, to this day, no one had found the answer to that question.

“I see you’re still up.” A voice interrupts you from your reading, dropping your highlighter on the book she was reading about viruses. You had been so distracted you didn’t even hear Heeseung enter your room in the first place. “I can’t seem to figure this out on my own. I’ve been reading for hours.” you answer, rubbing your temples with the pads of your thumbs. Heeseung hums behind you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “What I’m about to tell you might help.” you turn your head to him, “I’ve been feeling some strange sensations. My head’s been feeling light since yesterday. I’ve taken some painkillers but it doesn’t seem to go away.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “A-are you implying you’ve caught the virus?” Heeseung shakes his head, “No, or wait, maybe a little. I’m not so sure honestly. But seriously, anyone could have caught the virus by now, even indoors. We’ve also already made skin-to-skin contact. Shouldn’t we not be surprised about that possibility?” You think carefully before answering him, “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right. Anything could happen.” But I don’t want any of us to die. A few moments pass before you clap your hands together, bringing Heeseung’s attention back to you, “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind, just in case, however, it doesn’t mean you have the virus.” you send him a look that makes Heeseung sigh, “Right, but I just thought I should tell you.”

“And you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me. I appreciate it, Heeseung. Really.” you assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Heeseung looks you dead in the eyes when you do, and you quickly put your hand away once you realize. “Right. It’s getting late. You should be going. I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” Heeseung didn’t end up leaving you that night, and it wasn’t entirely his choice. He stayed with you until you fell asleep on your desk, and he carried you once again over to her bed. Half-asleep, you manage to pull Heeseung towards you, whispering “Stay with me.” and Heeseung does, falling asleep next to you.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft breathing beside you. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing Heeseung was still in bed with you. The realization brought a mix of emotions—confusion, and fear, but also a strange comfort you hadn’t expected. You gently removed yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and moved to the desk where you had been working the night before. Your thoughts were swirling with everything Heeseung had revealed to you. His admission about the strange sensations he had been feeling gnawed at you. If he was indeed showing symptoms, this could be the breakthrough you had been desperately searching for—a lead that could explain the virus’s behavior. You needed to gather more data. If Heeseung truly was infected, how much time did he have left? How much time did you have left? If Heeseung was infected, then that would mean you were too. You both didn’t have much time left.

You pulled up a document on your laptop and began typing down everything you remembered from Heeseung’s account. You noted the onset of his symptoms, their progression, and any possible environmental factors that might have contributed to his condition. If you were going to make any progress, you needed to treat this as a case study—methodical, detached, and purely scientific. The hours slipped by, and when Heeseung finally stirred, you had already compiled a preliminary report. You turned to him as he sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. His expression was unreadable as he glanced at the clock, noting the late hour.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Heeseung frowned slightly as if considering the question. "A little better, I suppose. The lightheadedness hasn’t completely gone away, but it’s manageable. Why? Are you worried about me?"

You hesitated. "I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. If you’re showing symptoms,” You hesitate finishing your sentence, “...if I’m showing symptoms, it could be critical information for my research. But more importantly, I don’t want anything to happen to you."

Heeseung’s eyes widened at your words. "You think you’ve caught it too?” you nod your head, “It’s plausible since we’ve been together… for the past few days.” You cringe at your choice of words, “So it’s best that I entertain the possibility. If we both don’t have much time, we should stay here until we’ve figured this out. Together.”

His gaze softened, “I agree. I appreciate what you’re doing. I didn’t expect you to care so much, given the circumstances."

You shrugged your shoulders, "I may not have a choice in this situation, but that doesn’t mean I’m heartless. We’re both victims of a system neither of us controls." He looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

"The world has gone mad, hasn’t it? People reduced to numbers, in a repopulation program, and those responsible for the mess are either dead or hiding behind closed doors." You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "We’re trying to survive in a world we barely recognize anymore. But if there’s even a chance that what we’re experiencing could lead to a solution, we have to pursue it." Heeseung nodded slowly. "Then let’s work together on this. If we’re both infected, we need to know how it’s progressing and what we can do to stop it … if anything."

Over the next few days, you and Heeseung settled into a strange routine. During the day, you focused on your research, cataloging Heeseung’s symptoms with clinical precision, while also poring over your parents’ old notes and the limited data available on the virus. Heeseung made sure you had everything you needed, from medical supplies to access to secure networks that could aid your research. At night, you did what you had to. The only difference is that afterward, the two of you shared a bed, a tenuous bond formed out of necessity, and a growing, unspoken understanding.

Heeseung continues to visit you daily, and with every visit, you sense that he is hiding something. There’s a restlessness in his eyes, a kind of weight that he carries with him each time he steps into your room. One night, as he sits at the edge of the bed, a quiet question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you doing this, Heeseung? Why did you bring me all these things when you could have just kept me locked away like the others?”

He looks at you, a flicker of something like regret in his gaze. “Because, Y/N… I owe it to you. I owe it to everyone who’s been affected by this virus. My father and his colleagues may have failed, but I… I won’t. If there’s any chance you could help find a cure… I’ll give you everything you need.”

His words stir something deep inside you. You can’t decide whether it’s hope, resentment, or both. You’re still unsure whether to trust him, but as days turn into weeks, you notice a subtle shift in the way you interact. There’s a tension that lingers between you, unspoken but palpable—a tension that is not entirely borne of fear or obligation.

As time goes on, you and Heeseung start to talk more. He tells you about his childhood, about his strained relationship with his father, about the weight of expectations that had always loomed over him. It’s not much, but it’s enough to remind you that, like you, he’s just a person caught up in the chaos of a world turned upside down.

One evening, as you sit together in silence, you find yourself blurting out, “What if this virus can’t be stopped? What if we’re all just… delaying the inevitable?”

He meets your eyes, his voice soft. “Then we fight it anyway. Because that’s all we can do, Y/N. We fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

You don’t respond, but his words echo in your mind long after he’s left the room.

The next evening, as you sat together, you noticed a slight tremor in Heeseung’s hand as he passed you a cup of tea. Your heart sank, but you kept your expression neutral. "Heeseung," you said softly, "Have you felt any other changes? Anything new?" He shook his head, setting the cup down with more care than usual. "Just the tremor. It started yesterday, but it’s not too bad. I can still control it for the most part." You bit her lip, your mind racing. "We need to accelerate our research. If the virus is progressing, we’re running out of time." Heeseung nodded, his expression grim. "I’m with you, Y/N. Whatever it takes."

Weeks pass, and the once suffocating atmosphere of your confinement begins to change. The tension between you and Heeseung continues to grow, evolving into something more complex. Conversations that once revolved around the virus and research now include moments of shared silence, subtle glances, and small admissions. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, as if the mere act of surviving together has created a fragile bond. You can sense that he’s struggling with something more than just the weight of the world outside—something personal that he hasn’t yet shared.

Days after, the usual routine is disrupted when Heeseung arrives later than usual, his expression troubled and distant. You notice his hands shaking as he sets down a tray of food. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he steps closer, his voice low and strained.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Y/N. It’s… it’s about the virus.”

Your pulse quickens as you watch him take a seat across from you, his head bowed as if weighed down by a burden he can no longer carry alone.

“My father wasn’t just one of the researchers involved,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “He was one of the first to become infected. They kept it a secret, covered it up because of his position, and… they used him as a test subject for the early trials of the cure.”

The revelation hits you like a cold wave, leaving you speechless. The pieces begin to fall into place—the rushed experiments, the hidden agendas, the urgency in Heeseung’s actions. You feel a pang of anger for being kept in the dark, but it’s quickly swallowed by an unexpected sense of empathy. Heeseung’s determination to find a cure isn’t just about the greater good; it’s personal.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and understanding.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his gaze finally meeting yours. “And… I didn’t want you to think that I was using you for the same reasons they used him.”

For a moment, the room is silent. You look at Heeseung, seeing the torment in his eyes and recognizing a kind of vulnerability that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before. It’s as though, in sharing his secret, he’s offered you a glimpse of the person he is beyond the government official, beyond the virus. And perhaps, you realize, it’s the same for you. This whole time, you’ve been hiding behind the walls you built around yourself to survive, afraid to let him see the parts of you that long for connection in this cold, fragmented world.

“You could have told me,” you say softly. “I would have understood.”

Heeseung gives a faint, bitter smile. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to understand, or if you would see me as just another monster.”

Before you can respond, a wave of emotion sweeps over you, and without thinking, you reach out and touch his hand. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to break down whatever was left of the barrier between you. His fingers curl around yours hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure if he should accept the comfort you’re offering, but then his grip tightens, and you realize just how much he needed it.

The days that follow are marked by an unspoken shift in your dynamic. The tension that once existed has transformed into a closeness that you’re both wary to acknowledge, and yet neither of you can deny. When he’s with you, the air feels warmer, the silence less suffocating. But in the back of your mind, you know this fragile connection is built upon the uncertainty of a world ravaged by disease—a world that could take everything away in a heartbeat.

It’s in this closeness that you begin to notice Heeseung showing signs of fatigue. He tries to hide it, but you see the subtle winces, the way his hand trembles when he thinks you’re not looking. The truth becomes impossible to ignore when, one night, he collapses in front of you, a fever burning through his skin.

“Heeseung!” you cry, rushing to his side. As you help him to the bed, the realization hits you with a brutal clarity—he’s infected.

The weight of the situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you’ve come to understand, every unspoken moment between you, is now overshadowed by the one thing you feared most. Heeseung is dying, and you don’t know if there’s any way to save him.

The next few weeks were a blur of research, testing, and increasingly frequent moments of quiet despair. You were relentless, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion as you combed through every piece of data you could find. You reached out to the few remaining scientists who had survived the initial outbreak, sharing your findings and seeking their input. But the virus remained an enigma, its origin rooted in the nightmarish accident that had taken place decades ago. The more you learned, the more you realized how little you knew, and how close you all were to the edge.

As Heeseung’s condition worsened, you felt a growing sense of urgency. The lightheadedness had evolved into dizziness, the tremors into violent shakes that left him bedridden for hours. You continued to document everything, but your fear for him, something you had tried to keep at bay—began to overshadow your scientific detachment.

Then, one night, as Heeseung lay in bed, his breathing labored and his skin pale, he reached for your hand. You took it, feeling the tremor in his grip, and held on tightly.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don’t be," you replied, your throat tight with unshed tears. "We’re doing everything we can."

He managed a weak smile. "I know. But if this is it...if this is the end...I want you to know that I don’t regret these last few weeks. I’m glad we met, even if it was under these circumstances."

You swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his forehead, your tears finally spilling over, with Heeseung sharing an embrace.

"I’ll keep fighting," you promised. "For you, and everyone else. I won’t let this be in vain."

Heeseung closed his eyes, his hand tightening briefly around hers. "I know you will."

In the early hours of the morning, Lee Heeseung took his final breath. You stayed by his side, holding his hand until it grew cold. When the sun rose, you gently released him and began writing down the final stages of his symptoms, your tears blurring the words on the page.

Two days later, your symptoms began to manifest. You felt the same lightheadedness Heeseung had described, followed by the tremors. But you didn’t stop working. Every moment you had left was dedicated to your research, to the hope that your final notes might contain the key to stopping the virus.

When the end came for you, it was peaceful. You had finished your last entry, detailing the progression of the virus within yourself, and had left instructions for the remaining scientists on where to find your work. You lay down on the bed you had shared with Heeseung and closed your eyes, a sense of calm washing over you.

Your body was discovered a day later by the authorities, just as Heeseung’s had been. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the laptop that still displayed your final research notes.

On the desk, beside the neatly stacked books and papers, laid a single handwritten note:

"To whoever finds this, remember us not just for what we did, but for what we tried to do. The virus may have taken our lives, but it will not take our legacy. The answers are here. Please, finish what we started.”

Signed,

Y/N L/N

And with that, Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung’s story came to an end, but their fight continued on in the hands of those who followed.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

©2024 ©woniehugs

[nobookclub-eh]

JIGSAW FALLING INTO PLACE || TRAVIS MARTINEZ

NOT MY GIF!!

inspired by jigsaw falling into place by radiohead

rec creds - @district2222 (i’m so sorry if you don’t like it, i tried my best, i just didn’t know the song that well!)

warnings- cursing, shrooms, and maybe cursing

summary- travis and reader talk about one night they had together while on shrooms before the cabin burned down

-your pov-

My eyes darted back and forth as I laid alone on the wilderness floor. This has been a daily occurrence for me, take some shrooms and just lay there. Anything I can do, since I had run out of alcohol months ago, to cope with everything out here.

Shauna was my best friend but I don’t recognize her anymore. I’ve tried and tried to be there for her but she’s turned cold and almost malicious. Travis had been a big help for getting me through this awful time of my life. I mean surviving a plane crash and being stuck here in the wilderness for almost a year now hasn’t been easy.

Travis doesn’t really talk to me anymore since that one night, that one night that changed everything. I miss him. But he’s been hanging out with Lottie more and more and it kills me.

I was taken out of my thoughts when I heard a twig snap. My head quickly turned in the direction of the noise. My eyes widened. It was Travis. He gave me a weak smile before plopping down next to me. “Oh so now you wanna talk?” I scoffed, sitting up, brushing all the leaves out of my hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking into my eyes. His pupils were dilated and I can tell he’s taken shrooms as well.

“Well now’s a better time then ever to talk, I guess,” I shrugged, motioning towards his eyes.

He blinked a few times, thinking that would help somehow, “Before you run away from me, I wanted to talk about that night.” 

“What is there to talk about?” I raised an eyebrow, “You fucked me and then never talk to me again, Travis. So there is nothing to explain.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled once again, looking down in shame and guilt.

“I’ve tried and tried to be there for you but you wouldn’t let me.” I sighed, “I don’t care if you don’t feel that way about me, I know you don’t. But I want to be in your life.”

I closed my eyes and suddenly I could see that night. We had been out looking for Javi, but it was getting dark and we were headed back for the cabin. Travis and I had reached where the plane crashed and I smiled, reaching in my pocket pulling out the last bit of alcohol I had.

“We should get back,” he said with a small chuckle. “What about the others?”

“We’ll be back soon, let’s just have some fun.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the plane.

But suddenly, I couldn’t remember the night correctly. The walls were bending shape and everything blurred into one.

I opened my eyes and I was in the present again, Travis just staring at me intensely. “I can’t remember.” I sighed.

“You don’t want to remember,” he whispered, grabbing my hand gently. “This place is on a mission, Y/n, and you want no part in it.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“The time I’ve been spending with Lottie… it’s dark, it’s a very dark place.” He stuttered, figuring out what he was trying to say, “With Javi… I’m just trying to wish away the nightmare.”

“All I want is to help you,” I scooted closer to him, our sides touching at this point, “Let me help you. As your bad day disappears, I’ll be here, Travis. I’ll always be here.”

“You can’t,” he sighed, dropping my hand and scooted away from me. “That night, the one in the plane… I never really got there, I just pretended that I had.”

My heart dropped to my stomach and I could already feel the tears threatening to fall, “What are you saying?”

“I don’t feel that way about you. I never did,” he looked at the trees, completely avoiding eye contact. “I did a shitty thing that night, I knew you’ve always liked me and I used that.”

I shook my head as I processed his brutal words. I thought back to the times at school as we’d eye each other as we crossed paths in the hallways.

I would look back and he would look back, not just once, not just twice… and he’s telling me he never felt the same?

“You used me?” My voice cracked as tears fell down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said, finally looking into my tearful eyes again. “I never meant to hurt you and I know it was shitty of me.”

To me, Travis had always felt like a missing piece of a puzzle in my life, he was like a jigsaw falling into place, but to him, I was just a quick fuck.

I sniffled wiping tears from my face, “After everything? You used me after I told you everything about Shauna? Travis, I understand you lost your brother but that gives you no right to treat me that way.”

“I know and I’m sorry.” He repeated but I didn’t want to hear anymore. I stood up, pulling myself together and looked at him one last time, “I wish I never met you.” With that I walked away leaving him alone with the tress.

[septembersharvest]

Not so Ill-fated | Viltrum! Mark Grayson x Atom Eve!Reader Chapter 1: Reflections

WARNINGS: Temporary Angst, Major Character death, light Gore Description, Minor OOC

You and Mark had been together for nearly 30 years in this universe. The duration of your relationship has been tested by the universe countless times. What happens when your happy ending gets destroyed? How far are you willing to go to undo the past and survive the present? The reader is in Eve’s shoes in this AU, Same powers, Back story, etc.

Prologue

Author's Note: HIII , Sorry Chapter 1 took so long I'm writing a few fics at the moment that I'm super excited to share. Thank you to those who read the prologue, and hello to you if you're here for the next part, ENJOY

~ S

So here you are.. Home far from.. 'Home'

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before you regained the memories of your past life. It didn't take long for you to accept your new life. Everything was the same except for him. In your previous life, you were a hero. You were Atom Eve. Of course, you still had your power but lived out of place. Only you knew you didn't belong here. Honestly, this was never meant to be home, just a hideaway from it. How much longer would you be tortured by the past that didn't happen? How could you withstand this devastating loss? When would you close your eyes without being spooked by the ghost of Mark? You found yourself cursing your previous habit of staring at him. Your powers could manifest anything you could imagine, yet how could he have existed right before you, in all his glory, and remain in your mind so vividly? 

Part of you regrets never asking the name of your savior; you were forever indebted to the heavenly wish. Part of you just wished you never existed, but you had fought for a place your entire life; it would have been incredibly disrespectful to give up the life your mother sacrificed for you. Only in this world were you raised as a foster child who concealed your powers away, only ever using them for necessity when adults failed you yet again, even in this life. This time, the odds were on your side. Out of sight. Stuck in your mind

Until you got to high school, at least, and you saw him. It wasn't as intense as the first contact you made with him, despite that, you did your best to avoid the Mark of this world, the only one where he was ‘good’. You hated, that's what this was. It only made you miss your Mark more. Your Mark had a lot of work to do on himself, which he managed to accomplish. You watched him experience experiences only given in nightmares. Your Mark overcame every obstacle thrown at him. But this wasn't your mark. It never would be. 

You could say this was a blessing in disguise; his smile was still a part of your life. The russet pools you used to drown in were filled with a warmth here. Your mark had dark, unreadable eyes to others, but they were your favorite feature on his face. They never looked that way to you, just mysterious and deep in thought. 

  Occasionally, you'd walk past him in the hall and hear a familiar laugh. Every muscle in your body froze, but you had to keep walking. It reminded you of the first time you listened to his laugh. 

“Y/N… If you want to have the slightest chance of fighting Thragg, you will have to hit me harder than that.” Training was his favorite pastime, especially when it was leading up to a significant battle. Even when he fought his other half, he went easy on you, never letting you think you were winning; it was playful nonetheless.  “Are you sure. Like absolutely positively sure, I mean you remember when I “sparred”  with Conquest even though I lost, he still has the scars–”  “I’m not Conquest. Now I'm requesting- Ordering you to hit me with your strongest,” He sternly demanded you give him your all. You didn't want to harm your boyfriend at the time, so it started with quick punches. Mark found it cute how careful you were being. This didn't last long before you charged him with everything you had, and these efforts were all for nothing. You lead with a sucker punch but some how ended up doing a sloppy summer sault into a metal beam  Why was the metal on Viltrum harder than it was on Earth?  You landed face first upside down, which was incredibly painful to watch, but certainly worse feeling it. Imagine you turn around to see your boyfriend's back turned to you Snickering?  Mark Grayson, the terrifying, infamous emperor-in-training of the Viltrum Empire, is holding in his laughs at the expense of your pain. For some reason, you barely felt the pain of the gushing gash on your forearm. There he was laughing. The entire time you had known him, he barely curved his lips in a smile, let alone laugh. For a while, you presumed he was simply incapable of it. That burst of laughter stunned you. How could someone remain so handsome at all times?  He fully turned to you, revealing a slightly flushed face and claiming this newfound laughter. You both froze briefly until you quickly approached him and eagerly cupped his face. The two of you weren’t too big on PDA yet, especially when you officially moved to his planet. At any moment, his emotions would freeze over again. You must take this in, consume every drop of the gift the gods bestowed upon you, and study the new emotions you just unlocked. A mental depiction of his face was now forever ingrained in your mind.  “ I wish you smiled more. “ “I wish you'd get off me.”  “Do you?”  “..” “That's what I thought.” 

Back to reality, Y/N, that technically never happened. 

Unfortunately, the world around you was in motion, while you were stuck in the past, which never really happened. It’s difficult to refrain from smiling at yourself when you encounter this Mark. This was a habit you successfully overcame. You grew fond of his brief company. Not that you were longing to reach out and nest yourself in the arms you once claimed. As lovely as that would be, this was enough.  With no idea what your mark was doing, the least you could do was enjoy this one. Of course, you’d have to be careful; you had to avoid the you of this dimension. The looks you gave him would raise the suspicion of any girlfriend. 

But seeing their relationship develop stung. That used to be you and Mark. Well, not exactly, but close enough to lose yourself, ruminating in the corner of their world. You weren't proud to admit it, but you watched their love blossom and silently rooted for them, exactly how you wished someone had done for you. When Mark had brought you to his home plane,t many assumed a weak human such as yourself would have trouble finding your way, but little did they know you were used to the displacement and 

You had Mark.

Dwelling in the past wasn't a preferable pastime, but nostalgia was all you had left. No pictures, not a single keepsake had remained. You vividly recalled the memories slipping away around you. Imagine watching your house burn, but you set the fire, and now you have to watch the flames consume it all on the lawn. The embers of all you held dear hissing against your face. The smoke surrounded you. Mocking your inability to accept its arrival. You did this; you're the one to blame. Who could you call? Even if you had the air to yell, you’d cry; you'd rather cry. The depths of your soul knew no one was fit to assist you. No one could rebuild scorched debris. The help isn't coming, the sirens aren't approaching . This was your trial. The crackle of flames sung the melody of the damned, the fames dancing bright and bold. Cold air cradled you from behind, like he used to do. 

You sat in a class you had already forgotten the name of and drew flowers in the margin of the thin white sheet. One good thing about living life a second time round was knowing every little god damn thing. But it certainly took the element of surprise out of your life. Your pace in life had slowed down, and you were given the chance to enjoy Earth again. You left the planet after almost being imprisoned, mind you, for simply entertaining the idea of Viltrumite coexisting on Earth. This was even before you fell in love with Mark and the concept of a future with him. 

He could have left you; He should have left you stranded without the support you craved your entire life. But when Mark saw you look at him with that soft, pleading look, he couldn't resist; he nearly threw a silent tantrum in the moment of scooping your battered body into the arms you grew to love. 

‘Ridiculous’, was all Mark could think of when he looked at you. An inconvenience, a weakness, a blemish in his tough exterior. He likes to think of you as the siren who called him to sea, not to sink but to adorn. Part of him hated it, but that hatred transformed into something else. 

The ridiculousness turned to tolerable, and then to adoration. Watching him fall in love with you was art in itself. Looking back on your life, people took on the challenge of standing with you as if it were an unavoidable part of the territory. But Mark? He knew all too well what it like and that alone formed a bond. 

Here you were commonly lost in what once was.  A sigh passed your lips in the mist of end-of-class chaos, dispersing at the sound of the bell, and with that, the room was emptied. You wished you hadn't turned to your left to glance out the window. You were immediately met with a visibly pissed Eve. Great. 

“Hey–” 

“Can we talk. “ 

“ About? “

“Who are you, for starters?” Eve locked eyes with you with a fitted brow, and you started sweating. It’s not as if she had to guess who you were right away; you look vaguely different, but the same. Maybe it would help if you shared this secret with yourself. It’s been a dull 18 more years. Her, of all people, catching on was inevitable. In this life, you look painfully like your shared mother. 

“Maybe it is time we talk.” You gently grabbed her wrist and led her to a secluded spot on the school grounds, then told her. Everything. About who you were, your Mark, and what you did. The range of emotions on her face was just like yours. You both used your eyebrows a lot when you spoke. She teared up when you did, chimed in on things you equally agreed were moronic. 

“ So, you're from another place and you're here because of the devastation of losing your mark, which made you want to erase your entire self in your universe.” 

“ Yup.” 

“ Sort of insane but valid in a twisted way. I have many questions, but the main thing I'm curious about is, What is your Mark doing now?” Which is a good fucking question you wish you had an answer to, Part of you want to could look into that but you evade your curiosity to avoid the reality of what the now possible is. 

“ I- Have no clue, and part of me desperately wants to peek through a window and just see him there, but the majority thinks it's for the best we don't co-exist. I’m back to feeling out of place all over again.” Unable to finish your answer while maintaining eye contact. To think you were attempting to be normal during this was absurd. You felt the subtle movement of her arm as it extended around you and pulled you closer. That familiar pressure built in your chest, and you couldn't see anymore. All that built-up, sworn-to-secrecy silence was released in a matter of seconds. You were entirely in her arms, quietly weeping like a child. 

The tears went on for quite a while; Eve had never seen anyone cry that hard, which was ironic because it was you. You slowly pulled yourself away and noticed the stains you left on her stripped shirt. She caught on to this and chuckled softly, drying the garment right when you raised your hand to do so. This caused a chain of laughs to bounce off one another. You wiped away your tears and adjusted your seat near her, leaning on her shoulder and enjoying her company. 

“ You know the worst part about all this? “ She hummed in response to avoid interruption. 

“ I’m starting to forget what we had. I find myself running blank when I try to recall all our moments. I started to write them down, but even with my powers, my memories are fading.” Surprisingly, you didn't start crying again. This was defeating you and eating you whole. These. These spots in your memories took away your precious keepsake. 

Being without him was agonizing, but this meant the time you spent with him was slipping away. Soon, that name of his will become a faint echo in the back of your mind, and the emotion it evokes will inevitably be foreign to your consciousness, unaware of what he meant. Plagued with his absences. 

Eve could feel the uneasiness in your movements. Your mood was shifting between different shades of sadness. The years of contemplating your circumstances were just hues of the blue brought out of you. It couldn’t be helped. Part of her wondered if this would be a similar fate for her and Mark, as if the journey had been easy so far. All she could do was listen and offer her support. There’s only so much an alternative version of you can do to aid in your anguish.

“Would it be a big deal if you were to hang out with my friends and…Mark? Does that go against a cosmic rule or something?” you lightly laugh and lean back on the patch of grass, to which you both found refuge in resting on your elbows, attempting to find the words. 

“I think this entire conversation has to break some kind of cosmic rule. If it were so bad, we would have been smited already.” You shared another laugh and continued to lead the conversation to something less devastating. The two of you compared lives and the little quirks your boys shared or differed. This made you realize how much you missed him more, but this was the first time you felt melancholy. You didn’t know how much you needed to speak about him, joy intertwined in the sadness. 

“Thank you, Sam…” she smiled at your gratitude, placing a hand over your to reinforce her presence. 

“There’s no need for thank you, in a way, I’m giving myself a favor.” This version of you was incredibly corny, yet endearing. She has that light in her that you lost some time ago. It was refreshing to be reminded of the person you used to be, or maybe even the person you could become. 

“To give you an answer, I don’t think I could face your mark. They are the same person physically, but that’s not him. I don’t know how I’d react; I’d probably just stop functioning in real time and give him the wrong idea, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize for something like that, honestly, give yourself a break. Baby steps,” You wish you’d reached out to her in the past. Growing up again gave you time to snoop on the people you knew in your previous life, William, Amber, and yourself? Or Eve…Debbie even. Sure, you spoke to Debbie, but she was able to escape after she refused to submit to Viltrum's rule. Unfortunately, your mother-in-law burned with the rest of the planet, as for the other three, you snooped. It was cute seeing your friends as children since. These are things teens don’t usually talk about, so seeing their past lives. You stopped those missions after you snuck to see 

Mark.

Young Mark, with his toothless grin, looked exactly like your son. As morbid as it is, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about your children, given the last sight of them. On the bright side, babies still make you insanely happy. You’ll pass them by and coo at them, watching them babble and giggle. In a way, this means your babies never suffered. Babies, you could barely remember their names, and their features in your mind were the first to deplete. You were able to draw a miniature portrait of yourself with the best of your ability. You, your son, your daughter, and of course their father. You carry them around in your wallet like an old man. Even if you were forgetting, reminders were helpful..

Part of you wanted to show Eve your family, but you were worried it would affect her timeline, so you tried to keep the story-sharing to words only. 

So you plan to make an attempt to move on, try your best, you could forget while enjoying the thought of what had been, as you tried to look forward to the possible now.

[millysastroblog]

⚡️Solar return chart 2022⚡️

Hello I’m am back with SR Chart observation as I promised from 2022, these are just personal observations and experiences if you haven’t experienced any sorts of things that’s complete fine. These are not facts neither predictions so don’t panic and think that the same situation will manifest for you. Alright ??? 😉

yeah let’s just get into it ! 🫶🏽

⚡️Cancer Rising:

This placement literally made me emotionally expressive and MOODY more than ever. From the start of that year i stayed at home for literally 3- 4 months after I dropped out of school. I very much enjoyed being at home with my family, cooking, cleaning doing domestic stuff . It was very interesting how the people in my environment started being very supportive and protective over my well-being like those of a little child. I definitely expressed my emotions openly : like randomly crying , huge outburst of laughter , or simply smiling a lot. I felt more caring and nurturing towards others . Thought about moving out surfaced a lot. Cancer is a very comforting energy but since it’s ruled by the moon there a lot of drastic unstable changes that could occur in once live.

⚡️Moon , North Node in the 12th house:

This placement brought a profound sense of isolation and introspection. I found myself naturally drawn to solitude, spending hours meditating, practicing yoga, or simply enjoying peaceful moments in nature. It felt like a spiritual awakening—connecting deeply with my intuition and exploring dreams that often felt like messages from a higher source. Meditation and Manifestation became a daily practice. While these moments of stillness were empowering, they also highlighted an inner restlessness and a desire to understand my true purpose. This phase was about healing, embracing the unknown, and surrendering to the flow of life.

⚡️Sun, Neptune, Jupiter in the 10th house:

Career and life path became the central focus during this time. I found myself dreaming bigger, envisioning a life where my efforts and aspirations aligned perfectly. I applied to different companies and got a new good job, I was in my hustling and bag area it was pretty good and productive year. I started thinking about the impact I wanted to have in the world like how I wanted to be perceived and what achievements I wanted to be known for. It was all about refining my goals, building a stronger work ethic, and setting the stage for future success.

⚡️SR Rising in natal 3rd house:

Communication became a major theme since I had went to a lot of interviews, had to reintroduce myself to different people which pushed me out of my comfort zone. Also writing job applications, or reconnecting with siblings, it felt like the universe was nudging me to refine my voice and share my thoughts more clearly. Short-distance travels were frequent, giving me a sense of curiosity.

⚡️Venus, Mars, Pluto in the 8th house:

Now these placements fucked meee upppp and I really mean they fucked my life up and turned it to 180

With Pluto being in my 8th house, the intensity of this year was amplified 10x. The 8th house rules transformation, trauma, money, intimacy, and taboo topics, so this energy hit hard. At the start, I was determined to open a bank and savings account, but it took forever with endless complications. I became obsessed with earning money—whether through my own efforts or others' help. Mars pushed me to focus on loans, investments, and financial security, while Venus amplified my desire for deep, soul-bonding relationships, intimacy, and, let’s be real... a lot of … Pluto, however, had other plans, flipping my world upside down. It made me face every fear and trauma regarding death, losing loved ones, intimacy, change, love, and even illness. I got sick for six months straight, lost friends, stability, and other things. It led to a mild depression, but in true 8th house fashion, I rose stronger. Now, I feel like Wonder Woman nothing and no one can shake me. I survived the storm, and that’s power. 💪🔥

⚡️Saturn in the 9th house:

Soo with this Saturn placement your girl has been hustling for good grades in school to not fail for the year. like since then I hated going to school bc it very stressful, and bad for my well-being , like I was always tense and stressed bc of school, in our normal societal living that is very much expected from us but honestly I just wasn’t having it. And even when i changed to another school it was the same shit like the environment and people were very cold ,strict and depressing I honestly didn’t had a nice time at school but at least I was motivated to study and learn as much as I can but at the end I decided to rather drop out because it was fucking with mental health. Also traveling long as hours for work and school purposes drove me crazy, that’s an area where I have been very disciplined at but It definitely took patience and determination to get there ;) .

⚡️Uranus, Chiron in the 11th house:

Guese who tf lost all their friends suddenly ??? And had a hard time fitting in new social groups because they felt different from everyone else:

🙋🏽‍♀️

(but no for real the energy is 10x intensified bc I have it natally additionaly Saturn is transiting my natal 11th house so yeah 🙁) not only did I loose most of friends but when engaging with different kinds of social groups I felt so uncomfortable and weird, like I had a very detached feeling. I hated to even be surrounded by groups of ppl that don’t hold the same value to mine or I that I can’t engage in intellectual topic of my interest. I was mostly bored asf when in interactions and stoped giving a fuck about trying too fit in and please their expectation and needs, I surely saw also trough the fake persona of a lot of ppl that I encountered and distanced myself even more. But It was that easy being all alone and isolated.

[dippindotties]

( 𝓐S QUIET AS A MOUSE: REESE GRAVES ﾉ ࿐

it was a waste to survive if she crumbeld the second her mind got too loud, wasn’t it .ᐣ

PRE-CRASH

girls guide to being the cool girl

reese is the youngest of three, spoiled but not rotten. a daddy’s girl until she finally hit the apparently grown age of ten and she had to live up to the high expectations set by her siblings. even after they’d left for college the weight of their achievements was heavy. no amount of distance could erase their presence, not from her mind or household.

raised in the church, reese had long come to terms with the definition of right from wrong in the eyes of the lord. he was always watching; despite how uncomfortable it may have made her to have a tiny baby jesus staring over her. their home practically a museum of crosses and jesus statues.

it didn’t matter anyways, with or without her hand on the bible, her parents scrutinized her every move.

where as most teenagers dream of going to highschool, reese dreaded it. between the social hierarchy of highschool and her parents desperate to make her their next shining star, reese bit the bullet and jumped at the first opportunity to appease her parents.

joining the school paper was a bust. apparently her stories had no depth or personality to them. lackluster paragraphs scribbled in ink that she’d stay up nights putting together wirh nothing to show for it.

so it’s safe to say the schools newspaper committee was without the girl draped in florals and polished mary janes.

though the one club that didn’t exactly require any intense amount of talent was the yearbook club. which was easy enough, stand behind a camera and snap a couple photos. which was unfortunately, easier said than done. her hands trembled around the heavy camera, one eye squinted and a leg pointed out in a desperate attempt to get the perfect shot.

and well, her parents weren’t exactly pleased to hear the best their daughter could do was the yearbook committee. and between making little baby jesus proud and her parents, reese had her hands full. desperate to see her picture hanging up in a glossy frame displayed across worn walls.

sports. reese—didn’t have an athletic bone in her body. she stumbled over her own feet, could hardly dance even if she’d been given a pair of ruby red slippers. but for what it was worth, maybe she’d discover she had some kind of special talent when it came to kicking a ball around a field!

news flash. she didn’t. she’d totally embarrassed herself the moment she tried to kick the ball and missed the ball like half an inch. falling was never fun but for once, sitting on her ass seemed rewarding.

until a hand presented itself, fingers wide and welcoming. shauna shipman. with her pretty brown eyes and crooked smile, a smirk, really.

“pretty hard fall, huh? i’m shauna—shipman. we have english together. reese, right?” her voice is soft, as if she was trying to lull her into to sleep.

reese intertwined her fingers with shauna’s, “um.. yeah. i’m not as athletic as i was thought i was, i guess,” she giggles, but whether it’s out of embarrassment or actual humor is questionable.

if you were to ask when reese started giving shauna goo-goo eyes she’d tell you this exact moment with exaggerated details, as if shauna had been her knight in shining armor.

long story short, reese hadn’t been recruited to wear the WHS Yellowjackets jersey, but! storage manager was an achievement too. And she still got to see shauna all sweaty during games, so it was fine. well—it was fine until she came home to her parents to tell them the good news.

an excited, wide eyed reese presented the idea of team storage manager with joy until her parents crushed all the excitement bubbling within her with haste.

“goodness. that—that’s great, sweetheart.” her mother says quickly, delaying the inevitable monologue from her father. and sure, she was well aware lugging bags of balls around the field for a sports team wasn’t exactly star worthy, but reese was excited, so why couldn’t they be?

PRE-CRASH RELATIONSHIPS

guide to making life long friends

reese had never exactly had much luck making friends, and she could lie and say she didn’t mind but she totally did. every teenager wants friends, even the depressed and super lonely ones. but especially reese.

elementary was no hard feat, after all her siblings were practically royalty in the eyes of second graders. being the sister to two sixth graders was like having a million bucks and she thrived in it. it helped that having your birthday at school was still socially acceptable because every little kid basks in the joy of being able to shove their faces full with cupcakes and cookies and choke down watered down juice.

until she got to middle school and everyone around her realized how awkward she really was without the title of being denise and margot’s younger sister. because in middle school nobody cared who you were related too—no matter how cool they were.

middle school was a blur, a muddled image of smug faces and the latest cuss words and nicknames that was everything but a shortened version of reese.

she chooses to forget that point in her life because not even teen magazines and little baby jesus could save her from social death.

it isn’t until her freshman year that she actually begins to make friends—her first friend being laura lee. she’d met her in the yearbook committee, blonde strands sticking up behind a propped up camera, a thin, pale girl wrapped in a baby blue cardigan and a knee length polkadot dress.

“um, hi—i’m reese graves.. mr. maldando said i should talk to you, laura lee, right?” her voice is a little shaky, all nerves and no confidence.

laura lee ducks her head out from behind the camera, a wide smile on her lips and a rosy blush across her cheeks. “yeah, that’s me. nice to meet you! welcome to the yearbook committee,” the blonde’s voice is soothing, it makes it hard to be nervous anymore.

laura lee and reese are quick friends. and reese’s parents adore the girl, all for their school night sleepovers that are supposedly bible study but instead flipping through the pages of bright colored magazines with shirtless boys and pretty smiles.

reese secretly cuts the girls out of their magazines and neatly glues them to the pages of her journal, the edges frayed at the top of the page, folded down so she could revisit them at a later date once laura lee went home.

but besides laura lee, with reese and her newfound placement as the manager of the soccer team, she had no choice to become friends with misty quigley who, to no surprise, she became good friends with.

“misty!” reese pants, out of breath, “i got a tape of grease—from the vhs store.. maybe i could come over after practice and we can watch it together?” she asks, a little hesitantly because she wasn’t exactly sure how deep their friendship ran outside of carrying equipment together.

but she should’ve known it ran deep enough. misty was like reese in that sense—or maybe every sense. two lonely people too desperate to turn down any mention of hanging out.

misty’s face splits into a wide smile, reese thinks she looks like a poodle. “sure! my mom is working late shifts at the hospital so we’ll have the house all to ourselves! perfect time to prefect the ensemble if y’know what i mean.” the curly haired girl snorts, shaking her head as if she’d just told the worlds funniest joke, but reese laughed too.

reese admires jackie taylor. but who doesn’t? she’s as beautiful as she is kind, the kind of person who’s smile could brighten up your day—the kind of person who you just kinda.. gravitated towards whether you wanted to or not. but no amount of bright smiles and kind words could stop the edge of jealousy reese felt when jackie’s arm wrapped around shauna’s shoulder, or when they embraced eachother after a long, harsh scrimmage.

they didn’t exactly have a friendship, but they weren’t strangers. you could never feel like a stranger around the wide eyed captain.

the sun was bright and reese felt stupid for wearing the teams jacket on a day when the sun was at it’s fullest. the girl begrudgingly carried the bag of soccer balls across the field. with misty being out sick with the flu, reese was in charge of getting the teams practice in order.

jackie, with all her sweetness, jogged over to the girl with her signature smile. “hey, reesy piecy. need some help?” the honey blonde grins.

the (future) prom queen was not only the queen of wiskayok but the queen of nicknames. reese had been juggling between her government name and “reesy piecy” for as long as she’d been apart of the team. “well—no.. yes. but you have to warm up. i heard coach martinez was feeling a little..” reese glances at the ground, “pissy..” she whispers, looking up like a guilty dog.

baby jesus is watching, but so is jackie taylor—and in the eyes of a socially outcasted teenage girl, jackie taylor’s opinion weighed heavier.

jackie throws her head back with an exaggerated laugh and takes the bag from reese’s hands.

shauna shipman. the name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, and it may have a couple times when reese is at the edge of her bed when her hands are folded and her eyes are closed and she should be praying for good health and fortune, a nice young man to sweep her off her feet and her family’s safety but all she can think about is shauna shipman’s short brown hair and wide brown eyes. it’s safe to say she has the restart her prayer more times than one.

reese isn’t exactly sure how shauna feels about her but she’ll catch her looking at her from across the room. or during pep rallies when her eyes stray away from jackie taylor and all her glory and focus in on reese for a few seconds.

shauna clears her throat, one hand on the strap of her bag and the other in the pocket of her levi jeans, the first three buttons of her flannel popped to reveal the black tanktop beneath it.

reese looks up from the pages of her textbook, brows furrowed but soft at the sight of the midfielder. “hey, reese.” shauna says.

she can’t help but to smile, but she stifles the embarrassingly childish giggle bubbling in her throat. “hi shauna..” reese looks away when she realizes she’s staring at her like an idiot.

“brody from home room is throwing a party tonight. i know you don’t usually go but i was wondering if you’d wanna come? jackie’s gonna be all over jeff and i really don’t wanna deal with them and their obnoxious smacking.” the brunette’s voice is all persuasion and sweetness.

she’s right, reese doesn’t usually go to parties—partly because she doesn’t get invited and partly because baby jesus would probably smell the weed and booze on her before her parents do.

that doesn’t stop her from saying yes, though.

“uh, sure!”

“nice. see you tonight.”

reese forgets to mention she doesn’t exactly have a car to get there and walks two blocks to brody from homeroom’s house after clumsily climbing out her bedroom window. luckily for her, the smell of cheap beer covers up the smell of her sweat relatively well.

reese hadn’t made too many connections on the team besides the select few. natalie scatorccio was a passing acquaintance, she’d toss reese a sideways smile when they’d pass eachother in the hallway or teasingly offer her a hit of her cigarette in mari’s hotel room during their away games because they always huddled up in mari’s room when they were away for games.

taissa turner had always been somewhat of a role model for reese. she was passionate and smart, kind but didn’t take shit crap from anyone. if reese had worked up the nerves to talk to her she could imagine they’d be pretty good friends.

if there had been anyone who made reese laugh the most it was van palmer. the redhead was practically the funniest person she knew. a mess of movie and show references and sarcastic jabs that you could hardly be mad at because they were so funny.

reese didn’t exactly know lottie all that well but she liked her. lottie had always been a kind soul. she’d help reese with math and she’d always been nice to photograph, the matthews girl was painfully photogenic she couldn’t help the edge of jealousy she felt once she camera clicked.

THE CRASH WILDERNESS

girls guide to blessings

the plane is up in flames before reese can blink, throwing herself out of the plane and immediately wishing she had gotten blessed with the lungs of an athlete and not the lungs of an asthmatic teen. she hits the ground and the sound of screams is hard to drown out but she does anyways, eyes shut tightly and hands digging into the dirt.

“dear god, whatever i did wrong—please don’t take it out on the others.. is this about the journal? i don’t actually like girls i just—“ she whispers to herself before one of the other girls tumbles over her still body and the wind is knocked out of her.

okay, so no time to apologize for her sins. the plane is burnt up anyways and coach martinez’s body is all bloody and torn. but maybe this isn’t a punishment—but a blessing? god wouldn’t purposely crash their plane into the middle of fucking nowhere.. right?

her mind is all fuzzy until the sickening slice and then coach ben’s scream cuts through whatever rapid thoughts float about her mind. misty’s standing over him with a bloody axe and his leg is separated from his body—burnt flesh and a mangled limb.

she did the right thing.

reese quickly jumps at the opportunity to be helpful, her parents would be proud, she thinks. she can’t be a star photographed behind glossy film but she can be a star in the eyes of wildlife and her soot covered team.

reese digs a shallow grave alongside the plane that is distorted and burnt, gently placing coach ben’s severed leg in the dirt, the mangled limb doesn’t scare her. she’s accepted the crash as a blessing, not something to fear.

she thinks her parents would be proud.

only half of the girl’s belongings are recovered. reese’s pink suitcase littered in stickers is warm and crispy but some of her stuff is still intact. she folds the magazines and shoves them into her little backpack, her leather bound journal is next and the little statue of baby jesus falls into the pile.

WILDERNESS PROPHETS

girls guide to sin and cannibalism

misty and reese quickly fall into the way of the wilderness. after lottie’s whole show of her questionable french, reese is sure that this was a blessing. laura lee says lottie has a gift, reese is quick to agree, spewing scriptures she’s memorized with confidence.

she thinks somewhere between the blurred lines of the wilderness and the bible, she may have started making things up. so desperate for an explanation she was more than willing to come up with one of her own.

reese stills prays every night, her head bowed before the flickering fire, the flames no longer a reminder of their loss but their new beginnings. she still prays for the same things—good health, her family’s safety and then shauna shipman.

her feelings for shauna are more conflicting out here. she can feel herself pulling away from laura lee in fear of disappointing her. laure lee’s a saint and reese feels like some kind of false prophet standing next to her.

laura lee’s death is a tragic. reese watches the plane go up in flames, exploding into thin air as if it’d never been there to begin with. lottie falls into the water with a splash and suddenly reese doubts god and his choices.

reese dreams of laura lee and her blonde hair, a comforting vision of her beauty. the sunlight dusts over her like a halo and it’s only then that the angelic version of laura lee is twisted into something less glowy. her mouth splits open, she’s wailing and crying and begging reese to come with her.

it’s only then that she’s waken up and they’re back in the cabin. it’s then when she realizes that laura lee is truly gone and she’d never see her again.

the girls remember laura lee in a half assed memorial at doomscoming. reese is wrapped in one of her shorter dresses with an arrangement of little florals on the fabric and her eyes can’t help but to focus on shauna. her visions all loopy and her brain is fuzzy, she hardly had time to wonder about what was in the punch.

“wanna dance?” shauna asks.

shauna can’t dance—but reese can’t either.

their dance is a tangled mess of limbs and jerky movements. reese’s hands are on shauna’s shoulders and shauna has her hands planted on the girl’s hips, the two swaying side to side with an orchestra of giggles as their music.

in some exaggerated sequence of events, she might’ve told you that shauna swept her off her feet and gave her a kiss once they clock striked midnight. but that’d be a lie because she wasn’t exactly sure what time it was.

doomcoming was a blur, reese doesn’t remember much but she knows travis avoids her like the plague, more than he already had, and jackie is sinking further into her depression ridden isolation.

“the wilderness.. will guide them back to us.”

lottie had really gotten into her whole wilderness thing after doomscoming. apparently reese’s brain being all fuzzy and loopy was the wilderness trying to talk to them and all they had to do was listen.

and since laura lee was gone.. reese was more than willing to commit to the role of falsehood. one hand on the bible and another in lottie’s hand, spewing out nonsense that she had almost conditioned herself to believe.

“you have a gift, lottie—a blessing. you’re special and it’s up to you to use this blessing for good.. to get us home.” reese whispers, a smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. she’d like to think maybe she looked a bit like laura lee, with her perfect blonde hair and her soothing presence.

and maybe out here reese was soothing. lottie looked pretty soothed anyways, her eyes closed and her fingers intertwined with reese’s as if she was trying to communicate with the forest.

laura lee couldn’t help but reese can.

jackie’s death occurs at the dawn of snow, reese thinks it’s punishment for the events of doomcoming. snow means their conditions in the cases of hunting and warmth will be worse with their lack of survival skill.

reese cries for a while. she wonders if it’s for jackie or the tears shauna shed. but she chooses not to ponder on that much longer because jackie wouldn’t want them to cry—she’d want them to feed.

WILDERNESS RELATIONSHIPS

girls guide to murder & cannibalism

winter is rough for everyone. rougher for the other girls because misty, crystal and reese won’t stop singing show tunes and shauna’s bound to pop anytime soon.

reese had never pegged shauna to be the type of girl to sleep with her bestfriend’s boyfriend but reese had never liked jeff sadecki anyways. she blamed their shortcomings on him and his stupid teenage boy brain and the fact he can’t keep it in his pants.

misty and reese remain as close as ever. reese shares her very last season magazines with misty, the ones that she used to read while lying down on the floor of her bedroom with laura lee. but misty understands her in a way laura lee never would.

“why are these pages cut up?” misty whispers into the night. the other girls are asleep and the two are sitting in front of the fireplace flipping through the frayed pages of her magazines.

reese looks up with a trembling lip, wide brown eyes all glossy and teary. “misty..” she starts.

but she can hardly finish her sentence before misty’s wrapping her arms around her and cooing as if she were a baby, and she’d have to admit, the warm embrace of someone besides herself felt nice—especially now that they were out in the wilderness.

reese didn’t have to put it into words. misty had gathered context clues from the way reese looked at shauna whenever she opened her mouth.

it was an unspoken agreement between the two.

with shauna’s impending pregnancy and lottie’s determination to claim role as father, reese spends most of her time trying to make sure shauna is comfortable. a day before the baby shower reese spends hour in a corner of the cabin knitting a hat for the baby, stabbing herself too many times to count but it was worth it to see the smile on shauna’s face.

“i—um, i made this for the baby.. i might be a little big but, the bigger the better, right?” reese awkwardly giggles, handing shauna the little beanie with shaky hands.

shauna stares at it for a while before smiling, rolling the knitted edges between her fingers.

“thanks reese.”

but it doesn’t come as a shock when wilderness baby doesn’t make it. shauna is rightfully devastated and so are the other girls, desperate to calm her down but between her teenage hormones and the stress of a grieving mother in the woods, there isn’t much they can do.

amidst the chaos of winter, natalie and reese surprisingly bond over their shared love for the sex pistols and natalie is rightfully shocked because well, reese graves doesn’t look like the kinda person who would be into sid vicious and whatever he had going on.

“i go to the radioshack—after school. stacy jones knew my sister so she lets me stay a little after closing hours to listen. um, my favorite album is never mind the bollocks, here’s the sex pistols.”

natalie laughs, “shut up! mine too! jeez, graves. i never imagined you to be a sex pistols fan. hey, maybe when we get the hell out of here we can catch a show together or something?”

“oh yeah, sure!”

lottie and reese have an odd relationship.

reese is more than happy to open her bible and read lottie a couple scriptures, words scribbled out and replaced and revised for her own. they have something of a sisterhood, a close bond and a closer bond when it comes to the wilderness.

the last thing she wanted to see was lottie basically get beaten to death by shauna. and sure, reese had a huge crush on shauna but still—lottie looked terrible.

“reese..” lottie mumbles, her eyes swollen and reese’s eyes all watery as their fingers intertwine.

she’s weak and her voice is soft, it physically pains reese to hear her like this. “shh.. you’re hurt. just rest—i’ll be right here when you wake up,”

lottie’s smile is sweet and her eyes close.

WILDERNESS IN THE SPRING

girls guide to guides

the cabin burns up, it reminds her of the flickering flames of the plane, or the flickering of the fireplace that she’d sit in front of.

tai and reese get closer over the spring, reese taking on the role of helping taissa build the shelters. it almost felt like summer camp.

“i’ve always wanted to get to know you,” reese mumbles, embarrassed.

“well, here i am.” she grins.

van “educates” reese on her favorite movies and reese makes sure van knows all the best musicals there are to know.

“you have to see grease! when we’re rescued i wanna see it on broadway.. i’ve only ever seen it taped. never in person.” reese says dreamily.

van chuckles, “maybe they’ll let you see it for free. y’know, the whole traumatic plane crash—they’ll feel so bad they’ll bring.. what’s his face?”

“danny zuko,”

“yeah. danny zuko. they’ll bring him right to you.”

shauna and reese eventually begin their tumultuous relationship. shauna’s all anger and aggression and reese is more than willing to indulge in it. playing the role as shauna’s wilderness guide, claiming her actions all have an explanation.

“you’re doing the right thing, shauna.. the wilderness—it speaks through you.” reese says.

shauna smiles, her calloused fingers intertwine with reese’s. she doesn’t say anything, but her actions say more than her words can.

THE RESCUE, TW FOR OVERDOSE

girls guide to suicide and therapy

the lights are blinding. her parents are there—and her siblings are too. scared and worried.

but why? she was a star out there—she helped. she helped lottie and she helped shauna.. she helped misty—she helped everyone the only way she knew how.

reese could survive the wilderness, 19 months of the forest—the cold and eating her friends. but she could stomach the blood and the mangled bodies but the moment she was alone, deep in her thoughts, she crumbled.

reese graves is determined dead by overdose three months after the yellowjackets are rescued. found slumped against the bedpost of her childhood room.

the last moments of this info dump are a little messy because we don’t completely know what happened in spring so i don’t wanna post her spring arc until it’s fully done! i’ll go more into depth about her suicide in another post but i just wanted to go ahead and post her lore hehehhe :3

@artificialroux @logansdogmotif @puppybutcher @ohno-people @moonyvvamp @natscatorcciosgf 🐇

[rafes-slut]

Beneath the Surface

Pairing:Childhood friends Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron and (Y/N) grew up together in the small town of Figure Eight, their bond one of unspoken loyalty and fierce friendship. From childhood games to teenage years filled with secrets, their relationship has always been complicated—too close to be “just friends,” yet too messy to label. Now, as they’re on the brink of adulthood, they find themselves tangled in the web of old feelings, broken trust, and unresolved tension. Can their deep-rooted history survive the new paths they're both walking? Or will their complicated connection finally crack beneath the surface?

Warnings: Strong language, emotional manipulation, angst, unhealthy relationship dynamics, toxic tendencies, and some violence.

----

Chapter 1: Old Haunts

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was the constant soundtrack to your childhood. You had grown up on the coast of Figure Eight, a place so beautiful it almost felt unreal. White sand beaches, massive mansions scattered along the cliffs, and the smell of saltwater in the air. But beneath the glistening surface, there was always more going on—more that people didn't see.

You knew Rafe Cameron better than anyone. He was your best friend, your partner in crime. You'd spent summers running around the beach together, sneaking into each other's houses, and daring each other to do things neither of you would have had the courage to do alone. His wild, reckless behavior always pulled you in, but there was something more to it—something that wasn’t easy to put into words.

As kids, it felt natural. You two were just inseparable. It wasn’t until you were both older that things began to shift. Rafe’s anger started to show more, his tendency to snap became sharper. He was harder to understand, harder to reach. And you, well, you’d always been the one he’d turned to when things were falling apart. But over the years, the relationship had begun to feel... strained.

You hadn’t seen Rafe much over the past year. The last time you’d crossed paths, he’d been standing at the edge of the pier, looking out over the ocean like it was the only thing that could make sense of him. You hadn’t spoken much after that—he’d given you that cold stare of his, the one that made you feel like you didn’t belong, and you’d left without a word. But that was months ago.

Now, here you were again, walking along the same beach, a nervous tension building in your chest. You hadn’t expected to see him today, but as you rounded the corner, there he was, standing by the water's edge. His presence still had that same pull, the kind that both comforted and unsettled you at the same time. You could feel his eyes on you before you even said a word.

“(Y/N),” he said, his voice low, a little raspier than you remembered. He still had that same smirk, the one that used to drive you crazy in all the best ways. “Thought I might find you here.”

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “It's been a while, huh?”

Rafe didn’t move, just kept his eyes on you, as though he was trying to figure you out. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, a statement, not a question.

You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I just... I’ve been busy.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Life had gotten complicated. School, friends, work... everything had pulled you in different directions.

He chuckled softly, a humorless sound. “Busy,” he repeated. “Yeah, sure.”

There was an edge to his voice that made your stomach flip. Rafe had always been intense, but this was different. There was a sharpness to his words, a coldness that you hadn’t heard in years.

“I’m not going to bite, (Y/N). Unless you want me to,” he teased, stepping a little closer. His grin was mischievous, but you could see the frustration behind it.

You stepped back slightly, your heart racing. “What’s going on with you, Rafe?”

He shrugged, his jaw tightening. “Nothing. Everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’ve changed,” you said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. “You used to talk to me about everything.”

His gaze darkened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you. But instead, he just stared at you for a long moment before his expression softened. “Maybe I’ve just stopped talking, then,” he muttered.

You didn’t know what to say to that. The silence stretched between you two like a chasm, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, Rafe broke the tension, stepping closer again, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. “We were always better at being friends when it was just the two of us,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter, more vulnerable. “Before all the... shit.”

You nodded, not sure how to respond. You didn’t want to delve into the past—didn’t want to bring up the mess you’d both created over the years. But the truth was, you missed him. Missed the old Rafe, the one who could make you laugh even when things were falling apart. The one who used to hold you when the world felt too heavy.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe gave you a wry smile, but there was something more to it. Something complicated, something that both terrified and intrigued you. “Now? Now we figure out what happens next.”

And just like that, everything shifted. You could feel the old spark between you two, the one that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. You weren’t sure if it was good or bad, but one thing was certain: this was only the beginning.

Chapter 2: Tides of Change

The days following your chance encounter with Rafe passed in a blur of confusion and lingering thoughts. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him standing by the water, looking at you with that same intensity. The way he had stepped closer, as if daring you to come closer, to trust him again.

You hadn't seen him since that day, but you felt his presence everywhere, like a shadow that never fully disappeared. It made everything feel off-kilter, your thoughts wandering to places they shouldn’t.

That evening, you found yourself standing at the edge of the same pier Rafe had been by the other day. The water was calm now, the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. You loved this place—this pier was where you and Rafe had spent countless nights growing up, talking about everything and nothing, dreaming of things bigger than this town.

It felt like the world had shifted underneath your feet, and you were left trying to catch your balance.

"Fancy seeing you here."

The voice was unmistakable—Rafe's.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was him. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it sent a small shiver down your spine. Without looking at him, you nodded, letting the silence stretch between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze just yet.

"I thought you were busy," Rafe continued, stepping closer, his voice casual but with an edge that made you stiffen.

"I was," you replied, finally turning to face him. His eyes were dark as always, the flickering amber in them reflecting the last bits of sunlight. His hair was a bit tousled, and his usual cocky smirk was present, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were too guarded, too unreadable.

"Busy avoiding me?" he teased, but there was a bite to it.

You couldn't suppress the tightness in your chest. "I’m not avoiding you, Rafe," you snapped, your voice sharper than you'd intended. "I just... I don’t know what we’re doing anymore."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, that familiar cocky expression slowly shifting into something more thoughtful, almost sad. "What do you mean by that?"

You took a deep breath, unsure of how to explain everything that had been building in you for years. "We’re not the same anymore. You’ve changed, and... so have I. I don’t know what’s real between us anymore, and I can’t pretend like it’s all fine when it’s not."

There it was. The truth, spoken out loud. You watched as his expression flickered, and for a brief moment, Rafe looked like the person you had known as a kid—the one who had always been so open, so sure. But just as quickly, he shut it down. His walls went up again, that signature smirk back on his lips.

"People change, (Y/N)," he said quietly. "Doesn't mean it’s a bad thing."

You wanted to argue, to say that it wasn’t just about change—it was about the distance that had grown between you two. But you didn't know how to explain the void, how you’d tried so many times to reach out, only to be met with silence or anger.

"You don’t get it," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "You’ve always been able to get under my skin, and now... it’s like we’re strangers."

Rafe was silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours. He stepped closer, and the air between you grew thick with tension. He wasn’t the same reckless boy you’d known, but there was still that magnetic pull you couldn’t ignore.

"I’m not a stranger," he finally said, his voice low. "Maybe you just don’t want to admit that we’re still the same. Still us."

Your heart hammered in your chest, the pull of his words too familiar, too tempting. He was right in a way—everything had changed, but at the same time, everything had stayed the same. The history between you two was too strong, too intense to let go of easily.

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, catching your wrist in a grip that was tight, but not painful. His thumb traced the back of your hand slowly, deliberately, sending a jolt of heat up your arm.

"You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?" Rafe asked, his voice softer now, as if trying to coax the truth from you.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. He was right. You were afraid—afraid of the power he had over you, afraid of what might happen if you gave in to whatever this was between you two. But more than anything, you were afraid of what would happen if you didn’t.

"You don’t make it easy, Rafe," you whispered, staring down at your feet, unable to meet his gaze. "You don’t make anything easy."

Rafe’s hand moved from your wrist to your cheek, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. His expression had softened, and for the first time in a long while, you saw something real in his eyes—something vulnerable.

"You never did like easy, (Y/N)," he muttered, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips. "And I don’t think you ever will."

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, urgent, desperate, as if he were trying to pull something from you that neither of you had ever been able to say. You hadn’t kissed him in years—hell, you hadn’t even thought about kissing him since you were teenagers. But now, with the taste of him so close, it felt like you were falling back into something dangerous, something that could either save you or drown you.

His hands were on you, pulling you closer, but just as quickly, you broke away, breathless, heart pounding. Your head was spinning, emotions swirling inside of you.

"I can’t," you said, your voice shaking. "This... this isn’t us anymore."

Rafe's gaze hardened, but there was no anger in it. Just a deep, simmering sadness that made your chest ache. "I don’t know what we are anymore either," he admitted softly. "But I’m not ready to let go of it. Not yet."

You didn’t know what that meant, but as you looked into his eyes, you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed. No matter how hard you tried to fight it, you were tangled in his web—and he knew it too.

The tide of change was inevitable. The only question was, would you sink or swim?

Chapter 3: The Pull of the Current

The days that followed felt like a fog, and everything seemed to blur together. Your mind kept returning to that kiss. You couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard you tried. The way his lips had felt against yours, the heat of his body so close to yours, the intensity that lingered even after you’d pulled away. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was something deeper, something that rattled every single piece of your being.

You kept telling yourself it was a mistake. That it wasn’t the Rafe you knew anymore. That this was just the result of years of tension, and you were both too afraid to acknowledge what was actually happening.

But you couldn't deny the pull, the way he seemed to reach inside you and bring something to the surface that you couldn’t ignore. He was still Rafe—still that boy you’d grown up with, still the one you had shared so much of your life with. But he was also someone else now—someone who was harder to read, harder to trust.

You’d spent the last few days avoiding him, hoping the distance would give you some clarity. But it wasn’t working. Every time you tried to concentrate on anything else, his face kept creeping into your thoughts, and the nagging feeling in your chest refused to settle.

That’s how you found yourself at the same pier again, staring at the water. It was late, the night air cooler now that the sun had set, and the moonlight cast a soft glow across the water’s surface. Your fingers twitched at the memory of his touch, but you refused to acknowledge it.

You were trying to figure out what to do next, trying to sort through the mess of emotions you were feeling when you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was Rafe. You could feel him. The air around you shifted when he entered it, as if the world itself held its breath.

“Still avoiding me?” Rafe’s voice was low, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something darker to it, something you couldn’t quite place.

You slowly turned to face him. He was standing a few feet away, his eyes already on you, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, for you to turn and face him again. He hadn’t changed. Not really. Still the same Rafe—gruff, guarded, but there was an unspoken invitation in his gaze.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you replied, though the words didn’t feel as certain as you wanted them to.

“Yeah?” Rafe’s lips curled into that familiar smirk. “Because it sure feels like you are. You’re not answering my calls, not replying to my messages. Not even looking at me when we pass by each other. What’s going on, (Y/N)?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, unsure of how to explain the knot in your chest. How to explain the mixture of fear and desire that had twisted into something almost unbearable. "I just… I don't know what you want from me, Rafe."

His expression softened for a moment, and the cocky grin faded into something more serious, more calculating. "What do you think I want?"

You bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting nervously at your sides. "I don’t know. You’ve changed, Rafe. You’ve always been intense, but now it’s like I don’t even recognize you half the time. I’m trying to figure out where I fit into all of this.”

The space between you two felt charged, crackling with unspoken tension. You could see him struggling to find the right words, his brow furrowing as he took a step closer.

“I never wanted you to feel like you didn’t fit,” he muttered. “I didn’t want any of this to change. But I couldn’t stop it. I don’t know what I am anymore… what we are.”

You exhaled sharply, your chest tight with the weight of his words. You wanted to be angry with him, to say all the things you’d been holding back. But instead, you just stood there, the words stuck in your throat.

Rafe reached out, his hand grazing your cheek softly. The simple gesture sent a jolt of warmth through your skin, and you flinched slightly, though you didn’t pull away. He seemed to notice the hesitation, his eyes darkening with an intensity you couldn’t ignore.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “But I can’t walk away from it either. From you.”

His voice cracked slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw the vulnerability behind the walls he’d built up. You’d never seen him like this before—open, raw, and unsure. It was a side of Rafe that terrified you, because it made you realize how far gone he was, how far gone you were.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Rafe continued, stepping even closer. “I was just… I don’t know, lost, I guess. But I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to fix me.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again. This time, there was no hesitation, no pulling away. It was desperate, urgent, and raw—like he couldn’t keep it in anymore. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. You felt dizzy, your heart racing as his mouth moved against yours with a fervor that almost scared you.

But you couldn’t stop yourself. You kissed him back, the way you used to when you were younger, before the world had gotten too complicated. Before the lines between right and wrong had blurred.

You wanted to pull away, to push him off, to tell him everything that was wrong with what was happening. But the truth was, you didn’t want to. Not really. Because despite everything that had changed, there was something you couldn’t fight—something that pulled you back to him, every single time.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing heavily, you could barely look at him. The air between you two felt heavy, like everything had just been laid bare, and neither of you knew how to handle it.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, though even as you said it, you weren’t sure you meant it.

Rafe didn’t say anything at first, but the intensity in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“Maybe we can,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know how this would end. But for the first time in a long while, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this was the only thing that felt real.