#skip ahead and start fresh

[harriertail]

Id love for a soft reboot of warriors and Arc 9 to begin, if ASC ends with new leaders and code changes, four/five generations on in the future with a whole new set of cats and lore

[leahwllmsn]

here, always

alexia putellas x reader

a/n: a bit late but happy halloween :0

Your routine was the same. You would wake up, get ready, and get to work. This time, you woke up with a headache and the claims from your friends that you had been missing for a month.

You woke up with a headache. That was the first thing you noticed. That, and the blaring ray of sunlight from the window. You must've forgotten to close the blinds last night.

When you sat up, the headache became even worse and you squeezed your eyes shut in pain. You placed your feet on the floor and slowly got up. You tried your best to ignore the pounding in your head as you made your way into the kitchen. 

Passing by the clock in the living room, you saw that it was half past eight, which is great, because your work starts at eight. On the dot. 

You stepped in the kitchen and began to open each drawer, hoping you'd spot the painkillers–you forgot which drawer they were in. You let out a sigh when you finally spot them, taking one and drinking it without the help of water. You knew the relief wouldn’t be instant, but still, you were annoyed when the headache didn't seem to lessen.

You took a deep breath and got ready for work. It was going to be a long day ahead.

—

You got off the train at your stop, walking the route that you knew by heart.

Up the stairs. Turn left. Right. Pass a coffee shop.

Left. Go straight. Pass by a florist—

A florist.

The smell of the fresh flowers made your heart skip a beat, because it reminded you of Alexia. The colourful array of flowers made you think of her and her gorgeous smile. You decided to get her flowers. You knew how happy it made her every time.

You bought a bouquet of roses. Simple, but it was perfect for Alexia. She had always talked about how if she were to be a flower, she'd be roses, and you wholeheartedly agree. Alexia had grace and joy like pink roses. Her passion in everything she did: orange roses. And despite being so passionate, she had an innocence to her that made her seem oh so sweet–white roses. Lastly, red roses, to represent your love for her.

You smiled to yourself, one hand holding Alexia's flowers, and the other in your pocket. You had a feeling it was going to be a good day.

—

You opened the door to an empty office. There were four desks and two doors, one that led to the head physio’s office and the other that went to the pantry.

As you put your bag on your desk, you heard laughter from behind the door. Your colleagues must be having breakfast.

You walked to the pantry and you were met with some of your friends. However, their reaction wasn't the usual. They stopped whatever they were doing, hands midair, mouth agape. They looked ...confused? Shocked, even. It was like they were seeing a ghost. Even Alexia wasn’t giving you her usual ear-splitting grin at the sight of you. You weren't sure why.

"Hi, Ale, these are for you." You gave her the bouquet of roses you bought earlier.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she got up, slowly outstretching her hands and taking the flowers. "Y/N..." she whispered. "These are lovely. Thank you."

You smiled, satisfied. Anything for Alexia. You could sense that she was about to say something else, so you stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.

"Mi amor…" she started. It seemed like she had trouble expressing what she wanted to say.

Ingrid seemed to sense the same thing, as she went up and stood next to Alexia. She then said something unfathomable, you thought you heard wrong. "You've been gone for a month."

"What?"

"We didn't know where you were." Alexia spoke up, softly as if she was scared that if she spoke too loud, it might make you disappear again. Which was insane, because you hadn’t gone anywhere.

You had been right here all along. Right?

"No... that doesn't make sense. I was with you just last night, Ale."

Alexia opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. She was at a loss for words. So were you.

Ingrid cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. "What date was it yesterday? Do you remember?"

"October 31."

"Well," Mapi joined in on the conversation, scratching her head. "You're right, but you weren't here, Y/N."

You gaped at her, "What do you mean I wasn't here? I was. Right, Alexia? Tell her."

But Alexia just stood there, not saying anything.

"Baby, please." you pleaded.

You looked at them and they were looking wistfully at you, as if you really had gone missing and this was the first time they were seeing you in a month. But that didn’t make sense.

"Amor," Alexia walked closer to you, touching your forearms. Her touch was so light and soft, always the same as you remembered. "I wasn't with you last night."

"When was the last time you saw me?" You directed your question at your friends.

"One month ago," Ingrid answered.

"That's not possible." It really wasn't. "I... I have no memory of going anywhere for a month."

"We were really worried," Alexia sighed, walking closer to you. You knew for a fact that you hadn't disappeared, but why do you have this feeling of… of longing and yearning for her deep in your heart?

"We searched everywhere," Mapi continued. "We couldn't find you."

"I've been right here all along! I don't know what else to tell you guys." You couldn't believe them. It was hard to accept the fact that you disappeared, because you didn't.

"What was the last thing you remembered?" 

You looked at her, your sweet Alexia. Alexia whose existence brought so much warmth to your life. You wouldn't know what to do if the roles were reversed and she was the one who ‘disappeared’. You didn't think you could take it.

"I had dinner with you, at that Italian place you liked," you answered, taking her hand in yours and holding it tightly. "You dropped me off at home because you were going to stay with Alba for the night... I received a text goodnight from you, then I replied and went to bed."

Alexia gave a grim smile, "That was a month ago, amor. And you didn't text me back."

"No... no that was last night." You were getting incredibly frustrated.

Mapi seemed to notice your frustration as she cleared her throat, "I think we should leave Y/N so she can process all this."

What? I didn't think I wanted to be alone at a time like this.

They all nodded and were about to leave the room when I grabbed Alexia's arm, "Can you stay with me?"

Alexia smiled, "Of course."

Ingrid and Mapi gave you a reassuring smile and went to leave the room. Then, it was just you and Alexia. She grabbed your hand and you sat down, your hands interlocking perfectly on the table.

"My love," she started. "I know this is hard, but you have to learn to accept things."

You raised your eyebrow at her, "What do you mean? I don’t get it, Ale. My head’s been killing me all morning."

She shrugged. "Just... trust us."

"I don't understand. Is this about my disappearance?"

She smiled… almost sadly? "In a way."

"So I really did disappear?"

She nodded. "You did."

"Where did I go?"

She looked at me and chuckled, "I think you should be asking yourself this question, not me."

You were still confused about this whole thing. It was like your world had turned upside down. "But... how? Why?"

She shrugged again, "I wish I knew. We spent a long time searching for you. You were gone."

Were you experiencing a severe memory loss? Was that it? Was that the reason you couldn't remember anything?

You doubted it, though. You remember what date it was yesterday, and you weren’t in the hospital. Everything was normal.

Everything seemed normal... Until this talk with Alexia. Something was up. Her words were vague... as if it had a hidden meaning. You didn't like it.

As you were about to tell Alexia that none of this felt real, you saw something outside the window. It was... a bird? A black bird. You didn't think it meant anything, even though it felt odd to you.

You let out a big sigh. This wasn't how you imagined your day to go at all. You didn't have the energy to do anything else, but you needed to look for clues as to why this whole thing was happening.

So you got up and left for your desk. Everything seemed normal.

Just like how it was yesterday. Not one month ago.

You sighed, it still didn't make sense. You looked around the room, your co-workers were on their respective desks, typing away on their computers.

Weird.

They hadn’t mentioned anything to you. It was as if your disappearance wasn't a big deal. Shouldn't it be a big deal if your colleague went missing? 

"Hey," you whispered to the girl sitting next to you. Surprisingly, it was Ingrid. Why was she even on the computer? "What are you doing?"

Ingrid turned her head towards you, "I'm doing the weekly report."

You scratched your head. “Why aren’t you on the field? You’re not a physio, you shouldn’t be here.” 

Ingrid simply shrugged and the confusion must be written across your face because she scooted her chair to be closer to you. "Is everything ok?" 

"I don't know, I feel weird,” you decided to be honest. "Like something is off."

And even though Ingrid was smiling, her face looked sad. Why was the atmosphere so sorrowful somehow?

"Well... Maybe you should figure it out."

"Figure what?"

"Figure it out," Ingrid replied like it was obvious. "I know you remember."

"I don't."

"You do. Think, Y/N."

You were about to question her further when your hand brushed the mouse of your computer, causing your computer to light up. The background was a picture of you and Alexia. You realised it was taken at that Italian restaurant that night. Yesterday. Or, one month ago?

As you squinted at the picture, you saw that you had a ring on your left hand—

Wait.

A ring. Alexia gave you that ring.

You looked at your hand now and the ring wasn't there.

A ring... You had that because…

Oh my God.

You stood up suddenly, because you realised that Alexia proposed to you that night. And you said yes. You did. Then you took this picture.

But where was your ring now?

"I'm gonna head home for a bit."

Everyone lifted their heads up and looked at you questioningly. Alexia spoke up, you didn’t even realise she was still in the room. "Are you okay, amor?"

You smiled, walked over to her side and kissed her cheek. "Yeah, I just need to look for something."

"Okay, we'll see you later then."

"See you."

And with that you left.

–

Once you opened the door to your apartment, you stood for a good minute, trying to take it all in. You looked around, attempting to see if something was different. You didn't notice it at first, but the couch in your living room was blue. Blue. You would never choose that colour for a couch. That was weird.

You sat down and faced the TV. The couch was the same as it had always been, just a different colour. You didn't know what was going on but you swore the couch wasn’t blue yesterday.

You turned to the left, where a small table resided beside the couch. It had a framed picture of Alexia that you took one summer. That was the same.

You got up, going forward to the TV and looked around the shelves. Everything was the same. It was all the same—

Until you saw it. 

You caught a glimpse of something colourful on the kitchen island. It was a vase full of flowers. They were definitely not there this morning. Did someone break into your home? That seemed to be a plausible explanation. But with the way your day was going, anything seemed possible.

You looked at the flowers and there was a note attached to it.

Y/N,

We're always here for you. Please don't forget.

- Ingrid & Mapi

That was... odd.

There was no way they sent that this morning? They did have the keys to your apartment... but they were at the training grounds this morning with you. There was no way they gave the keys to the delivery guy.

You thought about calling Ingrid or Mapi to ask about the flowers, but you decided against it. You should focus on your task in finding your engagement ring.

You left the kitchen and went to your bedroom.

Everything was still the same there. Your bed was in the middle of the room, with a nightstand next to it that had a lamp and framed picture of you and Alexia. 

You opened the drawer of your nightstand but there was nothing except for a pink post-it. 

hi :-)

I love you

meet me at our usual Italian place at 6?

It was scribbled in Alexia’s neat handwriting. Your heart swelled remembering she left you this note along with fresh lilies–your favourite flowers. 

Yesterday.

Or was it a month ago? You didn’t know if you should trust your memory or your friends’.

You decided to go look in the walk-in closet. You walked inside and looked around, deciding to go to the left side, searching through your jewellery drawer. If anything, a ring should be there right?

But all you found were a bunch of rings you collected over time, not the ring Alexia proposed to you with.

You turned to the opposite side and you saw the section that was usually filled with Alexia’s hoodies was empty. This wasn’t possible, because it wasn’t like this yesterday.

Before Alexia moved in, she would usually spend a night or two and she would leave behind a hoodie. She did that often enough that you could fill up a space in the closet just for her hoodies. When she moved in, she didn’t have any hoodies left from her place because it was already all at your apartment.

But none of them were here anymore.

Suddenly, a shiver went up your spine and an odd feeling settled at the pit of your stomach. It was as if… you could remember why that rack was empty now… but it was like your brain didn’t want you to remember and you ended up with a blank memory.

You tried to shrug it off, but it was futile. The feeling stayed there, making you uncomfortable even in your own home. You decided to call Alexia. Talking to her always made you feel better.

As always, she picked up on the first ring. “Hola, amor.”

“Hi, Ale.”

“Are you okay?”

“Well, considering all the things that have happened so far and it’s not even noon, not really.”

“I’m sorry, I know this must be confusing for you.”

“But I feel better now that I get to hear your voice.”

“Always the charming one, aren’t you?”

“It’s a fact. Even with all this nonsense that’s happening, I still have you, so I’m all good.”

“About that…”

“What?”

“I love you, amor. I always will. I want you to know that.”

“I do. Of course I do know that, Ale.”

“Even if I’m not here, I still want you to be okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hypothetically speaking.”

“Was it really?”

“Why did you call me again?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“No...”

“Don’t change the subject. What did you mean by that?”

“Y/N…”

“Everyone has been speaking as if their words contain a double meaning and it’s frustrating. Just tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“About this whole thing! I don’t know what else to do, Alexia. I tried looking for my engagement ring but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Just tell me what you know about why this is happening to me… Why is there a one month gap in my memory?”

“I’m not here.”

“What?”

“I’m not here, Y/N.”

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?”

“That night, the 31st of October. It really was one month ago. It wasn’t yesterday.”

“Are you saying I have amnesia?”

“No. I’m saying that you have to remember.”

“I can’t! God, if I could, I wouldn’t be stressed out like this!”

“I’ll help you. What time did we meet?”

“Six.”

“See, you remember.”

“Ale, I don’t see your point here. Of course I remember that night. It was yesterday.”

“Bear with me. What did we eat that night?”

“Italian.”

“Yup. We shared a pan of pizza—the one with pepperoni, my favourite.”

“I know.”

“What did I do that night?”

“Seriously? I don’t know why you’re asking all this.”

“I told you, to help you remember. This is the last one, I promise. What did I do that night?”

“You proposed.”

“I did. …It was the happiest moment of my life, you know? You, saying yes. I was nervous the whole night and I had this whole speech planned. Then you came and you looked so, so beautiful. Mi vida. You’d think that with all the years we spent together, I’d get used to how stunning you are.”

“Alexia…”

“I think I’ve always known that you would say yes if I proposed. You were never really subtle with your hints. But still, I was nervous. God, I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. When it was time to do it, the speech that I had been rehearsing in my head? It just flew out of the window. I was a stuttering mess and my words were all over the place. Yet, you still said yes.”

“Of course I did. I love you, Ale.”

“And I love you too. Always. You chose to be with me for the rest of my life, but things never turn out the way we want them to be, huh?”

“Alexia… You’re scaring me.”

“You’re going to remember now, and when you do, make the choice that you think is right, okay? I can’t make that choice for you, you have to decide on your own. Whatever it is that you’re going to choose, just know that I’ll always be there for you.”

—

31 October 2023

19:58

“Y/N L/N,” Alexia held your hand on the table, staring into your eyes. “I want to spend forever with you.”

Wait. Was she…?

“I can’t remember my speech,” she gave a nervous laugh. “It was a good one, I swear. But I guess I have to improvise now.”

You looked at her expectantly, your heart racing at the possibility of what she was about to do.

“You’re my soulmate, Y/N. I don’t… I don’t want anyone else but you. You’re it for me. You make me laugh, you make me cry sometimes,” she gave a lighthearted laugh and you rolled your eyes at her, a tear escaping to your cheek. “You make me so happy. I’m so crazy for you.”

She squeezed your hand and reached into the pocket of her blazer. She pulled out a black box and you gasped.

Oh my god.

She opened up the box and it revealed a ring inside. The ring was simple, just how you liked it. It was a silver band and a round diamond was placed on the centre.

You looked at her, back at the ring, and back at her—not quite believing it yet.

“Y/N,” Alexia continued. “I-I promise to love you with everything in me until my dying breath. I will love you the way you deserve to be loved—fearlessly, passionately and gently all at once.”

“Alexia…” you looked at her, tears freely falling down your face now. “If this is you improvising, I don’t know if I can handle your actual speech.”

She laughed and gave you a bashful smile. “Will you marry me? I’m proposing, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

You smiled at her, a huge ear-splitting grin.  “Of course I will, Alexia. You’re the love of my life.”

Alexia looked at you with wide eyes, as if she was still trying to process your words.

“Aren’t you supposed to put the finger on my ring now?”

Alexia wiped a tear that escaped her eye and laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. I just—you really… You said ‘yes’ right?”

You leaned forward and captured her lips in yours. “I did, you dummy. It will always be ‘yes’.”

—

ale: I love you

y/n: I love you too, so much

y/n: drive safe, okay? text me when you get there

ale: will do

—

“It never came.”

“You remember now?”

“Your text… it never came. I spent hours waiting for your text, and I was dumb enough to just sit there and do nothing, when I knew it would only take you ten minutes to get to Alba’s.”

“It’s not your fault. It never was.”

“But… but you’re here. On the phone with me. I can hear your voice, Alexia.”

“I’m here, but I’m not really here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You can either stay here with me or leave. That’s the choice you have to make.”

“I don’t understand… What do you mean?”

“Just two simple choices, baby. Stay here with me or leave.”

“If I leave here, where would I go?”

“You know the answer to that. You’re smart.”

…

“So what’s your choice?”

“…I’m staying.”

“You’re staying?”

“I am. I’ll go wherever you are, Alexia, you know that.”

“I know… but I thought that…”

“I know you said that you’ll always be there for me for whichever choice I make, but why do I have a feeling that won’t be the case if I choose to leave?”

“Well, I could mean it in a metaphorical sense.”

“I don’t want metaphors, I want you. Always. I thought you knew that when you proposed to me.”

“Mi amor… I love you.”

“And I love you. Why does it seem like you don’t want me to stay?”

“Because… I know that it’s not the best choice for you.”

“I know what’s best for me. And that’s to stay. It’s final, I’m staying.”

“Okay. Meet me at our usual spot in the park in 20 minutes?”

“I’ll be there.”

—

1 November 2024

21:47

“Babe? Visiting hour is almost over.”

Ingrid turns to the source of the voice and sees her fiancé standing at the doorway. She nods and gives a melancholic smile. “We do this all the time, but it never gets easier. Why is that? Leaving her here, I mean.”

Mapi gulps and takes a step forward to Ingrid and to… you.

“I don’t want to leave her here, María.” Ingrid sighs.

Once Mapi is at the foot of the bed, she braces herself and looks up—towards the girl occupying the bed.

Mapi has always stared at anything but you. It’s been a year since that night, since everything fell apart, and Mapi misses you a lot.

You’re staring back at her, but she knows that you’re not seeing her. 

That’s mostly why she hates looking at you. You, sick, pale-faced, and all alone in this hospital bed. Just a reminder that you’re not here with her anymore.

Because although you’re still here physically, every time Mapi stares into your eyes, it just shows that your mind is not—your blank stare confirming that you’re no longer emotionally present. 

Mapi tears her eyes away from you and blinks back her tears. Ingrid’s right, it never gets easier.

Mapi clears her throat. “We should go.”

Ingrid looks at Mapi sympathetically. She knows how tough it is to lose not one, but two of their closest friends all in a snap. 

Ingrid turns to you and stands up. She leans forward and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re going to go now, okay love?”

As always, there’s no answer.

“We’ll be back next month, don’t worry.”

Ingrid gulps and tries her hardest to not let out a cry right then and there, but the shakiness in her voice betrayed her. “We hope you’re better the next time we see you… Mapi and I are getting married soon, I just want you there next to us.”

“Ingrid…” Mapi walks over and stands next to Ingrid, squeezing her hand.

Ingrid wipes a tear that manages to escape. “I’m fine. And Y/N will be fine too.”

“She will.” Mapi whispers, looking at you, her voice wavering slightly. Mapi doesn’t know whether to believe her own words or not.

Mapi takes your hand with her free one and squeezes it, silently hoping that you can feel her touch, wherever you are, and that you can hear Mapi's silent plea for you to come back to reality.

Ingrid leans down and kisses your forehead. “Sleep tight, Y/N. We miss you so much.”

Ingrid steps back to give Mapi a chance to say her goodbyes. 

Mapi holds the railing on the side of the bed and squats down so she is speaking directly to your ears. “Y/N… I know how much you love her, and I can’t imagine how painful it is that she’s not here anymore, but you have to come back to us. You have to…” Mapi trails off, her chest heaving with unshed sobs.

Ingrid places her hands on Mapi’s shoulder, slowly bringing her up. “Hey, come here,” Ingrid whispers, wrapping her fiancé in her embrace. “We’ll try again next month.”

Mapi sighs against Ingrid’s shoulder. “I know it must be tough, losing the love of your life—I don’t even want to imagine losing you,” Mapi leans back and takes another deep breath. “But it’s been too long. Where is she? I just want our friend back.”

Ingrid smiles regretfully. “We can’t force her to snap out of it if she doesn’t want to, my love.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We’ll be patient and wait for her here.”

“What if she won’t…” Mapi whispers, as if she’s afraid to speak those words. “What if she won't come back?”

“Then we let her go,” Ingrid places both her hands on Mapi’s cheeks, caressing them softly. “If that’s her choice, then we have to respect it.”

Mapi nods slowly. “I know. I just don’t know why that’s the choice she’s making.”

Ingrid shrugs. “Maybe she sees Alexia, wherever she is.”

“You think so?”

“Who knows?” Ingrid questions back.

Mapi lifts her hands up and places them over Ingrid’s. “I hope she’s happy then.”

“If Alexia is there, she’ll be happy.” Ingrid smiles wistfully. She turns her hands around, intertwining them with Mapi’s. “C’mon, let’s go. Don’t want to miss our flight.”

Mapi lets Ingrid drag her out of the room. She pauses just at the doorway and turns around to look at you one more time. You have your eyes closed now and Mapi can swear that she sees a faint smile gracing your lips. 

Mapi can’t help but smile back. Maybe you’re with Alexia after all.

—

You arrived at the park exactly 20 minutes after your phone call with Alexia. She was there, at your bench, looking out at the lake.

You walked towards her and sat down, your shoulders brushing.

“You stayed.” Alexia stated.

You looked at her. Your beautiful Alexia. Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly, her lips pursed. “I did.”

She sighed and turned to look at you, staring at you with those eyes. “You have to be the one who decides, not me.”

You looked at her questioningly.

She turned back towards the lake. “There’s nothing I can do.”

You were confused. “Are you not happy with my decision?”

“I’m always happy to be with you, amor. You’re the love of my life.”

“Then?”

“You can’t blame me for being sad too, because of what the implications of you being here means.”

What was she even talking about?

Before you got the chance to ask, Alexia continued, “Let’s enjoy this moment,” she grabbed your hand in hers, stroking it softly. “It may be selfish of me, but I’m glad I get to spend another day with you.”

“What?” you still couldn't understand her. Alexia was being so vague. “I’m here, of course you get to spend the day with me. We have tomorrow, too. And the day after that. And so on. Until forever.”

“Sure, baby.” She smiled, although still not looking at me. “Until forever.”

You smiled back at her and placed a soft peck on her cheek, laying your head on her shoulder as you stared into the lake with her. It was a nice day, the sun was shining, although not too brightly—just perfect. The wind was a light breeze and you scooted closer to Alexia every time it blew.

“I love you, Ale.” you whispered. You really did and you wanted her to know it. If you could let her know every second of every day, you would.

The reply didn’t come in an instant, but it eventually did. “I love you, too.” You could feel her placing a kiss on the top of your head. “And it’s only because I love you that I hope you choose differently next time.”

—

a/n: let me know your thoughts!👻

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements. 

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day. 

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself. 

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need. 

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there. 

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can. 

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer. 

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore. 

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through. 

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office. 

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it. 

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town. 

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second. 

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely. 

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -" 

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream. 

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced. 

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too. 

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue. 

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you. 

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals.  Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times. 

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie. 

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths. 

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet. 

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air. 

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face. 

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it. 

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent. 

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist. 

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.  

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue. 

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf. 

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice. 

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate. 

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his. 

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases." 

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style. 

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it. 

"Maybe I wanna get close." 

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him. 

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks. 

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon. 

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on. 

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet. 

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you. 

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed. 

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands. 

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day. 

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked. 

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you. 

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal. 

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back 

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it. 

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet. 

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls. 

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?" 

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot. 

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under. 

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out. 

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl. 

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!" 

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.  

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle. 

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles. 

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief. 

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad. 

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why. 

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details. 

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit. 

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present. 

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint. 

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have. 

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island. 

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went. 

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum. 

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move. 

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo. 

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge. 

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night. 

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup. 

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself." 

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips. 

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible. 

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with. 

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds. 

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions. 

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor. 

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever." 

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space. 

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful. 

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come. 

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you. 

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom. 

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick. 

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack. 

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?" 

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging. 

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly." 

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him. 

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-" 

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely. 

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one. 

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile. 

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach. 

"Who the hell is this?" 

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire. 

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs. 

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot. 

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?" 

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell. 

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess." 

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before. 

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -" 

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long. 

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral. 

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief. 

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't. 

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way. 

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land. 

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?" 

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut." 

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge. 

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following. 

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root. 

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges. 

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed. 

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely. 

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?" 

"Yep." 

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?" 

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?" 

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies. 

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?" 

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk." 

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead. 

t

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. " 

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world. 

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - " 

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you. 

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back. 

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself. 

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare. 

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice. 

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole. 

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself. 

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat. 

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable. 

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did." 

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us." 

"There is no us." 

"But there could be." 

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies. 

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain. 

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been. 

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days. 

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering. 

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you." 

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins. 

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours. 

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved. 

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you. 

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies. 

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave. 

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest. 

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh. 

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.  

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do. 

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away. 

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt.  Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure. 

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?" 

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention. 

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue. 

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home. 

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust. 

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?" 

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen. 

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold. 

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive. 

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace. 

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?" 

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks. 

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod. 

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels. 

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit. 

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you. 

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-" 

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?" 

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point. 

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved. 

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside. 

 Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him." 

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding. 

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists. 

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard. 

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts. 

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged. 

"Rafe - oh fuck. God." 

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it. 

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray." 

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before. 

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below. 

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body. 

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum." 

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm. 

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity. 

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them. 

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place. 

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby." 

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure. 

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom. 

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system. 

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal. 

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy. 

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me." 

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom. 

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained. 

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you. 

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles. 

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration. 

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality. 

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress. 

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath. 

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck." 

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material. 

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit. 

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back." 

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. 

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break. 

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath. 

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death. 

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore." 

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean. 

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. " 

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out). 

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips. 

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it. 

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes. 

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible. 

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it. 

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained. 

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again." 

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can. 

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck. 

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him. 

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise." 

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust. 

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up. 

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock. 

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job. 

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that." 

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit. 

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind. 

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly. 

"Shit, Rafe - my God." 

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl." 

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright. 

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you. 

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken. 

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his. 

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-" 

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop. 

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart. 

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you. 

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool. 

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body. 

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths. 

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on. 

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it. 

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him. 

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain." 

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing. 

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his. 

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does. 

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it. 

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do." 

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind." 

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place. 

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer. 

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares. 

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door. 

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves. 

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter. 

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him. 

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment. 

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice." 

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight. 

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of. 

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it. 

But it never comes. 

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them. 

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life. 

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all. 

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips. 

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me." 

[bodybaggage]

Shadows in Gotham

---

Gotham’s twilight sky was a patchwork of purples and reds, a fading canvas that gave way to the inky blackness of night. The city was alive with the usual sounds of distant sirens, honking horns, and the underlying hum of danger that never quite left its streets. For Danny Fenton, now in his early twenties, Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start—a place to lay low and raise his unconventional family.

His daughter, Danielle, Ellie, as she preferred—skipped ahead on the cracked sidewalk, her energy boundless despite the long day. She looked about ten years old, though she was technically more of a clone than a traditional daughter. She had Danny’s black hair but with an unruly curl to it, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. Beside Danny, holding his hand, was a boy who looked no older than eight. His hair was tousled, and his expression was a strange mix of innocence and the haunting wisdom of someone far older. This was Dan, Danny’s de-aged evil future self, a living, breathing reminder of what could go wrong if they weren’t careful.

The trio moved through the narrow streets, Danny’s senses on high alert as they made their way back to the modest apartment they now called home. He had retired from the life of a ghostly vigilante, focusing instead on keeping his small family safe and hidden from the relentless pursuit of the Guys in White (GIW). To the world, they were just another struggling family in Gotham. But beneath the surface, their existence was anything but ordinary.

“Can we get pizza tonight?” Ellie asked, her voice full of hope as she glanced back at Danny.

“Pizza sounds good,” Danny replied with a smile. “But it’s Gotham, so let’s hope the delivery guy makes it to our place in one piece.”

Ellie giggled, and even Dan let out a rare smile, though it was fleeting. The moment of normalcy was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle up ahead. Danny’s instincts kicked in as he pulled his kids closer, eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding just around the corner.

A man, clearly desperate, was trying to rob a woman at gunpoint. The woman’s purse dangled from his shaky hand, and fear was etched across her face. Danny knew he should keep moving, that getting involved could blow their cover, but he couldn’t just walk away.

“Stay here,” Danny whispered to Ellie and Dan, his voice firm.

Before he could intervene, a shadowy figure dropped from the rooftops, landing silently behind the mugger. The man didn’t stand a chance as a blur of red and black moved with lethal precision. Within seconds, the mugger was disarmed and unconscious on the pavement.

Red Hood stood over the man, his stance relaxed but ready, as if this was just another routine night in Gotham. He turned to the woman, who quickly grabbed her purse and bolted, muttering her thanks. It was only then that Red Hood noticed Danny and the kids standing just a few feet away, watching the scene unfold.

Danny tensed as the vigilante’s eyes—hidden behind that crimson helmet—seemed to study them. He instinctively placed a hand on each of his kids’ shoulders, ready to flee if things went south.

“You alright?” Red Hood asked, his voice rough but not unkind. He seemed to soften at the sight of the kids, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Danny replied, his tone cautious. “Just heading home.”

Red Hood’s gaze flicked between Danny and the children, and Danny could almost feel the wheels turning behind that mask. This was Gotham, after all, a city full of dark secrets. A young man, barely an adult, with two small kids in tow—it wasn’t hard to jump to conclusions.

“You live around here?” Red Hood pressed, the curiosity in his voice making Danny’s stomach tighten.

“Not far,” Danny answered, hoping to end the conversation quickly. “Just trying to keep my family safe.”

Red Hood nodded slowly, as if weighing his next words. “Gotham’s not exactly the best place to raise kids, especially if you’re... alone.”

Danny’s jaw clenched, recognizing the underlying question. “We manage.”

Before Red Hood could probe further, Ellie stepped forward, her usual boldness taking over. “He’s the best dad ever! And we don’t need any help, mister.”

Red Hood chuckled softly, the sound almost disarming. “I’m sure he is, kid. But just in case, you should know there are people around here who can help... if you ever need it.”

Danny forced a tight smile, grateful for Ellie’s fierce loyalty but wary of the attention they’d attracted. “Thanks, but we’re good.”

Red Hood seemed to accept this, though the suspicion in his stance didn’t entirely fade. “Take care of yourself,” he said finally, before turning and vanishing into the shadows as quickly as he’d appeared.

Danny let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The encounter had been brief, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The Bat Family had eyes everywhere, and their curiosity was piqued.

“Let’s get home,” Danny murmured, guiding Ellie and Dan down the street with renewed urgency.

They reached their apartment without further incident, the familiar creak of the stairs a welcome sound. Once inside, Danny locked the door and sagged against it, the weight of their precarious situation pressing down on him.

Ellie flopped onto the worn couch, her earlier bravado replaced with concern. “Are we in trouble, Dad?”

Danny ruffled her hair affectionately. “No, Ellie. We’re just... being careful. That’s all.”

Dan sat quietly at the kitchen table, his eyes distant as he processed the night’s events. “He was one of the Bats, wasn’t he?”

Danny nodded, joining Dan at the table. “Yeah, Red Hood. He’s... complicated. But we should be alright if we keep a low profile.”

The night passed uneventfully, but the encounter with Red Hood lingered in Danny’s mind. He knew that living in Gotham meant constant vigilance, but the thought of the Bat Family watching them added a new layer of stress.

---

Meanwhile, across town, the Bat Family gathered in the Batcave, the massive space filled with the glow of computer screens and the quiet hum of machinery.

“Interesting case tonight,” Red Hood—Jason Todd—began as he removed his helmet, revealing the slightly tousled dark hair underneath. “Ran into a guy with two kids. They seemed... out of place.”

“Out of place in Gotham?” Dick Grayson, quipped from where he was perched on the edge of the Batcomputer’s console. “That’s pretty much everyone.”

Jason shot him a look. “Not like that. The guy was young, barely in his twenties. The kids were ten and eight, maybe. And something about them just... felt off.”

Bruce Wayne, Batman, looked up from the screen, his expression unreadable. “Off how?”

Jason hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. There’s something he’s not saying. And those kids—they’re attached to him, but it’s like they’re all trying to stay under the radar.”

Damian Wayne, the current Robin, scoffed. “Plenty of people try to stay out of sight in this city. It’s not our problem unless they break the law.”

“Yeah, but...” Jason trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “There’s a chance that guy’s a victim. The way the girl talked about him, it was like she was protecting him.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think the children are in danger?”

Jason frowned, shaking his head. “Not from him. I think they’re all running from something.”

Silence settled over the Batcave as they considered the implications. Bruce stood, his presence commanding as ever. “Keep an eye on them. Gotham has a way of uncovering secrets, and we can’t afford to overlook anything.”

---

Back at the apartment, Danny lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The shadows played tricks in the dim light, reminding him of the life he left behind. He had taken on more than just the role of a father—he had become a protector, a shield against the darkness that sought to consume them.

But Gotham was relentless, and he knew their time in the shadows was running out.

---

🧌

[malusokay]

Little things to upgrade your morning routine

Always start your morning with a nice drink like a coffee, matcha, or tea.

Say good morning to your pets, you can also text your friends and maybe, make some plans!! <3

Set an alarm so you wake up on time and don't feel rushed, for me, it's usually enough to just sleep with my blinds open!! :)

Open your windows to let some fresh air in, also make sure to check if any of your plants need water!!

Make-up and music. I love doing my make-up while listening to one of my playlists, it's the perfect way to set the mood <3

Positive affirmations!! You can write them on sticky notes and put them on your mirror so you'll see them while getting ready!! :)

Prepare a cute outfit the night before, and make sure to check the weather so you can plan ahead!

Don't skip breakfast, If you are busy, you can meal prep some overnight oat or chia pudding the night before.

Try reading at least 10 pages in the morning, it will help you feel more refreshed.

Make sure to check your bag, so you don't forget things like your lip combo, keys, and headphones!! Nothing worse than sitting on the subway without headphones (me rn) :((

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments!! I hope you all have a beautiful Monday/Week <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[fikelove]

SUNDAY RESET

what is a ��sunday reset’?

a sunday reset is essentially an opportunity to reflect on the past week, on your achievements, challenges, and lessons you’ve learned. this will help you make room for improvement and growth by setting new goals and dedicating a day to relax and enjoy a fresh start.

TIPS FOR A SUNDAY RESET

MORNING ROUTINE

SLEEP IN: take your time!! allow your body to wake up naturally.

SET GOALS: keep a journal close to your bed so that you can write down your thoughts, feelings and goals for the upcoming day/week. i recommend buying the ‘5 minute journal’ (or a dupe) as it provides short prompts and quotes each day! of course this is optional, what’s more important is the fact that you’re processing your emotions and setting your intentions for the week.

STRETCH: as soon as your feet hit the ground try some morning yoga, this is a great habit to get into as it boosts your energy levels, reduces stress, enhances mood, etc. this will automatically get you on track for a productive day!

EAT: enhance your sunday reset with a tasty, balanced breakfast to fill you with energy for the day ahead! do not skip the most important meal of the day!! if you’re unsure of what to eat, here are a few ideas:

avocado toast, any form of eggs, açai bowl, yogurt + fruit, oatmeal, banana pancakes

SELFCARE

RELAX: take a break from scrolling by unwinding with a book you’ve been longing to read, take a long bath, practice mindfulness, engage in a hobby

EXERCISE: do some form of physical activity! whether it’s going on a small walk, jogging, cycling or the gym, any movement is better than none!

[theminecraftbee]

so, you've been considering getting into hermitcraft.

that's great! welcome! we are an extremely enthusiastic fandom, i admit, but we are very happy to have you watching the hermits! however, with over a decade of existence and twenty-seven current hermits, it can feel very intimidating to get into hermitcraft. luckily, as of the time of this posting--january 31st, 2024--it's also the BEST time to get into hermitcraft, because a new season starts on february 3rd! (and if you're reading this later: don't worry. this is ALSO the best time to get into hermitcraft. don't worry about it i'll get into that.)

the shortest version of this advice is: start wherever you want, with whoever you want. it doesn't matter, you can catch up.

still, it can seem like a lot. so, from someone who's been around since mid season seven, here is a more detailed guide on how to start watching hermitcraft!

what is hermitcraft?

hermitcraft is a collection of people who all play on the same survival multiplayer minecraft server. that server is a mostly vanilla minecraft server; i don't really call hermitcraft "vanilla" anymore, as they rely on a number of largely cosmetic mods, but the things they do on hermitcraft should, broadly, all be possible in vanilla minecraft, and the server still "feels" vanilla, so. vanilla minecraft. they do this in "seasons", which are periods of time between a year and two years, after which they reset and start on a fresh server.

in comparison to something like qsmp or even the life series, hermitcraft leans heavily on the "building cool things and hanging out" side of the spectrum as opposed to the roleplay side. however, at least once a season the hermits like to do a big storyline; sometimes, it's more frequent. many of the storylines are more natural escalations of things like server prank wars or a failing server economy, though, as opposed to things that are clearly in-universe roleplaying. don't worry, though; you'll know a hermitcraft storyline when you see it. by everyone's bad acting. also, by rendog putting on a silly accent.

if your only impression of hermitcraft has been from the fandom, you... probably have a somewhat mistaken impression. my bad. in my defense, i am a horror writer at heart, and in the fandom's defense, a LOT of crossover has happened with the life series fandom, which leads to both sort of leaking into each other. in general, expect things to be on the lighthearted goofy shenanigans side with very few exceptions when you're actually watching hermitcraft, despite the way the fandom tends to be.

where is hermitcraft?

broadly, youtube! hermitcraft is an almost entirely video series, and if you want to watch a hermitcrafter, you will almost certainly need to watch them on youtube. there are only very rarely streamed hermitcraft events, and these are normally announced ahead of time.

what if i prefer twitch?

skip the rest of this and just watch joe hills. i promise i'm not saying that because i'm a joe hills guy; i'm saying it because he's the only hermit that consistently streams from hermitcraft. impulse, tango, cleo, pearl, xisuma, iskall, and hypno all also appear to stream fairly regularly, but it's not always from hermitcraft.

where should i start?

now, that's the real question, isn't it? my answer is simple: start Now. if you're reading this as i post it, that means start this saturday on everyone's episode one. if you're reading this long after i post it, though, just... go ahead and start with whoever you want to watch's latest episode! the nice thing about hermitcraft is that you can GENERALLY jump in wherever you want.

but what about old seasons?

you do not need to watch older seasons of hermitcraft. unless you want to, of course; the world is your oyster and they are very good! however, there's also a LOT of old hermitcraft, and if you want to join in with what hermitcraft is doing now, old seasons aren't necessary. very little carries over from season to season. while sometimes old "lore" or recurring bits can carry references over, and the relationships between hermits will often carry over to some extent (if often not in the same patterns), it is never to an extent that you need the old seasons for context. each season is a clean new slate, and where "lore" carries over, the relevant hermit will almost always explain it to you.

what about helsknight/evil x/hotguy/boatem/convex/some other thing i've been hearing about?

i promise, if they are relevant to this season, they will explain it to you in the relevant episode and/or it will be easy enough to pick up. do not worry about it. each season is a soft reset for a reason, and one of those reasons is to make it easier on new viewers! and if you're here because you WANTED one of those specific things... ask an older fan! they'll be able to direct you to the places they're from.

do i need to watch all the hermits?

absolutely not! in fact, i strongly recommend you don't. there are going to be... hold on let me count... twenty-seven hermits? (i am bad at counting don't quote me on this) in this season alone. keeping up with all those videos is too much for basically anyone! instead, pick a few hermits that you like best, and if you want to keep up with everyone else, go to the hermitcraft recap youtube channel and watch that! it is a vital hermitcraft resource where pixlriffs, zloyxp, and lyarrah all watch every single hermit so that we don't have to. honor their sacrifice and don't try to watch everyone.

but how do i pick someone?

few ways! there exist, if you google, plenty of "choosing your hermit pov" quizzes; if you head over to the hermitcraft subreddit, for example, i'll be SHOCKED if they don't have one, and if you go over to the recap channel, they had one of those for a while too. this is the starting place for many people.

another way is to watch the recap and choose whoever's project interests you most. for early episodes, this may be hard, but since hermits tend to go hard for their first episode, you'll normally at least be able to pick up a sense of pace and build style.

just watching whoever it is your friends are obsessed with is also a tried and true method of finding your first hermit; frequently, like with the recap, this is a good method for then figuring out whose style you like best, and switching to them, if you don't end up clicking with the same people your friends click with.

finally, you can just... click a random hermit's channel! try a few out! maybe you heard about decked out and want to watch tango; maybe there's a storyline you want to start watching because the dash has been rambling about it; maybe you just want to know who this grain character is. clicking around until you find the guy whose editing you click with is a totally valid strategy!

that sounds hard. just pick someone for me.

if you like well-edited shenanigans: grian or mumbo jumbo. (these are also good starter hermits in general, i've found; if you aren't sure where else to start, start with one of them.)

if you like long background noise-type videos: docm77

if you like minigames: tangotek.

if you like a chill video: xbcrafted or, if the texture pack gets you, vintagebeef.

if you like storylines: rendog or grian, again. (i was trying not to double-up, but if you're here from an rp-heavy server, grian remains a great entry point in that regards.)

if you like to see something new and bizarre: zedaph if you prefer highly-edited videos, joe hills if you prefer lightly edited videos.

if you want the best building on hermitcraft: pearlescentmoon or bdoubleo100, special mention to goodtimeswithscar.

if you want someone as new as you: i'll come back and edit in whoever the new hermits are once we know! but them.

if you just want one of my favorites: zombiecleo or iskall85.

thank you! what if i DO want to know what the fandom is always on about?

that, i'm afraid, i don't know how to help you with. you'll just have to watch hermitcraft from here--and maybe read some of the fanworks that have intrigued you--and find out for yourself!

good luck out there, and i hope this has helped someone!

[wileys-russo]

maternal instinct (4) II a.russo

(1) (2) (3) maternal instinct (4) II a.russo

"thanks for the shirt big foot! i like red." bella beamed as alessia began to unbuckle her from the car seat with a smile, clad in a small arsenal jersey on top of the hoodie and sweats alessia had to fight her to put on underneath given the cooler weather.

"good. red is the best!" alessia winked, honking the five year olds nose and making her giggle before helping her out of the seat. "i can carry it! you have your bag already." bella held her arms out for her backpack as alessia assisted her to shrug it on, tugging her hood out from beneath it.

"i've never watched a football game! mummy doesn't like sports and my daddy prefers cricket which is so boring. is football boring? whats it like?" bella asked, bouncing excitedly on the heels of her feet as alessia popped the trunk and grabbed out her own bags.

"definitely not boring!" the blonde promised slinging her gymbag over her shoulder and pushing the trunk closed before holding her hand out for bella.

"so there's two teams-" alessia began to explain football, simplifying it as much as she could for the small girl tightly clinging onto her hand who hung off of her every word.

"-and then whatever team scores the most goals, wins." alessia finished her story right as she arrived inside, having taken the long route through from the back of the stadium to avoid anyone seeing bella, knowing how seriously you took her privacy.

"ohhh, and that will be you!" bella grinned as alessia chuckled. "i hope so. when i score i've been told i make airplane arms, like this-" alessia let go of her hand and straightened her arms out like a plane, bella collapsing into giggles at the sight.

"she does! air russo we call her." alessia looked up at the new voice, leah appearing from one of the physio rooms with laura in tow, the two of them with fresh strapping on their knees. "leah!" bella waved happily, pausing for a moment to look up at alessia.

"you can go say hi." alessia murmured with a nod, patting the girls back in encouragement as she skipped forward. "i'm isabella but everyone calls me bella!" she greeted laura who seemed a bit taken aback, looking between the five year old and alessia with a confused frown.

"would you like to come see the change rooms?" leah offered, addressing alessia more so than bella, the blonde quickly checking the time and nodding. you were due to meet them in around a half hour, before pitch inspection and before the crowds all really came rolling into meadow park.

"is she-" laura started as leah took bella's hand and continued on forward, alessia shaking her head with an amused smile. "no, she's my friends kid, i've been babysitting for the weekend." alessia explained as the austrian nodded in understanding, the pair falling into conversation as they followed where leah had gone.

not at all to alessia's surprise by the time she arrived to the change room bella was busy talking a few of the girls ears off who listened eagerly, the blonde wincing slightly as she realised bella was recounting the story of her head lice.

she'd of course already checked with you as many things ahead of time as she could think of, going as far as to type out a list of questions and sending them to you around one in the morning last night, getting a reply not long after eight this morning with some answers and that you were just leaving.

you understood bella would be around her team and her friends and had no issues with this, assuring alessia repeatedly that you trusted her and knew bella was in safe hands, still finding her nerves and uncertainty endearing as always.

which is how you found her a little while later, eyes canning the horizon nervously, bella chattering away as usual but you could see the blonde wasn't really listening.

then, she spotted you, relief flooding her features as her body visibly sagged a little and she squatted down, pointing you out to your daughter whose whole face brightened making you grin.

you were still a fair few metres away but bella cleared them in seconds flat, throwing herself at you as you caught her easily and spun her around like you did when she was much younger and smaller.

"i missed you so so so so so so so so so-" bella started as you threw your head back with a laugh. "babe breathe!" you tickled as she paused and inhaled deeply. "-so much!" she finished as you attacked her face with kisses, her giggling filling the air as you headed over toward alessia.

"hi." you greeted the footballer, eyes quickly raking up and down taking her in in her uniform, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"hi." the blonde echoed back with a slightly shy smile of her own, the pair of you hugging as well as you could with bella dangling off your hip who wound up joining in, looping an arm around either of your necks.

"mummy leah said i could inspect the pitch with her. can i?" bella asked, busting out her best puppy dog eyes which you always struggled to really say no to. "yeah you can go, but come right back here after so we can find our seats." you placed her down, watching as she raced over to a blonde stood a few feet away, tugging on her hand.

you caught the girls eye and she raised her hand in a wave which you returned. "thats leah, the pizza thief and gatecrasher from the other night. i think bella might even like her more than me!" alessia rolled her eyes playfully as your daughter headed onto the field with a couple of unfamiliar girls all in the same uniform as the blonde in front of you.

"so should i take her to dinner tonight instead?" you questioned with a smile, alessia's mouth widening into a small o. "not funny, seriously not funny." the taller girl warned as you shook your head, tugging her in for another hug now you didn't have a five year old hanging off you.

"thank you so much for looking after her less, seriously. it takes a lot for me to trust someone like that and you just proved me right to trust you." you mumbled, feeling her squeeze you a little tighter.

"thank you for trusting me." alessia mumbled back, hand rubbing circles on your back as you nearly melted into her. "and the head lice! god i am so sorry about the head lice." you winced as the pair of you pulled away causing the taller girl to laugh.

"hey no need to apologize, my hairs never been cleaner."

~

"-and then which ever team scores most, wins." bella finished recounting how football worked to you, after the game had finished with arsenal winning 3-1. "oh really? well thank you bell, i finally understand now!" you sighed hitting your palm against your forehead.

at alessia's request you were waiting for her to come find the pair of you, since she still had bella's booster seat you'd left your car back at your apartment and ubered to the game.

you'd been given a lanyard by the blonde earlier on, a family and friends pass that meant you were able to wait by the players lot, sending slightly nervous smiles to those who passed you clearly a little wary of who you were.

though it was obvious bella had made her splash with more than a few of the players coming to say bye as they made their way to the cars, not that it surprised you given bella was a chronic chatterbox, something she got from her father.

"hey bell." you sat down beside her on the railing you were hanging by waiting for alessia, the girl looking up from where she was pretending a stick was a magic wand, kicking rocks about and chanting at them.

"so you know how daddy and olivia live together." you started, referring to her fathers long term girlfriend, your daughter nodding. "you like olivia right? you guys are friends?" you continued as bella nodded yeah. "yeah and she's daddys special friend." bella chirped as you now nodded.

"well. what would you think if alessia was mummys special friend?" you asked a little nervously, looking at her as the girl seemed to pause and tick things over. "would she come live with us?" she asked with a small frown.

"no, she'd still live across the hall. but it means she would come over more, maybe sometimes she might have sleepovers, we could all go do fun stuff together the three of us." you explained gently as bella nodded slowly.

"like what?" "mm well like go to the movies, go for dinner, go to the park, go bowling. whatever we want! but it means she would be around a lot more, and if you don't want that i need you to tell me okay? i won't be upset." you promised sincerely, always ready to put your daughters needs above your own much as it might hurt.

"i like big foot. but if she's your special friend, does that mean i can't be friends with her anymore?" bella asked, standing and going back to poking at rocks with her stick. "not at all, the two of you still get to be friends, and spend even more time together. did you have a good time with her this weekend?" you asked, watching with a small chuckle as she waved her stick around with a yell and a dance.

"yeah really fun! we got to wear special hats, i flew a rocket, we made pizza and watched bluey, and she even gave my teddys a bath and taught them how to breathe underwater!" bella glanced at you with a face eating grin which you couldn't help but mirror.

"sounds very cool. so, you're okay if alessia and i are special friends?" you confirmed, bella nodding with a hum and swinging her stick around, hitting it into the railing and groaning as it snapped in half.

though as she picked up one half and hurried off to grab the other someone beat her to it. "woah mutant! you didn't tell me you knew magic?" alessia gasped holding the snapped stick in her hand.

"she calls me mutant, its my nickname like hers is big feet." bella explained to you over her shoulder as you pulled a face and nodded in understanding.

"bella have i ever told you how i got these big feet?" alessia quirked an eyebrow dramatically as you stood and grabbed your daughters bag.

"...from a spell that went horribly wrong!" you smiled as alessia lunged at the five year old who squealed and raced off, the blonde chasing after her as they both used their snapped sticks to cast pretend spells at one another.

"great, guess i'm going to dinner with my kid and my big kid." you chuckled to yourself, following after them to the car as they hid behind things trying to shoot one another with their newfound magic.

~

"i could have carried her less, you just played a full ninety minutes." you whispered quietly where the three of you stood together in the elevator headed on up to your floor.

"i told you its fine, and that i could have taken her and my bag." the blonde smiled nodding to her arsenal gym bag slung over your shoulder, both of you pausing for a moment as bella stirred but didn't move.

the two of you fell silent as you reached your floor, your keys plucked from your pocket as alessia very carefully carried bella inside once the door was unlocked, following after you to her bedroom once it was closed.

tugging down the covers with one hand alessia lowered the five year old into bed with the other, moving aside so you could tuck her in, flicking on the star lamp by the base of her bed.

you brushed bella's hair out of her face and chuckled at the way her mouth hung open as she slept soundly with a shake of your head, kissing her forehead and backing up, alessia stepping out of the way as you both hovered in the door frame for a moment.

"she's so perfect." you sighed with a soft smile, alessia mirroring it beside you. "yeah, must get that from her dad." you gave her a playful side eye and pushed her, very slowly pulling the door shut with the quietest of clicks.

"safe." you sighed after pausing by her door for a minute, no little footsteps or voice crying out your name meaning bella was indeed out like a light.

"you know for a tiny girl she packs away food, must be that ghastly tummy monster." alessia tutted as the pair of you returned to the living room.

"well you did a pretty good job working up her appetite with all those magic spells, one of them must have been for hunger!" you teased, grinning at the way the strikers cheeks blushed.

"don't apologize, it was cute. very cute." you cut her off before she could speak, arms winding around her neck as you looked up at the taller girl with a fond smile, pecking her lips a few times.

"you're really good with her less, and she really likes you. which is why-" you let her go with a small sigh. "i'm giving you once more chance to walk away. if all of this is too much for you, i would understand, and i'd never hold it against you." you promised sincerely taking a little step back.

"honestly?" alessia questioned as you nodded. "honestly."

"well honestly-" the footballer took a step forward clearing the gap you'd just made. "-i am absolutely crazy about both of you, and i'm in, all in. if you'll have me." the girl chewed her bottom lip, apprehension filling her features.

"yeah? "yeah. so..." the girls hands settled themselves on your hips as she paused to take a deep breath, bright blue eyes locked with yours.

"will you be my girlfriend?" "i'd be honoured."

~

"but what do you mean you've not seen man on fire?" alessia scoffed, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at you where she stood in the kitchen awaiting the popcorn to finish.

"exactly that. i've not seen it!" you laughed, having repeated yourself five times now much to the strikers horror each time. "well that simply won't do. we're watching it, its on prime!" the blonde nodded toward the tv.

"but what about anyone but you? babe we were supposed to have a cheesy rom com night!" you protested from the lounge, raising an eyebrow at her as she pulled the popcorn out, opening the bag and yanking her head back as hot air pillowed out.

"change of plans. you need a movie education my girl!" alessia tutted, pouring the popcorn into a bowl as you groaned. "if i knew you were such a film bro it might have changed my answer when you asked me out." you muttered, grabbing the remote none the less.

"hey! i'm not a film bro, i don't even know what that means!" the blonde gasped in offence, grabbing the snacks and moving back to the lounge. "wait! get me a hoodie." you held a hand up after she'd placed the food down and was about to flop herself down on top of you.

"get you a hoodie..." "...now?"

"mother mutant!" alessia rolled her eyes, flicking a piece of popcorn at you but heading off to fulfill your wishes none the less. with bella at her dads for the weekend it meant the two of you could spend some quality time together.

which meant you got your girlfriend to yourself for once without her teaming up with your own daughter against you, the two having become quite the inseparable pair and alessia loving nothing more than teasing you about it.

though as much as she might be a big kid at heart you really couldn't deny the way alessia had stepped up to help you with bella too.

she hadn't missed a single school event since the two of you started going out, a bright smiling face bella always found easily in the crowd when you were often needed backstage given you were a teacher yourself.

she came along to any doctors appointments knowing how nervous they made bella, distracting her with silly voices and made up games while you pretended not to notice the chocolates slipped from her pocket.

there was no good cop bad cop routine either.

at first the blonde did struggle a little to find where she sat with discipline, never doing anything without consulting you or checking in but with time and trust she grew into her own relationship with bella as more than just your special friend.

and her insticts grew too.

you were in alessia's apartment for dinner, pizza night a much loved and somewhat demanded routine every friday night now, and nothing made you melt more than watching how kind and patient alessia was with bella when they cooked together.

you were sat at the island plugging away at your yearly class reports, bopping your head along to the music alessia had floating around the apartment as her and bella prepped.

"mummy what do you want on your pizza!" you felt a tug on your hoodie and looked down, laughing as bella handed you a piece of paper with a bunch of ingredients listed with small tick boxes.

"her idea, i just helped." alessia winked seeing you send her a smile at the little menu. "here." bella handed you a pen as you booped her on the nose with it and ticked off a few things, placing both back into her eager hands.

"thank you!" the girl bowed making you laugh before scurrying off into the kitchen where alessia was waiting. you'd gone back to your laptop, assuming the blonde had everything under control.

"bella no!" was all you heard, looking up to see a blonde blur sprint across the room, scooping up your daughter out of the way as the knife block toppled and they all fell right where she'd been standing.

"i'm sorry! i just wanted to get the tray for you." bella's bottom lip began to wobble as alessia exhaled shakily and sat her up on the counter as you appeared and very carefully picked up the knives.

"hey hey hey no mutant don't cry. i'm sorry for yelling, you just scared me a little bit but i know you didn't mean to." alessia engulfed the girl into a hug, rubbing her back as tiny sniffles sounded and you met the blondes panicked gaze.

"its okay, she's okay. thank you!" you mouthed, nodding reassuringly as alessia sighed, still holding your daughter tightly as her own heart rate steadied itself, trying not to think of what might have happened if she wasn't paying attention.

bella had even signed up for her very first team sport, which of course just so happened to be football.

alessia drove her to and stayed at every single practice, making arrangements with her own team to leave training early every wednesday to do so, and arriving late on saturday mornings so she could be at as many of the games as she could.

though much to her hidden heartbreak bella was following down more of a defensive pathway rather than like the striker alessia had tried tirelessly to build her up to be.

then after around nine months of the two of you dating and not long after alessia had ended her lease and finally moved in, it happened.

you were at one of bella's games, alessia's taller form pressed tightly behind you, both of you wearing a multitude of layers and hugging tightly as the chilly winter frost nipped at your noses.

much to her dismay alessia had wrestled bella into an undershirt, though you could already see how bright red her nose was getting as you prayed she wouldn't get sick.

it had all happened too fast for anyone to really process, bella played in an all girls league but with their opposition short one of the girls brothers was filling in, a year younger but a head taller than all of them.

you knew deep down he hadn't meant to do it, likely only trying to copy one of his footballing idols he'd seen do the same thing every week on tv in the premier league, but still it happened.

bella was dribbling the ball down the right side as everyone else hovered right by her, you and alessia often quietly joking they were like a little pack of seagulls chasing a chip the way they hovered together in a tight little huddle.

but the boy had gone sliding in for the ball, only it was very poorly timed and he collected bella instead, sending her crashing down to the ground as a gasp echoed through the crowd.

your eyes widened and you felt alessia's arms clamp even tighter around you, her own sharp inhale of breath heard right by your ear.

then came the crying, and the yelling, and the same word repeated over and over.

"mama! mama! mama!" you'd gone into fight or flight mode ready to race onto the tiny pitch, but then it clicked, that wasn't you, you were mummy, it wasn't you she was calling for.

"go, less go!" you pulled away from your girlfriend who gave you a confused look. "she's not calling for me, she wants you. go!" you pushed her with a nod, alessia opening and closing her mouth like a stunned fish but stumbling over none the less.

now of course a part of you had been jealous, it was you bella was supposed to want when she was hurt, you who were supposed to comfort her, you were her mother.

but there was a larger part that just felt something much warmer, softer, tinglier. the feeling that now bella had two of you to look out for her, two of you she trusted to comfort her when upset and help bandage her up while hurt.

you were finally a family.

[hoe4hotchner]

The Perfect Pumpkin | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader (x Jack Hotchner) CW: Nothing but tooth rotting fluff and mentions of halloween WC: 1.6k

Happy Halloween to all those who celebrate

           The crisp autumn air filled your lungs as you, Aaron, and Jack stepped out of the car, the pumpkin patch spread out before you like a scene from a cozy fall postcard from up north. Golden and red leaves crunched beneath your feet, and the scent of fresh hay hung in the breeze. Jack was practically bouncing with excitement, his eyes scanning the field for the perfect pumpkin.

           Aaron reached for your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "Ready for some pumpkin hunting?" he asked with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

           You nodded, grinning as you watched Jack dart ahead, already inspecting the rows of bright orange pumpkins scattered across the patch. “I think Jack’s got a head start,” you teased, watching the boy crouch down to examine the first pumpkin he saw.

           Aaron chuckled, “He’s been talking about this for weeks. I think he’s more excited about this than Halloween itself.”

           You smiled, your gaze shifting to Jack, who was now holding up a pumpkin almost as big as he was. His face was lit up with joy, his enthusiasm contagious.

           "Hey! What about this one?" Jack called out, his voice full of excitement as he showed you both his find.

           You walked over with Aaron, pretending to give the pumpkin a thorough inspection. “Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, crouching down beside Jack. “It’s a pretty good one, but how about we keep looking for a bit? We want to make sure we pick the perfect ones.” Truth be told none of you were sure how you would manage to carve a pumpkin that size.

           Jack nodded, his expression serious as if this were the most important decision of the day. “Okay, but I’m gonna keep this one in mind.” You almost burst into laughter, loving how serious the boy was about his pumpkins

           Aaron stood beside you, arms crossed as he watched the two of you. He looked relaxed - at ease in this simple moment, far from the chaos of his usual work life.

           As you wandered through the patch, the three of you shared laughs and moments of quiet contentment. Jack darted between the pumpkins, inspecting each one with the utmost seriousness, while you and Aaron strolled hand in hand, occasionally exchanging glances that felt like small, unspoken secrets between the two of you.

           At one point, Jack found a particularly lopsided pumpkin and proudly showed it to Aaron, who pretended to be deeply impressed by its unique shape. "I think this one’s got some character," Aaron said with a smile, giving Jack a playful nudge.

           After a while, you finally came across a pumpkin that caught your eye. It was round, perfectly sized, and had a rich orange color. “What do you think, Jack?” you asked, holding it up for his approval.

           Jack came over, giving the pumpkin a critical look before grinning. “That one’s awesome!”

           Aaron leaned in, his voice soft as he whispered in your ear, “Looks like we’ve got a winner.”

           The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and you smiled, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. These moments - simple, sweet, and filled with love - were what you cherished the most.

           With your pumpkins chosen, the three of you made your way to the check-out, Jack happily talking about the designs he wanted to carve. Aaron carried the pumpkins with ease, while Jack excitedly swung your hand back and forth as you walked.

           As you left the pumpkin patch, the sky began to turn a soft shade of pink, the sun setting behind the rows of trees in the distance. The day had been simple, yet perfect, full of laughter, warmth, and the promise of more moments like this to come. You couldn’t wait to get home, carve the pumpkins together, and continue creating memories with the two people who meant the world to you.

           The fall breeze ruffled your hair as you climbed into the car, Jack still chatting about the spooky faces he wanted to carve into his pumpkin, and Aaron glanced at you with a soft smile - the kind that said everything without needing to say a word. You leaned back in your seat, content and happy.

           As you walked into the cozy warmth of your home, the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg lingering from the candles lit earlier filled the air, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. Jack dashed ahead, already setting up his carving station at the kitchen table, his excitement palpable. You and Aaron exchanged amused glances, and he placed the pumpkins down with a soft thud, shaking his head with a smile.

           “Looks like we’ve got a true artist on our hands,” Aaron said, ruffling Jack’s hair as he joined him at the table.

           Jack beamed up at his dad, pulling out a small carving kit. “I’m gonna make mine super spooky!” he declared, his eyes shining with determination. He picked up the smaller of the pumpkins and set it before him, his tiny fingers eagerly searching for the best spot to begin.

           You settled next to Jack, your own pumpkin resting on the table. “What do you think we should carve?” you asked, leaning over to give him a playful nudge.

           Jack thought for a moment, tapping his chin dramatically. “How about a ghost? Or a monster with lots of teeth?”

           You chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Both sound great! But how about I carve a friendly ghost, and you can make a monster? That way we’ll have a spooky friend and a scary one!”

           Jack’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! And I’ll make mine really big with sharp teeth!”

           As you gathered your carving tools, Aaron leaned back against the counter, watching you both with a soft smile. He loved these moments - seeing Jack so animated, the way you encouraged him, and the warmth that filled the room.

           You picked up your pumpkin, examining its smooth surface. With a pencil, you sketched out a simple yet cheerful ghost. “I want him to be smiling,” you said as you drew the outline. “What do you think, Jack?”

           Jack nodded vigorously, already busy sketching his own design - a monster with exaggerated features, wide eyes, and a toothy grin. “Mine’s gonna be the scariest!”

           As you began carving, you carefully cut into the pumpkin, the blade sawing through the flesh as you focused on bringing your ghost to life. The rhythmic sound of the knife punctuated the room, mingling with Jack’s excited chatter about his creation.

           “Look, Dad!” Jack called, holding up his pumpkin. “What do you think?”

           Aaron stepped closer, his smile broadening as he examined the monster’s jagged teeth and wild eyes. “That looks awesome, buddy! It’s definitely going to scare anyone who comes to our door,” he replied, pride evident in his voice.

           You glanced up, watching the interaction. It was moments like these - seeing the bond between father and son - that made everything feel complete. You turned back to your pumpkin, carving out the top of it, imagining the delight it would bring to Jack on Halloween night.

           Once you finished the outline, you set the knife down and pulled out a small scoop, starting to remove the insides of the pumpkin. Jack watched intently, his curiosity piqued. “Can I help?” he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

           “Of course!” you replied, handing him the scoop. “Here, you can scoop out the insides and then we’ll clean them up together.”

           With that, the three of you worked in harmony as Aaron took over Jack's pumpkin for a little while, laughter filling the kitchen as Jack giggled at the squishy guts of the pumpkin. “This is so gross!” he exclaimed, dramatically pretending to gag, which made you and Aaron laugh even harder.

           Aaron scooped out some of the insides of his pumpkin. “You know, it’s not Halloween without a little mess,” he said, looking at Jack with a smirk.

           The atmosphere was filled with warmth and joy, and the soft glow of the candles flickered around the room, casting playful shadows. You glanced at Aaron, catching his eye, and felt a rush of happiness. Watching him interact with Jack - seeing the laughter and love they shared - filled your heart to the brim.

           As the pumpkins began to take shape, you started to add the final details to your ghost, giving it a playful expression. Jack’s monster was turning out wonderfully, its features exaggerated in the best way possible.

           “Look at my monster!” Jack said proudly, showing off his work, eyes sparkling with glee.

           “It’s perfect, Jack!” you praised, leaning closer to inspect the details he had added. “I can’t wait to see how they look all lit up.”

           Once both pumpkins were carved, you placed a small candle inside each one and lit the wicks. The glow illuminated the kitchen, casting a warm, inviting light. You admired the friendly ghost and the menacing monster side by side, feeling a swell of pride.

           Aaron reached for your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin as he gazed at the pumpkins. “You both did an amazing job. I think we’ve got the best pumpkins in all of Virginia,” he said, his voice full of affection.

           “Now we have to put them outside!” Jack exclaimed, hopping off the chair. He darted toward the door, clearly eager to show off the fruits of your labor to all your neighbors.

           You and Aaron followed the excitement bubbling within you. Outside, the stars began to twinkle overhead, and a soft blanket of darkness had settled over the town as you had worked away in the kitchen. As you arranged the pumpkins on the porch, the soft flickering light danced in the night, illuminating the orange shell.

           As you stood together, watching the glowing pumpkins, a sense of peace enveloped you, a beautiful night spent with your two favorite people, filled with laughter, love, and the magic of Halloween.

[en-gelic]

— ANGEL'S KISSES !

an angel's kisses are a delicate feeling 1111 cw. skinship, injuries, smoking heeseung x (f) reader ʚɞ BOOKSHELF! ⋆ an. MEMORABILIA HAS ME ON MY KNEES

The hallways bustle with energy as you scurried across the school. Your chest heaved up and down as you panted out of breath, cursing your terrible stamina. Slowing down, you made it to the back of the school where you found Heeseung, grey smoke tumbling out of his mouth. He crushed it quickly at the sight of you and pretended to recite the homework you gave him the evening before.

“I saw you so don't even try." You warned, pulling a face at the smoky smell filling your lungs. He grinned his perfect smile at you as though to distract you from his lack of obedience. "Your rank is still the same after I spend four days of my week to tutor you-" You began.

"You're so pretty." He interrupted, leading his dreamy gaze to you. "Are you even listening?" You questioned, irritated with the boys' lack of cooperation.

"Not at all, pretty girl." His overused nickname still made your heart skip a beat as you scolded him to stop using the nickname on you.

"Then which one do you prefer?" Grinning, he leaned down, his breath blowing loose strands of your hair. "Princess? Baby? My love?" Fighting the urge to hold your breath, you stepped back. "Listening while I'm talking is a start."

Hearing footsteps, you silently demand his cigarette box. He handed it to you in confusion, your hand buzzing with the electricity that felt like it was running through his hand when you grazed it.

"What are you doing students?" The teacher asked, trying to peak at the cigarette box you were holding behind your skirt. Muttering a curse word under your breath, you smiled politely. "Nothing, just remembering formulas before math class." Nervously glancing at the teacher, you could see that he didn't look convinced whatsoever. "And what's behind your back?" He pressed on, sensing inaccuracy in your sentence. Being the worst liar, you pulled a face, ready to get caught by the teacher with cigarettes that weren't even yours.

"Condoms." Heeseung blurted as your eyes shot open in horror at his sentence. The teacher looked astounded as a blush tinted his cheeks. He droned on about having inappropriate material at school, but he let you keep the supposed "condoms" and granted a warning and detention for the end of the day. Not to mention, the only detention you were ever given.

When the teacher finally disappeared, you shot the boy a look and shoved the cigarettes back in his hand. "Does that mean there's no tutoring today?" He called, lighting another cigarette. "My house at seven after detention."

Dreading the evening ahead, you delegated duties to the class before heading to your worst nightmare. Surprisingly, you were first as you took your seat, the teachers' face staining pink after seeing you. Trying to hide the embarrassment exploding through you, you quickly finished your homework, turning your gaze to the window, losing yourself in the amber sunset peeking through the trees and turning the light in the room a deep shade of yellow. Movement rustled beside you as you returned from your daze to look at the boy who took his seat, fresh injuries marking his angelic features.

"What happened to you?" You question, analyzing his scars and concluding that he got into a fist fight. By his lack of reply, you stood up, viewing the quantity of the scars and opened your bag, retrieving the first aid kit. He groaned in retaliation as you held his face still while you treated the injuries on the side of his mouth.

"Who brings a first aid kit to school?" He started, wincing from the sting.

"Because I know an idiot who gets himself into fights and leaves his wounds open to infection and gets me into detention."

"Your idiot, princess." He corrected. "As if being an idiot is a good thing." Despite the red staining his features, he still looked attractive as he grinned his signature smile at you. "Being an idiot for you is." You sighed, ignoring his sentence and bringing your hand to the bruise on his cheekbone. "Care to explain who got you into this mess?"

"You." His hand caught your wrist as you hesitated to meet his eyes. Feeling the tension wafting in the room, the teacher silently exited, closing the door behind him. You continued wiping the blood away until he tugged you onto his lap, the cotton shooting out of your hands.

Desire spread through his features as you subconsciously inched closer to his lips, finally connecting them, brushing your nose against his cheek. It would be embarrassing to tell him that it was your first time, so your only result was imitating his actions, resulting in a breathtaking kiss.

A throat cleared behind you as the teacher appeared by the door, standing awkwardly. Flushed, you got up from his lap apologizing repeatedly to the teacher and moving back to your seat. Detention dismissed briskly as you hurried through the vacant halls, avoiding Heeseung as your embarrassment flared up at the thought of him. Finding a mirror, you noticed your swollen lips from his teeth nibbling your bottom one. You couldn't bring yourself to think about how awkward the rest of the evening would be and quickly freshened yourself in the bathroom before he came over.

He found you sitting by your desk, finalizing projects with your headphones on, unaware of your surroundings. He leaned down, the action going unnoticed by you who was still in your own bubble.

"What are you listening to?" He questioned, swiftly removing your headphones and resting them on your neck. Your stomach flipped at the feeling of his lip resting on your ear, feeling as it curved into a smile. Turning to face him, the weight of his stare made the words you practiced earlier disappear into thin air.

"What's with that look, doll?" He pressed, leaning his hands on the arms of your chair. His eyes moved to your lips, sliding a finger across your bottom lip which was still swollen. Leaning into you, your breaths mingled as your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for his lips to press on yours. He let out a brief chuckle before your lips connected, moving in sync as the air in your lungs languidly vanished.

"Does this mean no tutoring today?" He repeated the question he asked earlier, circling a part of your neck with his index finger. You answered by delicately kissing the area around where his bruises were, ending it off with a light kiss on his lips. Reconnecting his lips with yours, you made a mental note to give him extra homework for the damage he achieved today.

✸ perm taglist (open) : @cholexc @07sleepykatz @bunnbam (ask or comment to be added !)

✸ taglist (open) : @zhounauts @riksaes @dimplewonie @itjengirl © en-gelic 2024.

[sinkovia]

Coffee Shop: VIII

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.

Coffee shop Masterlist

In the following weeks that passed after you went over to Simon’s house, a subtle but noticeable shift occurred in the routine. Simon found himself lingering longer at the cafe, no longer constrained by a schedule. Conveniently, he managed to time his departures to coincide with the end of your shift, providing an opportunity to walk you home. 

Simon couldn't ignore the routine he'd established—walking you home, exchanging casual conversation, and the comforting warmth that enveloped him when you smiled.

In the beginning, he clung to the excuse that he merely enjoyed the way you made tea. He wasn't interested; he repeated the words like a mantra. But the days blurred, and a subtle transformation occurred. A small smile appeared unbidden on his face when you spoke, and your laughter became a melody that lingered in his thoughts.

As the weeks passed, he noticed a lightness in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation. 

Love. 

It took him a while to accept the truth. Denial crumbled like sand, revealing a simple reality—he was falling for you. Every day spent with you became a cherished moment, and he couldn't deny the truth any longer. You had woven your way into his heart, and he was grateful for the joy you brought into his life. His chest felt lighter, his heart seemed to skip a beat in your presence, and he couldn't deny the warmth that enveloped him whenever you were near. 

You made him happy, and, more importantly, you made him feel in ways he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge before.

A week after Simon deployed again, you found yourself on the couch, surrounded by the comforting presence of Riley and Missy. To your surprise, the two pets, despite their differences, got along remarkably well. You couldn't resist capturing the moment, snapping a picture of them sleeping peacefully. You decided to share the moment with Simon, sending him the photo.

In the rec room at the base, Simon received the picture. A smile played on his lips, though his expression was hidden behind his balaclava. Johnny, his keen eyes catching the subtle change, teased Simon about you.

"How’s the missus?" Simon put down his phone and met Johnny's gaze with a poker face.

“She’s not my missus,” His tone betraying little.

“When you asking her out then?” Johnny grinned, fully aware of the dynamics at play. Simon fell silent, the notion of pursuing a relationship with you lingering in his thoughts. He contemplated whether you would even want someone with his scars and emotional baggage.

“I'm not,” 

“Why’d you have to think about it?” Johnny's smile grew wider, prompting Simon to huff in mild frustration. He abruptly stood up and left the rec room, Johnny calling after him.

“L.t she likes you, don't overthink it!” Johnny's words echoed as Simon disappeared back into his room, contemplating the possibilities that lay ahead.

A few days later, after getting out of the shower, Simon received a Facetime call from you. He quickly threw on a black shirt and answered. As the call connected, he saw Riley on the screen and smiled when he heard the dog whine.

“Miss me, Riley?” Riley whined again, and then your face came into view, a breath of fresh air after not seeing you for two weeks.

“How has he been?” you set up the camera so both you and Riley were in the frame as you sat on your couch. “He’s been good, he destroyed one of his toys.” You flipped the camera to the shredded stuffed penguin, the remains scattered around. Simon laughed, and you smiled, feeling warmth and lightness in your chest.

You flipped the camera back, “How have you been?” Simon set you down on the sink counter, drying his hair with a towel as he looked at you, not wanting to waste a second admiring you before the call ended.

“Been alright, wrapping up a mission tomorrow. I’ll be back in a week.” You smiled, and Simon noticed the way your eyes lit up.

“How have you been, love? How’s work been?” You rambled about a rude customer and then about the snowfall, covering your garden to protect the vegetables. Simon just smiled, loving to hear you talk, finding ease in your voice.

“There’s this book convention in two weeks, they raffle off a five hundred dollar Barnes and Noble gift card. Some authors go, and you can get your books signed too!”

“Five hundred dollars? Sounds like a steal.” You lay down on the couch with Riley taking up most of the camera.

“It is! You could tag along with me… if that’s something you’re interested in.” You nervously started petting Riley, and Simon smiled. “I’d love to, it’ll give me something to look forward to when I get back.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan.” You smiled, continuing to pet Riley. Simon’s attention shifted to his door, where Johnny called out that the captain wanted them in the debriefing room.

“I have to go, love. I’ll talk to you later?” You sat up and smiled, Simon's eyes lingering on it. He tried to burn the image in his mind, your hand going to Riley again, aggressively petting his head.

“Yeah, be safe, Si.” He smiled at the nickname you had been using for the past few weeks, relishing in the warmth it brought.

“I will, love.” You smiled and held up Riley, waving his paw. Simon laughed before hanging up the call. He sat for a moment in his room, the silence deafening. Was this really what his life was like before he met you?

Depressing?

You had truly become the light in his life.

His mission went by in a blur, and before he knew it, the day of the convention arrived, and Simon found himself on your front doorstep. He asked if you wanted to tag along while he took Riley to the park in the morning. 

Simon dropped the leash, and Riley ran around in the grass, chasing a small butterfly on a flower. He bit a dandelion before wiggling around in the grass. You laughed as you watched Riley, but Simon's eyes were on you as he smiled.

After taking some pictures of Riley on the slide and letting a few kids pet him, you decided it was time to head back. On the drive home, you pointed out a diner that had really good milkshakes and recommended it to him if he ever had the craving. Simon changed lanes and turned into the parking lot of the diner.

“Could I get fries and a vanilla malt?”

“What do you want, love?” he turned to you and caught you smiling up at him, to which he only smiled. Caught in the moment, the cashier cleared their throat, and you quickly muttered out what you wanted.

You sat in the booth across from Simon, admiring the retro-style diner. "Forever" by The Little Dippers was playing on the jukebox, and he smiled as he gazed at you playing with Riley in your lap. The waitress brought over a small cup filled with whipped cream for Riley, and you both conversed about random things as Riley destroyed the whipped cream next to you on the floor.

You checked the time on your phone after you both finished your food. “We still have a little over two hours before the convention starts.” Simon sat back in the booth, thinking for a moment. What could the both of you do for two hours?

“Is there a theater nearby?” You nodded and put your napkin on your tray. “Yeah, there is actually one right next to the convention.”

“Wanna catch a movie?” You smiled and got up from the booth. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Simon drove back to his house and dropped Riley off before making his way to the theater. There was a showtime in about ten minutes, so you decided on watching "Priscilla." You both stood in line for concessions. Simon ordered you a Coca Cola slushie and nachos before you walked side by side to the theater, which was fairly empty. After the movie, you rambled on about how awful Elvis Presley was, telling him you hoped he was rotting some where.

“God, what an asshole. The way he whistled when that girl told him she wore Chanel, and Priscilla literally wears the same perfume!” You went on a whole rant as you waited in line to enter the convention, and Simon just laughed as you dragged Elvis through the mud.

You walked up to the raffle stand and wrote your names down with your contact information on small pieces of paper and slipped them into the big bowl.

“May the odds be ever in your favor, Si.” you smiled, and Simon quirked his brow, “You want me to win?” You opened your mouth, shocked.

“The Hunger Games?”

“Never heard of it.” You lightly slapped his arm with the back of your hand, “We need to watch them; they are the best movies. A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes came out a few months ago, so it's perfect!” Simon smiled and nodded. He didn't know what a ballad had to do with the movies, but he was just happy that he was going to have another excuse to hang out with you.

For the next few hours, you and Simon walked around the convention, buying a few books and getting some signed by the authors. Simon wasn’t a book fanatic like you, but he loved the way your eyes lit up and the smile you had after an author signed a book you purchased. You would say how cool it was and even show him the signature, even though he was standing next to watching them sign it.

Simon observed from a distance as you eagerly approached the booth where another author sat, ready to get your book signed. His eyes narrowed with an unreadable intensity as he watched the author engage you in conversation. The author's questions seemed to linger a bit too long, and Simon, ever vigilant, detected subtle undercurrents of flirtation that you, in your excitement, remained blissfully unaware of.

Unbeknownst to you, Simon had subtly positioned himself right behind you, an almost protective aura surrounding him as he kept a watchful eye on the exchange. His gaze hardened when he noticed the author beginning to write something other than a typical autograph—numbers, perhaps. The scratch of the pen abruptly stopped as Simon cleared his throat.

Simon loomed over your shoulder, an unmistakable death glare fixed upon the author. The author's smile wavered as he met Simon's intense gaze. Hesitatingly, he put his pen down and closed the book, offering a swift, somewhat forced farewell, sensing the change in atmosphere. 

Simon's protective stance remained, sending a clear message that your excitement was to be respected, but not exploited. His hand subconcously went to your upper back as he guided you away from the table. 

You showed him the autograph, and he hummed before checking his watch, “The raffle is about to start; we should go to the main room.” You nodded, and you both walked over to where everyone was gathered. They began calling out the names for the smaller prizes, the gift baskets, and fifty-dollar gift cards. Neither of you won those, which was good since the people who got those prizes could no longer win the grand prize.

“We will now pull the name of the winner of the five hundred dollar grand prize!” The room was silent as everyone watched him reach into the bowl and grab a slip of paper. He opened it and paused for a few seconds.

“Simon Riley!”

You gasped and turned to him, hugging his arm and shaking it, “Si, you won! Oh my god!”

“Everyone whose name was called can pick up their prize before leaving at the main desk.”

“Bloody hell, I did,” Simon smiled as you shook his arm again, “You just won five hundred dollars to Barnes and Noble! Do you know how many books you can get?!” Simon laughed at the fact that you were more excited than he was. He had already told himself that if he won, he would give it to you since he had more than enough money to buy books.

You were now on your way back home, going back and forth after Simon told you to keep the gift card. “Si, you won the raffle; I can't take it from you.”

“Love, I insist. I don't need it; I know you go through books quickly.”

“Si, I'll feel bad if I take it from you.”

“You can't refuse a gift, love.” You opened your mouth to protest but then sighed. He was right; if you tried gifting him something and he refused, it would break your heart.

“Fine, but I'll make it up to you.”

“Mm, maybe tea on the house?” You laughed and nodded, “Fine, tea on the house.”

As Simon pulled into your driveway, a slight sinking feeling settled in your chest, knowing that your time together was coming to an end. The day had been nothing short of amazing, and over the past month, you and Simon had grown remarkably close. Now, with the engine humming to a stop, you wondered whether it was the right time to express your feelings.

Thoughts swirled in your mind, wondering if he felt the same way. The connection you felt with Simon was special, and you found yourself yearning to spend more time in his company. His smile, his voice—everything about him seemed to captivate you. 

As he walked you to the door, you turned around and looked up at him, a smile playing on your lips. The moment felt significant, and you couldn't bear the thought of going another day without telling him how you felt. 

"I had such an amazing day today," you began, meeting his eyes with sincerity. "Thank you for everything. I honestly can't remember the last time I had this much fun... Your company means a lot to me."

Simon's smile softened, and he looked at you attentively. "I'm glad you had a good time”

Say it Simon, say you enjoyed being with her too.

“...I um… I enjoy spending time with you too," Simon's expression remained warm, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still.

Encouraged by his response, you both find yourselves face to face, the air charged with a subtle tension. Simon stands extremely close to you as he gazes down, and you meet his eyes, feeling a connection.

The moment seems to stretch on forever, and in the warmth of the shared silence, you decide to make the first move.

As you slightly leaned in, hoping to bridge the gap with a kiss, Simon unexpectedly leaned back on instinct, causing you to pull back, your heart sinking a bit.

The air shifted, and you took a step back, searching for clues in his eyes. There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging between you. Simon's wide gaze remained fixed on yours, leaving the unspoken tension lingering in the air.

Simon watched as the pain of rejection etched itself onto your face, and in that moment, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind. Why had he pulled away? Was it fear? Fear of letting himself be vulnerable to love? Fear of admitting that he cared deeply for someone? Fear that if you knew the real him, you might turn your back on him? Fear of not being good enough for someone as perfect as you?

Seeing the hurt in your eyes, Simon felt an ache in his chest, and the weight of his actions pressed down on him. He tried to find the right words, his brain going a million miles per hour, but all he managed to utter was a sincere, "I'm sorry."

The apology hung in the air, and Simon desperately wished he could articulate the maelstrom of emotions within him. The fear that had driven him to pull away now seemed like a barrier between what he desired and what he feared.

In that vulnerable moment, he struggled to make sense of his own feelings and reconcile them with the connection he felt with you. The air between you was heavy with unspoken words, and Simon knew he owed you an explanation.

He takes a step forward, desperation in his eyes, but you instinctively take a step back, your hand raised as if to stop him. "No, it's okay," you assure him, managing a small, understanding smile. "I understand."

Simon, desperately wanting to explain, takes a breath, "It's not what you think—"

Cutting him off gently, you shake your head, "It's okay. You don't need to explain yourself. I understand." Despite your attempt to hold back the tears, your eyes water, reflecting a mix of understanding and hurt.

“Thank you again for today simon, goodnight.”

Simon's heart splits as he sees your eyes water, and he's left standing there on your doorstep, feeling the weight of his choices. Silently, you turn away, leaving him outside as you retreat into the comfort of your home. Behind closed doors, you let the tears flow, the soft sobs muffled against your pillow.

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Can you do a set of headcanons of Dallas with a perfectionist reader? Like someone who stresses out before a test or beats themself up when they get a bad grade (and it's not even a bad grade, it's just slightly lower then they thought they'd get.)

A/N: Oh I liked this one. I liked it a lot- thanks for the request! Sorry it took so long!

I wrote this during my anatomy class instead of paying attention, so yeah! Hope this turns out well, I hope you guys like it-

I’m gonna do general headcanons for this one?

I’ll definitely include the scenario you gave me, but I think I’ll have more talk about this way-

In general, Dally really couldn’t give less of a crap about going to school and he honestly thinks you’re kind of a weirdo for stressing out so much about the grades you’re bringing home

He just doesn’t see the point to it, ya know? Like he’s basically a dropout, I bet you he never really goes to school anymore, so he really just can’t wrap his head around why it gets you so dialed up

He’s very unhelpful when it comes to your studies

That’s all.

He’s just unhelpful.

When you’re studying? He’ll purposely shuffle up your papers, steal your pencils, mix up your stuff and just generally be a little nuisance

He does it cause he gets bored when you’re not paying attention to him so ya know, good luck getting yourself out of that mess with him, that behavior really isn’t going anywhere anytime soon

Dal’s absolutely astounded by your grades though- all those 100s and high 90s?

That’s miles ahead of what he was getting when he was still in school and it seems like you do it so easily, just like getting good grades is in your nature

Which, ya know, circles back to kick you in the butt because the minute you bring home something in the low 90s, high 80s range, your world is absolutely wrecked and Dallas doesn’t understand at all

When you start to go bonkahs though, and run yourself into the ground just because you got one question wrong, that’s where Dally kind of steps in and really calls you out on it

He’s going to say that you’re being ridiculous and he means it, he genuinely thinks that you’re being ridiculous because why does one missed question mean so much anyway??

You guys have a big argument of course, because the one thing you should never do is tell a perfectionist that they don’t have to be perfect

So you guys fight and you sulk off to your respective places before comes back, not to properly apologize, but to take you out to the diner or drive-in or something as a faux apology

He still thinks you get a little bit ridiculous about your grades, but now he’s smart enough not to run his mouth off about it, he does get mad though if you refuse a date because you have to study, Dal, I’m sorry

Insert Mr. Winston saying whatever, if you’re studying at home, I’m just gonna sneak in your window and claim that it’s a study date

Let’s just say…studying can get very…hands on…when Dally decides he’s going to crash your lesson cramming sessions 

Don’t think too hard about the phrase cramming sessions because I am NOT getting in trouble for that one but ya know….heh-

ANYWAY

Dal calls you a nerd, a bookworm, a dork, a geek, but mah boy will not hesitate to throw down if someone else calls you those things

Dallas, admittedly a little bit of a bully, does not like it when other people try and mess with you, so boy’s got you covered

I can definitely see him trying to get you to skip school, especially if he’s fresh out of the cooler or reform or something and honestly? He just wants to spend time with you, and it hurts his feelings a little when you’d rather go to school

It’s all about that perfect attendance, okay? All about that attendance record-

But maybe your last period never takes attendance anyway and maybe Dallas just so happens to be waiting outside and you just maybe get your best friend to cover for you so you can skip one class to go out with him <3

Overall?

I can see this dynamic working, at least for a little while-

Despite the fights that are bound to occur, Dallas does enjoy you being a genius and he’ll brag about you to the gang, telling Darry he needs to start hanging your report cards up on that old fridge

Dallas does his best to keep you from driving yourself to burnout and I’ve got this mental scene of you trying to teach him something you’re working on and he just kind of cuts you off in the middle of talking to give you a kiss because he hasn’t been listening to you for the past five minutes but his eyes have been locked on your lips and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know the answer but he knows he wants to kiss you real bad-

[murdrdocs]

i’ve been thinking abt zombieau!luke lately but specifically that drabble of having to hide out from the walkers in the closet - what happened when they got back/while they were gone? like were percy and annabeth safe and sound or.. 🤔

previous this was gonna be happy and then i remembered ... nothing is happy in a zombie au!; angst; allusions to smut; MDNI 18+ 1.1k+ words

First daylight comes and you and Luke are sneaking out of the supply closet.

You're made aware of the step-shuffle of the stragglers of the herd, mindlessly wandering around the CVS while you and Luke calculate the best exit route.

Miraculously, you both make it out without any confrontation. Luke holds the weapons, and you hold the duffle bag full of medicine, hygiene products, any anything else you could fit in there. Truthfully, it was a successful trip. There's enough food to last for a while when added to your supply back home, you now have more pads and tampons than you had before, there are fresh bars of soap and you even managed to grab a few skincare products. Plus, the supply run got you fucked. Over and over and over again.

You should be happy. You should be gleefully skipping down the abandoned street back on your way home. But you're determinedly stomping instead, walking a few paces ahead of Luke as you exert more energy than you should be exerting. Your stomach rumbles every so often, reminding you that the last time you ate was nearly 24 hours ago at this point.

"Grab a granola bar out of the bag," Luke tries to convince you, his voice more relaxed than it should be in your opinion.

"No." You don't give much explanation, but you're sure Luke knows you're too stressed to eat. He likely also knows you're saving the bars for Percy. They were his favorite as you proclaimed as soon as you saw them.

"They're fine."

He sounds so assured, so relaxed. It makes you scoff and roll your eyes. You don't know that Luke is scraping the nail of his pointer finger along the side of his thumb. You don't see him ticking his jaw and taking mechanical breaths every so often.

He's trying to convince you as much as he's trying to convince himself.

"You don't know that," you tell him. "And stop looking at my ass."

He doesn't even bother denying it. He was looking at your ass.

'What-ifs' have taken over your brain, powering your limbs with adrenaline, pushing you closer and closer to the house, closer and closer to an answer.

What if they got bit?

What if they got kidnapped?

What if the herd moved there? What if they're trapped?

What if—

Luke's jogging takes you out of your thoughts. He starts walking by you, matching your steps. He walks close to you to the point where your hands brush against each other's every so often.

Luke is here. He's with you. He's starting to whistle a tune of a song you think you know. Or maybe you did know it before all of this. Before you knew Luke and Annabeth. Just his presence calms you a bit.

"They're fine," you repeat to yourself. You try to believe the words but it doesn't stick. "But we don't know that."

Luke tuts and you see him tilting his head out of the corner of your eye. "We also don't know that they aren't fine."

"That's shit logic."

"I could say the same for your logic."

"I'm just preparing for the worst."

"That never helps anything. You're making yourself sad already and then if something bad were to happen, you'll just be even sadder."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, do you? Preparing for the worst keeps you prepared for the worst, so if the worst were to come then I'm already prepared."

It's slightly comforting to know that nothing has changed between you and Luke. He knows what you feel like, you know what he feels like. You've both shared something that you'll never be able to undo, but you don't mind it.

You would be willing to share it again if the circumstances allowed. But right now, you're hyper-focused on reaching your destination which is just a few hundred feet ahead of you now.

You and Luke walk the beaten path worn in by tires. With only a few inches between you both, you start to miss him.

When you swerve over and walk closer to him, you try to do it naturally. Either way, Luke doesn't say anything about it.

You reach the house and everything is in order. The front door is still bordered up, the garage door is down, no windows are broken or opened. You and Luke round the house, jump the fence, and reach the backdoor. When you push it open, you don't know if you're glad or upset that Luke was right. You won't ever say the words "you were right" to him, but you're sure it shows in the way you quickly approach Annabeth and Percy.

They're at the table in the kitchen, Annabeth sitting with her back towards you and Percy sitting in front of her.

You don't think when you wrap your arms around Annabeth's shoulders, pulling her into you and pressing appreciative kisses into her head.

You're so busy expressing your gratitude and apologizing to them for leaving them all alone that you don't notice the energy in the house. You don't notice that only you have moved. You don't notice Percy's rigid shoulders.

You're only made aware that something is off when Luke speaks from his spot next to the door.

"What happened?" He says it like a fact. He knows something happened, he just doesn't know what.

You wait, and wait.

Neither of them say anything, so you try.

"Percy. What happened?"

Your arms unwind from Annabeth's slender shoulders. You approach Percy carefully until you're able to kneel in front of him, trying your best to meet his eyes.

He takes his time to look at you, and just the sight of his blue eyes clouded over with tears, both unshed and shed, spikes the fear in your system.

"Percy," you start again, attempting to stay calm even when your voice cracks over the syllables of his name. "I need you to tell me what happened so I can help you."

He sniffles, a tear glides down his reddened cheek and when you reach up to wipe it away, he flinches away from you. The gestures hurts you at first, but you know Percy.

You don't move your hand, letting it hover in the air, waiting for Percy to give in. And he does.

He falls to his knees, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he lets you wrap your arms around him. He's growing up, getting bigger day by day, but right now, while he wets your tee shirt with tears, he feels like the little boy you used to babysit. He feels like the kid who got in trouble far too often and had copious amounts of love covered by misplaced anger in his body.

He feels small.

You know you won't coax any explanation out of him like this, so you look up at Annabeth, one hand wrapped around Percy's shoulders and the other pressed into his matted curls.

She looks at you. She blinks and a twin set of tears falls down onto her cheeks.

"He thinks he found his mom." Your eyebrows furrow, but you don't have anytime for questions before Annabeth continues.

"He thinks he killed her."

[jeankluv]

Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 11

words: 4,1k

summary: While everyone adored him, you stood apart in your feelings. It wouldn't be accurate to say you hated him, as " hate " was a strong word, rather, you harbored a profound dislike towards him. The problem was he knew that and his irritating presence seemed to persistently cling to you whenever he crossed your paths.

Now, you found yourself paired with him for your semester project, and the thought made you wish to hurl yourself out of the third-floor window. Three months of working alongside him loomed ahead. Adding to the discomfort, you were currently under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, each gaze feeling like a murder attempt. It seemed everyone coveted the opportunity to collaborate with Gojo Satoru, except for you.

ac: _3aem

tags: modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball, Gojo needs a hug

notes: I know I said I was not posting chapter till next week but I think we all need a bit of Gojo serotonin after jjk chapter 261.

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

Birdie playlist | ao3 | Pinterest

You felt like your heart skipped a beat or maybe it was a few. Grabbing your drink you gave a big shot to it, wanting it to take away the fear and nervousness that was starting to grow within you. Fuck it. You shouldn’t have asked that question. You shouldn’t.

“Birdie…” Satoru spoke. 

It was true, while you were dealing with a crisis, Satoru was still there, with his gaze completely on you. Those blue eyes always seem to be looking at you and only you. Even when the room was full of people, those blue eyes were on you. 

“I need fresh air.” You stood up and felt how you almost fell due to the drinks.

“Careful.” Satoru grabbed your arm and held you steady. “I will go with you.” 

“Yeah sure…” You tried to smile. 

The entire way you walked out, Satoru didn't let go of your arm not for a single moment. He held you with the greatest gentleness in the world, afraid that you were going to break. When you went outside again, you once again felt the cold of the night hit your body and you shivered a little. 

You no longer cared about meeting Naoya, you were with Satoru and that gave you security, but you doubted that after how Yuki had left him he would still be around. 

You approached some stairs and sat on them, with Satoru standing in front of you. Your leg started to move up and down, nervously, still processing Satoru’s words. You could feel your head spinning a little bit with the simple thought of Satoru’s confession.

When you asked him that question, you expected him to drink not to receive an answer. How should you react to that? 

Satoru Gojo wanted to kiss, well, he would kiss you sober. It was the same right? 

Why were you so nervous?

You looked up, only to be met with Satoru’s gaze looking at you. Those eyes, that gaze. A gaze you couldn’t understand. Or rather, a gaze that you didn't want to understand.

Satoru looked at you countless times with that gaze, with eyes that you couldn't describe. You couldn’t describe it because it was a gaze you never saw before.

It hit you at that exact moment, on that spring cold night, everything started to make sense. 

Satoru liked you. 

And you... and you... You did feel something for him and if you had taken that step earlier, you would have proven one hundred percent that your heart felt something for Satoru Gojo.

Were you in love? You didn't know, you had never experienced love as such, but you had strong feelings for him, that for sure was something.

Feelings for Satoru Gojo.

You chuckled at the mere thought of it. Who would have thought that you could feel something for the person who was now in front of you looking at you with that look, which, no matter how much you didn't want it, made your heart beat faster.

“Listen birdie.” Satoru finally spoke. “What I said at the club… I don’t want to put pressure on you, alright?” You didn’t say a word. “Just ignore it and act as if I didn’t say anything.”

“You want me?” You asked him.

“I want you to what?”

“You really want me to ignore it?” You faced him.

“Honestly?” You nodded. “No, I don’t want you to ignore it. But you don’t… god birdie, I don’t want you to forget the answer to that question but I also don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable with something you probably don’t feel the same way.”

“How… how do you know that?” You pressed your hands against your knees and looked at Satoru through your eyelashes.

“Birdie…” He lightly laughed. “You are drunk, you don’t know what…”

“They say that drunk people always say the truth.” You looked up at him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the intensity reaching the depths of your emotions, making your head vibrate anticipation. Satoru opened and closed his mouth, as if he was searching for the right words to say next. You were aware of your intoxication, another sip would sink you deeper into this haze. Despite how cloudy your thoughts were, you didn't regret the honesty that was flowing from your lips.

In the heavy silence that was formed between both of you, you could practically hear your heart pounding against your chest, the anticipation being palpable in the air.

Satoru's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of uncertainty. "I... I care about you, more than I can express in words." He admitted, his voice being only a whisper.

Your breath was caught in your throat and for a single moment you swore your heart stopped beating. The weight of his words sank as you searched in his eyes for any sign of deception. But all you found was honesty, raw and unfiltered, making you feel exposed and vulnerable under his blue eyes.

"I do not know what to say." You confessed, the words coming out before you could stop them.

Satoru reached out, his hand finding yours, his touch sending an electric shock through your body. "You do not have to say anything." He murmured, his thumb gently brushing your skin.

"I can't just ignore it." You insisted, your voice tinged with desperation, making you almost breathless.

Satoru's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze fixed on you. "I understand." He murmured, his tone soft but determined. “But perhaps now is not the best time to broach it.”

"How...how do you know?" You pressed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Because." Satoru began, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continued. “Because you're not thinking clearly right now. And I don't want to say something that could complicate things between us even more.”

A mix of emotions swirling inside you. Despite the fog of intoxication clouding your mind, you couldn't deny what he was saying. But at the same time, the raw honesty of the moment urged you to confront the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

“I just…need to know.” You admitted, your voice shaking with uncertainty.

Satoru Gojo POV

When Satoru looked away from your tired eyes, he felt a pang of longing. He couldn't ignore the fact that you had both been drinking, clouding your judgments. Your flushed cheeks and the small pout on your lips only intensified his internal struggle. Despite the pull of desire, he knew that giving in now would do neither of you any favors.

"I..." Satoru hesitated, his voice soft but firm. "I think we should wait." He finally managed to say, his gaze meeting yours again, full of sincerity. He reached out to gently brush his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender but hesitant. "I want this." He confessed, his voice tinged with longing. “But not like this. Not when alcohol is in our way.”

In that moment, Satoru hoped you would understand his words, his desire to wait for the right moment. He watched you slowly nod and look back at your feet.

Kneeling down to your height, he called you again by the now familiar nickname he had given you. “Birdie, look at me…” You did it. “When you are completely sober, ask me the same question again.” His heart was pounding heavily. “My answer will be the same again.”

“I will…” You responded. 

“I hope so.” He smiled and stood back up. “But princess, I think it’s time for you to go back home.” 

You blinked a few times. “It's still early.” You said almost in a whisper. 

“And you're about to fall asleep.” Satoru said. “Let's take a taxi and I'll take you home.”

“What about Kyoko and the rest?” You tried to stand but failed as you felt your legs being tired.

“Let’s go and tell them, we are leaving.” He said grabbing you from the waist.

Satoru felt his being trembling as he surrounded your hip, it was a gesture that was too close and too intimate, but it felt good. Together you returned inside the club, where Satoru quickly saw his best friend and of course, Kyoko.

“Hey!” He said approaching both of them.

Suguru and Kyoko exchanged knowing glances as they took in the scene before them, the undeniable closeness between you and Satoru. Suguru's lips curved into a knowing smile, while Kyoko's expression softened with understanding.

"Well, well, looks like someone had a good time." Suguru joked, his tone full of amusement.

You and Satoru shared a shy look. Satoru's arm remained firmly wrapped around your waist, as you leaned into his side with a feeling of familiarity and comfort.

"It seems so." Kyoko chimed in with a warm smile. "You two look..."

Satoru tried to hide the smile that was threatening to break out. “It's not like that…” He said. “Birdie is tired, I'll take her home, okay?”

Kyoko looked at her best friend. “Do you want me to go with you?”

You shook your head. "It's okay, I trust Satoru." Those words filled Satoru's heart with joy. “I'll write you a message when I arrive, okay?”

Kyoko nodded and then looked from her to Satoru. “Be careful Gojo.”

“I will.” He said, making a small nod with his head. “Let’s go?” 

As the two of you walked outside the club, to wait for a taxi, Satoru couldn't help the warmth that spread through him at the sight of you leaning on his arm. Despite the haze of alcohol, your trust in him was palpable and he couldn't help but feel a flutter of hope in his chest.

He looked at you, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a soft illumination on your features. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than for time to stop, for that moment of closeness to freeze, to savor the intimacy shared between you.

When the taxi stopped in front of you, Satoru gently guided you inside, his heart pounding heavy on his chest. The drive home passed in a blur, the silence between you filled with words stuck in your throat.

When you reached your destination, Satoru got out first and extended a hand to help you out of the taxi. The cool night air enveloped them both, but the warmth of Satoru's touch remained.

"Thank you for everything, Satoru." You murmured, your voice almost as a whisper.

He smiled, his cheeks staining a light blush at your words. “Anytime, birdie.”

Turning on your heel, you begin walking towards the door. As you stumbled, almost falling, Satoru's reflexes kicked in and he reached out to steady you. His touch was gentle but firm, his concern evident in the way he held you.

"Wow, birdie," he said, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

You acknowledged, grateful for his quick intervention. But as you tried to regain your balance, he realized how shaky your legs were and the effects of the alcohol were taking their toll.

"Satoru." You began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Could you…could you walk me to my room?”

Satoru's hesitation was palpable, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. The thought of being alone with you, so close, felt a rush of mixed emotions through him.

"I... I don't know, birdie." He replied, his voice shaking slightly. “Maybe it's best if you rest here for a while, I will stay with….”

But you shook your head, determination shining in your eyes. "Please, Satoru. I don't want to be alone."

His resolve faltered at the sincerity of his plea and, with a sigh of resignation, he relented. "Okay, birdie. I'll take you to your room."

With Satoru's arm wrapped around you protectively, you headed to your room, each step feeling heavier than the last. When you reached your destination, you turned to him with a grateful smile and a heart full of appreciation for his kindness.

"Thank you, Satoru." You said softly, your voice filled with warmth.

He smiled back at you, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his gaze. "Just promise me you'll get some rest, okay?"

As Satoru stood at the door, watching you, he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. The vulnerability of the situation weighed heavily on him, his mind racing with thoughts of what could go wrong.

But as he looked at you, with your tired eyes and slumped shoulders, he knew that he couldn't leave. With a sigh of resignation, he stepped further into the room.

"If you don't mind, I'll stay with you for a while." He said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, a feeling of relief washing over you at his words. "I don't mind, Satoru. I trust you."

Taking a seat next to you on the bed. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound being the steady rhythm of your breathing.

As the minutes passed, the tension in the air began to dissipate. Satoru's gaze softened as he realized that you had fallen into a dream. He smiled to himself and with trembling hands caressed your cheek.

“Rest well birdie.” He whispered to your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe.

It was then that Satoru realized that you were moving your lips, whispering something. Satoru's heart skipped a beat and his breath caught as he understood the words coming out of your mouth. For a moment, he was stunned into silence.

"What do you hate, birdie?" He asked softly, his voice full of tenderness and concern.

"That I like you." You mumbled, your words barely audible in the silence of the room.

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability of your confession. Satoru felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of hope and possibility that he couldn't ignore.

Gently, he reached out and his hand found yours in the darkness. "Birdie..." He whispered, his voice full of sincerity. "You don't have to hate it. Because I… feel the same way about you.”

Satoru knew that you would not remember those words and if you did you would believe that they were a figment of your imagination. 

Satoru watched you sleep and released his grip of your hands. He lightly left your room and leaned against the door, feeling his entire being burn and his heart beat strongly in his heart. 

You also reciprocated his feelings. But he should not rush, he should take it calmly, so as not to complicate anything that could happen between you.

Your pov

As you sat on your bed, dealing with the remnants of fog from the night before. The first thought that popped into your mind was a mental note to avoid drinking so much in the future.

The second thought that came to your mind was, your feelings for Satoru Gojo. You liked him more than you had ever admitted before, and the weight of that revelation washed over you with a mix of excitement and fear.

Searching through the mixed memories of the previous night, you struggled to remember the conversation you had shared with Satoru outside the club. The details were confusing, like trying to solve a puzzle with more than 1,000 pieces scattered everywhere.

A blush crept across your cheeks as you replayed the scenes in your mind, piecing together the puzzle. Satoru had confessed that he would kiss you sober, a confession that caused a flutter of anticipation in your chest. And you had hinted that you wanted the same.

You shook your head and lay back down on the bed, trying to drown out the screams building in your throat. The thought of calling Satoru crossed your head, but your heart fluttered every time you wanted to reach your phone out. The best thing would be to wait until tomorrow and talk about it tomorrow. That was the right thing to do, to talk about it in person. 

You heard the front door opening and voices entering the house. With light steps you approached the voices and saw that it was Kyoko and Suguru, with a smile playing on your lips you approached them.

"Kyoko." You greeted them, your voice tinged with amusement.

Kyoko's surprise was evident when she turned to you. "I thought you were going to be sleeping." She commented.

"I just woke up." You responded with a shrug, your gaze flickering between Kyoko and Suguru. “And it looks like someone had fun last night.”

Kyoko's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red at your teasing comment, and she quickly shot you a playful glance. "Be quiet." She murmured, a hint of embarrassment coloring her words. "And you? Did you have fun with Satoru?"

The mention of Satoru's name sent a wave of warmth to your cheeks, and you were left speechless. With a nervous laugh, you looked away, hoping you were able to hide the blush that spread across your face.

“I…um.” You stuttered, your voice betraying your nervous state. “Ugh hush.” Kyoko's knowing smile only served to deepen your embarrassment.

“Well girls, I will take my leave.” Suguru said. “Love you.” He whispered against Kyoko’s lips.

“Love you too.” And they both kissed. 

You looked away embarrassed from the intimacy of the moment. Suguru waved goodbye at both of you getting on his car and driving away from your house.

“So…” You began. 

“Yes.” Kyoko confirmed as if she could read your mind. “And you?”

You choked on your coffee. “No!” 

“Huh… sorry you both left together.” Kyoko moved her eyebrows.

“We did? Agh I can’t remember most things…” You cried. “Do you know if something happened between us?” You looked at her.

“I don’t know, I was quite busy with…” She moved her eyes.

“Kyoko…” You sighed. “I have feelings for Satoru.” You finally got it off your chest and said it out loud.

Kyoko looked at you and a big smile appeared across her face. “I knew it!” She screamed. 

“How?” 

“Oh girl, your eyes never lie.” She smirked. “And now Shoko owes me 7000¥!” She danced.

“Excuse me?” You asked. “Did you bet for me and my feelings?” 

“Yep.” She smiled. “I gave you a month to realize, Shoko gave you to the end of the term.” She shrugged and turned around to prepare herself a coffee.

“Was it that obvious? Oh my god.” 

“Kinda.”

“Satoru told me he would kiss me sober.” 

“So he finally had the balls.” Kyoko whispered but you were able to hear her.

“Shit, I can’t hardly remember anything but I think Satoru also likes me?” 

“Oh god!” Kyoko said. “You are completely blind, aren’t you?” 

“What?”

“Yeah Satoru likes you too, have you been paying attention to the way he looks at you or how softly he says that nickname you used to hate so much.”

When you realized it, a mix of surprise and embarrassment flooded your senses. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place, revealing a truth you had previously been too blind to see.

"Oh Lord!" You gasped, unable to contain the revelation that had just hit you.

Kyoko turned, concern etched into her features as she looked at you. "What is it?"

"I think...I think I confessed to Satoru while I was sleeping!" You blurted out, the words leaving your lips in a wave of panic and disbelief.

Kyoko's eyes widened in surprise, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Really? You had one of you sleeping talk episodes?"

You recounted the events of the previous night, from the hazy memories of the club to the intimate moment shared with Satoru in your room. As you spoke, the weight of your confession hung in the air, filling you with a sense of vulnerability like you had never felt before.

Kyoko listened intently, his gaze softening with understanding. "Well, if it's any consolation, maybe it's a sign that your subconscious knows what your heart really desires."

You couldn't help but laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood, though embarrassment still lingered in the back of your mind. "I guess so." You admitted, a slight blush staining your cheeks. “But still, Kyoko, what am I going to do tomorrow when I see him?”

"What do you mean by that?" Kyoko tilted her head. “It's obvious, you confess, you become a couple and then we can go on double dates!” Kyoko celebrated.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. As Kyoko's excitement bubbled around you, you couldn't help but feel the weight of uncertainty and insecurity pressing down on you and pinning you even harder to the kitchen floor. The idea of taking a step towards a romantic relationship with Satoru filled you with both longing and fear.

In fact, you and Satoru were like opposite poles, two completely opposite worlds that found themselves dancing around a whirlwind of desire and uncertainty. The undeniable attraction between you was evident to those around you.

What would happen if things didn't work out between you? What if taking that step forward ruined the beautiful friendship you had built over those few weeks? It had only been a few weeks but the thought of losing Satoru as a friend, of losing the warmth and comfort that his presence provided, sent a shiver down your spine.

You laughed bitterly at the irony of it all: the idea of ​​being friends with Satoru Gojo seemed impossible not long ago, and yet here you were, cherishing the bond you had forged with him.

The warmth that settled in your chest whenever he was around, the feeling of protection that enveloped you when you were together, those were the things you didn't want to lose. The thought of sacrificing that for the uncertain promise of romance left you torn and conflicted.

You knew that Satoru felt the same as you, his heart beat strongly for you. It shouldn't be that complicated, to take that step forward. But the cloud of uncertainty loomed over your head, threatening to unload at any moment.

“I will talk with Satoru tomorrow.” You made your decision. “And see what happens.” You nodded for yourself.

“Oh baby, I’m so proud of you.” She clapped. “You will see everything will work smoothly.” She smiled.

You really hope it was like that, you really did.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

To say that you had slept little was to say a lot, you had barely slept a wink the whole night. The weight of uncertainty settled heavily on your chest, and each passing hour amplified the questions and doubts that swirled in your mind.

How would you face Satoru today? How would you muster the courage to confront the issue of your feelings, knowing that the outcome was far from certain?

But in the midst of the chaos of your thoughts, a new worry arose, one that sent a shiver of fear through you. What if, to Satoru, you were nothing more than a passing fancy? What if the rumors about his reputation as a "fuckboy" had some truth to them and your feelings for him were nothing more than a fleeting whim?

You had dismissed the rumors as baseless gossip, believing in the sincerity and depth of the connection you shared with Satoru.

What if you had fallen in love with someone who saw you as nothing more than a conquest? That thought was like a dagger into your soul, piercing the fragile hope that had sustained you through the long night.

As you leaned your head against the classroom window, frustration and anticipation gnawing at your nerves, the arrival of your classmates brought a momentary distraction. 

“Hey guys! Professor Tanaka has just posted the results on the app!” The mention of the exam results brought you back to reality.

You almost forgot about the exam you had due to the emotions surrounding everything that happened during the weekend. 

With a feeling of dread, you pulled out your phone and navigated to the app, your heart racing as you searched for your score. And when you saw the mark, 100, your breath caught and a wave of relief washed over you.

"Birdie?"

The sound of Satoru's voice brought you out of your reverie and you looked up to see him standing in front of you, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Satoru!" You exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement. "The results are out! I got a 100!"

But as you spoke, Satoru's expression changed, a smile appearing on his lips. "Well, I guess we might have a problem." He said cryptically.

Confusion crossed your features as you tried to make sense of his statement. "What do you mean?" You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

Satoru met your gaze with a playful glint in his eyes. "I also got a 100." He revealed. “I guess our bet ended in a tie, birdie.”

- comment if you want to be tagged

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[makeste]

Plus One For All

so guys. can we talk about how there’s somebody chilling out inside of Katsuki’s mind who’s not supposed to be there.

hello there Mister All Might Vestige sir. you should not exist, just FYI. you’re not some Nighteye-type plot hallucination. because if you were, you would not be appearing here as Cloud Might, a version of yourself whom Katsuki has never met and has no frame of reference for. ergo he did not imagine you. ergo you are, in fact, real.

which means Katsuki has One For All.

because that’s the only way he could have a Vestige -- which is indisputably what this is -- inside of him. he has OFA. so. where did he get it. how does he have it. and why is it only making its presence known now.

let’s discuss.

okay so I’m going to try and lay this all out as clearly as possible while also attempting to be as succinct as I can. but knowing me, I’m probably going to wind up sacrificing the latter in pursuit of the former. I’ll do my best though. here goes.

1. Heroes Rising is canon.

which is a fact we’ve recently been reminded of not once, but twice -- first with the appearance of Katsuma and Mahoro in chapter 405, and then in chapter 406 with the “Bakugou no Kacchan” callback. the timing of this almost certainly isn’t coincidental. Horikoshi wants this to be fresh in our minds.

mind you, it is extremely unusual for movies, even technically!canon ones, to actually be relevant to the plot. but BnHA may be one of the few exceptions. we’ve already seen movie 1 impact the series both with Star & Stripe’s backstory, and with Deku’s new gauntlets. so there’s precedent, and it’s something I am paying very close attention to.

2. Deku giving OFA to Bakugou is canon.

just in case anyone here hasn’t yet seen or been spoiled for Heroes Rising, that is in fact what happens in that film! so yeah, that certainly seems like an extremely relevant detail right about now.

3. we never found out why and how Deku got OFA back at the end of the movie.

okay so I was looking for a clip to link before we discuss this next part, but I unfortunately couldn’t find one that hadn’t been edited to avoid copyright issues, so you’ll just have to make do with this.

skip ahead to about 7:10 for the relevant part. for the purposes of this theory, we’re just going to ignore everything All Might says here, because tbh he has no fucking clue what’s actually going on and is just guessing wildly lol. however, I do want you to take note of one thing which will be important later. and that’s the fact that, when OFA “returns” to Deku’s body, it’s only his body which starts glowing, and notably not Kacchan’s. the latter just keeps lying there unglowingly. nothing to indicate any kind of transfer is actually happening between him and Deku, in other words.

moving on.

4. OFA and AFO are probably the same quirk.

as summarized here and here. which is relevant because if they are the same quirk, or close to it, then OFA can most likely do anything AFO can do. so file that away for later.

5. AFO was able to split his quirk and give it to Tomura while still keeping a piece of it for himself.

what’s more, he was able to do the same with Garaki/Ujiko’s quirk, and presumably other quirks as well. while it’s possible that this quirk duplication has nothing to do with AFO and is simply something Garaki was able to figure out using ~*~Science~*~, I think it’s more likely that the two of them used AFO’s quirk in some way to accomplish this feat. particularly since Tomura not only received AFO, but a bunch of its stored up quirkdata as well, such as the information stored in Ragdoll’s stolen Search quirk.

6. OFA responds to Deku’s feelings and desires.

or at least this is the case according to Banjou in chapter 213. recall this interesting conversation on how Deku first activated Blackwhip.

he was thinking that he wanted to capture Monoma, and so OFA obediently activated his “capture Monoma” quirk. despite him being unaware he even had said quirk. it responded to his need, even though he wasn’t consciously trying to activate anything.

now then, let’s revisit that scene in Heroes Rising one more time.

7. during the climax of Heroes Rising, Deku was NOT thinking, “I need to give OFA to Kacchan.”

here’s the scene one more time for reference. this time you’re gonna want to skip to about 3:57.

here’s where we are going to get extremely technical, because this scene right here is the key to everything. Deku’s lines in this scene are, and I quote: “a way we can protect [everyone]... there’s just one way...!” but he very notably does not specify exactly what that “one way” is.

until we get to this scene a minute or so later, which spells it out for us very clearly.

two One For Alls. as in, “with two One For Alls, we could win this battle and save everyone.”

that’s what he was thinking at the moment of the “transfer.” NOT, “give OFA to Kacchan.” but, “we need two One For Alls.”

which, I think, may have made all the difference.

8. OFA created a copy of itself to share with Kacchan, so that both of them could have OFA and use the two OFAs to defeat Nine.

let’s recap. OFA is AFO. AFO can clone itself. so it stands to reason that OFA can presumably clone itself as well. and that’s exactly what Deku wanted to do. make a second One For All.

he didn’t know that he could do that. but as previously established in the Blackwhip incident, OFA is more than capable of making its own executive decisions in key moments just like this in order to help him out.

which would mean that what we saw at the end of Heroes Rising was not OFA being transferred from Bakugou back over to Deku. it was actually just Deku’s OFA briefly self-activating (possibly in response to his delirious apology to All Might -- kind of a “no worries bro, you’ve still got your quirk actually, so go back to sleep and stop stressing over it” type of thing). and Kacchan’s OFA doing... absolutely nothing. it didn’t actually transfer back into Deku. it didn’t actually go anywhere.

let me repeat that: it didn’t actually go anywhere.

in other words, Kacchan still has OFA. and has had it ever since Heroes Rising. he just didn’t realize it. and neither did anybody else.

9. Kacchan’s OFA went dormant once Nine was defeated.

okay, so. remember all of this exposition from chapter 304?

basically, if someone who already has a quirk receives OFA, using it will slowly destroy their body until it kills them. the Vestiges learned this from All Might while he was researching the past generations of OFA in chapter 241, incidentally. Heroes Rising takes place right around this same time (immediately following MVA if I recall). so by the time the film’s climax rolled around, the Vestiges would have known that giving OFA to Kacchan could have devastating consequences down the line if they did not take action immediately after the fight.

so they did.

once Nine was defeated, the Vestiges shut the whole thing down. the crisis was averted, and they no longer had need of a second OFA. they have this boy who is way too similar to Deku in terms of his willingness to put himself in harm’s way in order to achieve his goals. and they absolutely do not want any harm befalling this boy. more on that momentarily.

so they go dark. and they even seal his memory so that he’s no longer aware of even having the quirk. they are essentially in sleep mode. and if circumstances hadn’t eventually become desperate enough to force their hand, they might have remained inactive for the rest of Katsuki’s life.

now, you might be wondering to yourself, “why is OFA willing to go to such unusual lengths in order to protect Katsuki?” and well, the answer to that is pretty simple.

10. Kacchan does not have the same version of OFA as Deku.

Deku is ninth gen. Katsuki, however, is tenth gen. which means that his version of OFA has one additional Vestige. a Vestige whose presence immediately explains why OFA is so goddamn determined to protect him at all costs.

:’)

long story short, while Deku’s version of OFA has proven itself all too willing to enable him in his increasingly suicidal mission, Katsuki’s version of OFA is very much a different story, on account of it being under the management of what I’m guessing is the most willful Vestige ever to exist. and said management being just the slightest bit unhinged when it comes to Katsuki’s safety in particular. seriously, you can’t tell me this is not exactly how a Deku!Vestige would behave. “oh hell no. no OFA for you!! and no memories either, because you can’t be trusted, goddammit. we never should have done this. what the hell were we thinking. if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

so yeah. dormant.

right up until they literally couldn’t afford to be anymore.

11. OFA can self-activate in moments of crisis to protect its user.

Sports Festival. chapter 33. Deku vs. Shinsou.

aw yeah. it’s all coming together.

12. OFA reactivated itself in order to save Katsuki’s life.

I would now like to briefly draw your attention to this scene from chapter 405, in which Edgeshot explains how Katsuki was finally saved. please note my man is very clear that he did not restart Katsuki’s heart himself. he was basically just performing quirk CPR up until Katsuki’s own quirk returned him to life apropros of nothing.

“what brought you back... was the power you’ve honed.”

except... that should have been impossible. because Katsuki was dead. meaning he should not have been able to activate his quirk on his own, on account of the whole “being dead” thing.

however, if he by chance had a quirk with just enough of a mind of its own to activate in critical situations in order to help its user. situations like being forced under mind control. or, perhaps, being stabbed through the heart. well then. that would certainly go a long way towards explaining all of this.

and oh hey, when exactly was it that we saw this guy, again?

oh? it happened at the exact moment when his heart was stabbed through? you don’t say. well that certainly is interesting.

in summary:

Deku cloned his quirk in Heroes Rising and gave Kacchan a copy of OFA. owing to the hyperprotective Deku!Vestige inside Kacchan’s copy of OFA, it shut itself down once Nine was defeated, and all of Katsuki’s memories of having OFA were deliberately wiped, or sealed away. OFA itself remained inactive until TomurAFO stabbed Katsuki through the heart, at which point OFA was forced to reactivate itself to save his life. which it did, by forcibly restarting his heart.

that’s it. no idea how close to the money any of this is, but I think it would explain most of the lingering mysteries and questions about what exactly is going on with Katsuki. and I’ll throw in one last observation as well -- Katsuki has a nine in his name (BaKUgou), but not a ten. which I know sort of contradicts what I was saying earlier about him being the tenth gen, lol. but he both is and isn’t. if Deku split his quirk, Kacchan would in theory receive everything that’s currently in Deku’s quirk right now, and that includes Deku’s own power that he’s been adding to the mix. so he’d still have the Deku!Vestige. but he’s also still ninth gen, because he and Deku are sharing that distinction now. or at least I think the argument could be made at any rate.

so yeah. I’ve been obsessing over all of this for the past few days lol. what do you guys think?

[rootedinrevisions]

In the Wings: Part 4

SUMMARY: When Glen casually invites you to a cast movie night, you don’t think much of it—until you arrive and end up squeezed between him and Miles on a crowded couch. As the film plays, you and Glen share light banter, a bowl of popcorn, and a few fleeting touches that seem more meaningful than expected.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3

WARNINGS: None. Just Fluff in this one!

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It's late in the day, and the sun starting to sink toward the horizon, casting a golden glow through the small window of the hair and makeup trailer. The rest of the team has already left for the day, and you’re tidying up your station, organizing brushes and makeup palettes in a quiet routine that helps wind down the day. 

The door creaks open behind you, and when you glance up in the mirror, there’s Glen—fresh from the set, his hair tousled from the wind, a smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he greets you, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

You turn around, meeting his gaze with a small, tired smile. “Yeah, what’s up? Need a touch-up?” You ask as you point to his windblown hair.

Glen chuckles, shaking his head as he steps into the trailer, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Nope, not this time. Just finished for the day. But I was actually wondering if you’re free tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure where this is going but curious. “Free for what?”

“Some of the cast are having a little movie night back at the hotel. Nothing fancy, just hanging out, and watching something that’ll probably end up being a bad action flick. You should come. You know, if you’re up for it.” He grins, his eyes bright with an invitation that feels more personal than just a casual ask. His tone is casual, but there’s something in the way he says “You should come” that makes your heart skip a beat.

You hesitate for a second, caught off guard by the idea of spending time with Glen outside of work. “I don’t know…” you start, glancing at the mess still left to clean up, trying to come up with an excuse, but Glen shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about all this,” he gestures around the trailer. “You’ve been working hard all day. The trailer will survive without you for one night.”

You laugh softly, feeling a little less resistant as he steps closer, his easy charm working its magic. "You make it sound like I'm over here saving lives with these brushes."

"You kinda are," he says with a playful grin. "I mean, you make me look like a functioning human being every day, so yeah, I think that's pretty heroic."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Seriously, it’ll be fun. And besides," he adds, dropping his voice a little, "I wouldn't mind having someone to keep me company.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze, and realize he's serious. It’s not just about the movie night. It's about spending time with you, beyond the set, beyond the trailer.

Your heart flutters just a bit, and before you can think twice, you find yourself nodding. "Okay, I'll come," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Glen’s smile widens, a look of genuine excitement crossing his face. “Awesome. I’ll see you there, then.” As he heads out, he throws you one last smile over his shoulder. 

The trailer feels quieter after he leaves, but your mind is buzzing with the idea of the night ahead. The small exchange feels more significant than it should, and suddenly, the thought of seeing him again later has you feeling a lot more excited than you'd expected.

Later that night, you find yourself in the hotel suite where everyone’s gathered for the movie night. The lights are low, a couple of people already sprawled out on couches or grabbing snacks from the small kitchen area. You spot Glen almost immediately. He’s standing by the counter, a beer in hand, talking to one of the other actors, but when he sees you come in, his expression brightens.

“Hey, you made it!” Glen says, his voice cutting through the casual murmur of the room. He crosses over to you in a few quick strides, and you feel that familiar warmth in his presence as he reaches you.

“Yeah, I figured I could use a break after today,” you reply, giving him a playful look.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think we’ve got everything covered—beer, wine, maybe some soda and water if you’re feeling responsible.”

“Surprise me,” you say with a grin, just as you had earlier.

Glen nods, making his way back toward the drinks, and you take a moment to glance around the room. Some of the other cast members wave, but your focus keeps drifting back to Glen. He returns with a cold bottle in hand, holding it out to you with a smile that feels a little more personal than usual.

The two of you chat casually with the others for the next half hour, but even amidst the group, you can’t help but notice how often Glen finds a way to talk just to you—asking how your day went, throwing in small jokes that only you two seem to get. There’s an ease to the conversation, a rhythm that feels natural but also charged with something just beneath the surface.

At one point, your eyes meet across the room while you’re both talking to different people. It’s brief, but there’s a spark in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that you’re both aware of the growing connection. You quickly look away, your heart racing just a little faster than before.

As the movie night starts winding down and everyone begins settling in for the film, you glance around the room, trying to decide where to sit. The couches are quickly filling up, and most of the chairs have already been claimed. It looks like your only option might be the floor, and you’re about to resign yourself to it when you hear a voice pipe up from across the room.

“Hey, there’s a spot right here,” Miles calls out, grinning as he gestures to the couch where he’s sitting beside Glen. “Between us.”

You hesitate, looking between the two of them. Glen’s eyes meet yours from where he’s seated, his lips twitching into a small, inviting smile.

The spot between them is definitely tight, but you start making your way over, feeling the playful pressure of the room’s eyes on you. When you reach the couch, you glance at the narrow space, then at Miles, giving him a look as if to say seriously, this is your idea of a seat?

Miles just shrugs, feigning innocence. “You might have to squeeze in a little. Don’t worry, Glen doesn’t bite.” Glen shoots him a mock glare but then catches your eye again, motioning for you to sit down. 

He shifts closer to the arm of the couch, giving you a little more room, and moves his arm to rest casually on the back of the couch. “Come on, we’ll make it work.”

You exhale a quiet laugh and slide in beside him. It’s still a snug fit, but the atmosphere feels relaxed enough, and you settle into the space, aware of Glen’s arm resting comfortably behind you.

As the movie starts, Glen leans over slightly, offering you some popcorn from the bowl he’s holding on his lap. “Want some?” he asks, his voice low, not wanting to interrupt the film.

You glance at him, surprised. You’ve heard him talk about how seriously he takes his popcorn on set, and he’s never been one to share. According to him, he likes to have his own bowl to himself.

Before you can reach for a handful, someone else across the room chimes in with a teasing tone. “Wait, Glen’s sharing his popcorn? What is this, a special occasion?”

A round of soft chuckles follows, and you catch Glen rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “It’s no big deal,” he mutters, brushing off the tease, but you can’t help the small giggle that escapes you.

You take a small handful, your fingers brushing against his briefly as you do. It’s a quick moment, but you feel the warmth of his hand and find yourself hyper-aware of his presence beside you. A few minutes later, you both reach for the bowl at the same time, and your hands meet again, lingering just a second longer before you both pull back with a soft, shared smile.

As the movie plays on, you start to get more absorbed in the story. There’s a particularly intense scene on-screen, the tension mounting, and suddenly, without warning, there’s a jump scare. You gasp, startled, your body instinctively shifting toward Glen, leaning in closer without realizing it.

Beside you, Glen chuckles softly, his voice low in your ear. “You okay there?” he teases, his tone light.

Before you can respond, you feel his hand slide from the back of the couch down to your shoulder, resting there gently. It’s a small gesture, not overly flirty, but the warmth of his hand lingers, grounding you after the sudden scare. The touch is brief but comforting, and though it’s casual, you take note of it, feeling the subtle shift in your connection.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply with a soft laugh, brushing it off even though your heart is still racing a bit—not just from the movie, but from the growing awareness of Glen’s presence beside you.

The movie continues, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way his hand rested on your shoulder, and how easy it felt to be next to him, even in the small, unspoken moments. The chemistry between you two is undeniable, and though nothing overt has been said or done, it’s becoming harder to ignore the quiet pull drawing you closer.