#still don’t know what to do with Jerry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hamiltonells · 9 months ago

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ALWAYS ~ JUDE BELLINGHAM

[sort of based of this request! so thank you for request. please let me know what you think! always welcome to criticism, also let me know if you would like a series based or this little family! 🍓]

[SUMMARY: being soon to be parents is hard especially being so young as well, but Jude and y/n takes everything in their stride]

[WARNINGS: fluff, smut, morning sickness? not edited, swearing spelling mistakes? ]

You’re feet shuffled across the cold kitchen flooring as you soothed your bump with one hand and held a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in the other, Your seven -month bump slightly peaking out of Jude’s shirt.

“Are you still okay for tomorrow, beautiful?” Jude’s voice reaches out over the FaceTime call, as you sitback down on the sofa and put the blanket over your bump.

With Jude being in Madrid, it was decided that you would have dinner at his parents' house in England. Due to your frequent travels between England and Madrid, you rarely have the opportunity to spend time with his family, especially with his mother being in the middle.

you placed the laptop on your lap during the ongoing FaceTime call with Jude, “Yeah all good jude, what time is your flight back” your voice grew tired with every sentence you speak.

“flight is about four in the morning will get back home at seven”Jude's voice making you grow even more tired and relaxed.

You knew it was difficult for Jude to balance being at the top of the football world and being a father at just twenty years of age, but he never complained about it once

It was unexpected for you to become pregnant, and it came as a surprise since you are only nineteen and Jude is twenty years old, but you both took it as your little blessing.

"Is my little one okay? It seems like she's wearing Mommy out" Jude's voice echoes through the FaceTime call, "we're okay, just tired and the usual sickness," your voice tiredly drawls out.

Since discovering you were pregnant, you have been experiencing severe nausea, even if it was morning or night It felt like a constant battle to keep any food down, and the smell of certain foods would instantly trigger your gag reflex.

"Plus, we miss daddy a lot," you said "fuck,don't do that voice, it turns me on" he added with a rough accent, you tutted “better hurry up home then”

"I'll be back home shortly, my Love," he said in his gentle Birmingham accent.

you was sound asleep when you heard the keys jingle in the door, the door open and Jude's footsteps slowly and carefully plodding up the stairs.

You hear Jude carefully open the door to the bedroom where you both share. As you shuffle yourself up to sit against the headboard, you reach for the switch to switch on the lamp, and you switch it on.

"What are you doing awake?" Jude's tired voice broke the silence of the room. You turned to see him rubbing his eyes, looking disheveled and exhausted.

"I missed you, heard you trying to be quiet" you admitted "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to disturb you" he replied, a sheepish smile on his face.

"You could never disturb me. I always want to hear your voice." you said softly, Moving to swing your legs out of bed holding your pregnant belly as you trying to ignore the persistent pressure on your bladder.

You sigh, knowing you have to get out of bed to relieve yourself.

“oi what you doing, let me help” Jude’s voice fills your ears, as he rushes to be by your side, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around you, supporting your weight.

As he presses a soft kiss to your head, Your loving Jude gently helps you out of bed and guides you to the bathroom, making sure you don't trip over your own feet.

Once you’ve emptied your bladder, you get back into bed with a kiss on the cheek from Jude.

You snuggle into the bed sheets, Jude’s bare back now facing you as he’s rambling on about something with his toothbrush in his mouth, you don’t realise your eyes have started to close until you feel the bed dip beside you.

“Sorry baby, didn't mean to wake you again” Jude whispered as he pulled the duvet over the pair of you, with your back facing Jude he slides his arms around you and on to your bump.

"I love you and we both missed you," you murmur softly in response to him, you feel him snuggle into your neck as he presses a soft kiss there.

“hey Jobe”you slightly laugh out his name as he opens the door only to be thrown into a headlock by his own brother, the pair of them shuffling into the living room as they play fight with each other.

You shut the front door and clean your feet on the doormat before untying your shoelaces and removing your shoes.

You enter the living room and see the two brothers sitting on the sofa with a sour expression and Denise giving them a look.

"Y/n, lovely seeing you again” Denise greets you warmly as she glances up and sees you standing in the doorway “you look amazing, not long left now” she hugs you as you smile and look down, “thank you Denise” you gushed as you sat in between Jude and Jobe.

“only a couple more months left, did Jude show you the scan pictures” you continued.

"Yeah, he did," she replied with a smile. "They're amazing, aren't they? I can't believe how much the baby has grown already."

"I know, it's incredible," you said, excitement evident in your voice. "I can't wait to meet him or her."

"As long as they don't look like Jude, they will be alright" Jobe joked “You’re literally like a mini Jude, Jobe” You laughed as you put your hand onto Jude’s thigh.

“It's nice to know that I can actually grow a beard at the moment" Jude mumbles to himself, but loud enough so that Jobe can hear, "you call that a beard" Jobe laughs as he’s dodging Jude's kick.

As Denise calls all of you over for dinner, Jude gets up first to assist you up, putting one hand on your back as he guides you over to the dinner table, he sits next to you his hand on your thigh.

Mark, Jude’s dad is sat across from you, making slight conversation as you start eating your food.

As you took another bite of your food, your stomach churned you felt a wave of nausea wash over you, you reach out to take a sip of your water to hopefully wash it down.

But as the night went on, the feeling only got worse, your hand went straight over your mouth mumbling your apologies as you rush through the house to get to the bathroom.

He trails behind you, apologizing to his family before heading to the bathroom to assist you, gently rubbing circles on your back as you lean over the toilet, feeling him gather your hair up in his hands.

“you okay baby?” His voice soothing you, you lean back into him breathless as the embarrassment washes over you.

”Jude, I am deeply embarrassed. Your mother and your entire family are under the impression that I became sick because of the meal she cooked.“You convey your concern by covering your face with your hands.

“she doesn’t think that, don’t be stupid they know your struggling with your pregnancy” Jude tries to calm your down by wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you both sit in the bathroom floor.

“You okay y/n?” Denise’s worried voice makes you look up, as you see her standing in the doorway “she’s okay mum, bit tired though I think” Jude answers for you as he puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'll set up Jude's room for you both, and maybe it'll be best if you stay overnight, I'll bring some lemonade up to help it helped my morning sickness with Jobe" Denise smiles at you .

In a pair of shorts and an old shirt, you lay on the bed of Jude's old bedroom, covered in the familiar smell of his old clothes.

Jude is right next to you, scrolling through his phone on his lap with his hand on your inner thigh as he softly squeezes it, as he as he speaks with Jobe who is laying across the end of the bed, who is also scrolling on his phone.

"How much longer do you have left?" Jobe asks quietly as you open your eyes to his voice. "Just a little over a month, why are you excited, Uncle Jobe?" you playfully respond.

he just hums to your question, focusing back on whatever was on his phone.

The next thing you notice is Jude placing his phone on his bedside table, and then shuffles over and settles his head on your chest while his hands go straight to shirt to lift it up, his hands go to your bump to soothe it.

In your hands, you are gentle touching the ends of his hair gently twisting it and reaching to his scruffy beard gently scratching it as he hums softly to.

When he presses a soft kiss against your bump, your unborn baby gives him a small kick as they responds to his kisses

“Did you feel that?” Jude’s face snaps around to face you as he realizes what has happened “yeah, going to be like there daddy” you smile as you stroke his cheek.

“what? let me feel, move Jude” Jobe says as he rushes to your side and he places his own hand on your bump he pushes Jude's hands away as he presses his own against the bump.

“Jobe, fucking hell it's my kid.” Jude leans down for a for a kiss before getting up and making his way to the bathroom. You giggle as you see Jude's scrunched up face as he gets up and goes to the bathroom.

you’ve just gotten into bed when Jude come in with a glass of water and places it on your bedside table, “mum says goodnight” you hum to answer him while tugging him down to yourself.

"Careful," he laughs as he catches himself on his hands as he's above you, your hands go around his neck as you press a kiss to his lips.

His laughter fades into a soft sigh as he leans in for another kiss, his lips meeting yours once more before he puts his face into your neck and presses a few light kisses.

“You have a good day, baby?” He mumbles into the crook of your neck “the best thank j” you the nickname you call him slides off your tongue easily.

Jude hums“I love you so bloody much”

“I love you more” you giggle even more when be nips your neck.

He seals your lips together once more, using his knees to spread your thighs a bit further apart for him as he spreads them apart.

In the midst of your kiss, he lets out a breathy moan, courtesy of the fingers which are holding his face, interrupting your kiss with a breathy moan.

Jude utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging your hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against your side.

your lift your back up, and he settles it under your lower back and bum to prop you up. Fortunately for him, he has had extensive experience navigating the challenges of your pregnant belly.

he grips your shorts and carefully pulls them off, taking your knickers off and softly pressing a kiss to your thigh in the progress.

Settling between your thighs, Jude giggles when you wraps your legs around his hips and tugs him closer.

Jude’s body hovers over yours , love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through your folds, groaning at how slick you’ve become.

“Oh fuck” you whisper into Jude’s ear, biting back a grin as Jude grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling you.

Jude smiles as their chests are pressed together, enjoying the feeling of their stomachs touching while he guides himself into your slit.

Jude hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey you are for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have you this desperate for him and his touch.

“Need to be quiet, Jobe next door” he whispered as a moan ripped though your body.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to you, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He made a gentle backward slip, pulling the hips back gently as he slipped forward again, his breath stuttering as he dutifully slipped forward once again.

Guiding him, you softly release a moan, lowering one hand to the lower part of his back. With a whisper that tickles his ear, you affirm, "Jude, So so good." Tickled by the sensation, he squirms slightly and responds with a small laugh.

Jude soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between yourself, "made for being wrapped me huh?" And jude thinks nothing ever been truer.

Your arms were made to hold him, youe hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and your heart was made to completely consume his.

you reached your high before him, rolling your hips up to try and bring him to the edge, grinding down into your heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in your walls.

Jude knows you’re watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes “sorry baby, too tired for another one” he breathes into your neck.

As you nod and brush the sweaty spots from his forehead to soothe him and just like that, he is already able to feel lighter. He never has to sorry with you, you’ll always be here for him.

#jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent x reader #football one shot #football imagine #trent alexander arnold #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x you #lewishamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #smut

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (six)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

He blinks and rubs his eyes, thinking maybe the heat is messing with his head, but no. There you are, standing a few feet away, looking like you’ve been through hell and back. His heart starts pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. He can’t think, can’t even breathe right.

You look different. Way different.

Long sleeves in this heat? And your face—there’s no mistaking the bruises, and purple and yellow patches on your cheek, jaw, even your neck. His eyes track the faintest shadow of a handprint there.

What the hell happened to you? How did you end up here?

He left the Outer Banks years ago to disappear, to put distance between you two. And now, after all that time, you just show up, beaten and in front of his garage?

The way you look at him like you’re shocked, almost terrified—it snaps him back to reality. But before he can take a step toward you, before he can get any words out, your eyes roll back.

“Shit!” He’s moving fast, catching you right before you hit the ground. He’s at your side in a second, kneeling, his hands hovering over you like he’s afraid to touch you, unsure what’ll hurt. “Hey, hey, c’mon, wake up—don’t do this.”

His voice is shaky, panicked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be over you, supposed to forget all about you.

“Jerry!” he yells over his shoulder, “Call an ambulance!”

The old man sticks his head out from under the car, frowning.

“What’s goin’ on out there?”

Rafe doesn’t even look back, his focus on you, gently pressing his fingers to your neck to check for a pulse. You’re breathing, thank God, but you’re out cold. He’s torn between getting you help and the urge to just… hold you, and protect you from whatever did this to you. He cradles you in his arms.

“I said call!” he snaps, and Jerry curses under his breath, shuffling toward the phone.

Rafe doesn’t care. He’s too busy staring at you, brushing the hair out of your face, his thumb ghosting over the bruise on your cheek. What the fuck happened? Who laid their hands on you?

He holds you tighter, rocking just a little, “What the hell happened, darlin’?”

He leans closer, feeling the heat radiate off your skin. God, you look so fragile. He can’t shake the thought that he should’ve been there for you. He should’ve protected you from whatever led you here, from the bruises painting your skin.

Jerry returns, phone in hand, a frantic look on his face. “They’re on their way, kid. Just stay calm. They’ll be here.”

He kneels next to Rafe, checking your pulse, and Rafe holds his breath, waiting.

“C’mon, don’t do this to me,” he brushes your hair back again, fingers trembling slightly, “You gotta wake up.”

A part of him feels like a fool, holding onto a ghost.

You were supposed to be gone from his life, a chapter closed. But here you are, back in the worst way possible, and it’s tearing him apart.

Your eyes flutter open, just a crack, and he leans closer, hopeful.

“Hey… can you hear me?” He feels that familiar stretch in his chest like his heart is expanding in every direction possible.

You manage a little nod, but it’s shaky, and your breathing is still uneven. You blink up at him, confusion swimming in your eyes.

Your lip’s part, but nothing comes out, just a weak, ragged breath. Rafe’s heart twists. He can see the pain all over your face, doesn’t know if it’s more physical or emotional, and it’s killing him either way.

“Don’t try to talk,” he murmurs, his drawl softer now, coaxing. “Help’s comin’, just hang on.”

His thumb still traces the bruise, like he can smooth away the hurt if he just keeps touching you. Except, somehow, he knows this goes way beyond bruises.

Whatever you’ve been through, it’s bad. Worse than bad.

It’s a nightmare written in the way you look at him, like you can’t quite believe he’s real. He feels you tremble a little, and his gut knots up. He should say something more, something to ground you, but all he can think is that he failed you.

He ran. He left you behind. Now you’re back, but you’re broken

The ambulance sirens wail in the distance, getting louder, but to Rafe, it feels like everything's slowing down. He’s hyper-focused on you—your eyes, the bruises, your uneven breaths. He’s still holding you, rocking a little, like he can comfort you that way. It’s instinct.

Jerry’s back on his feet, shuffling out to meet the paramedics, but he doesn’t move. He can’t let go. The questions he wants to ask, the anger, the worry—it’s all eating him from the inside out.

When the paramedics rush over, he’s finally forced to step back, but not too far. He stays close, eyes never leaving you. They’re asking him questions—what happened, how long you’ve been out—he just wants to see you back on your feet.

All he knows is that he’s not letting you out of his sight.

They lift you onto the stretcher, strapping you in.

He should go with you, right? Shouldn’t he?

Or is that crossing a line? His mind’s racing, second-guessing every little thing. But when one of the paramedics glances his way, giving him that “Are you coming?” look, he’s already moving, climbing into the back of the ambulance without a second thought.

He’s by your side again, his knee bouncing as the doors close and the sirens blare to life. Leaning forward, he takes your hand—slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll break under his touch. “I’m right here."

And he means it. No matter what it takes, he’s staying this time.

The ambulance jerks to life, and Rafe grips the edge of the bench. Your hand in his feels too cold, limp, and that does something to him. His knee bounces faster as the paramedic starts rattling off medical stuff, checking your vitals, and asking him questions he can barely answer.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, voice tight. “She just showed up like that. Passed out before I could even talk to her.”

He keeps replaying the way you looked at him, the way your eyes rolled back before he could even say a damn thing. He swallows hard, staring at you, hoping you’ll just... open your eyes again, give him something.

The paramedic pulls out a flashlight, and shines it in your eyes, saying something about your pupils being responsive. Rafe clings to that word—responsive. That’s good, right? He doesn’t know much about this stuff, but responsive must mean you’re still fighting.

Somebody did this to you, he’s not sure what scares him more—the fact that he wasn’t there to stop it, or the fact that he might not be able to do anything about it now. “She gonna be okay?”

“Too early to tell,” the guy says without looking up, focused on the equipment strapped to you. “She’s stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital. They’ll know more once we get her checked out.”

Stable. That’s not enough. Stable feels like a bandaid on a bullet wound.

Rafe squeezes your hand again, just needing to feel some kind of connection.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he’s trying to convince himself still, trying to will it into existence. “You hear me?” His voice cracks on the last bit, but he doesn’t care. You stir a little, just the faintest movement, and he straightens up. “That’s it. Just hang in there. We’re almost there.”

He sits back, trying to breathe, trying to keep his shit together, but it’s hard. It’s real hard. Everything’s too loud—the sirens, the paramedic moving around, the thoughts screaming in his head. He never should’ve left.

The ambulance slows down, and just like that you’re at the hospital. You’re almost there, almost safe.

The doors fly open, and the paramedics start moving fast, pulling the stretcher out with you strapped in, tubes and wires everywhere. Rafe’s out of the ambulance before he even realizes it, jogging to keep up as they wheel you inside. He doesn’t see anything but you as they push you through the double doors into the ER.

They stop him at the entrance.

“You can’t go in,” a nurse warns him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him from following you.

“What? No, I’m goin’ with her,” Rafe snaps, but the nurse shakes her head.

“You have to wait here. We’ll come get you when we know more.”

His hands flex into fists, but he knows he’s got to stand down.

“Fine,” he mutters, stepping back, watching helplessly as they wheel you away, disappearing behind the doors.

He stands there for a second, heart pounding, staring at the doors.

You’re gone. For now.

Rafe pulls out his phone, staring at it for a long minute, thinking about calling somebody, but who the hell’s he supposed to call? It’s not like he’s got anyone left in that town. Just you.

Sinking into a plastic chair, he drops his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees again. But all he sees is you. All he hears is the quietness between you, everything unsaid. He leans back in the stiff plastic chair, then leans forward again, fingers running through his hair, pulling just enough to ground himself.

He hates it. Hates the helplessness, hates that all he can do is sit here while you’re in some back room, hooked up to God knows what. He looks around, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes. Felt like an hour.

What the hell’s takin’ so long? Rafe’s got an enormous space in his head right now, and every dark thought is creeping in—What if you don’t wake up? What if this is it? What if he loses you before he even has a chance to make things right?

He rubs his hands over his face, groaning low in his throat, trying to push all that out. You’re gonna be fine. You’ve always been tough, tougher than him most days, and you’d probably kick his ass for thinkin’ otherwise.

He thinks about it—some coward who thought they could lay hands on you, who thought they’d get away with it. No. Not if Rafe’s got anything to say about it.

The door to the ER swings open, and a nurse steps out, scanning the room. He’s on his feet in an instant, heart jackhammering in his chest.

“Hey—uh, is she—?”

The nurse glances down at her clipboard, nodding. “You’re here for her, right? She’s stable.”

He doesn’t even let her finish, relief hitting him so fast it almost knocks him over. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shoulders sagging just a little.

“Stable?” he repeats, needing to hear it again.

“Yeah, she’s stable. The doctors are still running a few more tests, but she’s conscious now.”

Conscious.

“Can I see her?” he blurts, practically vibrating with the need to get to you.

The nurse hesitates, looking down at her clipboard again. “She’s still pretty out of it. I don’t think—”

“Please.”

She sighs, nodding toward the hallway. “Fine. But just for a few minutes.”

That’s all he needs. He follows her down the hallway, his pulse pounds in his ears as they stop outside your room. The nurse gestures for him to go in, and Rafe takes a deep breath.

You’re lying there, hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm, and though the bruises are still stark against your skin, you look… better.

Breathing easier. More color in your cheeks.

His heart? That’s still a mess.

He approaches slowly like he’s afraid to wake you, but when he gets close enough, he sees your eyes open.

Your gaze finds him. It’s just you and him, like before.

“Rafe?” Your voice is hoarse.

He never thought he’d hear you say his name again.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pulling up a chair next to your bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He watches your lips move, and it feels like someone’s driving a knife straight through his chest.

“Am… am I dreaming?” you ask, and the sound of it—so fragile, so full of disbelief—almost makes him break right there. His throat tightens, and he has to blink hard to keep himself from losing it.

He damn near sobs on the spot.

“No,” he reassures you, automatically reaching for you, “You’re not dreamin’. I’m here. I’m right here.”

His fingers wrap around yours, and for the first time in years, something inside him settles. He’s got you. You’re alive.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for now.

You look at him, eyes clouded with confusion, and pain. He watches the tears start to well up. He’s not sure what to do with any of it.

Everything feels so wrong and right at the same time.

He leans forward, his forehead pressing against the side of the bed, still holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He should’ve been there.

“You showed up,” he recalls what happened just hours ago, “Just collapsed right in front of me.” He pauses, tracing the marks on your face, your neck. His blood boils just thinking about it. “What the hell happened to you?” He’s not mad at you—God, no. He’s mad at himself. Mad at whoever did this. Mad at the whole fucking world for letting it happen. “Who did this?”

You flinch, and immediately he regrets probing, his heart breaking all over again at the sight of your tears. You look so small, so broken, and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. This isn't you.

“I—I don’t…” Your voice breaks. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, pull you close, tell you that it’s okay, that he’s here now. But he doesn’t know if it is okay.

You close your eyes again, like just keeping them open is too hard, and Rafe leans back, running a shaky hand through his hair.

His mind’s spinning, trying to piece it all together. He keeps seeing the way you looked at him before you passed out, the way your body just gave up, and it’s driving him crazy.

Just thirty minutes later, he still sits there, watching you sleep again, his mind in a thousand different places. He keeps asking himself the same question, over and over.

If he hadn’t left, if he’d stayed close, maybe you wouldn’t be lying here with bruises in every shade of misery painted across your skin.

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together so hard it makes his head hurt. He’s furious—furious with himself, with whoever did this to you, and with the world for letting it happen. He’s realizing just how much damage he’s done by leaving.

He stares down at your hand in his, thumb absently brushing the back of it. There’s this constant torture inside him, like he’s gonna be sick if he doesn’t figure out who’s responsible.

A sudden knock on the door snaps him out of his thoughts. The doctor steps in, clipboard tucked under his arm, wearing that same calm look they all seem to have.

Rafe straightens up in the chair, not letting go of your hand. "How is she?"

The doctor looks at you, then back at him, sighing softly.

“Well, there’s no internal bleeding, which is good. We’re keeping her here for the night, just to check. A couple of the bruises are deep, though, and...” He trails off, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “Some of the bruising looks... older. Different stages of healing.”

He blinks, hard, not sure if he heard that right. "Different stages? What’re you sayin'?"

"I’m saying it looks like this wasn’t a one-time incident."

His stomach drops. Suddenly it feels like he’s choking. He grips the arm of the chair. Different stages? What the hell does that mean?

Someone’s been putting their hands on you for a while?

“You’re tellin’ me this not the first time?” He’s on the verge of snapping. The doctor nods, just a small, grim acknowledgment, and Rafe fights the need to punch something. Or someone.

“She's lucky nothing’s broken,” the doctor continues, his tone too matter-of-fact for Rafe’s liking. “But she’s fragile. Exhausted. The best thing for her now is rest.”

Fragile.

He looks back at you, lying there, looking like you could disintegrate with just a touch. He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest, as if everything he thought he knew about you—about himself—is wrong.

And then, the doctor says it. "I think it would be best if we called the authorities, got a police report filed. This is clearly abuse, and—"

“No.” Your voice cracks through the air. You’re barely awake, but your eyes are wide now, desperate, “Please. Don’t.”

You look so fucking scared. He wants to hold you to his chest, to tell you it’s alright, but he can’t understand what the hell’s goin' on.

“No police,” you insist, like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. “Please.”

"What—Why the hell not? You need help, you need—” His voice rises before he can stop it, “Somebody did this to you.”

You shrink back, eyes running away from him. Rafe’s heart twists in his chest. He didn’t mean to scare you, but he’s losing his mind here.

“I can’t,” you mumble, voice trembling. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

Rafe leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the bed now.

"Complicated? What the hell’s complicated about getting the bastard who did this? We gotta do somethin’ about it!"

But you’re not looking at him.

You’re staring at the wall, eyes glazed over like you’re not even really here. His hand twitches at his side.

The doctor clears his throat, awkwardly, like he knows this is something way above his pay grade.

“I’ll give you two some space.” He turns to leave, and Rafe barely acknowledges him, too focused on you.

He lets out a long breath, "You don’t gotta be scared, alright? I’ll handle it. You know I will." His voice coaxing. “But you gotta let me. Just let me help you.”

You still don’t answer. Just keep staring at the wall like it’s easier than facing him.

That kills him more than anything else.

All he wants to do is pull you close and tell you that he’ll take care of everything, but the look on your face—the fear, the hesitation—tells him there’s a lot more going on.

He runs his thumb over the back of your hand again.

“I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you again,” he promises, “You hear me? No one.”

“You’ve never been good at keeping promises, have you?”

His breath hitches.

He stares at you, stunned. He doesn’t know what to say. You’re right.

You’re not still not looking at him—your eyes are stuck on the wall, your voice distant, almost like you’re talking to yourself.

He swallows hard, his hand slipping from yours as he sits back. Fuck.

He knows you’re right. You don’t have to say it, but you just did. He wasn’t there for you before, wasn’t there when it mattered. He ran.

“I…” He clears his throat as he looks down at his hands. “I know.”

Your eyes meet his for a second, and it feels like a lifetime worth of longing is trapped in there.

He swears he can feel every broken promise between you two and for once in his life, he doesn’t know if trying is enough.

The next day, you’re finally properly awake, and though you’re not saying much, you look better.

Less pale. More alive. The bruises are still there, but at least you’re moving.

Breathing.

Rafe's been thinking about what you said—about him not keeping promises. He's not gonna make the same mistake again.

When the nurse tells him you’ll be discharged soon, his first thought is your clothes—the ones you were wearing when you collapsed.

They’re ripped, dirty, and stained with too many bad memories.

There’s no way in hell you’re walking out of here in those. Without saying a word, he heads out. He doesn’t have to explain it to you, doesn’t even wait for you to ask where he’s going.

A little while later, he comes back with a bag of clothes in hand.

He didn’t waste time trying to pick something fancy or anything; just grabbed whatever looked comfortable. A pair of soft sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s warm outside, but he knows you—you like to cover up, especially now. He doesn’t say anything when he hands them to you, just sets them on the chair by your bed like it’s no big deal.

But the way you look at the clothes, then back at him—it’s like you can’t believe he thought of it. Like you don’t know him anymore.

You don’t say anything, either, just take the bag with a quiet “thanks.”

He nods once, stuffing his hands into his pockets, watching you for a moment before looking away.

When the doctor finally comes back, he rattles off a list of things you’ll need to do once you’re discharged.

“You need to rest. Take it easy. And most importantly, you shouldn’t be alone. Someone should stay with you, just in case there are any sudden complications—dizziness, headaches, anything like that.”

Before you can even open your mouth, Rafe speaks up. “She’s stayin’ with me.”

You whip your head toward him so fast, it’s like you’re about to snap your neck.

“What?” Your voice is incredulous like the idea is completely absurd.

“She’s stayin’ with me.”

The doctor just nods like it’s no big deal.

“Good. She needs to be with someone who can watch her closely for the next couple of days. Make sure she’s not exerting herself.”

You’re still staring at Rafe like he’s lost his damn mind.

“Rafe, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, not even turning to face you.

“You’re not going back,” he mutters, his tone final. “You’re coming with me, end of story.”

You sit there, lips pursed, stunned, unsure what to say or do.

He stands up, grabbing your things, already moving toward the door like it’s a done deal.

“C’mon,” he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s get outta here.”

The house is modest. Small kitchen, worn-out couch, and the faint smell of motor oil drifting in from the garage. It’s clear he doesn’t spend much time here—there’s hardly anything personal, just the basics. He drops the bag on the table and turns to you.

“You can take the bed,” he nods toward the back room. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’m not arguin’ about this. You’re takin’ the bed. End of story.”

You swallow the protest, nodding . Maybe it’s the exhaustion on your bones, or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t have the energy to fight him right now. Either way, you head toward the bedroom without a word, slipping out of sight.

Later, as you sit on the bed, your mind recalls the way Rafe didn’t even hesitate to help you, the way he’s been since you showed up at his doorstep looking like death itself.

He stills acts like Rafe you used to know, your Rafe.

And it’s messing with your head.

You hear him in the kitchen, the clink of dishes, the creak of the old floorboards under his boots. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are. He appears in the doorway a few minutes later, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

“You’re feeling better?”

You nod, though it feels like a lie. “Yeah.”

“Look,” he says, his drawl a little softer, less harsh than it was earlier, “You don’t gotta stay forever. Just ‘til you’re feeling better."

You glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of what’s going on in that head of his. But he’s hard to read.

You no longer have that kind of intimacy.

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

You’re not talking about the hospital.

You can’t believe that after everything, after all these years, you ended up here—in his house, in this random town that’s miles away from home, from where your lives used to be. It feels like some twisted, cruel joke. Fate playing games with you both.

“This place is eight hours from home,” you continue, more to yourself than to him. “And somehow, I end up here.” You look up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. “With you.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Hell of a coincidence, huh?”

But it doesn’t feel like just a coincidence to you.

It feels bigger than that—like some bigger force, you can’t comprehend, pulled you back into each other’s lives when you least expected it.

After everything that happened, after he disappeared and you were left behind to pick up the pieces of your life, you thought you’d never see him again. But here he is. Here you are.

You can’t stop staring at him.

t’s like every time you blink, he looks different—familiar but new in all the ways that make you speechless. He’s shaved but you still spot his shaving shadow. His hair is longer, almost slicked back from how many times he’s run his hands through it.

The way it falls, messy but somehow perfect, makes you want to reach out and touch it just to see if it feels like you remember.

And then there’s the rest of him.

He’s filled out, broader in the shoulders, his arms stronger, more defined. You can see it all through the worn wifebeater he’s wearing. It hugs him just right, showing off muscles that weren’t there before.

It’s like he’s grown into himself like he finally became the man you always knew he could be.

You can’t believe it’s him—the love of your life. The boy you lost is standing right in front of you, but he’s not just a boy anymore. He’s a man, and it hits you so hard, you almost feel dizzy.

Rafe sits down next to you, close enough that your knees almost touch. His blue eyes peek to your face, then away, then back again, like he’s trying to figure you out. He exhales, jaw tensing as he looks down at his hands before glancing back up at you.

“You gotta tell me what happened.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, and drop your gaze to your lap. How are you supposed to reveal any of this? How do you even start?

“I have a fiancé.”

His brows furrow together as he processes what you just said.

“A fiancé?” he repeats like he’s testing the word, trying to see if it’s as real as it sounds.

You nod, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. It feels wrong to bring this up now, amid everything, but it’s the truth, and he deserves to know it.

“Yeah.”

“He did this?” His voice is weak, almost like he’s afraid to ask, but his eyes narrow into slits.

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not like that. He didn’t—” You pause, the words dying in your tongue. You don’t want to defend him, not when Rafe’s just looking for someone to blame, but you can’t help it. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he echoes his voice rising a notch. “You’ve got bruises on your skin. Complicated’s not the word for it.”

You wince at his tone, “It’s just… it’s not all his fault. I thought I could handle it. I thought—”

“You thought what?” Rafe interrupts, with frustration. “You thought you could handle gettin’ tossed around like this? What the hell are you even sayin’?”

You close your eyes, wishing for just a moment of peace, something to stop the mess that your life turned into.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you confessed, barely loud enough for him to hear.

His head snaps back like you’ve slapped him. “What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? There’s always a choice.”

You shake your head, feeling the tears building. You’ve cried enough over this—over him, over everything you lost, and everything you thought you wanted. “Not for me, not back then.”

He blinks at you, confused. You can see him trying to piece it together, but it’s like the more you talk, the less he understands.

“My parents,” you explain, “They gave me an ultimatum—either stop looking for you or lose everything. My place in college, my future. They weren’t gonna let me keep chasing after you.”

This isn’t the way you thought this conversation would go, but now that you're here, with Rafe sitting right next to you, there’s no running from it.

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there in silence, staring at you, brows knitted together like he’s trying to piece the puzzle all together.

“You looked for me?”

It’s not an accusation, not exactly, but there’s this hint of doubt in his tone, like he can’t even wrap his head around the idea. His blue eyes search yours, and the intensity in them makes your chest hurt in that good way you missed. The only one you craved.

God, you don’t even know how to answer that. It’s like your brain’s screaming to hold back, to not let him in again, but your heart—it’s already crumbling at the way he’s looking at you.

You take a shaky breath, nodding once, “Of course I did.”

Rafe’s eyes shine with something restless, like he can’t decide if he should keep looking at you or anywhere but. His jaw tightens, and he bites the inside of his cheek, that familiar flash of frustration you’ve seen too many times. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

Then, he laughs, but it’s bitter and choked, barely more than a scoff. He’s looking at the ground now, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, knuckles white from the pressure.

“You looked for me?” he mutters again, like he’s grappling with the idea. His head snaps back to you, eyes wide, bewildered. “And I—I fuckin' left you.” He drags a hand down his face, fingers digging into his skin, exhaling hard. You can practically see the guilt attached to his entire being. His gaze darts around the room, his leg bouncing with that anxious energy. “I thought you’d hate me.”

“I never hated you. Not for that.”

At that, he flinches, eyes widening slightly before they narrow, like he doesn’t know if he should trust what he just heard. His lips part, then close, as if he’s trying to fathom that one simple truth. He runs his hand over his mouth, and he stares at you with that intense, almost unnerving gaze of his.

“W-What did they do to you?”

There’s fear in his voice—a desperate kind of fear, like he’s terrified of the answer.

“Rafe…” You sigh, your voice cracking on his name.

He lets out a sharp breath, clearly frustrated. His hand drags through his hair for the millionth time since you stumbled back into his life, tugging at the strands.

“Make me understand,” he says, his voice strained. “Because I’m tryin’ real hard here, all I see is you hurt—bruised—and tellin’ me I’m not supposed to be angry about it.”

You look away, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You don’t want to cry in front of him, not now. But the truth sits your chest, and you know there’s no avoiding it any longer.

“It wasn’t just him,” you finally admit, “It’s everything—my parents, the pressure, the expectations. I thought if I did what they wanted, if I played by their rules, I could fix it. I could fix me. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Rafe watches you carefully, his leg still bouncing, his eyes searching your face trying to figure out why you ever thought you had to do it all alone.

“You didn’t think I’d be there for you?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

“You weren’t even there for yourself. You left. You ran. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t find you. I didn’t know how.”

He winces, but you see it—the regret. “I didn’t know,” he tells you, “I didn’t know you were lookin’. I thought…” He trails off, his hand gripping the back of his neck, fingers pressing hard into his skin. “I thought you moved on. That you didn’t want me anymore.”

You can see it now—the broken pieces of the boy you used to love, the boy you never really stopped loving, sitting right in front of you.

“I could never hate you,” you confess, “Not after everything we went through. I was hurt, yes. Angry. But I never hated you.”

You don’t know why it feels so hard to say this out loud, but there’s something about being here with him, after everything that happened, that makes it feel even more impossible.

“My parents were really done with me by the time I hit my third year in college. They’d already threatened to cut me off a hundred times—made me choose between them or… or you.” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The memories flood back so vividly—their constant disapproval, the harsh words, the relentless pressure to forget about Rafe and focus on your “real future,” as they called it.

“They gave me an ultimatum—again,” you continue, the hostility creeping into your voice. “I was still trying to find you, still chasing every lead, every rumor, anything I could get my hands on. And they were fed up. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t just let it go, why I couldn’t just move on with my life.”

He’s letting you speak, letting you lay it all out in the open.

“There was this guy. His family had just moved to Figure Eight right after you left. He was nice, at first. He was everything my parents wanted—a good family, a stable future, perfect on paper. They practically forced me to start dating him.”

You feel Rafe stiffen beside you, but you can’t stop now. The words are coming out, faster than you can control them.

“At first, it was just to keep the peace, to get them off my back. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. But then, as the years went on, I don’t know. I was tired. Tired of fighting them, tired of searching for you and coming up empty every time. Tired of the pressure, of being the disappointment.”

You pause, your throat tightening as you remember the way your parents had pushed you, how they’d insisted that dating this guy was the only way to secure a “respectable future.” You’d been so worn down by then, so lost, that it seemed like the only choice.

“They convinced me it was the right thing to do. That this was my chance to finally move on, to stop chasing after something that wasn’t there anymore. They made it sound like it was the only way to get my life back on track.”

Rafe moves beside you, restless, “And you believed them?”

You wish you could stop here, leave it unsaid, but you can’t.

“It got worse.”

He turns to face you, a silent question in his eyes. He knows you’re about to tell him something bad—something he won’t want to hear—but he waits, giving you space to speak.

“I tried to make it work with him. I really did,” you almost let the tears drop right there and then, “But it was never right. He found a picture of us. From years ago. A photo I’d printed before you left. I don’t even know why I kept it, but I did. I kept it in my wallet, hidden away. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but when he found it…” You pause, the memory replaying in your mind. “He changed.”

His entire body goes still.

“He didn’t trust me after that,” you whispered the shame burning you alive, “He started questioning everything. If I talked to another guy, even just for a second, he’d lose it. I couldn’t leave the house alone anymore, not without him watching me. I couldn’t have a girls’ night or even go to the grocery store without him making some comment about who I might be looking at or who might be looking at me.”

You drop your gaze to your hands, gripping them tightly in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“I tried to tell myself it was nothing, that he was just jealous because he cared. But it got worse. He started getting angry, accusing me of things that weren’t even happening. And then he got violent.”

“What do you mean ‘violent’?”

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit how bad it got, how trapped you felt. But the truth is there, in the bruises that are still fading from your skin, in the way your body recoils at the thought of him.

You can’t hide it anymore.

“He hit me. Every week, kept saying I was still in love with you, that I never got over you. He’d accuse me of cheating, of thinking about you. He didn’t trust me around anyone. And whenever he got worked up, he’d… he’d take it out on me.”

Rafe is breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling at a fast pace. He’s trying to control it, but you can see it, the way his hands are shaking, the way his jaw clenches so hard it looks painful.

“How long?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. “How long has this been happening?”

You swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

“Almost three years. Ever since he found that picture.”

Rafe curses under his breath, turning away from you, his hands gripping the comforter so tightly you think he might rip it apart.

“You couldn’t leave?” His voice is strained, like he’s trying to understand how things got this bad.

You shake your head slowly.

“I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. He controls everything. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without him. He’d keep tabs on me constantly. Make it ten times worse every single time. My parents think I’m doing this to myself to get away.”

He’s not just angry, he’s furious.

“I should’ve been there,” he scolds himself, “I should’ve been there.”

“You couldn’t have known,” You don’t want him to blame himself, not for this. “You left for a reason. I get that.”

But Rafe doesn’t seem to hear you. He’s pacing back and forth now, each step more agitated than the last.

“He hit you." He says it almost to himself, like he can’t fully comprehend it. He’s shaking his head now, breathing hard. “And your parents—they think you’re doin’ this to yourself?” His voice rises, disbelief dripping from every word. “What the hell kind of—” He stops himself, pacing faster. He looks like he wants to punch something, like he’s one second away from collapsing.

You wince at his anger, though it’s not directed at you, “Rafe—”

He turns abruptly, cutting you off, his eyes wild.

“No. Don’t ‘Rafe’ me, alright? You—” He gestures at you, his hand shaking as he points to the fading bruises. “This? This is bullshit. What, they think it’s your fault? They don’t get to do that to you. None of this is your fault, and you should never have had to deal with that piece of shit."

His words are not meant to hurt you, but hearing them shatters your heart in half, at least, what's left of it anyway.

Rafe seems to sense it, the way your body tenses, the way your eyes are avoiding his now. He stops pacing and moves closer, crouching down in front of you.

His movements are slower, like he doesn’t want you to ever feel scared around him.

“Look at me,” he almost begs you, “Just… look at me.”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and it’s like you’re seventeen all over again.

“I’m sorry. ’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve been. I should’ve…” His voice cracks, and he quickly looks away, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were still lookin’ for me.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re not going back. You’re not goin’ back to him. Not after this.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you almost whimper in pain. It’s the truth, though. You’re trapped, and no matter how much he wants to help, there’s no easy solution to this mess.

“You do now,” he takes your hands into his, wondering if he’s still worth your touch. “You’re stayin’ with me. I don’t care what it takes. You’re not goin’ back there. Not to him, not to your parents. I’ll figure it out.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s making a promise—one he won’t break.

“I can’t just—”

“You’re safe now. I swear.”

You’re sobbing. It’s not the delicate, quiet kind of crying either—you can’t breathe, your chest heaving with every inhale, the sound coming out somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

You cover your face with your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t work. The tears just keep pouring out, endless, soaking your palms, dripping down your wrists. You’re shaking, your whole body trembling as years of pent-up hurt, exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, even though you’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. It’s like you can’t stop apologizing, like everything that's happened is somehow your fault. “I’m sorry—I—”

The sobs tear through you and Rafe moves without hesitation, just slides down next to you, pulling you gently into his lap. His strong arms wrap around you, cautious but firm. He’s mindful of the bruises he knows are there, his hand running up and down your back in the softest, most delicate way, almost like he’s scared to cause you any more pain.

You cling to him instinctively, burying your face into his chest as you cry harder, your fingers gripping onto his shirt. His scent is familiar—comforting—and it only makes you cry more.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I got you, baby. I got you.” His lips brush against your temple in the lightest kiss, over and over again, like he’s trying to kiss away the tears, the fear, the pain. “You’re okay now,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

You’re shaking in his arms, but he holds you tighter, rocking you while his hand continues its slow, careful path up and down your back.

“I’m here,” he reminds you against your hair, his lips pressing another kiss to your forehead. “No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here. I swear.”

Even if just for this moment, you believe him.

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aurasy3ag3r · 4 months ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝟐) 𝐂.𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

☆ summary : Short p2 of the first Intoxicated

☆ parings : plug connie x blackfem reader.

☆ wc : a little until 700

1:30 am

con

Come outside.

It's mad late, hell nah

con

YN don't play with me.

I told you I was coming

So?

You chuckled softly as you slipped on your cozy slippers, making your way to the main door of your dorm. Connie had been outside for a while now, but you hadn’t felt like getting up until just a few minutes ago. As you opened the door, he stood there with a black plastic bag in hand, likely filled with food or ice cream—either way, you knew he’d share. “Why you leaving me out here in the cold?” Connie asked, a teasing smile on his face.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you since ten,” you replied, turning to lead him inside, back to the dorm that had become so familiar to him. “YN, you know those parties don’t even start for real until after twelve,” he said, following you. You rolled your eyes, making sure he noticed. He sucked his teeth in response, but you knew he wouldn’t do anything about it.

“Don’t even think about getting on my bed in your outside clothes,” you warned. Connie nodded, already moving to your drawers where he’d started leaving some of his clothes for this exact reason. He grabbed a pair of shorts and a shirt—clothes that you often wore yourself because, honestly, his clothes were basically yours at this point. Without a second thought, he began undressing in front of you, unfazed since you’d seen him naked before.

“You like what you see?” he smirked, clearly enjoying teasing you. You threw a pillow at his head in response, rolling your eyes at his antics. “I bought us some ice cream,” he said, pulling out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and starting to open it. You stared at it like a hungry little kid.

“Does this mean you passed your finals?” you asked, hoping that he did. Connie nodded, and you rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” you said warmly. He smiled at your praise, leaning in to give you a kiss on the lips in return.

“I already knew you passed— You smart woman,” he teased, making you nod and chuckle. From the moment Connie met you, he believed you were the smartest, most beautiful, and amazing woman he’d ever known. No matter what, you never failed to amaze him—even with simple things like teaching him how to take notes properly or listening to you explain something you were passionate about.

You handed Connie two plastic spoons, and he scooped some ice cream into two cups.“You got my favorite,” you noted, taking your cup from him. He hummed in acknowledgment. “You didn’t tell me how the party went,” you asked, settling onto your stomach as Connie got comfortable next to you.

“It was chill, but I prefer being here,” he replied, his hand slowly sliding up your thigh before giving your butt a light slap. “You think Sasha’s coming home tonight?” you asked, but before Connie could respond, the two of you burst into laughter. You both knew Sasha wasn’t coming home—even if she was there was no way she’d be coming back this early.

“When I was leaving, she was taking shots with a group of random people,” Connie said, shaking his head. You smiled, not because it was unbelievable, but because it was exactly what you expected. “Remember when she introduced us?” you asked. Connie nodded, his spoon still in his mouth. “I remember it vividly. She was showing you off like a trophy, spinning you around and shit,” he chuckled at the memory.

“Now you’re my trophy,” he said, giving your butt a harder slap this time. “Connieee, stop it!” you protested, but he just chuckled, rubbing the spot he’d hit to soothe the sting.

“Are you done yet? I want to cuddle,” you said, already inching closer. Connie placed his cup next to yours on the floor, giving you the green light to lay on top of him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“When we first met, did you ever think we’d end up here?” you asked softly. Connie nodded, not missing a beat. “Mhmm. The second I met you, I knew you were gonna be mine.”.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, looking up at him as he kept nodding. “After you left, I was blowing up Sasha’s phone to get your number,” he chuckled, reminiscing about that day a year ago. “When I’m with you, YN, I feel like a whole new man,” he confessed, his eyes locking with yours.

“You drive me crazy—in so many ways, like sometimes you really be buggin’,” he teased. You scoffed, giving him a soft slap on the shoulder, making him laugh.

Soon, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound coming from your air purifier. Connie’s hand gently rubbed your back as you began to drift off to sleep.

“Goodnight, mama,” he whispered, holding you close.

#attack on titan #attack on titan fluff #anime x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #college au #plug connie #connie x black y/n #connie x black reader #connie fluff #connie attack on titan #connie springer

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lila-lou · 1 year ago

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✨ His only exception - Pt. 1/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier boy being too rough

Word Count: 1394

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You were currently lying on your stomach on the sofa, completely engrossed in your phone.

It's been a year already.

12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another.

Of course, the job in the field, as you always affectionately called it, was extremely dangerous, but damn interesting and exciting. Until today, you didn't know why Butcher wanted you on his team so badly, but after a few unsuccessful attempts to get him to talk, you finally gave up. You weren't particularly talented when it came to fighting or stuff like that. You also had no idea about technology. Of course, you knew the quickest way to track down and locate Supes, but the other 11 girls on your team knew that too. So, you didn't know why you were chosen, but now you didn't care. Finally something exciting happened in your life and you were more than grateful for that.

Your love life on the other hand, was still a complete disaster. You're 20 years old and still single as fuck. It wasn't that you didn't have chances, certainly not, it was more that you wanted a man who could flash you. You wanted magic. A crackling and burning when he looks at you. But so far, all the men you've met have been the exact opposite. And if your mother taught you anything, it's to never settle for less.

So, here you were. In shorts and a crop top in the living room of your shared apartment.

Since the Team around Butcher has expanded with you, the Team got a new apartment. Not particularly luxurious, but not completely crappy either.

However, since the heating in your room is currently broken, you had to make do with the couch in the living room. While everyone else was already asleep, you scrolled through Instagram, checking out what your old coworkers were up to and what lies the media was currently spreading.

"Why aren't you sleeping, doll face?".

It was Soldier Boy's rough voice that startled you. When you turned your head to the side, you could see his eyes glued to your bare legs. But typical, he didn't care that you caught him staring. He plopped down on the sofa next to your feet and took a sip from his whiskey bottle without averting his gaze. There was nothing you could do as the blush rose to your face. You cleared your throat before sitting up.

“I don’t know”, you mumbled before looking at him for a second. “Somehow I’m not tired”, you added, looking away again. It was impossible to hold his gaze for much more. Despite the fact that you were the only person Soldier Boy was nice to, nice by his standards, you found him extremely intimidating. Even now, as he sat there, almost like a normal person in his gray sweatpants and black hoodie, he radiated this strong superiority.

When it became clear that there was no way Soldier Boy could be locked up again and Butcher could use all the help he could get against Homelander, he convinced Soldier Boy to rejoin his team.

Nobody knew how the hell he did it, but he did.

Butcher had recruited you and Soldier Boy almost at the same time. You were both the ‚new guys’ so to speak. Maybe that's why you got along somewhat.

“Well, I know fucking ton of ways to make you tired, Sweetheart”, he winked at you, making you roll your eyes. “Are you going to stop trying at some point?”, you mumbled, reaching for your Ben & Jerry’s on the table. “As soon as I can finally spread those pretty legs of yours”, he grinned cheekily.

You didn't think much of it. Ben was Ben and fucked everything that came his way. You knew that by now. Well, everyone on the team knew that. It wasn't even two weeks before Butcher banned him from bringing women home. The sounds those girls did, sounded like something out of a porno and kept everyone awake for two weeks.

“You’re disgusting,” you remarked quietly before putting the first spoonful in your mouth.

“Whatever”, he took another sip.

"Why are you still awake?", you asked. "I've slept enough", he replied almost bitterly. “Besides…if Everyone is sleeping, I hear your every little movement. Every tap on your phone. Every fucking breath you take… Try sleeping like that”, he murmured.

“Sorry”, you mumbled.

“Yeah, whatever doll face”.

You spent the next 60 minutes staying quiet and watching TV. In between, Ben couldn't help but mutter derogatory comments about women from commercials or the actual Movie you watched and its plot. At some point your nerves were on edge and you couldn't help but let out an annoyed groan.

“Do you have a fucking problem over there?”, Ben mumbled, looking over at you.

"You're repeating yourself! ‘Everything used to be better’ – that’s annoying”, you imitated him.

Without meaning to, you started a discussion. Neither of you was angry or aggressive, but both of you wanted to be right and keep the other quiet. However, the discussion quickly became heated. After a few minutes, the mood changed completely. Ben absolutely wasn't having neither your attitude nor your - in his eyes - disrespectful behavior towards him. Soldier Boy. Americas fucking first hero.

You could see Ben tense up. He got up from the couch and stood in front of you, building himself up. He clearly was about to snap.

“Know what the fucking best part was? Nobody was a fucking cocktease like you! No woman would dared to dance around with such tight little panties in front of me and just not let me fuck ‘em!”.

You just sat there and looked up at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

"Ben, I...". With your eyes still on him, you searched for the right words, but you hadn't found any. All these months you thought Ben was just kidding. You never took his lewd comments, compliments or his staring seriously, quite the opposite. By now you thought it was just one of his traits. He held your gaze with his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. His fingertips tapped his upper arm. Knowing that he wouldn't rest until you gave him an answer that was acceptable to him, you tried your best.

“I didn't think you'd mind. I… I´m not your type at all? I thought you`re into older women”. You now looked at him a little confused.

“Oh, don’t act fucking dumb now! I know women like you. Act all innocent at first, make men horny and then don't let anyone touch you! This is actually a lot worse than a slut admitting she's a slut!”, he spat.

Unfortunately, your hand was faster than your brain as you lashed out, hitting him on the cheek.

Your breath hitched as you saw Ben raise both eyebrows in surprise before his jaw twitched in anger.

"Shit! Ben… I…”.

You couldn't stutter any longer because Ben was already pushing you firmly against the wall by your upper arms.

Thousand thoughts ran through his head and they all revolved around you.

Ever since he first saw you, he was torn. Soldier Boy didn't know if he wanted to kill you, fuck you, torture or fucking marry you. He couldn't understand his own feelings. He didn't know what the fuck he felt. Even now his fantasies fluctuated like hell.

You were only human. With the blink of an eye he could squash you like a puny fly. But then he would never be able to look into those beautiful (y/e/c) eyes again. He would never be able to hear your voice again. He had dreamed so often of you lying beneath him, completely exhausted, shaking and moaning. Screaming his name in sheer desperate.

Just like that his intrusive thoughts won. Without any warning, he smashed his lips into yours, followed by his body.

———————————

A/N: I was wondering if anyone would like me to make this into a multi-part story. Pls let me know 🥰

Part 2

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #spn #supernatural #soldier boy x you

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months ago

Text

Rigs: Tyler Owens x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hunterthecharmer @heylookwhoitis

Companion piece to:

The Mechanic

Tyler lies on his back in a field in the middle of nowhere, there’s a picnic blanket spread out underneath him as he stares up at the sky watching the clouds drift overhead. He comes out here when he wants to take a breather, when he wants to get away from the cameras, the attention, his crew. He’s mad at every single one of them right now because they all knew that Boone was going to call you, in fact they encouraged it.

“We needed a mechanic.” Dani had told him after he’d sent you away. “You know she’s the best around, the work she did back then, we ain’t never had anything like it since.”

Yea, he knows that all too well. He’s been paying out the nose for his repairs ever since you left, jerry rigging shit together because none of them know how to weld the way you do.

He remembers the first day the two of you met inside that pokey little garage Lawton, he’d come to you with a sketch for his truck because every other mechanic this side of Oklahoma had told him he was absolutely crazy.

“It’s doable.” You’d told him as you reviewed the drawing he’d made. “But it’s going to cost.”

He’d used the last of his savings from his work at the rodeo to pay you to outfit his rig and when it was done, it was far better than he ever could have imagined.

“All that’s left is to test it out.” You’d said as your hand smoothed over the glossy paintwork.

“You actually wanna come along for that ride?” He’d asked you half serious.

Imagine his surprise when you had said yes.

“Looks like you’ve got a bit of wrangler in you after all.” He’d remarked as you’d climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

You’d become the go to girl for rigs like his after that. Any storm chasers that needed something special or a fix up, you were the one to go to. You still are even after the injury, you may have given up the chasing but making sure that the people that were still doing it stay safe is your top priority.

That’s the worst part he thinks is that you still have love for the community, hell you still probably have love for him but it can’t work between the two of you because you broke the cardinal rule, you did the one thing you promised you wouldn’t.

You asked him to stop.

“You know I can’t.” He’d told you, his thumb running along the line of your jaw, over the stitches that held your skin together.

“And you know I can’t keep doing this.” You’d responded before you’d packed your things and returned to that garage in Lawton.

He stays away after that, gets his repairs elsewhere. He’d hoped that you’d become a distant memory but the truth is you’re never far from his thoughts, it’s why he hasn’t looked at another woman in years.

The problem is Boone and the others are right, they do need you. If they want Kate’s project to be successful, to prove to the government that this is something they should be rolling out across the country then they need it to be foolproof and that means getting a professional mechanic onboard to make sure the rigs are up to standard to take on what’s to come. It’s the only way to make sure his crew stays safe and you’re the only one that can do that.

“Fuck.” He says as he stares up at the sky because despite what he said a few hours ago he does need you.

Truthfully he always has.

Love Tyler? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #twisters #twisters fic #twisters fanfic

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strayrockette · 4 months ago

Text

My Sunshine Girl: Family Dinner

Summary: two weeks after inviting Benny into your bed, you begin to question the status of your relationship. You eat dinner at your uncles house.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Warning: implications of family violence/DV, cursing, angst feels, and, brief mentions of religion (a theme that will pop up occasionally, if you don’t like it don’t read it)

A/N: Please excuse grammar mistakes. My tired eyes can only catch so much 😂 I’m gonna be diving into some heavy topics now. Though I’ll try my best to keep the lighthearted fluff and fun from the beginning.

You aren’t sure what the status of your relationship is. If you asked anyone in the Club they’d all laugh and say “You Benny’s girl, Sunshine, why’d you ask a stupid question like that”

If you asked Kathy she’d just snort and look you up and down, “Oh Sunny, you’re hopeless, I mean really? Ain’t it obvious by now”

Your response to both cases would be to sigh. Lots and lots of sighing.

It’s been two weeks of Benny showin’ up to your uncle's diner to pick you up from your late night shifts and whisk you to the bar.

Two weeks of you and Benny curling up on your bed in the early morning, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heart thump.

Two weeks of nothing.

And it's driving you mad.

He doesn’t verbalize what you are to him. Every time you think about asking your tongue freezes. Muscles tensing as your brain struggles to put your thoughts into words.

You squeeze the wet cloth in your hand, mind warring with itself. With a grunt you presume your cleaning activity for the night. You’d scrub all the empty tables raw. Your knuckles and wrists aching.

Your uncle Harold let you work the late shift at your request. He’d been reluctant to let you work the dead shift for safety concerns but after a long discussion of action plans in case of an emergency, he’d conceded.

The diner is quiet, the low hum of the overhead light flickers and you make a note to remind your uncle to get it fixed. You take a 5th glance out the window hoping to find Benny’s motorcycle parked out front, but he isn't there. You frown and turn away again, you know you would have heard him before you saw him, but he’s an hour late and it feels unusual not to see him waiting for you.

“Lookin’ for your man?” Jerry croaks from the bar counter hunched over a cappuccino, his white beard ruffled from insistent scratching. He comes in every Saturday night at 11:30 and stays just past midnight.

You throw the wet rag into a bucket, “I guess I am, Mr. Spore”

You continue your thoughts allowed, “I don’t even know what we are”

You grab the bucket with your cleaning supplies and lug it to the kitchen. You open the storage room to your left and place the dirty rags into the laundry bin-another task for you to remind your uncle to do. You busy yourself with cleaning the bucket in the storage room sink, a quirk of your lips as you hear Jerry chide you in the background , “Jerry, I beg you, I’m tired of formalities”

You can hear him pick up his cup, sipping his hot cappuccino. It would be the last one he drank before he would place money on the counter and wish you a good and safe night. “I’ve seen the way that boy looks at ya.”

You hum idly. Completely aware of how Benny looks at you. It’s almost suffocating and endearing.

You take a quick glance at the kitchen sink, half the dishes have been washed. You call out for Cole, the dish boy, noticing that the back door is open you walk up and peer outside.

He’s leaning up against the wall, taking slow drags from his cigarette. He turns his head and nods at you, “Is Jerry still here?”

“Yeah, he’s almost done,” Cole nods at your statement, “alright, give me another 20 and I’ll finish washing up”

You respond with a nod and turn away. Leaving him to his break. You pop open the kitchen door and enter back into the dining section, “I don't know Mr.-Jerry, we haven’t made anything finale?” you end it as a question, unsure of what words to describe your relationship with Benny.

You slide onto a stool next to Jerry, “It just feels weird, not knowing.”

You turn to look at him, resting your head on your palms.

Jerry waves his hand in the air, discarding your confusion. He gives you a dry huff, “He’s a man, it's not the words you should look at but his actions”

His grey eyes look at you with fatherly affection, you recognize it as the same look your uncle gives you whenever he sees you come into his view. You swallow thickly and smile appreciatively, “I’ll keep that in mind, Jerry”

Jerry moves to dig into his jacket pocket, his stiff aching joints slow him down but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush, “I’ve lived a long time”

He pulls out some change and dollars, he places them down one by one, “No man would sit patiently outside or inside a diner for hours for some lady who means nothin’, he’s your man alright”

He gives you a soft pat on the shoulder and then ruffles the top of your head, “Don’t overthink what hasn’t been said and start thinking about what’s been done”

He slips out of the barstool, and makes his way to the exit. He mummers a good night and tells you to be safe before stepping into the night.

He has left you with more wisdom than you thought you’d get. You shake your head and drag your hand over your face.

Benny is nowhere in sight when you lock up the diner. He must be busy or somethin’, you think.

You take to sitting on the steps leading to the diner doors and you wait, He has to come at some point. You’ve wrapped your arms around your legs, head resting on your forearms when you hear a rumble.

You look up, heart leaping and a smile on your face, and-

Your uncles old truck had pulled up to the diner, he waves at you from the drivers seat beckoning you to walk over. It takes you a couple minutes of looking past your uncles truck, peering into the night hoping for any sign that Benny would be there. But he never comes. Giving up on waiting, you get up and walk towards your uncle.

He steps out once you’re close enough, opening his arms for a hug. It doesn’t take much for you to accept his offer and you jump into it. You mumble a hi.

Your uncle pats your back, “Gina and I were wondering if you’d like to eat dinner with us”

You pull away and look up at him with surprised brows, “it’s 1:30 in the morning.”

He laughs and shrugs his shoulders, “the ole lady insisted on putting off dinner till you got off work”

You can’t help the smile on your face, “Well, if the ole lady insists then we should not disappoint “

—

Your uncle pulls up to a washed out 2 story brick house. You can see a feminine figure waiting out on the porch.

You hop out of the truck to run up to Gina, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “I hear I’m being summoned for dinner”

She hums, “I miss having a gal to talk to over a meal, this lump is no good at conversation”

She jerks her chin at your uncle, you can hear him scoff and mumble about how he has no interest in knowing the difference of a macron and macaroon. A heated discussion for sure, you think with amusement.

He herds the two of you inside the house his large looming figure barely fitting through the door. He stands at a whopping 6’4, his large shoulders and fit build look out of place in the tiny two story home his wife had inherited from her parents. Despite looking out of place, he melded into the environment with ease. Traces of his masculine personality being scattered through the home with his baseball card collections and hunting gear that he uses during winter camping trips with his buddies.

The atmosphere is different from your ma’s home. There is a lightness in the air and a buzzing feeling in your chest. You think it’s the feeling of love and care that your uncle and aunt have put into the home. You wonder if you’d ever be able to replicate that in your own home.

You pull out a chair once in the dining room, and sink into the dark wood, a vibrant red cushion softening the seat. Gina has set the table with your favorites, homemade mashed potatoes, buttered corn on a cob, and pork chops.

You smile gratefully at your aunt, her dark hair is slowly graying but she looks more youthful with how her eyes gleam lovingly at you. “I appreciate the thought you put into this, Gigi”

She gives you her best smile reminding you that she’d always take care of you if you ever let her. You shake your head at her, fondly remembering how she’d often jump at the chance to provide you with your wants and needs as a teen. You used to think she did it because of your special circumstances but no, that’s just Gina’s loving heart. Bleeding out for anybody who needs it.

Your uncle sits at the end of the table, he’s holding his hand out and looks at you, “Under this roof, we give thanks to the LORD”.

He reminds you gently, softly prodding to see if you’ll accept and join. You glance at his palm, the rough calluses stand out against the soft white lace table cloth, his other hand is occupied with Gina’s much smaller hand and you notice that she too is holding up her hand to you, she encourages you softly with a tilt of her head.

You slowly slip your hand into theirs. You close your eyes and bow your head. There’s a moment of silence before Gina kicks Harold who coughs with a start. He begins with his list of things he is grateful for. You are the first thing on his list. Your heart warms and everything else slips away. You had forgotten what it had felt like to be a part of a family. And you almost want to chide yourself for taking everything for granted as a teenager.

A gentle tug pulls you from your thoughts, “What about you?” he asks.

You look up and find both of them staring at you, “Oh I don’t know..”

You trail off in thought. Your aunt gives you an encouraging smile and lifts one finger, “Just name one thing you are most thankful for”

Your shoulders slump and you think, “I guess I’m thankful to be back, thankful for the amazing birthday I had last Saturday and I’m thankful for meeting…some new people..”

You’ve met a lot of new people these last two weeks. But there’s only one person you’re thinking about. You feel your cheeks heating as you think of his blue eyes peering into your soul.

Your aunt nods excitedly, “There ya go, there’s always somethin’ to give thanks for.”

Your uncle is quiet but he’s got a smile on his bearded lips, “Now we dig in”

As dinner progresses conversation picks up, you give them updates on the garden your ma used to tend to. You tell them that you’ve gotten better at keeping plants alive. Gina laughs because she remembers how heartbroken you used to get when every plant your ma would let you take care of; died.

Your uncle jokes that maybe you’re having a honeymoon period with the plants and it’ll be over before you know it. You shake your hands in the air to try and dispel the curse he just put on you. “No, it can never be over! They will all survive,” you laugh.

By the time dinner ends you offer to help clean up but Gina waves you off. Telling you to sit and enjoy dessert. She brings out her banana cream cookies. Gina tells you that she’s finally perfected the recipe after many failed attempts. Your uncle huffs and points to himself, “at my expense”

She hushes him, “you insisted”

Playful conversation continues. You’re slowly making your way through your first cookie, enjoying the company and the new updates they give you.

You’re on your third cookie when Gina slaps Harold’s arm and sends him a look. You watch the silent showdown that your uncle is losing.

She hesitates, “We-uh..we noticed you been staying at your mom's house more often”

Her voice is gentle, her light brown eyes search your face.

You give her a nod not sure where the conversation is going. “We” She paused, her eyes flickering to your uncle, “have…some concerns”

You laugh, “What kind of concerns?”

You aren’t sure why they’d be concerned, it was your uncle who had encouraged you to start thinking about making your ma’s old home yours. He had been taking care of it for you until you were ready to take on the responsibility. Gina has helped maintain the flower bed out front- a mix of colored roses, daisies, and lilies- and the garden at the back of the property.

While you were away they had even renovated the house to have new appliances and updated the wallpapers and flooring.

You propped your arms on the table, leaning forward to look at them, “I promise I'm doing fine, still unpacking but I’m gettin’ around to gettin’ settled”

You try to reassure them but it doesn’t seem to work. You can tell Gina is getting uncomfortable the longer the conversation goes on. Your eyes travel to your uncle to see him slowly chewing on a cookie. He’s avoiding eye contact and his hulking figure is trying to sink into the seat.

“Wh-Why-What’s goin’ on with you two?” You blurt out.

Your uncle clears his throat, picking up a napkin and wiping his beard and lips, “Someone brought it to m-our attention that a fella has been walking in and out the house”

You aren’t sure if your heart has stopped or if it’s beating too fast, “This about Benny?”

Gina leans forward, her light blue dress ruffles as she clears the table. Glasses clink as she stacks plates and slowly exits from what is sure to be a disaster.

Your uncle’s face is unsure, “Yes and no”

You lean back in your seat, dessert forgotten. A heavy weight has dropped to the pit of your stomach, “Then what is it about?”

It’s silent for a minute. The only sounds being your aunt cleaning dishes. The soft glow of the dining room light feels too bright and oppressive.

“Look, I’ll keep this short; that boy ain’t good for yah” He’s placed his hands over the table, his palms facing the white lace table cloth, “It’s bad enough, you refuse to talk about your time away and now ya got a vandal in your ma’s home, it-”

You cut him off, “You don’t know him and you promised me I didn’t have to talk if I didn’t want to”

Your uncle's voice is calm and he tries to clean up the can of worms he’s opened up, “I know enough about his type, your ma-”

“Don’t,” you warn, “Don’t say it”

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, peanut,” He sighs in resignation, your childhood nickname slipping from his lips, “You been through too much to end up with-”

“With what? Scum?? Ain’t that what Gina’s pops said about you?” You bark back, “You know nothin’ ‘bout Benny”

He ignores your statement, his heart aching.

“I know enough,” he speaks over your loud scoff, “Boy’s got a temper worse than a bull, you don-”

His implication squeezes your heart, “He’s not him”

“Your ma was so sure of your pa, look how that ended up” your uncle asserts, he remains seated, his brown eyes urging you to listen, “I’m just tryin’ to protect ya”

Before anything happens to ya goes unsaid.

His comment stabs you in the heart. You push the echos of distant screaming. It doesn’t belong in the light, you blink rapidly warding away the memories.

He continues as you keep silent, “I already told him to stop comin'-”

“You did what?” Your frustration starts to build, “It’s not your place to go around tellin’ people they can’t be around me”

Your uncle looks away, his fingers fidgeting with the tablecloth, “He’s no good, you met him once and you already got him in ya bed-” Your uncle shakes his head not wanting to go down that road, “I’m just sayin’ you don’t know enough about him.”

You shake your head, refusing to let the idea of Benny ever gettin’ violent with you be a possibility. “He isn’t, he wouldn’t..”

The doubt is sinking in and you hate it. You hate not knowing if you’ve really met a good man. Or if you’re simply blinded.

“You gotta understand peanut, you take off one day and don’t talk to us for 4 years, 4 years,” He repeats the last bit, his eyes sunken in, worries and stress embedded into his face, “then you show up outta the blue, no warning, bruised up with tears in your eyes, you refuse to talk about why you left and why you came back or what happened, and now you got a damn Vandal at your hip…”

His mouth opens and closes, he’s got no words other than, “We have a right to be concerned ‘bout ya”

He fidgets in his seat, “I think it’s best you focus on healin, seein’ a doctor or somethin’ you know, talk to us, we’re alway-”

“No” You bite out. “I’m fine.”

Your uncle laughs, “Fine? Are you really fine? Peanut, you’re spiraling out of control, we-”

His voice drops and he hangs his head, “I promised your ma, I’d take care of ya, if I say you can’t see this boy-”

“9 years,” you whisper. Your mouth is dry, “I’ve been spiraling for the last 9 years and you’re just now noticing”

His mouth opens and closes, he’s losing control of the situation but then again what else did he expect, “Peanut, plea-”

You shake your head, tears swelling, “It takes you 9 FUCKING YEARS,” Your voice rises, the little girl in you screaming at the top of her lungs, “9 YEARS OF MASKING MY PAIN AND BEING A GOOD GIRL, 9 YEARS OF HIDING BEHIND OBEDIENCE AND YOU CHOOSE NOW?? NOW TO NOTICE I’M SPIRALING”

Now, when you’ve started to feel like a normal girl. With normal concerns and normal friends and a normal…boyfriend?

Your uncle tries to reach over and grab your hand but you pull away, “All because what?? I’ve got a man in my bed??”

You choke on your laughter, “I’ll have you know all we do is sleep. WE FUCKING SLEEP AND HE HOLDS ME”

Your voice quivers, “He just holds me…and you’re tryin’ to take that away from me?”

Your hands grip your head, fingers curling around the base of your scalp, there’s too much going on inside you and all you want is peace.

“I-I” You squeeze your eyes shut, “I can’t do this”

You push away from the table and rush to leave. Your shoulder bumps into the wall knocking over a picture, you race out of the house stumbling as you grab your bag and sweater from the couch.

Your uncle is left staring at the space you once occupied a sad terrible feeling in his chest. He sits in his seat, shoulders deflated.

Gina slowly walks into the dining room, her soft hands rubbing his shoulder, moving to wrap around him in a hug, “Too far?” he asks.

Gina hums. The quiet of the night chilling his bones. Did I ruin everything, he wonders somberly.

–

The night air shrouds you in a heaviness you haven’t felt in a while. It’s quiet, so terribly quiet and you hate it. Your fingers press into your eyes, forcing the tears to return, forcing the memories to die.

Your mouth quivers as memories are thrust to the forefront of your mind,

“It’s alright baby, just hide in here and everything will be okay” Her fingers trembled as she pushed you down into a sitting position. Wiping away the tears staining your face, she begs you to keep quiet. “Shhhh, momma’s gonna take care of everything”

You block the rest of it out. You quicken your pace. You’re running through the street, tears falling despite your desperation to bury it. Bury more memories, more terrible, dreadful thoughts, it’s too much.

It isn’t until you bump into a figure, stumbling to a forceful stop; that you take in your surroundings.

Between the swell of tears, you see Gail’s face with furrowed brows and red lips pursed in concern. The glowing sign of the Vandal Bar shines brightly behind her. You can hear the hustle and bustle of men hollering and cheering on the inside.

You blink and struggle to speak. Your chest tightens and unwanted sobs leave your mouth.

Someone steps out of the bar, It’s Corky, “oh shit, what-?”

“Wh-wh-w-?” You struggle to speak a full sentence so you push out a name, “Benny”

Corky sensing the urgency runs back inside. Gail guides you to sit on the sidewalk. Her arms wrap around your shoulders.

“You’ll be alright sunny,” She whispers, her fingers tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. She stays with you until Benny races out the club doors.

His eyes roam the street till he lands on your sobbing shoulders and bent head, your hands are wiping away furious tears that won’t stop. Gail isn’t sure what to do to calm you down, but she figures the only person who could is Benny, so she slips away, leaving you alone in the silence of the night with Benny’s concerned eyes watching over you.

You feel him sit next to you. His shoulders and thighs brushing against you. You suck in a breath, “I waited for you”

You sniffle, the sound awfully loud in the silence.

He rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t know not showin would lead you to ballin your eyes out, baby”

You don’t glance at him nor do you acknowledge what he’s said. He’s clasped his hands over his bent knees, his eyes staring up at the night sky.

“You listened to him.” You don’t mention who him was exactly but you know that Benny understands. Because he sighs, “He said I’d ruin you.”

He says it quietly, his voice a deep sorrowful rasp. “You’re too good for me…”

You angle your head to look at him, your tears have stopped but you can still feel the wet trail they left behind, “do you want me?”

It’s a bold question, but something you’ve been dying to ask. He fidgets with his rings, his head slowly turns to you his brows furrowed, he bites his lip and he nods. His blue eyes are clear and attentive to your facial expressions.

You’re glaring at him and he finds this amusing, “Then why didn’t you show up”

Benny wants to say something but doesn’t know what. He looks away and stares at his hands, he clasps one over his wrists, “he’s right”

The admission scares him. You’re too good for him. Too pure and innocent. It’s been two weeks of bliss for Benny. You’re the quiet in the storm. The peace in the chaos. He didn’t know life could feel more fulfilling with a lady by his side. But he has you now and he’s never felt so…light. Riding gives him freedom. But being with you gives him peace.

He struggles to find the words to tell you how he feels. To tell you what he thinks but he finds himself remaining silent. Offering the bare minimum of an explanation. None of it explains his heart.

“I’m already ruined,” you bite out. “But..you make me feel… less…broken”

Benny glances at you. He watches as you turn and bite your lip, your eyes flickering away tears. A stark contrast to the happy fun girl he’s witnessed the last two weeks. He recognizes a weight on your shoulders. A weight that he’s carried himself.

“Forgive me,” it’s all he can say as he watches you turn in on yourself. Sinking deeper into your thoughts. He wants to see you smile again. To hear your laugh and watch you dance around carelessly. He wants you to be free of burdens but he doesn’t know how to help.

You shift, adjusting your position on the cold hard sidewalk, you flicker a look in his direction. He’s staring at you with sad eyes, “You have to pick me up every night now. For the rest of your life.”

He blinks not expecting such a simple request for forgiveness, he gives you a smile, “that all?”

“No. You have to give me a ride whenever I want to wherever I want and…”

You try to think of something else, “You have to make me yours.”

You like the way he smirks at you, his left hand reaches out cupping your chin, his thumb brushes your bottom lip which is now bruised from all your biting, “Baby, you were mine the moment you got on my bike”

Taglist: @storiesfromafan , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @preciouslilmonster

#benny cross fic #benny cross x y/n #benny cross the bikeriders #benny cross imagine #benny cross x reader #benny #benny the bikeriders #the bikeriders fic #the bikeriders x reader #bikeriders #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler #mentions of faith and religion

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alessiasfreckles · 11 months ago

Text

fasching (georgia stanway x reader)

you've had a crush on georgia for a few months after meeting her at a party in munich. now it's fasching, and you're determined to show her the intricacies of the german holiday - i.e. getting drunk.

warnings: alcohol, fluff

a/n: wanted to write something about georgia and fasching/karneval since, y'know, it's fasching (which is a german holiday at the start of lent where everyone wears costumes and gets drunk, basically)! short and sweet x

----

“Well, can I just wear the dirndl I wore for Oktoberfest again?” Georgia asked, frowning.

“No!” you exclaimed. “You need a real costume.”

“What if my costume is an FC Bayern footballer?” she grinned.

“That’s not a real costume. Or at least, it would be if it wasn’t just basically your work uniform,” you said, rolling your eyes. You got out your phone and started swiping through pictures. “Look, one year I went as a cat. Oh, this is when I went as a clown- but, like, a sexy clown. Ugh, this one year we walked in the parade with my grandad’s political party and they were going as sewage workers for some reason? I was like, 13. I was so embarrassed.”

“So it’s basically like Halloween except with a parade,” Georgia said, an eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “Kind of, but don’t let anyone hear you say that. Germans take Fasching very seriously. Oh, and if anyone tries to tell you it’s called Karneval, ignore them. It’s Fasching.”

“Right,” she nodded slowly, arms folded. “I still don’t really get the point.”

“Do Germans really need an excuse to get drunk and party?” you asked with a grin, and the English player laughed. “Nah, I think it’s to do with lent, but no one really cares about the origins.”

“Oh, like pancake day!” she said, brightening up.

“Oh! Yeah, I guess. I forgot about pancake day,” you shrugged.

“How could you forget about pancake day? It’s the best holiday.”

“English holidays are weird.”

She hummed. “So, what are you going to go as this year?”

You thought for a minute. “I’m not sure yet. Usually it’s something sexy, because if you can’t pick up girls at Fasching when can you, you know?” you said, not meeting Georgia’s eye. You’d had a crush on her since the two of you had met at a party a few months ago. You had hit it off instantly. Since you were half English and had lived there as a child, and she was new in Munich, meeting another English person felt like a breath of fresh air.

She laughed, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. What d’you think I should go as?”

“Hmm,” you tapped a finger to your chin, eyeing the footballer. “Well, it depends. Do you want to be hot or funny?”

Now her cheeks were bright red. “Uh, I dunno,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Well, we could do a costume together, if you want. That’s a little more fun than just by yourself,” you suggested, and she nodded eagerly.

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

By the time Georgia found you at the parade, you’d already had a drink or two and were decidedly on your way to feeling tipsy.

She saw your costume before she saw you. The two of you had spent a while deliberating on what to wear, going back and forth between ideas, before finally settling on Tom and Jerry. You were going as Jerry (although you felt more like Karen from Mean Girls), wearing a grey dress and mouse ears, and Georgia was wearing a cat onesie, with a nose and whiskers painted on her face.

Seeing your mouse ears from across the busy street, she hurried over to where you were waiting with your friends.

“Gee!” you exclaimed when you saw her, pulling her into a hug. “Hi!”

“Hey!” she said, cheeks pink, and nodded to your friends, who were all eyeing her curiously.

“Aha, also sie ist die Fußballerin, in der du schon seit Monaten verknallt bist?” one of your friends said, looking Georgia up and down.

“Klappe!” you said, glaring at her.

“Was? Sie spricht doch eh kein Deutsch, oder?” the friend asked.

Georgia wasn’t sure what you and your friends were talking about. All she really picked up was ‘Fußballerin’ and ‘Deutsch’, so she figured it was about her. Feeling awkward, she tapped your arm.

“Hey, um, I can head out if you want to hang out with your friends a bit,” she suggested, making your heart drop.

“No, no!” you insisted. “They’re being rude. I’d rather hang out with you anyway. I’ve been to plenty of Faschings with them before, this is your first one! Come on, let’s go. Tschüss, Leute.”

Your friends whooped and whistled as you left, making you roll your eyes.

“Sorry about them. I swear they’re really nice, usually. They’re just protective of me,” you explained. “And I’m sorry about the German - they do speak English, it was rude of them not to.”

“Protective of you? Do they see me as a threat?” Georgia laughed.

You shrugged, cheeks pink, not wanting to say that they knew about your huge crush on the footballer. As you headed into a big square filled with people, you quickly changed the subject.

“Okay, so, rule number 1 of Fasching: bring your own drinks,” you told her, pulling a bottle of premixed juice and vodka out of your bag. “There’s places you can buy them, but they’re always super expensive and watered down.”

Georgia nodded seriously, listening intently. “I’m not really meant to be drinking, but I think I can make an exception today,” she admitted, smiling. “At least, I know a lot of the other girls are. I didn’t bring anything with me, though.”

“That’s okay!” you said brightly. “You can share mine. Rule number 2 is don’t get lost. There’s so many people that it fucks with the phone signal, making it impossible to contact people if you get separated.”

She bit her lip, frowning, and you took her hand in yours. “Just keep holding my hand and we’ll be fine!” you said with a grin. Normally you wouldn’t just take her hand like that, but the drinks you’d had were starting to take some effect, giving you a confidence boost.

“Okay,” she laughed, blush rising to her cheeks. “Any other rules?”

“Hmm, not that I can think of,” you said, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay? I know it’s a lot of people.”

You squeezed her hand and she nodded, taking the bottle from you and taking a swig. You cheered her on, and when she gave you the bottle back you took a drink as well, trying not to think about the fact that your lips were where hers had just been.

“Ready?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

“Ready.”

-----------

2 hours later, you were well and truly drunk, and Georgia wasn’t far behind you. You had watched the parade for a while before getting bored and wandering around together, giggling about people’s costume choices. After an hour of trying to squeeze through the masses of people, you decided to cut through some back alleys, and had ended up staying in one of them, drinking and talking.

“Usually I don’t really like Fasching,” you admitted, hopping up to sit on a brick wall and swaying slightly, holding out your hands to steady yourself. “Woah.”

“Careful,” Georgia giggled, putting her hands on your waist to help ground you. “Why not?”

“Too many people,” you said, voice slurred, waving a hand towards the noise of the parade, which you could hear streets away. “Too loud.”

“That’s fair,” she nodded. “I don’t really like crowds either.”

“What!” you exclaimed. “Why did you come with me then? I wouldn’t have taken you if I’d known. Fasching is awful if you don’t like crowds.”

“Because you asked me to,” she said simply, smiling at you. “It’s not so bad with you.”

“No?” you asked, blushing. You realised Georgia was stood between your legs, her hands still on your waist from steadying you, making your heart flutter.

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s, I dunno, easier with you.”

You smiled widely at that, taking another drink from the nearly empty bottle to try and hide how hard you were blushing.

“Hey, what was your friend saying, before?” she asked, wondering whether you were drunk enough to tell her.

“Oh, that,” you said, rolling your eyes, any kind of filter you had gone. “She was asking if you’re the footballer I’ve had a crush on for months.”

You clapped your hands over your mouth when you realised what you’d said. Georgia’s eyebrows were raised, a look of surprise on her face that was quickly replaced by a teasing smile.

“And, am I?” she asked, hands tightening a little on your waist.

You swallowed, trying to think of something clever to say, but the alcohol was making it hard, especially when all you could really think about was the feeling of her hands on your waist and the fact that she was stood between your legs, close enough to kiss you.

“Maybe,” you said, biting your lip.

“Oh, just maybe?” she asked, all the alcohol giving her a boost of confidence. She watched your eyes flit from her eyes to her mouth and back, and leant forward slightly.

You nodded shakily, heart racing as she leant towards you. She paused just short of your face, giving you space to back away if you wanted to, but you leant in enthusiastically, your lips meeting hers.

You were a little too enthusiastic, your mouths bumping into each other, making you both giggle and pull away. Georgia was undeterred, and cupped your face with one hand, steadying you, before leaning in to kiss you.

She tasted sweet, like fruit juice and alcohol, her soft lips perfectly melding against yours. You gasped when her tongue swiped against your bottom lip, and she took the opportunity to kiss you deeper, the hand that was still on your waist moving to your back to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, jumping when you felt the soft onesie.

She leant back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just forgot about the onesie,” you admitted with a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

“You mean, the cat costume isn’t doing it for you?” she asked with a wink, and you wrinkled your nose.

“I mean, the costume is cute and all, but if I’m honest, I think you’re the one doing it for me. After all, you are the footballer I have a crush on.” you said, making the brunette blush. The painted on nose and whiskers were smudged slightly from your kiss, and you giggled at the sight of her.

“What?” she asked. “Is there something on my face?”

“Nah,” you shook your head, and pulled her in for another kiss.

#georgia stanway #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine #georgia stanway fanfic #hannah writes fics

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writtensturn · 7 months ago

Text

enamored | m.s

PAIRING : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

GENRE : fluff! bsf matt, love interest.

SUMMARY : matt and his bestfriend learn to know more about their feelings.. with eachother.

!WARNINGS! : use of y/n & cursing.

ִׄ˚ • 𖥔 ࣪˖ ⭑ ₊ ⭒ *ೃ༄

y/n and matt have been bestfriends for years, they met in highschool and haven’t gotten close until senior year. after that they’ve spent of their time together, she got along great with his two other brothers nick and chris who she treated like her own. when their youtube career took off and they moved out to california, the two were a little crushed since they always hung out. it started off as y/n saving enough to fly out and spend weeks with them to matt buying her business class tickets and having her stay even longer, sometimes she gets spoiled with first class. a couple weeks into her staying at the sturniolos her and matt went out for icecream.

“no don’t do that” she smacked his hand from touching the radio volume

“im just saying there’s better artists than tyler the creator” matt’s voice echoed back to her, and with that she gasped.

“so you mean like mac miller” she scouted out his favorite artist getting under his skin as they drive to the store

“exactly” his attitude shot back at her with a small smirk

“uh no by better you mean frank ocean, daniel ceaser, and mm maybe childish gambino. oh! don’t forget about the love of my life dominic fike” y/n said back to him quickly her smile growing bigger as she spoke

“and that’s where i keep my mouth shut” matt added back, before pulling into a spot infront of ralph’s. her and matt got out of the car as she walked around the front, her steps aligned with his walking in sync. her eyes looked up to the moon and how it shined down on the two, matt and her walked in the doors him heading to the frozen isles knowing exactly where it is while she was still getting used to the town. the two walked down the isles and he stoped infront of the ice cream.

“uhhh” matt managed to get through his lips as he looked cluelessly at the many flavors and combinations, he spotted one of her favorites and moved to open the door to grabbed it.

“take this” he said not looking aiming for her arms, having her moving forward so she could take it from him. she looked at the flavor of ben and jerry’s and smiled while shaking her head, knowing it was her favorite. matt continued to look his eyes wondering to figure out what he wanted.

“cmon slow poke i don’t have all night” she said fixing her stance and letting a breath out

“yeah what better do you have to do” matt said grabbing his half baked and pushed her shoulder to start walking out of the isle with his hands on her shoulders, as he walked slowly behind her.

“uhh i don’t know anything but that” she smiled as she walked to the self checkout, she scanned her ice cream holding in her head before grabbing matt’s from his hands and scanning it. she pressed everything while matt took his wallet out from his back pocket and got out his card, she quickly swatted his hand.

“you flew me out let me pay for once” she groaned as matt’s eyes looked into hers

“no” he said back sternly, and that was the end of discussion. he tapped his card, grabbing the receipt leaving her annoyed. they walked out moving back to his car, once she opened the door and sat in matt started it and pulled out. she watched his hands as he pulled into a spot further back where there weren’t a lot of cars or lights, she put on frank ocean humming around as she took the spoons they took from the house out of the cup holder and opened the top of her ice cream, and m took a couple bites.

“close my eyes and fall into you, you. my god shes giving me pleasure” she sung softly, she turned to feel matt’s gaze on her. she looked at the way his hair fell perfectly above his eyes, his blues staring into her own. she feels a feeling in her stomach she’s never felt with matt before, she lets in a shaken breath.

“what” she let out softly loud enough for matt to hear

“you just” he said letting out a content sigh as he tilted his head and his hand came up from his lap and was placed on her chin, wiping off a drip of ice cream on her lip. as matt’s thumb ran across her lip, her expression immediately dropped her heart beginning to beat a little faster and that feeling in her stomach growing. maybe it was the music, or the late hour but suddenly her world fell around him.

“matt” she whispered again as he hand fell from her face returning to his side

“hm” he replied softly his eyes pouring into hers again

“um” she shook her head with a smile trying to shake off the feeling as she leans over the arm rest, wiping some of the chocolate from his face. matt let out a small laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. she watched his expression turn serious his head tilting as they were inches apart, she watches him flutter his eyes at her before licking his bottom lip.

“can i kiss you.” matt’s voice moved to her ears, a pit in her stomach started to form. her lips parted, his question shocking her. all the years they’ve been friends they’ve never once been intimate, had a moment or took anything seriously. sure they were hugs and soft cuddles but this, never.

“yes.” she whispered back at him, her eyes flickering from his to his soft pink lips that moved against hers. his hand came up to rest on her waist, hers moving to his face. it was sweet and warm, as she pulled away she looked at him with a smile, quickly turning into a laugh.

“matt” she shook her head leaning back into her seat

“what” he smiled back “i’ve wanted to do that for the longest time” he shook his head looking down into his lap

“you should’ve just-“ she was caught up by his subtle quick moves leaning over her and kissing her quickly again, and again.

“matt!” she was able to mutter threw his quick kisses, laughing at his lips on hers moving to her cheek and coming back to lay against hers again this time for longer and more gentle.

“god i love you” he said leaning his forehead against hers, the relief of letting it out. they’ve said i love yous before but this time was way different, it wasn’t quick and over the phone or saying goodbye it was in the moment.

“so what do you want this to be” she let out a small laugh under her breath as her eyes looked up into his as he left more space between them.

“whatever you want this to be” shooting his sweet smile back at her making her smile even more.

(do you guys want this as a series)

#sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #writers on tumblr #matt stuniolo fanfic #fanfics #Spotify #writtensturn

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

Note

i didn't realise i could just ask here than from messages im so sorry 💀 but im hungry so can you please write some more damian scenarios 😕 (angst/fluff PLEASE 🙏) im sorry if I'm bothering you but i can't get enough of your writing 😔 hope you're taking care of yourself tho!! :)))

This’ll probably seem really short but it’s like almost 10pm and I’m running on fumes and bad mental health days lately 😂

‘What’re you doing my treasure.’ Damian said as he walked into his room, only to find you had let Ace and Titus on the bed and he had to blink twice to make sure his mind wasn’t making up them wearing pyjamas on top of that.

‘Nothing.’ You said nonchalantly as you brought Titus in your arms, cuddling him while he remained looking at his owner.

‘I thought I said none of our pets should be on the bed?’ Damian then said as he gestured to the two dogs that you had let on the bed without his permission as though the situation you both faced wasn’t obvious.

‘I was feeling lonely when you were out on patrol.’ You replied, pouting. ‘That and I was bored and out the dogs in pyjamas to feel included with me being in pyjamas.’ You added as you smiled widely at him. Damian sighed, he shouldn’t be surprised, this was bound to happen sooner or later since you still had a couple more weeks to heal your leg before being cleared for vigilante work again.

So naturally you are going to rope in Titus and Ace one way or another in your shenanigans much like you did with Jerry and Goliath when you had hurt your arm, Damian almost lost his mind trying to find you only to find you fast sleep stop of Goliath, with Jerry acting on guard in front of you both. It was certainly a humorous sight had he not been on high alert when he couldn’t find you in bed upon his return from a mission with Bruce.

‘You could’ve waited until I came back my beloved, I don’t want you hurting your self further just trying to entertain yourself.’ Damian lightly scolded you as he walked over to your side of the bed, kissing you on the forehead before greeting -and thanking- ace and Titus with head pats and ear scratches, as an almost missable smile graced his face upon seeing the two dogs poetically melt into his scratches.

This was the sight he loved most when coming home and he always wanted to come home to this as many times as he could in the nearby distant future.

‘I’ll be fine Dami,’ you said softly as you reached out to hold his cheek in your hand, ‘I’m not doing anything that’ll cause me any discomfort or more pain then I’m already in and that I’ve been in really good company.’ You gesture towards ace and Titus who would press themselves against either of your sides, acting as living crutches for you when you tried to move about the room and down the halls, they’d even look up at you as though to silently ask if you were okay and if you needed to sit down soon.

You knew Damian was behind this and couldn’t help but bring him into a tender to his forehead. ‘Thank you.’ You whispered.

‘For what my treasure?’ He asks softly as he manages to settle himself on the edge of your shared bed.

‘For having ace and Titus look out of me when you’re gone, sometimes I forget how well you know me to know that I’d get restless when healing.’ You said as you patted both dogs on their sides in appreciation as they both decided that they had gotten comfortable enough to start falling asleep. Neither you nor Damian had the heart to tell them to get off, and silently decided that one night every so often could Ace and Titus could share the bed with you and Damian.

‘Like you said I know you, better then most, and I’d like it more if you didn’t go and get yourself hurt from trying to do something beyond your current capability.’ Damian admitted softly as he began to get into more comfortable sleepwear to join you, Titus and ace in bed by climbing into your side of the bed and holding you again his chest upon seeing as how Titus and ace took up his side of the bed.

‘How sweet of you my dear.’ You said cheekily as you kissed his hand that rested on your side before yawning.

‘Sleep my love,’ Damian said softly as he watched you rest your weary and heavy head upon his chest, ‘sleep sweetly.’ He adds just as you succumb to long awaited sleep as he kissed your forehead, only to follow after you not long after being certain that you’d wouldn’t be bothered anymore before joining you in the dream realm either Titus and Ace.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff

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sunboki · 11 months ago

Text

— TEASER

You and Han Jisung are the ultimate best friends. While he’s busy nerding away, you’re filling him in on the latest and greatest drama. That’s until he brings up crushes. And I mean, what’re you supposed to say when he asks you that? It’s not like Jisung’s your crush… right?

📓 » Han Jisung x f. reader

GENRE┊non idol au, friends to lovers, (kinda) enemies to lovers, two idiots being oblivious, fake relationship au, highschool au, angst, fluff, slowburn

WORD COUNT┊estimated to be around 5k-6k words

WARNINGS┊profanity, lack of communication, childish pettiness, stupidity at insane levels

AUG’S NOTES┊if you don’t have a date this valentines, just know we’re both in the same boat ☹️ hopefully some hanji will help!!

THE BOYFRIEND STATUS TAGLIST — OPEN

The first night of your downfall all started in mid-January.

All was well and had been going well, until it wasn’t.

You’ve known Han Jisung since second grade, starting with having to apologize for knocking over his castle and him proceeding to cry even louder in the sandbox, snotty in his red and white striped shirt.

You swear that shirt is still in his closet.

And when he was wimping away in a corner, you were the one that got him out of his shell. To this day you’re convinced you’re the first person to ever witness the true Han Jisung, who starts slapping things when he laughs really hard, who gets overly competitive during board games, who keeps hundreds of mind-blowing tracks he’s produced to himself, and who (you wouldn’t admit it) has one of the prettiest smiles in the world.

Freshman year of high school you met Jisung again in your Geography class.

Initially, it took you a moment to recognize his face, having changed quite a bit over the years. And certainly not a bad kind of change. Although, his nerdy personality was all the assurance you needed to figure out it was him, apart from that he switched to contacts, grew his hair out more, and looked, y’know, “older.”

Older as in: what happened to you? ..Why are you so attractive?

But you won’t get too far into that.

Through the years he tutored you. Jisung had a knack for studying since day one, and despite occasionally looking like he could pass as a dropout (usually the week before finals), no one else could maintain better grades than him.

So, on a night both you and Jisung were slouched over your desk, procrastinating school work by rating people at school from most to least kissable, he turns to you, face halfway illuminated by your lamp.

“Do you like anyone?” Your boba-eyed friend asks while you aimlessly scroll through your camera roll in search of the photo you’d been talking about, mumbling a quiet “of course” in response.

Jisung makes an unconvinced noise and clasps his hands together, leaning forward.

“No like, like like anybody.”

Finally escaping your ‘rating people’s kissing-capabilities’ headspace and now entering into your ‘is this the question i think it is?’ one, you wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

It’s a strange question, not a Jisung-question, and you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer he stares at you.

You’ve never even thought about it really, so why are you so sweaty? Why does your heart feel as if it may just beat out of your chest, why is your mouth so dry?

Questions.

Clearing your throat and secretly praying it didn’t give away your piling anxiety, you feign a roll of your eyes, tapping your fingernail on the cool desk.

God, why are you so nervous?

“Um, nobody, why?” You retort, ignoring the scrutinizing squint of his eyes watching you.

It’s never like this. You’re the one that teases, gets him all shy, stumbling over his words. So now you suddenly feel like Jerry and he’s Tom.

Abnormal.

“C’mon, there has to be someone you think is cute,” He whines, and before you can stop it one word smacks you upside the head.

You.

“It’s Minho!” You shout, hurried and barely audible as if trying to tune out your inner panic.

Han looks stunned.

Han as in best friend, not crush. Right.

What were you thinking?

“..Min.. Minho?” He phrases slowly, evidently surprised.

Being completely honest, you’re just as surprised as he is. Minho is attractive, sure, but never in your life did you consider him like that.

Oh how you wished you could erase all of this from ever happening.

It doesn’t make sense. Because it’s not like you’re into Jisung. Or are you?

Nope. Nuh-uh. You were just caught off guard and unprepared. Not to mention it was an unexpected question, that’s all.

Fuck.

You like Jisung. There’s no point of lying to yourself anymore. From the start of seeing him again, those “friendly” gestures weren’t friendly anymore, they were intentional, pursuing. Walking from class to class together, constantly checking your texts, meeting his eyes only to smile like fools.

“Yep. Minho. That’s the guy,” Cutting each sentence shorter than the last, you nod fervently, avoiding his gaze.

Both soaking in utterly hellish silence, the tension was likely seeping through the cracks in your door at this rate.

He really shouldn’t have ever brought this up, and you shouldn’t have said Minho. So on the bright side, at least you’re both at fault here in the grand scheme of things.

“..Alright then.” He shrugs and goes back to writing down notes, ignoring how the room feels a hundred degrees hotter and that every inch of your soul is drenched in a cold sweat, plagued with the situation you landed yourself in.

What has gotten into you?

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shyshyshyz · 2 months ago

Note

Got a request: Caitlyn x astronaut reader who arrived to Runeterra via a wormhole and crashed in the harbor resulting in them being a celebrity among the locals. One day Caitlyn sees the reader trying to fix their radio and phone which they do as it begins singing things from their world.

Echoes from Beyond

Summary: After crash-landing in Piltover, you’ve drawn quite the crowd as the city’s first extraterrestrial visitor, but you’re more concerned about fixing your radio and tuning out the attention. Still, Caitlyn Kiramman’s curiosity—and her sharp wit—keep pulling you in. When she catches you trying to repair your old radio late one night, the device starts playing a song from home, and the sarcastic exchanges between you take on a different tone entirely.

Word Count: 6,500

W: Sci-fi elements, sarcastic humor, homesickness, slow-burn romance, tension.

Sparks flew from the radio, and you winced, pulling your hand back. The device sputtered, wires twisted and exposed, and the panel you’d jerry-rigged threatened to fall off altogether. “Perfect. Yeah, go ahead and fall apart on me,” you muttered, glaring at the radio like it might fix itself out of sheer guilt.

“Talking to your equipment?” a familiar voice broke in. “I’ve heard it’s not the most effective strategy.”

You glanced up, a smirk forming as you found Caitlyn Kiramman watching you with an amused arch of her brow. “Well, you’d talk to it too if you’d crashed on an alien planet and had exactly one broken radio to your name.”

She chuckled, stepping closer. “Good to know sarcasm is universal. You do realize half of Piltover’s harbor has been talking about you since the day you arrived?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, feigning a look of exhaustion. “Ah, yes. My lifelong dream: celebrity status on a world I didn’t even know existed. Truly, I’m living the dream.”

Caitlyn laughed, a real, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold harbor air. She leaned down beside you, peering at the broken radio. “Does it ever work, or is it more of an… ornamental piece?”

“Oh, it works. When it feels like it.” You poked at the wiring, the sarcasm creeping back into your voice. “It’s a little temperamental, just like me, I guess.”

She tilted her head, giving you a sidelong glance. “I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You smirked, glancing up at her. “Careful. Next thing you know, I’ll be making demands. Like… what’s a proper breakfast here? Any weird Piltover customs I should be aware of?”

Her lips quirked as she held your gaze. “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop playing with broken radios in the middle of the night.”

Just as you were about to volley back with another jab, the radio sputtered to life, static giving way to a faint, haunting melody from your world. Both of you fell silent, the sarcasm fading as the music filled the air, bringing a rare quietness to your typically witty exchanges.

For once, Caitlyn looked genuinely speechless. “That’s… that’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to hide the sudden vulnerability the music brought. “It’s just a song from home. They—uh, they play it a lot back there. It’s about… finding beauty, even when you’re a million miles from home.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you felt her presence in a way that startled you. “I think I get it.” Her hand brushed against yours, and your sarcasm melted just a bit. “Maybe you don’t have to be so far from that kind of beauty. Maybe Piltover has a little of it, too.”

You let out a scoff, though it came out weaker than intended. “Yeah? Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

But as her hand stayed near yours, and her gaze held yours just a moment longer than usual, you felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the music. Maybe, you thought, Piltover had more than you’d given it credit for—especially if Caitlyn was part of it.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #league of legends caitlyn #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #wlw post #wlw blog #sapphic #lesbian

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itneverendshere · 29 days ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes.

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush.

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It��s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say, “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right.

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground.

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage.

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to.

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong.

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back.

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back.

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body.

“Yeah?”

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again.

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer,

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”

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