#there have been moments for all of them sure. but in the end when it came down to the pit girl scene? the reality is most weren't into it

[fckwritersblock]

I Never Told You (part 1 )

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x black reader

Description: ( unedited af ) You and Stack have been in love for what feels like forever, but neither of you has had the courage to speak up. Stack is convinced that your heart belongs to Smoke, and as for Smoke? He’s exhausted from trying to show you both that the love you seek is right in front of you.

Word count.: 3,852

A/n: this was originally one part, but I thought it’s a break it up into two because when I tell you, it’s getting a longer and longer 😭 I don’t wanna rush the way I want it to end but the way I’m craving these Sinners fic and I know some of y’all are too. I thought it would be nice to drop it now. Couldn’t contain my own excitement 😂

Enjoy ! 🩷

Part 2

As soon as you stepped off the train, a smile broke across your face. The familiar sights and sounds of home wrapped around you like a warm embrace. You were excited to finally be back, but a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach at the thought of seeing your sister for the first time in ages. Yes, you guys had written to each other, and she had tore your ass a new one in a few of them letters back home bout to running off with the twins without a word. Nevertheless, you knew regardless of how upset she may be with you, she’d always welcome you home with open arms. You missed your sister. You also missed the twins, who you were eager to reunite with. It had been almost a year since you’d all been together, and just thinkin' about Stack made your pulse quicken.

Steppin' aside so other boarding the train would have access to the front door, you made your way toward the center of the station, your eyes scanning the crowd. You were sure Stack knew you was comin' at this time, so you had a feelin' he’d be lurkin' around here somewhere. Just then, you heard it—a voice that sent a thrill of nostalgia through you. You turned around, curiosity piqued, and there he was, front and center.

But your heart sank a little when you noticed the woman standin’ in front of him. Fair-skinned and confident, she had that undeniable charm—Mary. Of course she would find him, you thought bitterly.

You watched as Stack’s gaze followed her, a solemn look crossing his face as she walked away. You should’ve known he’d seek her out the moment he arrived. You’d bet money he could find her in a crowed room, without fail.

You loathed Mary.

It wasn’t a secret. You couldn’t stand her presence and that gnawed at you deep down. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was that gut-wrenching belief that Stack cared for her more than he did for you. He looked out for her in a way that was different from how he looked out for you. The attention he gave her was the kind you had secretly longed for, and judging by the way he stood there, it seemed nothin' had changed.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Old habits die hard, huh, Stack?” you snarked from behind him, the playful edge in your voice barely masking the hurt you felt.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes in resignation. He knew he was caught.

He didn’t even have to turn around to know it was you. Stack could tell by the sound of your voice that you was pissed, especially with the faux sugary sweet smile you wore when he finally faced you. That, and when you were at him, it was the only time you called him Stack and not Elias.

Turning around to face you he could barely contain the smile that wanted to break out.

It had been a year since the two of you had seen each other, but for him, it felt like a lifetime. For six years, y’all had traveled the world together. You had taken care of him and Smoke, watchin' their backs, makin' sure he stayed outta trouble. You had put up with his antics for so long, and he’d never understood why you stuck by his side. That was until you decided it was time to carve out your own path, to prove you could stand on your own.

So you left them. You left him. You promised to return within a year or come runnin' if he called.

But Stack didn’t call.

He figured you didn’t want him to. Not really. A part of him was upset with you for abandoning him. He knew Smoke had written to you a few times, and he tried not to let the green-eyed monster show. Smoke would tell him when he received a letter, sometimes even havin' one for him too. Stack never wrote back, but he always read the ones you sent for him. Several times in fact. He wanted to know how you were, what you had been up to, even if he fronted like he didn’t care. You were miles away and all he wanted was you near..

And now you were back, standing right in front of him, looking as breathtaking as ever. The sun-kissed brown skin of yours practically glowed in the light. The apples of your cheeks rounded as you smiled, dimples showing, and the curves of your hips called out to him as he admired your frame in the flowy yellow dress you wore. It reminded him of your favorite flower, magnolias, and coincidentally, yellow was his favorite color on you too.

You were home for him, and you didn’t even know it.

“It wasn’t even like that, Bam,” he said, tryin' to brush off the tension and butter you up with the nickname he gave you.

“It never is, is it, Stack?” you shot back, crossin' your arms, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Come on now, after all this time, that’s the mood you wanna get off on?” He hand taken a few steps toward you and grabbed your hand.

“A brotha can’t get no love first?” He flashed you a smile he knew you couldn’t resist.

Despite yourself, your smile grew bigger as you felt the warmth of his presence pulling you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, sinking into the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as you melted against him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he replied, his words a gentle way of sayin', 'I missed you too.'

“Who’s this?” you asked, eyeing the guitar-totin' boy standin' next to them after you two finally pulled apart.

“The boy,” Stack replied, nodding in his direction.

“The boy—Little Sammie, is that you?!” you exclaimed, shocked.

“Miss Y/n?” he said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. God, he was all grown up. You used to help his ma look after him and his siblings sometimes, and you even sang in his daddy’s church for a while. That was until you started hangin' out with Smoke and Stack more and stopped goin' to church. You didn’t want to hear no sermons about how the devil had his hands on you and how you needed to come back to the Lord.

It was a bittersweet feeling, thinking about how much you missed them and how much Sammie had grown. You could see he still had to get his head on straight, but it warmed your heart that he was still playing the guitar Stack had given him.

“Well then, there will be plenty of time to catch up later. You boys finish up here. I’ll be in the car,” you announced a beat after pullin' away. You knew they was up to no good.

“Little Sammie, help Stack with my bags, will ya?” You pinched one of his cheeks playfully before giving the other a quick kiss, treating him like the youngin' he still was in your eyes.

“Oh and drop the ‘Miss’.” He stared after you, bewildered, as you walked past Stack, givin' him a wink while you patted his chest slowly, draggin' your hand away.

“That’s really Y/n,” Sammie said, still in disbelief, causing Stack to chuckle.

He hadn’t seen you since he was a boy, and he couldn’t believe how different you were now. You were just a teen girl girl in his eyes back then, but now you were a grown woman—an extremely attractive one, at that.

“She’s—”

“Way too much woman for you to handle, lil nigga,” Stack stated matter-of-factly, a smirk playin' on his lips.

Not too much for me, though, he thought to himself, wordlessly pickin' up both suitcases and handing his little cousin one. You would probably fit real pretty in the front seat of his ride right about now, knowin' you and those pretty pick pocketing hands of yours had already snatched the keys from his coat pocket.

“Well, are you?” Sammie quizzed.

“Am I what?” Stack frowned slightly.

“Handling it?” The corner of Preacher Boy’s mouth twitched just a little, and Stack knew the younger man could tell you were vexed with him, and he wasn’t handling shit.

“Bring yo ass on, smart ass.”

As a result of those endless hours of travel, you were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the train, not wantin' to doze off around strange white folks. Your father had raised you and your sister to always be aware of your surroundings. After hearin' Delta’s wild stories about the men he knew from the side of the road, you needed a moment to decompress. So, you let the sounds of Sammie’s guitar and the rhythm of the car rockin' gently lull you into a well-deserved rest.

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, but soon you felt somethin' soft brush against the side of your face.

“Bam,” you heard softly as you began to stir.

“Bam.” This time you felt a poke to your cheek.

With a soft groan, you opened your eyes to see Stack standin' outside of the car, looking at you with that soft smile that always made your heart race.

“There’s my girl.” He smiled down at you.

“What you want, Elias?” You tried not to blush at his words.

“We made it. Come on.” He extended his hand for you to take.

You took it, pullin' yourself up to stand. Prepared to jump over, he surprised you by lifting you up in the air out of the back of the car.

You squealed, caught off guard as he held you slightly above him. You looked down at him for a minute, and he slowly set you back down, your body sliding against his.

“Thank you,” you said bashfully, pretendin' to fix your hair in the mirror.

He stood directly behind you, just close enough for you to catch a glimpse of his smirk in the car mirror.

“Anytime.”

“I—” you began, but were cut off by another car pullin' ahead. Once you noticed it was the truck Stack had said Smoke was in, you started walking quickly toward it. Stack told you the two of them had to split the work and that Smoke had a few stops and you knew it wouldn’t be anywhere else, but to see Annie. It was one thing for Smoke to be gone; of course then, he and Annie couldn’t be together. But while he was home, he wouldnt go anywhere without her.

“Annie!” You called as soon as your older sister came into view.

“Y/n?” Annie couldn’t believe her eyes as you ran toward her the biggest smile on your face.

“Surprise.” You spoke tearfully, as you slowed down taking the last few steps before crashing' into your big sister. You embraced her tightly, the two of you holding onto one another as if the other would disappear if you let go.

“Look at you.” She ran her hand up and around your face, cuppin' it affectionately.

“Look at you.” You repeated, mesmerized by your sister’s loving eyes.

Eyes that always looked at you with understanding, compassion, love, and support. Annie didn’t always agree with the choices you made, but she always supported you in choosin' your own destiny.

“Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” she fussed, swattin' lightly at your butt.

“Stop, girl, I’m grown,” you laughed, spinning around in a circle to dodge her playful swats.

“Girl, I don’t give a damn.” Annie fixed you with a stern look. “You’re still my baby sister. You don’t just run off and leave me without notice like that. You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. It’s not that I wanted to; I just—” you paused, searchin' for the right words.

After a moment, you realized you didn’t need to say much. Annie would understand.

“Mine doesn’t have a mojo bag; he just has me,” you said, your voice wavering, knowin' she would know you was referring to the more reckless twin.

She smiled and nodded in understanding. You stood there for a little while longer, embracing each other, tryin' to wipe the tears from each other’s eyes, gigglin' like school girls as you did so.

“We’ll take more later ya hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Pullin' away, you angled your body a little more to the left to finally get a good look at Smoke.

“My girl!” he said with a small smile of his own, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey Smoke.” The two of you wrapped your arms around one another.

You missed the way Stack’s jaw clenched as you embraced Smoke. The latter didn’t as he grinned at his twin. It was an asshole thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. He had been watching the two of you pine after one another for years. If Smoke had a dime for every time he tried to convince his brother that you felt the same way about him that he felt about you—or to get Stack to confess his feelings for you—boy, he’d be rich.

It was your last night in town, and the three of you went out. You were currently dancin' with some random nigga from round the way. Stack watched you like a hawk, grillin' the hell outta the man who had your attention. Smoke couldn’t do anything but laugh at his brother’s expense.

“Nigga you got it bad,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, bitch. You got it just as bad for her sister,” Stack shot back.

“Sho’ll fuck do. Don’t give a fuck who knows either.” Smoke shrugged blowing a cloud in Stack’s direction.

“Yeah, whatever.” Stack muttered, takin' a sip of his beer.

“Mmhmm, whatever shit, nigga. Could be you out there dancin' with her, tryna cop a feel. Instead, you’re here,” Smoke teased.

“It ain’t like that with us, Smoke.” He denied.

For the life of him, Smoke couldn’t understand why Stack was in denial about you. It was like he was purposely standing in his own way, unwilling to accept a good thing.

“Have I ever been wrong about a woman tryna throw her pussy at you?”

“Nah,” Stack grumbled, his defenses slowly crumbling.

“Aight then, nigga. Listen for once.” Smoke said, playfully mushing the side of Stack’s head as he stood up to head to the bar.

“Aye, watch out.”

“Girl follows you around the world, and you still questionin' shit,” Smoke called over his shoulder.

He could only shake his head at the memory. Smoke swore dealin' with y’all shit was gonna put him in an early grave.

Once the two of you released one another from the hug, you walked back toward your sibling, and Smoke did the same.

“You good, man?” Smoke asked, knowing full well he wasn’t. He just wanted to see if he was ready to be honest with himself.

“Yeah, uh, I’m good.” Stack cleared his throat before repeatin', “I’m good.”

“Good.” He patted his brother on the back. “Now let’s get to work.”

Now, you knew you was comin' to work, but you ain't expectin' to be put through the wringer! As much as y’all got on each other’s last nerves during the setup, it was all part of the charm. Smoke being the bossy one, always puffin’ up his chest like everybody ain’t already know he ran the place; Cornbread, with his big ass, ain’t stop complainin' 'bout how heavy them boxes was; Delta always droppin' “back in my day” stories like they was gospel every five minutes. And Stack? He was slick, finessin' Preacher Boy into doin' part of his work in the name of “respectin' your elders.”

Not to mention you, Grace, and Annie, makin' one little complaint 'bout the heat, which led to Bo shakin’ up a bottle of beer and lettin' it spray all over y’all like a makeshift sprinkler system to “cool y’all off.” But this? This was the stuff you cherished. These were the moments you missed. After hours of busting your backs, the grand opening was here, and the party was in full swing.

You found yourself wrapped up in Stack’s arms, your back pressed against his solid front. The sweet sound of southern blues wrapped around you like a warm embrace. Ain’t nothing like live music from home, and tonight, the air was thick with rhythm. Effortlessly, your body flowed with the beat, swayin' in a circle until you found yourself once again meetin' Stack's chest. One of his arms hung loosely around your waist, his fingers barely grazing your skin, followin' the pace of your movements like it was second nature.

“So, this is new,” you teased, glancing back at him.

“What’s that?” Stack’s voice was low, his eyes glued to the way your hips moved, like he was tryin' to memorize every curve.

Stack thought you was downright gorgeous, and it drove him crazy. He wished he could tell you every single day how beautiful you were. Your body? It made his heart race. Big hips, thick thighs, and those legs that seemed to go on for days. That dress you wore? It gave him a perfect view of your curves, and he found himself lost in thoughts he shouldn’t be havin’.

“You dancin' with me,” you said louder, breakin' him outta his daydream.

“I’ve danced with you before,” he replied, a hint of challenge in his tone.

You leaned your head back further, givin' him a smirk. “Not like this.”

Stack’s grip around your waist tightened, the two of you still swayin’ to the music. “What’s this?” His breath brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine that you tried your best to ignore.

“Like you tryna work your way into my drawls,” you shot back, playful but with a hint of seriousness.

“And if I am?” he shot back, spinning you around so you faced him, his gaze intense.

You were momentarily stunned, your eyes searchin’ his for any signs of this bein' a joke, you arms now loosely around his shoulders.

“Smoke told you.” you said, his words heavy like a weight on your chest, but it felt more like a statement than a question.

You knew Smoke couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it came to his brother. Stack had ditched you and Smoke for the night to run off with some floozy and you were hurting bad. Especially after the way he had been flirting with you day after day. After an attempt at drowning your feeling in a bottle of whiskey, you had confessed your undying love for Elias Moore to his other half after the world became a bit too blurry. The truth came spillin' out like vomit, then afterwards, literal vomit. You could curse the ground Smoke walked on for lettin' it slip.

Stack watched as the gears turned in your head, his eyes dropping to your bottom lip, which you had pulled between your teeth. He chuckled softly, still swayin' with you, but the tension was thick.

“Smoke been tryna tell me for years,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

He wasn’t sure if he was talkin' 'bout Smoke tryin' to get him to accept his own feelings or the ones you held for him.

It was the way you cared for him. In every way. You checked on his well being constantly. The effects of the war on smoke were clear. He had his issues and one of them Stack always took care of. Rolling his cigarettes, making certain shit easier for Smoke every chance he got. Stack was the suffer in silence type. No I didn’t know the trauma he had suffered. He preferred everybody think he was OK. But you saw right through him. You seem to be able to tell every time something took him back there the lifeline you’d reach out of your hand, holding his gentle caresses to the top of his hand, which is the tiniest of squeezes that will bring him back and remind him that he was here and safe and with you. Stack was the type to suffer in silence, keepin' his struggles close to his chest. But you? You saw right through him. You could tell when something haunted him, and each time, you’d reach out, holdin' his hand, givin' him that gentle squeeze to remind him he was safe with you.

You were everything to Stack.

The air between you two shifted, thickening with unspoken words and feelings.

“When did it click?” Your heart raced, the world around you fading away.

Y’all had stopped movin’, probably the only two still in the crowd of people dancing and signing having a time.

“The one you left.” Stack admitted, feeling a bit guilty for only realizing how deep his feelings and love for you really were.

Speechless you pulled away from him completely, mouth opening and closing as you stuttered trying to find the right words to say. Overwhelmed with emotion and not quite sure what to do with yourself you turned around to scurry away when he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on now. Why you runnin'?” He was holding you again, bobbing his head around trying to catch you eye as you avoided his.

“Elias, you drunk,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Baby, I ain’t had a sip of liquor,” he replied, his grip on your chin gentle, forcing you to look at him.

Big brown eyes searched yours, filled with a truth that made your heart swell with love.

“Y/n,” he started, but just then—

“Stack!” Smoke’s voice cut through the moment like a hot knife through butter.

You two pulled apart at the sound of his brother calling.

“Let me holla at you for a minute,” Smoke beckoned, clearly oblivious to the tension hangin' in the air.

You could see Stack was ready to protest, but you stopped him, gently cupping the side of his face in your hands. Stack might not have been running off liquid courage, but you had dug deep for some courage and found enough bravery to push through.

You pressed a soft kiss to the side of his cheek, and then another right next to the corner of his mouth, lettin' your lips linger just a moment longer.

“Go. We’ll talk later,” you assured him, pulling away with a grin as you turned to find a seat at the bar y’all had been swayin’ next to.

It wasn’t long before Stack's arms wrapped around you from behind.

“Count on it,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck, sending warmth flooding through you.

You flushed at the feeling of his lips on your skin, that deep baritone voice igniting a fire you didn’t know you had.

You couldn’t wait until later. But unfortunately, later never came.

[mssishipi]

soft love — pjs

— in which you found purpose in jay's control that love was so soft to be touch and tight enough to never let go.

warnings: dark romance, emotional manipulation, psychological control, jay is older than reader, power imbalance, dependency, themes of submission and ownership. explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, implied breeding kink. MDNI

Dating older guys, they said, would be so good.

"They’re more mature," they told you. "Patient. Experienced. They know how to take care of you. They’ll spoil you, treat you like a queen."

Jay was all of those things and more.

He was sweet in that effortless, older-man way, never fumbling or awkward, always knowing the right thing to say, always knowing exactly what you wanted before you even said it. He'd buy you things without you having to ask. Something you liked, something you needed and the next day, it was waiting in your hands like magic. Clothes, jewelry, rides, trips... everything.

He gave you the kind of love that made it easy—too easy—to fall into him. And you did.

He made you feel safe, special. Protected. Like nothing in the world could hurt you as long as you were his. Like you didn’t need to worry about anything anymore.

And little by little, you stopped.

You stopped checking your own schedule because Jay always had plans for both of you. You stopped talking to certain friends—Jay didn’t like them anyway. You stopped doing a lot of little things because he took care of them for you... until you weren’t sure where you ended and he began.

He became your whole world. And at first, that was intoxicating.

But it started to shift. You didn’t notice it all at once. The control didn’t come like a storm. It came in whispers.

In little comments, like: "You don’t need to go out tonight, stay with me instead." Or: "Why do you even talk to him? You know I don’t like it." Then one day, it was: "Wear this instead, I don’t want other guys looking at you."

And when you pushed back, even gently—just asking questions, wanting to understand—he’d smile that same sweet smile he always had. But it didn’t feel sweet anymore. It felt like warning.

He was still patient. Still spoiled you. Still called you "baby" with that soft voice that once made your stomach flutter.

But, sometimes, it made your skin crawl.

Because when Jay got angry—really angry—it wasn’t loud. It was cold, still and heavy. He didn’t yell. His silence said enough. His glare made your heart skip beats for all the wrong reasons. You forgot how kind he could be in those moments. You only remembered the way your breath caught when you saw the shift in his eyes.

"Love, my friends are planning to visit Indonesia, can I go with them?" 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You speak without looking up, your fingertips nervously playing with the edge of your sleeve, eyes fixed on Jay as he types away on his laptop across the room. You already know what he's going to say, but you ask anyway—half-hoping for something different this time.

Jay doesn’t stop typing, not at first. The rhythm of the keys continues for a beat too long, the silence between you stretching thin. Then, without looking up, his voice comes out flat. 

"I told you, I’m not comfortable with your friends." Click. Click. "Didn’t one of them have a scandal at some bar? They’re a bad influence."

You flinch, "love, it’s not a scandal," you murmur, careful not to let your tone rise. "She was... she was a victim."

That’s when the keys stop. Just like that, the room feels heavier. His fingers hover above the keyboard.

You dare to glance up and regret it. He’s staring at you now. Not angry. Not yet. But disappointed, which somehow always hurts more. You hate that about yourself, how fast you shrink under his gaze, how quick your heart races when you think you’ve said the wrong thing.

"You always defend them," he says quietly. There’s no yelling, no raised voice, but you feel like you’ve been slapped.

"I’m just saying—" you start, but the words catch. Because what are you saying, really? What are you trying to prove?

He sighs, turns his eyes back to the screen. "I just want what’s best for you. I thought you knew that."

And just like that, the conversation ends. Why did I even ask for permission? That was never your mindset before. You were independent, assertive, unafraid to make your own choices. But somewhere along the way, that changed.

They say it’s normal, even healthy—asking for your partner’s approval. That’s what being in a relationship is, right? Compromise. Communication.

But you feel like you're being held tightly. Not by arms, but by invisible strings that pull every time you try to step too far away. The worst part is you don’t even want to fight it.

You don’t know anymore what’s right, or what’s normal. You just don’t want Jay to look at you like that again. You don’t want to see that shift in his eyes. You don’t want to feel that pit in your stomach, or the shame curling hot in your chest like you’ve done something wrong.

It hurts. Not the kind of hurt that bruises skin but the kind that seeps into your bones, the kind you carry without scars, but never really heal from.

The bed shifts with the familiar creak of weight settling beside you. The mattress dips, and even before he says a word, your body responds on instinct.

You turn toward him immediately, almost reflexively, slipping your arms around his waist and pressing your head against his chest. It’s automatic now, seeking his warmth, his presence. As if holding him tight enough could make everything feel okay again.

Jay’s hand finds your back, slow and soothing, running a few gentle strokes over your spine before settling there. The steady thump of his heart under your ear should feel comforting, but instead it leaves your chest heavy. You breathe in the clean, cool scent of his cologne. Familiar. Inescapable.

“We can go to Indonesia,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just the two of us, hm? What do you think?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead like a peace offering. You nod against him, almost automatically, the motion small and quiet.

It’s not what you wanted. But it’s something. And it’s him. That’s enough. Isn’t it? 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not sure if you’re apologizing for asking, or for pushing, or just for being difficult. You feel him pull you in tighter, his arms wrapping around you.

“It’s okay. I understand,” he says, his voice calm.

Your eyes sting, warmth welling up. You bite your lip, holding the tears back even though you know he can probably feel it—your breathing, just a little uneven now. You blink quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice the dampness gathering at the corners of your eyes.

You’re not sure what hurts more, that he does understand, or that he never really had to.

You nestle closer into his chest, burying yourself in him. You feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the weight of his hand pressing gently against your back.

This moment is love. You’re lucky, so lucky, to have someone like Jay. That’s what everyone says.

A man who takes care of you, who thinks ahead, who plans things for you because he knows what’s best. A man who holds you at night, whispers apologies even when you feel like you were the one who did something wrong. A man who spoils you without asking, who says “I understand” even when you don’t deserve it.

He always knows how to bring it back to this. Where guilt fades into gratitude. Where you start to believe that maybe you are overreacting, maybe you are too sensitive, too quick to doubt someone who’s only trying to love you the right way.

Jay never yells. Never hits. He doesn't need to. He just speaks softly, slowly. He makes you feel like the bad decisions you make are your own—even when they were never really yours to begin with.

He listens, and then he corrects, but always gently, always with a calmness that makes you feel childish for pushing back. And every time you hesitate, he meets you with patience… and just enough disappointment to make your stomach twist with shame.

He gives you so much, how could you question him?

You remember the way he brought you your favorite drink after you got upset. The time he booked that surprise weekend trip just because you were stressed. The necklace you wear every day—he noticed you admiring it once and had it delivered within a week. He always comes back with something better. Something to make you forget the argument. Something to remind you that he's still the one holding everything together.

So maybe you were wrong about Indonesia. Maybe it’s selfish to want something he doesn't feel good about. Maybe you’re asking for too much.

Jay is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.  

That’s what you remind yourself, even when everything feels complicated. He’s perfect. Handsome in that effortless, masculine way, with a sharp jawline and steady eyes that seem to see right through you. Broad shoulders, strong arms, the kind of body that makes you feel small when he wraps around you. Safe.

He knows exactly how to touch you, how to take you apart and put you back together like you were made for his hands. There’s no awkward fumbling, no hesitations. He takes, and you give—because giving to Jay feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s expected. Like it’s right.

"J-Jay!" you gasp, your voice breaking as his pelvis slams into you from behind, every thrust hitting deep. Your breath catches as his grip tightens around your wrists, pulling your arms behind your back.

“You’re mine, baby,” he murmurs between thrusts, filled with that dangerous softness he always uses when he wants you to feel safe while giving in. “Only mine. Say it.”

“I—I’m yours,” you cry out, the words tumbling past your lips before you even think. Your hips instinctively roll back into him, body desperate to meet every stroke. Your own moans betray you, building with the wet slap of skin and the sound of his breath unraveling behind you.

“Wanna keep you to myself—fuck,” Jay growls, his grip flexing around your wrists as your walls tighten around him. “You’re too beautiful. Everybody wants my girl.”

You feel him shudder, throwing his head back, a moan tearing from his throat as he sinks deeper, harder, the pace growing erratic. His words come broken now, laced with raw possession.

“You’re mine… mine… mine… fuck—mine.”

Your whines rise with him, high and trembling, legs shaking beneath the weight of his rhythm. He’s hitting every spot  like he owns them—because in his mind, he does.

Jay always knows what you need before you do. He knows when to be soft, when to be rough. When to pull you close, and when to make you beg. 

He releases one of your wrists, only to slide his hand down your front, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your legs nearly give out the moment he touches you. His fingers circle it with cruel expertise, pulling out helpless gasps as your body responds.

“See how good I treat you?” he breathes against your neck, lips brushing just beneath your ear. “No one else can fuck you like this. No one else gets to.”

You moan in response, pushing your hips back to meet the punishing rhythm of his thrusts. Your ass collides with him, each impact echoing in the room. He growls low in his chest, gripping your hips, dragging you back onto him with a force that leaves you breathless.

“I’m gonna fill you with my cum,” Jay hisses. “Gonna make you pregnant, baby. Everyone will know who you belong to.”

Your moans break into sharp cries as the pleasure burns through your veins, white-hot and endless. Every stroke of his cock drives deeper, rougher, shaking what little strength you have left. Your body can't hold itself up anymore—your arms collapse beneath you, face pressed into the sheets as he continues his assault from behind.

“I love you,” Jay groans, his voice fraying into a broken moan. “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you—”

Something inside you snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave breaking loose after too long held back. It’s overwhelming, violent in its depth, unstoppable in its force. Your body tightens around him as pleasure detonates from your core, spreading outward in pulsing waves that steal your breath and leave you crying out his name.

Your hands claw at the sheets beneath you, your back arching as every nerve lights up, every muscle trembling beneath the pressure of his thrusts. It’s like falling and flying at the same time, the intensity of it burning behind your eyes, blinding everything else.

All you can hear is his voice—those words repeating, claiming you. I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.

You’re still trembling as he keeps going, chasing his own end, using your limp, pleasure-drunk body. “Yours,” you whisper, the word broken and breathless into the sheets. “I’m yours, Jay…”

He lets out a sound that’s almost a sob, thrusting harder, deeper, messier now. And you can feel it coming—his climax, the one he’s been holding off for you, the one he’s about to give with everything he has.

Even with your limbs trembling, your body still oversensitized and wrecked from your own release, you shift your hips to meet him, chasing his rhythm. Moaning, shakily, as the pleasure blooms again when you feel him release inside you.

A broken curse falls from his lips, and then he’s spilling into you, his entire body seizing with it.

Every pulse inside you is another claim, another mark, another reminder that you belong to him.

“I love you,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your skin, each word punctuated with a kiss pressed to the curve of your neck.

He stays inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, skin slick with sweat and warmth. You feel the full weight of him, one of his hands slides up, fingers threading gently through your hair, tilting your head just enough for him to press a kiss to your nape. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

And when he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a ghost of a touch. A silent apology.

He whisper, again, I love you, buried in your hair now. Oh, how it feels so good.

To be wanted like this. To be needed this much. To be held so tightly that you forget what it was like to ever stand on your own.

Because in Jay’s arms, even when everything else fades, even when you’re lost in the dark—It always feels like home.

[stilllivinginthesewers]

Let's go with my second most important OC (should I do it with all of them?)

Name : Riley (i asked ChatGPT until i was satisfied with the name 💀)

Age : 17 years old

Love interests : Some guy named Louie, a really good cook scared of any type of firearms (though he becomes the most dangerous man ever if you spoil his food/bother him while he's cooking)

Favourite food : Red Guacamole (red avocadoes exist in this universe as well as blue and green ones, and red ones are sweet and spicy. Still, spices and ingredients are as important in the recipe)

Job : None, they used to study psychology but then stopped and now they just... Hang out with his group of friends (and a literal god also)

Hobbies : Surfing and paintball, mostly

Best at : helping people, whether it's emotionally or physically. He'd do anything to help anyone, even if he has to get hurt, to skip two whole nights of sleep or clean the blood of your worst enemy. He tries to tank almost everything and often forgets that people sometimes didn't ask for help, and that he's not invincible himself.

Loves/Hate : They love seeing people smile, and they hate seeing people suffer, or simply cry. But nothing really bothers him, as long as he knows everyone is going well, he's happy.

Best memory : One day, before his parents divorced, his dad took him to the city for a whole day when his mom wasn't here. It's the first time he really felt happy, and this day he knew how much he meant for his dad.

Worst memory :

(⚠️TW SUIC_DE, skip this part if you don't wanna read this⚠️)

During his studies in college, he met a girl, Sina. She came from another country (which is common knowing his country had the best universities in the world) and since she didn't know anyone, Riley became friends with her. Both of them had the best times together, in spite of Sina's depression. But one night, he received a goodbye message from Sina, and rushed to her apartment to try something. He couldn't find her at home, and decided to look for her on the rooftop. At the very moment he arrived, he could see her fall from the roof.

✨ End of the TW ✨

Design? : Basically, yes. Long dark hair, tanned skin, always wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a long bermuda short, carrying a white and red surfing board. I didn't really draw him yet so it never really changed.

Inspiration : I don't remember, I think it's because I love helping and I thought about a character who would be like this, but pushing this trait a bit further.

Genre : I'm not sure I understand, but he's one of the protagonists (plz someone tell me if I'm mistaken)

Gender/Sexuality : Riley is a man, and is biromantical/allosexual

Siblings : He has a step brother, 10 years older (his name is Alessandro, and is the most important political figure of another country (although he's just a huge troll and is so laid back he shouldn't have his current post)

Relationship with his parents : Riley visits his dad really often and both love seeing each other, whereas he never talked to his mom since she left, but he's okay with it, it's not like he missed her.

Favourite trait of the OC : HIS HAIRRR I WANT THEM OMGGG

Drawing/writing frequency : I write about them quite often compared to the other OCs

Killing the OC? : We're both aged the same, about the same physical strength, but he's really fast and I have asthma so I guess not.

Phobias : None, he's not really scared of anything

Rival : He has no true rival actually

Duration : It's been about a year, something like that i think

Age of creation : 15 or 16, something like that x)

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[silens-oro]

Senior Citizen Behavior

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: For the first time in a very long time, it isn't Robby who's coming home late after his shift. Word Count: 1,421 Content Warning: Age gap; No age specified, but I typically write readers with Robby or Abbot as 30+ in my mind. Tooth-rotting fluff. A/N: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble and ended up being a one-shot because I can't help myself when presented with an old man on a silver platter, so there's that.

please comment & reblog :)

It was just before 10pm when you quietly let yourself into the apartment you shared with Robby -a whole two and a half hours later than you were supposed to leave the office, but the end of the quarter was quickly approaching and extra hours were required to be put in by your entire team. 

Gotta think of the shareholders, you thought bitterly to yourself as you shook the snow off of your head and toed your boots off at the door. Your bag and coat found their homes on the wall hooks in the entryway next to Robby’s jacket and bag, and you tiptoed down the hall to the soft glow coming from the living room.  

Robby was an absolute sight when you caught a glimpse of him on the sofa. Mindful to step around the known creaky floorboards, you rounded the sofa to see what the damage was. He texted you earlier in the day that the first couple of hours of his shift were an absolute doozy, and when he called you on his way home he yapped about a fist fight that broke out between two patients who were there because of a fight that landed them in the ED to begin with. 

"Round Two in the Emergency Department," he had said, still beside himself when the department turned into the set of Jerry Springer. 

“Sounds like an episode title of It’s Always Sunny,” you joked into your desk phone as you typed into the blurring Smartsheet on your monitor that you had been working away on for the last three hours straight. You let him know that it was going to be a late night for you and to not wait up. He needed his beauty sleep.

It was a nightmare Robby was all too happy to leave in the hands of Dr. Jack Abbot and his (loving) freakshow of a night shift -they were more than equipped to handle it and Robby couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

All Robby wanted to do by the time he stepped out of those automatic doors and into the fresh air was get home, take a hot shower, eat a good meal, and wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor -and maybe put a movie on so he could fall asleep before the opening credits finished. It wasn’t too much to ask for, and yet Robby found he had the apartment all to himself because you (in an absolute rarity) ended up as the one who had to work late this time around, so he made due with what he had. 

He took his shower and made a quick meal for the both of you before getting comfortable on the sofa with a book he started on his last day off. He got maybe three pages in, blinked once, and the next thing Robby knew, he was out. If you were there, he would’ve told you that he was just resting his eyes for a moment and he was definitely not asleep. No, he wasn’t snoring. All allegations were denied in this situation (that happened many times before), but you'd always give him a knowing smile with a sarcastic ‘sure' thrown his way. 

Senior citizen behavior, you had joked once and he nearly smothered you with the weight of his body as he draped himself on top of you until you apologized through a fit of laughter.  

Robby was sitting mostly upright on the sofa, leaning on a few throw pillows that propped his elbow up on the arm rest. He was in his comfy cardigan (the one he only wore at home after he had taken a shower) with his round readers hanging precariously on the tip of his nose and his latest book smashed flat against his chest. His feet, wearing coziest winter socks because the man was never barefoot in the house, were crossed ankle over ankle on the coffee table making his impossibly long legs appear to be even longer than they already were. 

Robby’s head was tilted back just enough to make his mouth open the tiniest bit, allowing soft snores (that he would deny til he was blue in the face) to escape while he rested -blissfully unaware of his audience, and you couldn’t stop the breathy laugh that escaped you even if you tried. 

“Oh, you are never beating the senior citizen allegations now, Robby.” You teased in a whisper as you carefully removed the readers that were dangerously close to falling off the tip of his nose. You folded the arms carefully and set them on the side table next to the base of the lone lamp that illuminated the room, before gently prying the book from his (more than likely cramped) hand. The book itself was flat on his chest, pages splayed open on the last page he read -or attempted to, anyway. Not seeing a bookmark anywhere, you dog-eared the page and set it next to his glasses with care. 

Robby grumbled incoherently when your palm came to rest on his bearded cheek. The dark circles that were starting to reappear under his eyes made your lips tilt down for a fraction of a second, knowing he was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well. Between what happened with Pittfest just four months ago, and Frank’s situation that Robby blamed himself for (not for Frank using, but for Robby not seeing it until a first day intern pointed it out to him), and the goddamn Patient Satisfaction Scores he was constantly drilled about like the ED was a Primanti Bros. franchise -on top of whatever other bullshit Gloria threw at him, he needed to take some time to himself so he could disconnect -if only for a few days. The problem was that Robby wasn’t the type to disconnect. He felt an obligation because if not him, then who?

It hurt your heart to think of the weight Robby carried day in and day out, like he was Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders, not because he needed to be punished, but because he needed to be useful and this was the only way he knew how to be. Robby was a great man with an enormous heart who constantly gave himself away at the expense of never getting those pieces back. And while you tried to replace what you could, for every piece you returned, two more were taken away in its place. The toll it took on him was getting more and more noticeable by the day, but still he trudged on. It’s who Robby was, and would always be. 

Waking him up when you knew he needed the rest was the last thing you wanted to do, but you knew if you left him on that couch he was liable to wake up with something out of alignment and that was the absolute last thing he needed. 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead tenderly, then down to his nose, and finally landed on his ever so slightly parted lips (that he was 100% not snoring through). Robby’s eyes started to flutter and a sleepy grin tilted his lips up when he cracked them open and saw you standing over him. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” You whispered, “I told you that you didn’t have to wait up for me. Your back is going to be screamin' at you.”

“Clearly I didn’t wait up,” He joked, groaning at how stiff he felt from sleeping in the position he was in. He yawned as he stretched his arms up, pulling his t-shirt up to reveal just the slightest sliver of his happy trail low on his stomach, and gently grabbed your hand to pull you down to the sofa so you could snuggle into his side.

Robby drowsily kissed the side of your head as you wrapped your arms around his middle, letting one of your hands slip underneath his soft cotton t-shirt to rub at his ribs affectionately. It didn’t take you very long into your relationship with Robby to figure out that skin to skin contact, specifically in a non-sexual setting, was something he craved. It was comforting and intimate in a way that grounded him and so it became a ritual whenever the two of you had brief moments together that you were more than happy to oblige in. It was never explicitly stated between you, he never asked for it, but you just knew and he loved you for it. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you. Figured you’d be starving when you got home.” His words were muffled because he still hadn't moved. You gently tilted your head up to look at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were pronounced and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was -especially when he was smiling. “Because I do. You’re the best.” You smiled up at him, giving him a loving peck. Robby let the kids linger, cupping your jaw to keep you close to him. 

“I try.” He breathed against you, dodging the attention by pressing his forehead to yours. He found comfort in the lingering smell of your shampoo and the warmth that radiated off of you. 

“You do more than try, Robby, and I will always appreciate that.” Again, you kissed him tenderly, your hand coming up to gently scratch at his beard. He gave you the stink eye when you laughed at the tiny groan he let out when you did it.

"I know you do, even if you are a pain in my ass. I love you all the more for it."

please comment & reblog :)

[gf2bellamy]

part one: alert synchronicity

— ★ spencer spends a day surrounded by small reminders of you—and finally understands that he's already lost his heart to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing!

Something shifted.

It wasn’t just a minor change, a fleeting blip in the rhythm of his day—no, this was something bigger. It was subtle, almost imperceptible.

Whether it was a trick of the mind or a deeper instinct trying to get Spencer's attention, he didn’t know.

He woke that morning with an odd heaviness in his limbs, the kind that made the simple act of opening his eyes feel like a monumental effort.

The space beside him was empty. Cold.

And for a long, disorienting moment, he stared at the undisturbed sheets, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness, reality and the lingering traces of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

You weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t. You had left hours ago, after the movie credits rolled and the apartment had settled into silence.

You had laughed at something he said, before gathering your things and slipping out with a quiet "Bye Spencer."

That had been the plan. That’s how it always went.

Yet, for twenty minutes, he lay there, motionless, his gaze fixed on the vacant space beside him as if expecting it to offer answers. His mind was a paradox—simultaneously blank and overcrowded, thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind, too fast to grasp, too numerous to ignore. It was as though a hundred thoughts were scrambling for attention at once, but none of them quite made it to the surface. He couldn’t grab onto anything.

All he knew was that something didn’t sit right.

Was it just exhaustion? The residual effects of too many late nights and too many cases blurring together?

Because the truth was, he had felt it before. That eerie, inexplicable tug of fate, the universe nudging him toward something he couldn’t yet name. And today, it was stronger.

Today, it refused to be ignored.

The sensation clung to him like static, prickling beneath his skin even as he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror looked tired—more than usual.

His eyes landed on the toothbrush—the one that wasn’t technically yours, but might as well have been. A soft pink handle, sitting next to his own.

He’d bought it months ago, after the third time you’d stayed over and sheepishly admitted you’d forgotten yours. It had been a practical decision at the time—a small, logical accommodation for someone who kept ending up in his space, in his life, for longer and longer stretches.

His fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, as if it might burn him. A strange warmth spread through his chest, fluttering and restless, but beneath it was something hollow, something aching.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

Shaking his head slightly, Spencer wandered into the kitchen. The fridge door groaned as he pulled it open, half-hoping for inspiration, half-hoping to distract himself.

He frowned at the nearly empty shelves. A few containers. Half a bottle of almond milk. Some leftover takeout he wasn’t entirely sure was still safe.

He pouted, just a little. That soft, childlike disappointment that slipped out before he could mask it.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought sparked:

Your cookies. The chocolate chip ones.

The kind you never used to bake until you learned he liked them more than your usual vanilla batches .

The first ones you made had been slightly burnt on the edges, the chips off balance, but you kept trying. Adjusting the recipe, tweaking it each time like it was a science experiment. The way you’d squint at the oven timer and mutter about ratios—it made him smile more than he ever let on.

Over time, they’d gotten better. Perfect, even. To the point where Spencer had started associating the smell of melted chocolate and brown sugar with you—with the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, with the flour dusting your sleeves, with the way you’d always leave a few extra in his freezer "just in case."

Now, the absence of them felt like a physical thing.

He closed the fridge door slowly and let out a long sigh, his back pressing against the cool metal as he leaned there for a moment.

But then his eyes caught something on the counter and his breath caught.

There, on the counter—your box of cookies. The very ones he’d just been craving.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor sometimes, dangling the answer to a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. A coincidence? Maybe. But the way his pulse jumped at the sight made it feel like something more.

A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at his lips as he reached for the box, his fingers brushing over the familiar creases in the cardboard—the same way you always folded the edges to keep them fresh.

On top, a note in your unmistakable handwriting:

“For my favorite genius. I know you probably don’t have anything to eat for breakfast. And you need to stop living off coffee.”

Next to it, a lopsided smiley face, the kind you always drew when you were teasing him.

And beneath it, another slip of paper—this one with a quote:

“I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.” —The Importance of Being Earnest.

His book. The one he’d lent you months ago, dog-eared and annotated in the margins with his cramped scribbles. You’d not only read it, you’d remembered it. Enough to pluck this line, this line, the one he’d laughed at when he reread it next to you.

Something warm and unnameable curled in his chest.

He gently traced the smiley face with his index finger before carefully peeling the note off the box and walking to the fridge. He smoothed the edges against the metal and stuck it there. Right in the center, right beside the magnet he never used. The quote followed, aligned just so.

Two little pieces of you.

He fully enjoyed the cookies—more than he wanted to admit. One turned into two, two into five, and before he knew it, he was staring at the bottom of the box, only two left. He hesitated, tempted to finish them off, but something made him stop. Maybe he wanted to save them. Maybe it felt symbolic somehow—leaving just a little behind.

He set the box aside with a quiet sigh, realizing it was probably time to face reality. If his breakfast consisted of cookies and the last splash of coffee from yesterday’s pot, then yeah—he needed groceries.

The thought alone was exhausting.

Reluctantly, Spencer went to get dressed. As he rummaged through his dresser for a sweater, his fingers brushed against something soft in the corner of the drawer. He paused, then slowly pulled it out.

The scarf.

The one you’d given him last winter, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a little handwritten tag that simply said “For when the cold gets into your bones.”

He hadn’t worn it much. Not because he didn’t love it. He did. Too much, maybe. He was worried he’d ruin it, spill something on it, or catch it on a subway door or lose it in a moment of distraction.

So instead, it became a part of his quiet morning rituals—he’d look at it while choosing what to wear, smile to himself, then fold it back gently, like preserving something sacred.

It became a small, secret reminder of you that never failed to make his lips twitch upward.

But today, something tugged at him. Wear it.

He paused, hesitating. There was no case today. No flights, no crime scenes, no risk of ruining it in some chaotic whirlwind of work. It was just grocery shopping. A quick errand. No danger. No reason not to.

Before he could overthink it, he looped the scarf around his neck. The wool was warmer than he expected, carrying the faintest trace of cedar and vanilla—your perfume, maybe, or just the ghost of memory.

He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The cold hit him immediately —but the scarf helped.

You helped.

And for once, Spencer didn’t feel quite so alone.

The drive to the grocery store should have been routine—just another mundane task.

Spencer flipped on the radio out of habit, his fingers automatically tuning to his usual station: the one that dissected quantum physics and debated the ethics of emerging technologies in monotone, academic voices. It was comforting, familiar. He usually looked forward to it. Even if he already knew most of the facts being discussed, there was something soothing about hearing others speak his language.

There was comfort in the predictability of it.

But today, the voices grated.

He listened for maybe a minute, maybe less. The words blurred together, sounding hollow in a way they usually didn’t.

He stared ahead at the red light, fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel. Restless. Unsettled.

His gaze drifted to the radio display. Without really thinking, he pressed the button to change the station.

Click. Static. Then a beat.

And then—your favorite song.

It took him a second to register it, but once he did, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t a popular song, not one that played often. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard it on the radio.

But here it was. Blasting softly through his speakers like the universe had handpicked the moment.

The same song you’d hum under your breath while baking, the one you’d insisted on playing three times in a row that one rainy afternoon when he’d pretended to complain but secretly memorized every lyric.

His breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, he just stared, as if the universe had reached into his chest and plucked out a thought he hadn’t even fully formed. Behind him, a horn blared—sharp, impatient—jolting him back to reality.

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, flushing as he hit the gas, the car lurching forward a second too late.

He didn’t change the station.

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, the music wrapping around him like an echo of your voice.

By the time he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the song had faded into something else, but the melody lingered, tangled up in the wool of your scarf and the ghost of flour on your hands.

Once he stepped out of the car, Spencer paused and looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds loomed overhead, dark and swollen with the promise of rain.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and muttered to himself, “Alright. Just in and out. Quick.”

October weather was unpredictable. He quickened his pace toward the store, shoulders hunched against the cold. The last thing he needed was to get caught in another downpour.

Like last night.

The memory surfaced unbidden: you, standing in his doorway, drenched and shivering, your hair plastered to your forehead while rainwater pooled at your feet. He’d panicked—of course he had—fussing over the cold you’d surely catch, the inconvenience, the unnecessary risk you’d taken just to watch some movie with him.

And then you’d grinned, wide and unrepentant, before launching yourself at him.

The hug was instantaneous, your arms locking around him, soaking his shirt through in seconds. He’d stiffened—“You’re getting me all wet!”—but you’d just buried your face in his shoulder and mumbled, “We’ll be sick together, Spencer.”

He hadn’t stood a chance.

You’d spent the rest of the evening wrapped in mismatched towels, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, your laughter warmer than any blanket. And if a cozy evening like this with you made him get sick? Who was he to care? If anything, he had used the rain and the cold to scoot even closer to you on the couch, mumbling a small "My apartment is cold" as an excuse to press his thighs closer to yours.

Now, standing in the grocery store parking lot with the wind gnawing at his scarf—your scarf—he realized something with startling clarity:

He missed you.

Not in the abstract, distant way he missed people when they were gone. But viscerally, like a pit in his stomach, that couldn't be filled with anything but the sight of you standing infront of him with a smile.

The clouds overhead rumbled softly, like the sky missed you too.

Spencer turned toward the store, tugging his scarf a little tighter, and stepped forward, but something caught his eye.

Next to the grocery store, nestled between a laundromat and a pharmacy, was a new coffee shop. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the name?

His breath caught slightly in his throat as he read the sign above the door.

Drip Drop Brew.

His eyes widened. He blinked, like maybe he had read it wrong. But no—those words stared right back at him, painted in playful script across the front window in soft red and black.

His breath stuttered.

“Drip drop drip drop,” you had murmured just last night as he made you tea, still damp from the rain.

You had stood beside him in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing useful, your hair still curling with leftover stormwater. You never offered to help—and he never minded. You just liked being near him while he moved around the kitchen.

“Drip drop?” he’d repeated back, bemused, pouring hot water over chamomile leaves.

“The rain,” you’d said, as if it were obvious, tilting your head toward the sound. “Listen.”

And he had. Not to the weather, but to you—the way your voice softened around mundane things, how you found rhythm in the ordinary. It was ridiculous. It was perfect. It was such a you thing to do, finding magic in something as ordinary as the sound of water hitting glass.

Now, standing frozen on the sidewalk, the memory wrapped around him like the scarf still knotted at his throat.

A coincidence. It had to be.

But the way his pulse jumped said otherwise.

He took a slow breath, torn between stepping inside and continuing to the grocery store. He didn’t need coffee.

Groceries were forgotten the moment he pushed open the coffee shop door.

The place was you—cozy and vibrant, with mismatched armchairs in deep red and black , shelves lined with well-loved books, and the scent of freshly ground coffee.

He could already picture you here, curled up in that corner nook by the window, a half-finished report abandoned in favor of people-watching.

You both had a habit of doing reports in cafés—something that started as convenience and turned into tradition. A small ritual between the chaos of the job. He could still remember the first time you'd convinced Hotch to let it happen.

It had been on a slow day, paperwork piling up, everyone dragging. You'd walked into the bullpen and said, “What if we were… slightly more productive in a cozy public setting with caffeine and pastries?”

Complete with your best “convince-Hotch” smile.

Somehow, it worked.Honestly, most of the team had a hard time saying no to you. Even Hotch, who wasn’t exactly known for bending rules.

But Spencer? Spencer never stood a chance. He wasn’t even sure the word no existed in his vocabulary when it came to you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly said no to you. The word dissolved in his throat whenever you smiled at him.

He ordered a coffee—black, simple, but he let the barista add a drizzle of cinnamon syrup, just because it reminded him of the way you'd order his drinks when you thought he needed “spicing up.”

Then he settled down in the corner seat, back against the wall, giving him a view of the whole shop. It should’ve felt peaceful.

Instead, the absence beside him was deafening.

He let his eyes wander, taking everything in. The handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Cute drawings of animals, such as ladybugs. The tiny potted succulents lining the windowsill. A basket of dog treats by the door. A stack of used books by the counter with a handwritten sign that read: “Take one, leave one, love always.” C

Time slipped through his fingers like sand.

What should have been a thirty-minute grocery run had stretched into nearly two hours—first the coffee shop, then the quiet absorption of his book (of course he’d brought one; he’d sooner leave the house without pants than without reading material).

Eventually he forced himself to leave.

With a full bag of groceries and a head full of thoughts, he made it home. The sky had darkened even more, a low rumble of thunder in the distance echoing through the streets. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He unpacked everything robotically, stacking the pantry and fridge, then tossed his coat aside and curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped loosely around him.

He traced the spine of the book in his lap, his thumb brushing over the slight crease near the top.

Your book.

The one you’d pressed into his hands last week with theatrical solemnity, your brows furrowed in mock severity. “This one is my favorite,” you’d said, voice low, as if entrusting him with state secrets. When you’d jabbed a warning finger in his face, he’d barely suppressed a grin. “If anything happens to it—”

He’d waited, eyes bright with amusement, until you’d leaned in close, your voice dropping to a theatrical whisper: “You will know my rage in ways you’ve never known before.”

The threat was absurd—he’d seen you genuinely angry exactly once, and even then, you’d mostly just frowned harder—but he’d played along, snatching the book from your grip with exaggerated defiance.

“Terrifying,” he’d deadpanned, already flipping to the first page.

That was another one of your rituals: swapping books every week, your version of a love language. You’d once called it “literary matchmaking.” Every Friday, without fail, a book would be passed between you—sometimes annotated, sometimes dog-eared, always loved.

This book had been your favorite.

Now, tracing the dog-eared corner of page 111—your favorite passage—he realized with a quiet ache that he could almost hear your voice between the lines.

He’d read three chapters today, but the words blurred together, his focus frayed by the day’s odd synchronicities—the cookies, the scarf, the song, the café.

And now this: your favorite book in his hands, your phantom laughter between the lines.

Spencer exhaled, tilting his head back against the couch.

The universe, it seemed, was determined to remind him of you.

Thirty minutes later, he turned the final page.

The book was finished, and God, he understood now why you loved it so much—the way the prose curled around his ribs like smoke, the underlined passages that felt like secrets shared between just the two of you.

Your notes in the margins had been his favorite part: little exclamation marks beside plot twists, sarcastic commentary in the corners, the occasional doodle when you’d clearly gotten distracted.

With a quiet sigh, he set the book on his lap, but the spine—well-loved and cracked from years of your hands holding it—fell open again of its own accord.

And there it was.

A single line, highlighted in soft yellow, framed by a constellation of pink hearts you’d drawn with the same care you reserved for frosting cookies or arranging flowers in his too-empty apartment:

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

The air left his lungs in a rush.

It hit him with the force of a bullet train—no warning, no gradual buildup, just the devastating certainty of it.

The cookies. The scarf. The radio station. The coffee shop. The way his chest ached when you laughed. The way he’d memorized the cadence of your voice without meaning to. The way every road, every book, every breath seemed to lead back to you.

Oh.

Spencer Reid was in love with his best friend.

And the terrible, beautiful truth was—he’d been in love with you for a long, long time.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[celestialtarot11]

Your FS personality and their lifestyle 💐🩷

Hey friends! Welcome back! As requested: here ya’ll go! My semester is ending and its been so crazy here as I’m getting ready to leave :) i hope you all enjoy the reading below. Any and all comments, reblogs and likes are sincerely appreciated! Keeps the blog active if you’d like to continue seeing more content. ☀️💐 I do love spring and lately im even more excited for the blessings summer will bring!

♡ Pile 1:

Hanged man, 6 of pentacles, king of cups, 9 of swords

Hey welcome here pile 1! Your FS is incredibly emotionally intelligent and aware of themselves and others <3 it’s so sweet I feel like they could be a vet, doctor, nurse or a practice at the moment. Even a school counselor, advisor, a researcher. They prefer to wear comfy luxurious clothing—nothing that screams in your face, but they come across as light on their feet, ethereal, graceful. I’m hearing they hold the room with ease meaning their energy is what captivates the room. Your FS is also someone who struggles a lot mentally because they are so aware, and this isn’t uncommon in intelligent people. Sometimes we know too much. Your person tries to think of all possible scenarios, outcomes, ideas, etc. it can get difficult to manage. They are curious, and love joking around and have this sense of home to them. Therefore they’ll also take care of the home too, they might have an established apartment/house. Something that really draws people in, and makes people wonder how they have that money to support themselves. They can also live alone at this time, but ate open to helping others. Super super generous and kind, they may have libra, or water placements in their chart 🤍 they see the good in others and try to elevate people. They are seen as stable, calming and supportive. I also feel like they have a lot of wisdom—you’ll know right off the bat of meeting them! You won’t need time second guess that they are intelligent <3 they can even have a pisces placement as well! Or you can meet them in a pisces month. Or this could be you with a pisces placement :) they do love spontaneous adventures like hiking, camping, anything to do with “home” and coming together they really enjoy. They can cook very well—i heard salmon soo they really enjoy cooking 😩 I’m talking really good salmon. Too tier food!! Its also aesthetically pleasing to look at, because they have an eye for detail. They also could be in a prominent position at their work right now where they are seen as again, an advisor, manager, admin, counselor, consultant of some kind and they generate a lot of money off of this. They don’t feel stressed out about their home life & financial situation! And if you need their help financially they will be there, they’re so blessed they are able to help others too <3 ultimate golden retriever energy. They might have blonde hair, leans ash blonde, dark blue eyes. They may have a youthful appearance, especially their cheeks and eyes make them look smaller and younger. They might have the smile of a wealthy person (im not sure how to describe this) its more of an energy of when they smile. For female I see brunette hair, she might have a business or job surrounding occupational therapy where she helps others. Your person likes ASMR lmao. Thanks so much to everyone reading this <3 I appreciate any and all support!

Craving more insights? I do personal readings too—deep, detailed, all about you. Tap [here] to get your own magical reading today! Limited spots, and I love tuning into your energy.

♡ Pile 2:

Knight of swords, knight of cups, strength, 5 of wands

Heyy welcome!! Thank yall for being here. Your person is so so conversational and wears their heart on their sleeve <3 you’ll see it right away. They are strong in their values and prefer to have relationships that are heart centered, touching and fun. They also like to be a fun person—not just someone who is nonchalant, im hearing they cant stand that energy! They give life so they need life. Possible zodiac signs include Leo, Aquarius/gemini. They are so talkative in a way that’ll have you giggling, they know exactly how to talk your ear off and they’re so sweet. They’re incredibly loyal to their friends and to you once you meet them. They may prefer to wear softer colors, colors that aren’t typically expected for their gender…? So they definitely could have experienced gender differences and double standards for sure. But they’ve honed in their identity now and aren’t afraid to show it. They are charismatic, enigmatic, they also may love synth music with a lot of reverb or just songs that sound ethereal. Like pastel ghost, crystal castles, etc. they have an electrifying presence and its zappy—and fun! They may seem one foot in the door way because their mind has so many tabs open lol. I feel that they are the type that when something great happens they think of you. “I cant wait to tell you about this moment.” And they’ll hold onto that for the rest of their day :) thats so cute. As for their family background i see a lot of tension, there’s disagreements and conflicts possibly because they do not have an education, or they took a different route that involves trade school. Or they were undervalued by their family a lot for being softer—people mistook that for weakness. It doesn’t even have to be family related it could be friends too. Their ex friends! They have worked on themselves emotionally and they have a lot of resilience and patience, and although sometimes they can speak without thinking, they mean well. Their brain just goes everywhere at once! Im hearing they could have ADHD too. They have a lot of big dreams, ideas, visions for their future! They often get overwhelmed by their fantasies because they sometimes dont know how to create it, how to cultivate it, or bring it into reality and hold it. Not just letting it in—but holding it. Allowing themselves to receive. They struggle with worthiness there. They can have a father figure who is very traditional, leans cold & distant and prefers logic over emotional matters. I also saw 11:11 as I write this! So even more confirmation for you. They honestly have a whimsical heart at best and although this father figure shunned it, they learned to reveal it elsewhere :) Thanks to everyone who has been here! Please like comment and reblog to boost <3

Craving more insights? I do personal readings too—deep, detailed, all about you. Tap [here] to get your own magical reading today! Limited spots, and I love tuning into your energy.

♡ Pile 3:

The fool, strength, magician, and 2 of cups

Hey welcome pile 3! Appreciate having you here :) your person is a interesting mix. Like a cocktail lol. They are free and adventurous and open but practice restraint and discipline. They don’t want to be reckless—they want to enjoy without hurting themselves which is a great trait to have. They are charismatic, powerful speakers even. They could have a job where they are a speaker, consultant, legal consultant is what I heard, they could be in therapy, social work, they could work with children in a way! They are seen as a strong leader, bold and cheerful and intelligent. They also feel confident in themselves to succeed and they are quite optimistic in their approach to life. Im hearing life dealt them a cold hand and so thats why they work with disadvantaged people, people who were oppressed and hidden by the system. Especially children. They remember what its like to be stuck. This person really truly cares about one on one connections, they don’t do well in group settings but they try. They mostly focus on seeing the person in front of them completely and because of this people get scared of intimacy is what I heard. Your person has a lot of emotional depth and even spiritual awareness. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were practicing spirituality or reconnecting with ancestral roots. They have healed and alchemized a lot of their past pain. Random note they may have a cat. Lol. Your person is incredibly loyal—but first they do come forward strong so people wouldn’t step all over them. Theres definitely apart of them that years for emotional comfort & their past, but this isn’t something people see easily unless you’re close to them. They love nurturing their inner child, their inner child comes out a lot in supportive connections. They are currently looking for that in their life <3 having someone else who is their other half. “You’re my sun, im your moon” is what I heard aww. Thats cute. This person is hopeful they’ll be meeting you soon! I wonder if you’ve also been in sync with this person energetically and receive so many signs and dreams about them lol. Almost drives you nuts! But you love it :) speaking about nuts they might be allergic to it. Kinda random lolll. Their possible signs could be in a water sign (cancer scorpio pisces) or fire! Thanks to everyone being here! <3

Craving more insights? I do personal readings too—deep, detailed, all about you. Tap [here] to get your own magical reading today! Limited spots, and I love tuning into your energy.

Extra

Thank you all once again for being here <3 your follows are sincerely appreciated!

Paid readings🩷

[forever-rogue]

I don't know if this is a silly idea so if it is I apologize!

But could you write something where Tommy and the reader were seeing each other in Austin but with all the commotion they didn't have time to look for each other when they were fleeing so they both moved on thinking the other one was killed, but the reader suddenly ends up in Jackson and they get to reunite

AN | Ahh, this has been in my drafts for so long! Reminder that I am also a Tommy Miller enthusiast. I love this concept and I hope you do too 🥰 

Pairing | Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How much longer is it until we’re there?” you were whining, and you knew it. But quite honestly, you didn’t care. You were cold, tired, and hungry, and your feet were killing you. Ellie looked at you and snickered softly; she was young and spritely, everything seemed easy for her. 

“Not much longer if you’d stop your whining,” Joel turned back to you as you gave him an indignant little huff. You knew he was teasing; the two of you butted heads a lot but there was nothing but affection behind it all, “think you can manage?”

“I guess,” you waved him off and fell into step with Ellie, “you know, this place better be worth it.”

“It will be,” he promised and you wanted to believe him. You hoped he was right…things had been hard the last few months and honestly, you really just wanted a nice long break, “trust me.”

“The last time I trusted you, Joel, I ended up on this crazy journey with you and the kid,” you snorted in amusement as the two of them stared at you in surprise, “and - and - I wouldn’t change it for the world. So calm down and stop glaring daggers at me.”

“You know-” but Joel was quickly cut off by the sound of hooves, shouts, and barks. This definitely wasn’t good. 

You exchanged a look with Joel and the two of you surrounded Ellie to make sure she was as hidden as possible. It really was no use because the three of you were as exposed as could be. 

Fuck. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So…many things didn’t turn out as badly as they could have. In fact, it seemed like it really just turned into…the best possible situation. 

You’d not only found your way to Jackson, which already just from the outside was a lot to take in, but Joel had managed to find his brother. It was a shock on both ends but, you realized, life had been a lot like that lately. 

For the first time in a long time, you even allowed yourself to believe that things might actually work out. Hope. It was an odd thing really. 

But it was Joel’s shout that started you out of your little daydream fantasy. You almost slipped off the horse at the sudden shift of him yelling, "Tommy!"

You exchanged a look with Ellie before turning to look in the direction that Joel was currently running to. He'd almost jumped off his horse and was taking off in the direction of another dark haired man. How very curious.

The party came to a stop and the two of you got off your own horses before hesitantly walking over. It appeared that the two brothers had really missed each other. 

Joel let go of the younger man and turned to the two of you with a beaming smile, "this is my younger brother, Tommy."

You turned to the raven-haired man, ready to introduce yourself to him when everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Time stood still as you realized that you too knew Tommy - at least once upon a lifetime ago you had.

He must have realized at the same time as you had because all he could do was silently look at you in awe. You weren't even sure how to really respond - you hadn't seen him in twenty years. Yet here he was, right as rain and the same as ever.

"Tommy?" You asked softly as he nodded, repeating your name just as quietly. Confusion marred Ellie and Joel's faces, unsure of what was going on, "oh my god."

He hesitated for a moment before holding his arms out and pulling into a hug. A sound somewhere between a sob and laugh escaped your lips as you hugged him back with just as excitement.

You had been sure you'd never see him again. You'd made peace with the fact that the love of your life was dead. 

And yet…there he was. Alive and well. Your Tommy.

When you reluctantly pulled apart, he cradled your face in his hands, tenderly brushing away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. It still felt so unreal, like a wild day dream.

"Does anyone want to explain what's going on here?" Ellie decided to cut through the tender moment and Joel groaned slightly. He was such a dad sometimes, despite what he insisted. 

"Ellie."

"It's okay," you promised, "Tommy and I…we used to…we were dating. Back…you know."

"Before," he finished for you, catching your eye and offering a shy smile, "before everything fell apart."

"Wait…" Joel looked between the two of you, pointing at each of you in turn. He repeated your name and realization dawned on him, "its you? All this time…shit-"

"Language!"

"You've been Tommy's girl?" He was more incredulous than either of you, "how did I never…realize?"

"To be fair, I haven't been anyone's girl in a long time," you stared at your feet, trying not to focus too much on the fact that everyone was staring at you, "and I didn't put two and two together to realize you were his brother. So."

"So," Tommy echoed, rocking back and forth on his heels. Neither of you were quite sure what to say; you never thought you'd been in this position again, "why, ugh, why don't we get you guys settled in? Seems like you might be staying a while."

"Great!" Ellie was able to cut through any of the tension as she stepped between you and Tommy, grabbing hold of his arm. You breathed a small sigh of relief; things had quickly gotten to a point where you didn't know what to even think.

Joel quirked an eyebrow at you but remained silent otherwise. The look was never enough to kill you; damn these Miller brothers. You huffed, "don't say a word, Joel."

He held up his hands in mock surrender as you huffed and followed after Ellie and Tommy.

Well. This day had definitely not gone according to plan. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After that initial afternoon of introductions and reunions, you managed to avoid Tommy for a few days. It wasn't too hard in Jackson; there were way more people than you had initially imagined. It felt so strange, but wonderful, to be somewhere that felt…normal again. Between that and Tommy, it almost seemed like things really were almost like they had been all those years ago.

"Hey there," his soft voice cut through your thoughts as you turned your gaze away from the softly falling snow and onto him. You stiffened for a moment before smiling at him.

"Hey Tommy," you moved over on the bench and brushed off the powdery fluff. He beamed at the silent invitation and sat down next to you, leaving just enough of a gap between your bodies.

"I was wondering if I'd ever see you again," you could hear the teasing lilt in his voice, "I was almost sure you'd been avoiding me."

"I-I wasn't…avoiding you," it was a lie and you both knew it. Tommy laughed, and you realized just how much you loved his laugh. It had always been one of your favorite things. 

"You've always been a horrible liar," he gently nudged your knee with his and you couldn't help the shy smile that bubbled up, "I guess time doesn't change everything."

"I guess not," your stomach churned with a plethora of emotions. Everything all at once. 

"How'd you end up with my brother?" his cheeks flushed and not just from the cold. It took a moment till you caught on and you almost laughed.

"I'm, ugh, I'm not with Joel," you promised and his shoulders visibly relaxed, "we're just friends. Trust me, I'm not - I'm definitely not - interested in him."

"Oh," you peeked over to see the smile on his face grow, "okay, that's umm, yeah. Good. And you've, ugh, never-"

"No," a shiver ran down your spine as you cut him off. Sure, Joel was handsome but you were definitely not into him, "and no thank you."

"Cool," a silence fell over the two of you, neither awkward or completely still.

"What about you and Maria?" Yeah. You were curious too.

"We…we were together for a while," he confessed and you hated how it made your stomach twist and turn. It wasn't your place to be jealous but…you were feeling particularly green, "but it didn't work out. So we're just friends."

"Well, that's good that you're still friends," and your insides were jumping around happily.

"Mhmm," he hummed in agreement before it grew quiet again. You could practically hear Ellie screaming in your ear to make a move. Lord knows that she was absolutely wanting to see the two of you get tougher again. It would be just like a movie she'd sighed dreamily.

You shifted and angled your body so you were facing him and found that he was watching you intently. You opened and closed your mouth a few times and yet somehow he knew exactly what you were thinking. Tommy leaned in and put his hand on your cheek, hesitating for just a moment to search your eyes for permission before kissing you. 

And suddenly it felt like you'd never stopped kissing him. It all felt so familiar and so…right that you thought you'd never want to forget this again. Tommy Miller always kissed you like his life depended on it.

When he pulled away, and for all you knew he could have been kissing for seconds or hours or minutes, you made a small sound of disappointment.

"I know," there was nothing but affectionate teasing behind his voice, "but if I keep kissing you, I might sink and drown, and die. Give a man a second."

"Was it that bad?" Your eyes widened with worry but the man shook his head.

"The opposite," he grinned, "I just needed a moment so I don't get too crazy for you. It's always been hard."

"Oh," alright, that was a way better answer than you'd hoped for, "I've missed that too. Honestly, I've missed you. A lot…but I feel like that's really obvious to say."

"Not a day passed when I didn't think of you," he admitted shyly, "even if it was just  for a moment, but you were still there in my mind. Like it was yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure the reality," you pointed at yourself, "is disappointing compared to the memory."

"That's where you're wrong," he scoffed as though you must have been blind, "you're just as beautiful now as the day I met you."

"Tommy-"

"I mean it," he put his hand on top of yours and gave it a gentle squeeze, "I've dreamed about this day so many times. I never thought…that I would actually get the chance to see you again."

"Me neither," you really wanted to wrap yourself up in him, "I'm just afraid you're not going to like this version of me. What if I'm not like you remember?"

"None of us are the same, sweetheart," he insisted softly, "we've all been through so much shit. But deep down we're all the people we once were."

"You think so?" You could feel the tears welling up already, "I mean, I'm just assuming you'd want to even…try again. You know what, forget I said anything - you don't want-"

"I do," he quickly cut off any of your negative thoughts, "I really do. You think I'd give up this second chance with my dream girl?"

"Dream girl?" and oh. The way you were looking at him made him want to melt, "I'm your dream girl?"

"You always have been and always will be," he grew bashful as you looked at him in awe, "and I think we were given this opportunity for a reason. And I know it's scary, but if you're in, I kind of want to try again. Us."

"Are you sure?"

"I've been thinking about it since the moment I saw you," he leaned in and you were so close you could kiss him - and you definitely intended on doing that again, "so I guess it's up to you, sweetheart."

"I'm in," you promised without hesitation, "all in."

"Me too," and then he kissed you again, softly but with so much love, "all in."

[antimony-ore]

In early February, Musk’s team laid off 130 staffers at the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, or CISA, including 10 regional security specialists who worked with local and state election officials. The Trump administration is also advancing plans to strip civil service protections from 80% of the remaining CISA workforce, potentially allowing them to be fired for political reasons. Attorney General Pam Bondi that month disbanded a key FBI task force charged with investigating foreign efforts to influence elections. She also left in the wind the fate of another FBI task force that investigated threats against election workers and polling places.

More layoffs, we knew this was happening. He does not trust the current system, I'm not sure I do, so he is dismantling what's in place so it can be restructured and not federally funded/contributing to the federal deficit in the meantime.

Homeland Security chief Kristi Noem, meanwhile, on March 6 canceled the funding for national information sharing efforts that helped state and local election officials detect and ward off coordinated hacking attacks and other threats.

This does not mean another system will not be implemented, we are just jumping the gun and assuming the worst, specifically a cyber attack when there is not even an upcoming election or primary to raise concerns at the moment.

Those moves come as Trump has appointed to key positions officials who embrace his false claims of widespread voting fraud, including Bondi, Noem and FBI Director Kash Patel, among others – and as Trump has cashiered the head of the National Security Agency and the US Cyber Command, Gen. Timothy Haugh, who was involved in countering Russian interference in past elections.

Allegedly there was still foreign interference this past election, so Haugh was obviously incompetent. How confident are we that Trump's claims are false if so many people seem to see reason in what he alleges?

Trump officials argue that some of the election security agencies targeted for cuts were improperly hurting the president’s allies. During her confirmation hearing in January, Noem said that CISA has “gotten far off mission” in trying to combat foreign disinformation. She pledged to help “rein in” the agency, which critics say pushed social media companies to target conservative commentators. Bondi said disbanding the Foreign Influence Task Force was necessary to end the “risk of further weaponization … of prosecutorial discretion.”

Are we sure they haven't perhaps gone off mission? These systems have been in place and there is still alleged Russian interference EVERY single election.

I didn't vote for Trump, but I also happen to think it was BS how the Democrats tried to rush and prosecute him to disqualify him from running this election rather than just let him run.

It was absolutely politically motivated and there should be protections put in place to prevent that from being weaponized against all future candidates, democrats included.

It's part of the reason I didn't vote for a democrat either this election, it's suspicious behavior.

But the administration’s actions have deeply alarmed state officials, who warn the next round of national elections will be seriously imperiled by the cuts. A bipartisan association representing 46 secretaries of state, and several individual top state election officials, have pressed the White House about how critical functions protecting election security will perform going forward. They have not received clear answers, according to documents shared with CNN.

TL:DR People on both sides are panicked because they didn't get an immediate answer to calm their concerns, which for some reason has made them assume the worst and that there is no plan going forward.

Trump has justified his efforts to exert more control over America’s state and local election systems as a way of stopping illegal voting by noncitizens and other voter fraud, both of which experts say are rare.

Ok? Let him address this concern of his now and then it shouldn't keep coming up. If you found it annoying, let him take care of it and he'll have nothing left to annoy you about.

Officials involved in administering elections say the moves already are making it harder, and less safe and secure, to vote in America.

If you're that afraid don't vote, I don't see that happening though.

“It’s absolutely hypocritical,” said Sen. Alex Padilla, a Democrat and former secretary of state of California, “for a president who has lied ad nauseam about rampant voter fraud to be undoing the very tools we rely on to protect the integrity and security of our elections.”

It's not, one would have to dismantle the current systems if there's any hope of getting congress or supreme court to put anything new in place. They would likely not otherwise.

Article because that link directs to nothing relevant:

[eeveelover23]

You're my best friend

Summary: You grew up in a small town, where you first met (Characters name) during your childhood. You were neighbours and quickly became inseparable.

🌹Riddle Rosehearts🌹

Your Bond: Riddle was always the serious, rule-abiding one, but as kids, you two were inseparable when it came to organizing games and making up imaginary rules.

Headcanon:

🌹 Riddle was the type to give you a "queen's order" for fun, and you'd pretend to be the rebellious one who had to "break" the rule.

🌹 He was the kind of kid who would insist on bringing a pocket watch to play, just to "keep time" for your activities.

🌹He'd bring you flowers from his garden when you were feeling down, and even now, he still gets embarrassed when he does it, but secretly loves it.

Cute Moment: One of your fondest memories is when Riddle tried to bake a cake for your birthday, and it ended up a disaster—he cried over the burnt edges, but you two laughed until you cried.

🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️🌹❤️

🦁Leona Kingscholar🦁

Your Bond: Leona was the laid-back, "too cool for school" type, but he would always show up at your house when you needed a partner for whatever you were doing, especially if it involved a snack break.

Headcanon:

🦁 Even as a kid, Leona would always claim to be too lazy to participate in games but would secretly enjoy it when he was in the mood.

🦁 He would often fall asleep on your couch, his hair all messy, after a day of playing, and you'd have to wake him up with snacks.

🦁 Leona's affection is subtle, like how he'd give you a little nudge when you were feeling down or share his snacks without saying anything, expecting nothing in return.

Cute Moment: You remember how Leona tried to teach you how to climb a tree, and although you were scared at first, he assured you in his gruff way, "You got this," before watching you conquer it with pride.

🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛🦁💛

🐯Kalim Al-Asim🐯

Your Bond: Kalim was the ever-optimistic, cheerful friend who would always drag you into fun adventures. He loved making up games that involved dancing, singing, and a lot of laughter.

Headcanon:

🐯As kids, Kalim would always try to cheer you up if you were ever feeling sad by offering you random gifts, like a flower, a stone he thought looked cool, or even his favourite sweets.

🐯He was the first to volunteer to help you with anything, even if it was completely unnecessary (like carrying a toy or doing a "big mission").

🐯Kalim’s love for fireworks began when he was little, and he would try to make his own (often failing) to impress you.

Cute Moment: Kalim once made you a “friendship bracelet” when you were feeling insecure about something, and it became your most treasured item. Every time you looked at it, you were reminded of his pure heart.

🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡🐯🧡

🐙Azul Ashengrotto🐙

Your Bond: Azul was the one who would organize games with elaborate rules and always made sure that everyone had a fair chance (even if he secretly loved to win).

Headcanon:

🐙 As a child, Azul had an intense love for collecting shiny things—rocks, seashells, anything that glistened—and would always try to trade you them in exchange for something you had.

🐙 He was an expert at making up stories, often enchanting you with tales of deep-sea adventures.

🐙 He’s always been a little protective of you and would often worry about you in silence, making sure you were never left out.

Cute Moment: You both used to go swimming together. Even though Azul was initially too scared of swimming in deeper water, he would always end up swimming deeper than you —and proudly showing it off to you with a grin.

🐙💜🐙💙🐙💜🐙💙🐙💜🐙💙🐙💜🐙💙🐙

👑Vil Schoenheit👑

Your Bond: Vil was always the refined, elegant one, even as a child. He would insist that you follow proper manners during your playdates, but he secretly adored your carefree personality.

Headcanon:

👑 As a child, Vil was obsessed with making sure everything looked perfect, so you'd often get involved in elaborate dress-up games (even if it meant you were wearing ridiculous costumes).

👑 He would try to teach you how to carry yourself with grace, often making you practice walking in a straight line, which you secretly hated, but adored his attention to detail.

👑 His “true” affection came in the form of compliments, though they'd be subtle and sometimes veiled in his usual critiques.

Cute Moment: There was that one summer when Vil insisted on performing a play he wrote (a very dramatic love story, of course) and you played the “damsel in distress”—it was a ridiculous but adorable production.

👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗👑💗

🎮Idia Shroud🎮

Your Bond: Idia was always the quiet, tech-loving friend, but he had a soft spot for you. He'd rather be playing video games, but you two would often have late-night gaming sessions where you'd compete, or he’d teach you how to use new gadgets.

Headcanon:

🎮 Idia would share his love for all things gaming and tech with you, even building you little gadgets as gifts (they usually didn’t work perfectly, but you always cherished them).

🎮 He was never really good at socialising, but with you, he would talk endlessly about his favourite characters, games, and anything tech-related.

🎮 He would be the one to give you quiet advice during rough times, his words always thoughtful, even if wrapped in awkwardness.

Cute Moment: When you were younger, Idia tried to teach you how to play a game he loved, but you kept losing miserably. He was very patient and would cheer you on every time you made progress, even if it was just a tiny bit.

🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙🎮💙

🐉Malleus Draconia🐉

Your Bond: Malleus was always the mysterious and somewhat distant one, but you two shared a bond that no one else could understand. You’d often meet in secret places to talk about things that others wouldn't understand, especially the magic world.

Headcanon:

🐉Malleus’s quiet nature came from his royal upbringing, but with you, he could be his true self—curious, playful, and occasionally mischievous.

🐉As a child, Malleus would often gift you rare, magical trinkets, like enchanted stones, or sometimes, flowers that only bloomed in hidden parts of the forest.

🐉Malleus adored your sense of wonder, and as children, he would sometimes sneak off with you to explore hidden places where no one else dared to go.

Cute Moment: Malleus once built a tiny secret “dragon’s lair” for you both to explore, complete with treasures (mostly shiny rocks), and you two would pretend to protect the realm from intruders together.

[half-of-a-gay]

PART 4 OF RUGBY VIKA X MANAGER READER PLEASEEEEE ITS SOO CUTE <\3

[A/N: You guys keep asking for this and I have a problem saying no so here you go. Enjoy!]

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3

PART 4:

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

The morning after the date starts slow.

You're in bed longer than usual, half-buried in blankets and replaying everything from the night before on a loop - the warm light of the diner, the way Sevika’s laugh had turned unguarded by the end of the evening, the brush of her hand finding yours. 

You try not to think about it too much. You try to school your expression and put on the best poker face you could muster. But the second you step into the coffee shop to meet your friends, you know you’re not getting away with anything. 

They’re already at a booth by the window, hands wrapped around steaming mugs, mid-conversation until one of them spots you and immediately smirks.

“Well,” she says before you’re even seated. “Someone’s looking suspiciously well-rested this morning.”

You slide into the booth and fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just in a good mood.”

“Mhm. Spill.”

You hesitate for a moment. It’s not that you don’t want to tell them - it’s just that talking about it out loud makes it feel… fragile. But they’re your friends, and you did promise to fill them in.

“We went out last night,” you say finally. “Me and Sevika.”

You keep going, your words measured. “She took me to this old diner. Said it was kind of her safe spot. We just talked, ate pie, nothing wild. But it was… good. She was different than I thought she’d be.”

There’s a brief, telling pause. One of your friends glances at the others, exchanging a look that’s hard to miss.

“She didn’t even kiss me until I did it first,” you add quickly, almost too quickly. “She was actually kind of nervous.”

Another pause- longer this time. The weight of it hangs between you, and the air feels suddenly thick.

“I thought she ghosted you after the away game,” one of them says, their tone carefully neutral, but the undertone is there. It’s pointed. “Didn’t you say something happened, and then she just… disappeared?”

You feel your chest tighten at the reminder. Your hand wraps around your cup, fingers tightening around it, but you force yourself to stay calm.

“It wasn’t like that,” you insist, a little too forcefully. “She didn’t ghost me. She just… shut down for a while.”

“Isn’t that worse?” someone else chimes in. “I mean, you barely said what happened but we just don’t want you getting blindsided again.”

You stiffen. “It’s different now. She opened up. She took me somewhere that matters to her. I don’t think she does that with everyone.”

“Are you sure?” one of them asks gently. “You’ve had a thing for her for ages. You really think you’re seeing this clearly?”

You blink. The warmth from earlier starts to feel thinner. Shaky. 

Another one of your friends leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She’s quiet for a beat, then speaks slowly, as if weighing her words. “I don’t know… I mean, it sounds nice and all, but you’re talking about Sevika. The same Sevika who’s kind of known for sleeping around and disappearing when things get real? And, I don’t know, you really think she’s different with you? After all that… history?”

Her words are gentle, but they sting, the undertone of doubt there- unavoidable.

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “She’s been different. I’m telling you, she’s not what you think.”

They exchange another look. You know they’re trying to be careful, but there’s something in the way they’re looking at you- something a little too knowing.

“She’s got a reputation,” another says, a shrug in her voice. “It’s not personal, it’s just… you said yourself  she doesn’t let people in, right? How do you know she’s not running the same play she always does? Maybe that diner’s her move. Sob story, meaningful eye contact, pie, boom. Hooked.”

Your heart sinks, but you fight it. You’re not going to let them make you doubt this. Not yet. Not when you know, deep down, it’s been real between you two.

“She’s not like that,” you say, quieter now. You take a breath, then meet their eyes, more firm. “You don’t get it. Sevika’s… complicated. But I’m telling you, she’s trying. And she’s not the person you think she is.”

There’s another long pause. This time, the silence feels different- not like understanding, but like uncertainty. 

—

The conversation with your friends lingers in the back of your mind as you walk towards the field for practice. The buzz of the café around you fades, but their words, the doubts - they stick. You had been so sure of yourself before, so open, so willing to jump in without hesitation. But now, a voice in the back of your head asks: What if they’re right? What if you’re just another one of Sevika’s fleeting moments?

You push the thoughts away, trying to focus on the here and now, as you arrive at the field earlie like you usually do. The sun paints the world in soft, golden hues. The morning air is cool, a contrast to the rising heat of the day. It's quiet, just the sound of your footsteps echoing across the grass, your mind still tangled from your conversation with your friends. You tell yourself it’s no big deal, that you’ll shake it off, but a little knot of doubt lingers.

As you make your way across the field, you spot Sevika already warming up. She straightens when she sees you approaching. Her posture is relaxed,arms crossed, but there’s a quiet tension in the way she watches you approach. She’s early. You weren’t expecting her to be, since she’s late for practice. For a moment, you can’t help but feel a little warmth in your chest. That’s what she does to you - makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room, even when it’s just the two of you.

You step closer, the soft crunch of grass beneath your shoes the only sound between you.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of Sevikas lips as she greets you. “Hey,” her voice is low but warm. “I didn’t think I’d beat you here.”

“Neither did I,” you say, chuckling softly, though you can’t help but feel a little lighter in her presence. You don’t want to overthink it, but it’s hard not to. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long,” she replies, not offering more than that, but the way she glances at you - just a little longer than necessary - lets you know she’s been waiting for this. For you.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel the familiar stir of doubt creeping in. Your friends' words still echo in your mind. You try to push them away, but they linger, casting a shadow over everything. You bite your lip, not sure if you should say anything. You should just act normal, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters when Sevika looks at you like that.

You don’t say anything right away, just stand there in front of her, your eyes bouncing from her to the side and back, not quite sure how to act. It’s quiet, uncomfortably so. There’s an expectant hum beneath it . She doesn’t tease, doesn’t smile - just looks at you with that open, steady expression of hers that always makes it hard to hide.

"You’re being kinda quiet today,” she says finally, tone low, careful. “Everything alright?”

You hesitate. There’s a soft warmth in your chest at her asking, at the way her voice dips, gentle just for you. You nod, but it's shaky, uncertain. “Yeah, I just... stuff’s been on my mind.”

She doesn’t push. Just tips her head slightly. “Want to talk about it?”

You almost say yes - almost spill all your insecurities - but then your chest tugs and twists and you find yourself unable to loosen your tongue. Your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sevika just waits patently, eyes locked on yours. You’re about to finally spit it out, about to open the door to the mess you’ve been carrying all morning - when the sharp crack of a cleat on gravel pulls your attention.

Voices. Laughter.

The sound of Sevikas teammates spilling onto the field bursts the quiet little world you'd just started to build between the two of you.

You blink, shoulders tensing. Like you’ve been caught. You take a step back before Sevika can say anything. “I- uh- I’ll see you out there.”

Her brows knit, confused. You don’t wait to see if she calls after you.

Practice is a blur and Sevika can’t focus at all.

Not on the drills, not on the plays, not on her teammates shouting out positions or the coach barking through a megaphone. She runs the plays, hits her marks, does everything right on paper- but her mind keeps drifting.

To you.

You, on the far side of the field, planner in hand, expression tight. You’re not watching her. Not like you usually do. Usually, you steal glances when you think she’s not looking- those little flickers of interest, that slight raise of your brow when her muscles flex. Sevika's always noticed. Always looked for it.

But today? Today, you're all business.

Eyes on the team. Voice clipped, efficient, distant. And Sevika hates it.

She catches herself glancing over at you again- fourth time in ten minutes. Her steps stutter. She curses under her breath and pushes harder through the drill, jaw tight. "Focus," she mutters to herself.

But she can't- not when something’s wrong and you won't even look at her long enough to say what it is.

On the other side of the field, you're trying to look like everything’s normal. Pen tapping the cover of your planner in a controlled rhythm. But your eyes keep drifting too. To her and worse- to the girl beside her- number 9.

A newer teammate, a year younger, shorter than Sevika but just as quick on the field. You’ve noticed the way she hovers around Sevika for a while now. Always close. Always laughing at anything Sevika says. Always “accidentally” brushing against her arm when they line up. And Sevika never pushes her off. 

You’d told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t mean anything. That Sevika’s body language was stiff- barely engaged. And besides who were you to be bitter about it, she wasn't even yours.

But you couldn’t help it. Today your chest is tight with every little interaction. Every time she stretches way too close beside her. Every time she leans in, grinning like she knows something you don’t.

And Sevika just stands there. Not encouraging it- but telling her to fuck off either.

It gets to you even if it shouldn’t.  Because you can’t help but think: Was there something between them?  Did she ever bring her to the diner?

You shake your head, trying to shove the thoughts down. Trying to focus on your job. On the team. On not caring.

But your eyes find Sevika again, just in time to see the girl laughing too loudly at something and resting her hand on Sevika’s arm- too casual, too familiar.

And the way Sevika doesn’t flinch- doesn’t shrug her off-  It hits you right in the stomach. You look away before you can let it show.

But Sevika sees your eyes narrow, sees the set of your jaw shift, and her gut twists. She doesn’t know what she did, but she knows something’s off.

The rest of practice blurs by in a haze of second-guessing and tension. And the secondit+s over, you’re gone. Your strides are long and brisk, head down like you’ve got somewhere urgent to be. You don’t. You just can’t be here. Not with the weight in your chest getting heavier every time you catch Sevika out of the corner of your eye. Not with that girl still smiling at her like she knows her. Like she’s been there.

Maybe she has. Maybe that diner wasn’t special.  Maybe  all of it was just another version of a thing she’s done before.

You feel stupid. You told your friends they were wrong. That Sevika was different. That what you had meant something. But now, with every second that passes, you’re starting to wonder if you just saw what you wanted to see.

She didn’t even pull away from that girl…

Across the field, Sevika sees you move. Sees your sharp exit, the set of your shoulders, the way your head stays low. And her stomach drops.

She doesn’t move. Just stands there, eyes fixed on the corner you disappeared around. Her hands flexing at her sides like she doesn't know whether to chase you or punch something. And the only thought running through her head is: Fuck. I messed up again.

Behind her, number 9 walks up and bumps her shoulder bringing her out of her daze.  “Hey, Cap,” she says, voice bright. “Drinks with the team tonight?”

Sevika blinks at her. “What?”

“You know. Post-practice. You in?”

She hesitates, eyes still on the space you just vacated. “…Not tonight.”

The girl’s smile falters. “Oh. Okay.”

Sevika doesn’t even offer an excuse. Just turns and starts walking toward the locker room.

—

Sevika sits alone in the locker room long after most of the team has cleared out. The only sound is the low hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of pipes somewhere in the walls.

She hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Just sits there, elbows on her knees, hands loosely hanging, staring at the floor like it might give her answers. But all she can think about is the way you walked off the field. And the way you refused to look at her. Her stomach churns.

What the hell happened?

The date had gone well. At least she thought it had. You said you had a good time. You wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true… right?

So what changed? Was it the diner?

She swallows hard, jaw tightening as her thoughts circle back there.

Was that too much? Too personal?

She wanted it to mean something. She thought it did. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe it scared you off. Maybe you saw too much of her, too much of the quiet, lonely parts and decided she was too much, too complicated.

She scrubs a hand down her face, leans back against the lockers with a dull thud. Her eyes squeeze shut.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. So off-kilter. You weren’t supposed to matter this much, this soon. But you do.

And now she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She replays every moment from the date again. The way you looked around the diner like it was magic. The way your fingers had brushed hers across the table. The way you kissed her so softly at your door.

She’d gone home that night feeling something she didn’t let herself name. Something that sat heavy in her chest and warm in her ribs. Now she feels like she’s watching it slip away. And she doesn’t even know why.

Behind her, there's a quiet scuff of feet and a soft thunk of a locker door.

Then a familiar voice- calm and too perceptive by half. “Hey.”

Sevika stiffens slightly. Looks up.

Ran.

They’re leaning against the lockers across from her, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded like they’ve been there long enough to read Sevika’s whole emotional state and draft a thesis on it.

But her expression isn’t mocking. Not this time. Just curious. Concerned. Sharp around the edges in that way only Ran can pull off without sounding like they’re lecturing you.

“You good?” she asks.

Sevika exhales, slow and tight. “Fine.”

Ran tilts their head, unconvinced. They sit in silence for a while. Sevika keeps scowling at the floor until– “...No.”

Ran’s arms loosen just slightly across their chest. They don't smirk, don't push. They’re reading the room, watching Sevika carefully like she’s a skittish animal ready to bolt.

“She left fast,” Ran says, voice even, like it’s just an observation.

Sevika’s jaw flexes. “I noticed.”

Ran shifts their weight but doesn't break eye contact. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

After a long pause, she adds, casually: “She looked upset.”

That lands hard. Sevika doesn’t respond, but her eyes flick up- sharp, stung. Ran watches her reaction. Tucks the confirmation away without comment.

“I don’t know what I did,” Sevika mutters finally.

Ran nods slowly, arms still folded. “Date go bad?”

“No. It went—” Sevika breaks off, shaking her head. “It went good. She smiled. She kissed me. We texted after.”

“Then maybe it’s not about the date,” Ran says.

Their tone stays light, neutral. But they watch Sevika closely. Measure the way her brow furrows, the way her hands clench tighter between her knees.

“Could be something else,” Ran adds, “or someone.”

The shift is subtle. Intentional. She doesn’t say the teammate’s name. But Sevika’s body goes still.

Ran sees it but doesn’t press. Just lets the implication sit. A nudge, not a shove.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters.

And that’s all Ran needs to hear. They push off the locker, stretching lazily like they’re just making conversation. “Look, I don’t know what happened,” they say. “But if it’s important maybe stop staring at the floor and start figuring out how to fix it.” And just like that, they turn to go.

No judgment. No teasing. Just their usual quiet brand of tough love, dropped like a stone in the middle of Sevika’s spiral.

Sevika stays where she is for a few more seconds. Then drags both hands down her face with a groan, before reaching for her phone.

—

You’re halfway through changing when your phone buzzes across the desk. You don’t even look at first. You know who it is. You feel it in your chest.

Eventually, you check– Sevika. Calling.

Your thumb hovers over the screen but you don't answer. Not out of spite. Just… you’re not ready. Still too wrapped up in your own head, caught between doubt and guilt and god, I wanted her to be different.

The call rings out. The screen goes dark. You sit back against the chair, heart pounding, mind racing. You tell yourself it’s fine. That she’ll get it. That you’re allowed to need space.

But a minute later- She calls again.

You stare at the screen longer this time. There’s a weird ache in your chest. The same ache you felt after that night at the away game- when she pulled away without a word. When she vanished and left you scrambling, wondering what you’d done wrong.

And now you’re doing the same thing. You sigh. Run a hand through your hair.

Then you swipe to answer.

“…Hey.”

There’s silence on the other end for a second too long.

Then: “You picked up.” Her voice is rougher than usual tense, but quiet. Like she wasn’t expecting you to actually answer.

“Yeah,” you say. “I didn’t want to ignore you. I just… needed a minute.”

Another beat. Then she asks, cautious: “Did I do something?”

You close your eyes.

“No,” you say softly. “I mean- not on purpose. I don’t know.”  You pause, then add, “It’s not fair to make you guess.”

More silence. You hear her exhale through her nose.

“Can we talk?” she asks. “Like- really talk?”

You hesitate, then nod before realizing she can’t see you. “Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”

You don't know exactly what you’ll say yet, or how to explain the way your mind spun out all day over something that probably wasn’t even real. But you know one thing for sure: You don’t want to hurt her. Not like that. She doesn’t deserve that.

—

Twenty minutes after the call, there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate for a second, then cross the room and open it. And there she is- Sevika.

In a hoodie that’s a little too big on her, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in her forearms. Her hair is still damp from the shower, pushed back messily like she didn’t bother with a mirror. Her jaw is tense, her mouth set in a line that tries to stay calm, but the twitch in her fingers gives her away. Like she couldn’t stay still after hanging up. Like she came straight here, nerves and all, just to make this right.

She looks beautiful. Your breath catches a little. Because somehow, she always looks the best when she’s like this- unguarded. Like she doesn’t know how fucking magnetic she is.

The hard line of her shoulders. The storm in her eyes. The rawness she doesn’t know she’s showing.

God, she’s too much.

“Hi,” she says, voice low and rough at the edges.

You blink, breath still caught in your throat. “…Hey.”

You step back. “Come in.”

It’s quiet for a while.

You sit on the couch with Sevika, the space between you charged with quiet tension. She’s waiting. Not pushing- just waiting. You take a shaky breath, looking down at your hands in your lap. You’ve been turning the words over in your head all day, but now they feel jagged in your throat.

“I know it’s dumb,” you start. “But… I saw you today. With her.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow slightly, not defensive- just focused. She knows who you mean immediately.

“That girl- on the team. The one who’s always- flirting with you. All over you.” You say it flatly, trying not to sound bitter.

“Oh,” Sevika says, voice low.

“And it just… got in my head,” you admit. “Because you didn’t push her away.”

Sevika shifts like she wants to explain, but doesn’t interrupt.

Your throat tightens. “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about what my friends- ” The words come too fast. 

You freeze. Eyes wide. You cover your mouth with your hand like you could shove the sentence back inside.

Shit. You didn’t mean to say that. But it’s out now.

Sevika sits up straighter, eyes sharpening immediately. “…Your friends? What did they say?” she asks carefully.

You look away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she says, firm but low. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, but she leans in- voice softer now, but insistent. You stare at the coffee table like the grain in the wood might save you. Then, reluctantly: “They said some stuff. After the date.”

Her hands are already curled into fists in her lap.

You rush to soften it. “It wasn’t like- they didn’t mean it like that. They just… they’re protective. And they remember how upset I was after the away game. And they think I’m-”

Your voice drops to a near whisper.  “-setting myself up to get hurt.”

That hangs there for a second too long. You look down again, swallowing hard. Sevika stills. Her hands curl into fists in her lap, slow and tight. And her jaw clenches so hard you see the muscle twitch. And when you finally glance up at her, her gaze is on the floor, her face holds an unreadable expression. But the silence is brutal.

She breathes in, shallow. Then finally says- soft, flat: “They think I’m not serious.”

You wince. “I’m not saying they’re right. I’m just- ”

“No,” she cuts in. “It’s okay. I get it. I know what I look like from the outside.”

You turn to face her. “Sev- ”

“I know what people say about me. That I’m cold, distant, not the relationship type. They're not wrong. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length, kept things short, casual. Easy to build a wall when no one expects anything from you.”

She swallows, jaw clenching.“So yeah, I get why it looks bad. Why they’d think I’m just doing it again.”

There’s no bitterness in it. Just cold honesty.

“But that’s not what this is,” she adds. She looks up, and her voice is rougher now. “I need you to know that.”

You don’t interrupt. You just watch the way her eyes shine more than they should, the way her jaw clenches like she’s holding something back.

“I’m trying,” she says. “I’m fucking trying.” Her voice breaks- just slightly. Her jaw flexes again. Her chest rises with a shaky breath, and her eyes flick down, then quickly away, like she doesn’t want you to see it.

But you do.

You see the way her eyes gloss over, the way her shoulders tense like she’s barely holding it together. Not crying, but on the edge of it. Misty and raw in a way Sevika never lets herself be seen.

And your heart just splinters.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, your voice catching. “I’m so sorry. I just-” You exhale shakily. “I got scared.”

You feel it more now- the weight of it. How unfair it was. The way her voice cracked. The way she’s sitting so still, trying not to fall apart.

“I let them get in my head,” you admit. “And that’s on me.”

She doesn’t respond, but her breath hitches. She blinks hard and presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to choke the feeling down. Her hand in yours is warm and solid, but her fingers twitch, betraying the spiral beneath the surface. Then her eyes dart away, and you catch it- the tear that spills over before she can stop it.

She rubs it away with the back of her hand- rough and fast, like it embarrassed her just to let it fall. You reach up, gently, and brush your thumb along the other side of her cheek. She stiffens at the touch, but doesn't pull back.

You search her face. “You’ve been doing everything right, Sev. I just- got in my own way. And I’m so sorry.”

She blinks again. Breath shaky. Voice rough.

“I’m not good at this.”

You give a tired, self-deprecating little huff in response. “I’m not proving to be much better…”

“I mean- I let a couple offhand comments from people who weren’t even there outweigh everything I saw and felt that night. I’m not exactly winning any awards over here.”

Her mouth twitches, just barely. “So we both suck at this.”

You smile, just a little. “Yeah, well… at least it keeps us even”

She huffs something close to a laugh, but it tapers off fast. Her face still feels warm and flushed.  “Fuck,” she whispers, sniffling. “I don’t cry. What the hell are you doing to me?” A shaky breath escapes her, half a laugh and half something else.

You lean in until your forehead presses to hers, your hand cradling the side of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders finally drop. And for a long, quiet beat, you just sit there. Forehead to forehead. Fingers tangled between you.

After a while you pull back just slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are still red around the edges, still glassy, but she doesn’t try to hide it anymore.

You tilt your head. “Wanna stay a while?” You smile, small and warm. “We could… put something on. One of those bad action movies you like. Something with explosions and horrible acting. Preferably violent.”

She huffs under her breath, but there’s the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth. “Watch it,” she mutters. “Those are classics.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mmm, sure. Deeply nuanced storytelling… Nothing says emotional range like twenty minutes of slow-mo gunfire and a one-liner about justice.”

“Okay, now you’re just asking to be kicked off the couch.” she says, deadpan.

“I’d like to see you try, big girl” you murmur, grinning.

She looks at you, eyes a little softer now. Like she can breathe again. And then you tilt your head, tone dropping low, teasing around the edges.

“I mean… your shoulder must be acting up again. It’s been weeks since you crawled into my lap whining about how you needed to be held?”

She groans immediately, dragging a hand down her face. “Fuck’s sake.”

You smile—just a little. “I’m just saying. You made a very convincing case last time.I’m just trying to be a responsible manager here.”

“Don’t,” she warns, but she’s already fighting a smile.

You don’t say anything. You just tug her gently down with you, guiding her head onto your chest. And when she follows- quiet, still a little raw- you don’t push or tease anymore. You just cradle her into your arms, wrapping them around her and letting her sink into you, like gravity takes her. 

And maybe that’s all they need right now- just this. Just here. And for it to finally feel like a beginning.

[garbinge]

EVERYTHING I NEVER DEAL WITH

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & F!Attending!Reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Attending!Reader // Word Count: 3k

Summary: When a rough day allows old emotions to catch up to you, you find yourself very openly breaking down on hospital steps. After a little comforting talk from your mentor, you run into your fiancé as your shift ends.

Warnings/Tags: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Crying. Mentions + descriptions of compartmentalizing and not really addressing emotions/dealing with trauma. Mental health struggles. Reader is engaged. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: First The Pitt Fic! I've been dying to write for The Pitt but there's so many good fics out there I felt a bit intimidated!! The way I relate to Robby so much it's actually unwell but that's okay because we can just project in fic baby!!!! I also have uncontrollable Jack Abbot brain rot so I needed to find a way to include him in this and if it makes it cringe, well then so be it!!!! I hope I captured both of these characters voices, I haven't written in a while so I had to dust off the cobwebs in my brain haha.

You didn’t care about the people staring at you as they were walking up and down the stairs. It was a mix of healthcare workers, patients, and families of patients but none of that mattered. You could’ve tried to hide it. Maybe sit on the bench that was tucked around the corner, almost under the stairway. Or at least maybe try and muffle your sobs but you had reached a point where that wasn’t possible.

Every suppressed emotion from the last 10 years was bubbling at your throat, filling your brain with thoughts in a way that you wished numbed your mind but just paralyzed it so it felt like you were drowning. It was like the static from a radio station except instead of that fuzzy noise it was feelings from years ago clashing with feelings from now. One thought connected to another, which jumped to four more and suddenly there were 30 thoughts all strung together with sobs and a weight in your chest convincing you this was all too much to handle.

That’s how these things went right? You’d bottle it up for months, letting everything that ever made you feel uncomfortable, angry or upset fall to the back of your mind. You’d call it compartmentalizing because that sounded good. It sounded professional, like you had control over it. But really it was just disassociating. It was just putting it in a box inside a box and pushing it to the back of the closet hoping nothing would be added on top of it. But eventually after a few months of pushing it all back there, it’d be overflowed. You’d cry. You’d snap. Sometimes it’d be alone in bed after you watched something online that had you go, ‘hey, that’s how I feel’. Sometimes it’d be in the car, in the form of crying over a song where the lyrics felt a little too personal even though the song had nothing to do with what was on your mind, or maybe just a frustrated string of words at the guy who cut you off. It would happen in the shower on a good day, where it felt like the water took your struggles down the drain with it. And then, the bathroom at work on a bad day because you hated showing anyone how you really felt. Maybe you’d snap at the guy you were deeply in love with, roll your eyes at your best friend, give an attitude to the man who you looked at like an older brother. 

Sure, you could joke about it, a little self-deprecating joke about your mental health, your anxiety and depression all won chuckles all around the ER because each and everyone of them went through it in their own way. And yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to be real in front of them. You always put up a face. Even when you were dealing with it. In bed, in the car, in the shower, in the bathroom at work. There’d be a moment, where instead of dealing with it, figuring out a way to work through it, you flipped the switch. Pushed all the boxes back up in the closet and shut the door like nothing happened then go months without thinking about it again.  

That’s what lead you to sobbing uncontrollably on the steps just outside the emergency department. Everything was catching up to you again. This one felt worse than the other times. It felt more exhausting, maybe because you knew you couldn’t keep going on like this again and again. That you didn’t even have the energy to stack those boxes up again. Nor did you really want to. But there was that panic in seeing them all over the floor and then panic in not wanting to touch them or clean them up. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion you couldn’t be bothered to label just staring at you at your worst. 

It was then that’s when you felt someone’s body heat next to you. There were no words for a while. Just company. An arm around you in a sideways hug. A literal shoulder to cry on. 

After a while, you heard his voice muffled and against your head before he removed his arm from over your shoulders.  

“It’s gonna be okay.” 

“How can you say that when you don’t even know what it is?” You sniffled and realized the only way you were going to get a breath in was through your mouth. 

“Because whatever it is, it’s always okay.” 

“I don’t think I believe you,” now you looked up, taking in Dr. Robby’s face, his eyes were locked on you and his mouth twisted in a smile at your words. 

“You’re like an angsty teenager,” his eyebrows were raised, a smile still on his face as he shook his head and rolled his eyes a little bit. He was resting his arms on his knees now, leaning forward just slightly.

“Sounds about right, think this,” you waved your hands around your face, “is a bunch of repressed shit since then.” 

“You can’t compartmentalize everything. Hell, you probably shouldn’t compartmentalize any of it, but with what we do, it’s inevitable,” he shrugged before leaning back into you, rocking you back and forth a bit. 

You rested your head on his shoulder again. Dr. Robby was like a brother to you. You were a first year attending now, but he was your mentor through each year of your residency. Even when you made a rash decision to move to family medicine for 6 months before realizing you craved the chaos of the ED. Looking back it was probably because it kept you on your toes, kept your mind busy, kept all of this at bay more than any other department. 

You looked at him when he spoke, not needing any words or even facial expressions for him to understand what you were thinking. 

He shook his head with a chuckle, looking up at the bright white lights above the stairs before turning back to look at you. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he frowned like it was obvious. 

“They do say those who can’t do, teach,” you smiled, finding your words incredibly quick and witty. 

“I’ve been bottling this shit up for a lot longer than you have and pushing it all back in doesn’t get easier. It feels like it’s the easier route but it only seems that way because every time there's a little bit more shit to sift through than the last and then before you know it, it's too much,” his hand squeezed your knee. 

“I feel like it’s too much now,” you let out a little air through your nose as it finally started to clear. 

“Imagine in 10 more years how you’ll feel,” Robby shook his head thinking about his own issue with compartmentalizing everything. 

“15,” you corrected him, “at least.”  That quick wit again. “Let’s not age me on top of everything,” you smiled, the first genuine one since you found yourself at these steps. 

“Angsty. Teenager.” He bumped his shoulder into yours. 

“I’ve been seeing Abbot’s guy. The therapist. Well, not his guy. But someone at the same office,” you trailed off before finding your way back to the point. “It’s nice but I don’t feel like it’s working.” After a quick inhale you shut your eyes tight and brought your hand over them to rub them quickly. “Told Jack that and he told me it only works if you work it, or like you get what you give or some shit.” 

“For someone going through an ongoing existential crisis, he’s probably the best one to trust with this kind of thing,” Robby’s head tilted as his eyebrows lifted, his mouth turning to a smirking frown. 

“How many people told you I was breaking down out here,” it had already started, where you shoved everything back in the closet. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe you’d do what Jack said, put the work in in therapy. But right now in this moment, you needed to do whatever would get you through the shift. 

“A few, in their own way,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “Whitiker kept it to himself, but his eyes gave away a clue that he saw something that freaked him out.” That made you laugh. “Samira said you were taking a break and not to go looking for you, that you’d come back when you were ready.” That sounded like her, knowing just what everyone needed and respecting your space. “Santos and Javadi are with Dr. McKay working through chairs so think you’re in the clear there. Mel is with our pedes case otherwise I have a feeling it would have been her sitting here not me, then Collins left early and Langdon has been staring at the board waiting for something that sparks joy.” 

“Very Marie Kondo of him,” you rolled your eyes. “So how’d you know I was here, then?” 

“Jack.” His answer came fast. “Saw you when he was meeting with a family in the quiet room,” Robby’s hand lifted to point to the room just inside the ED sliding doors, a clear view to where you were on the stairs. 

“Surprised he didn’t come sit with me himself.” 

“He said, and I quote. Those who can’t do, teach. Think maybe coming from you it might hold a little more weight.” Robby couldn’t help but grin at that and you matched him with your own.

“My teenage angst is rubbing off on him,” you brought your fingertips back to your face, letting them dig into your closed eyes again and letting your palms massage your cheeks as you did. “Drink?” You brought your hands down to slap your knees as a way to snap you right out of this breakdown.

“We got 15 left in shift.” Robby was holding his watch up for you to see. 

“Wrong.” You shook your head and tapped the watch face. “We’re 15 over.” 

That got him to look at the watch in confusion, worried that his mind tricked him. “No, it's quarter of.” 

“I got here 30 minutes early. And if I recall you gave a speech last week about overtime and needing it to be approved or signed off on due to a critical case or something of that nature. I see neither.” You were standing up now, jumping down one step before turning to look back at your senior attending. 

“I have half a mind to approve overtime for you right now and bear the wrath of the suits for it later,” He was trying to hold a serious face as he spoke to you, but you saw right through it.

You lifted your hands like a scale. “Letting me head to the park early, having any conversation with Gloria.” You lifted them back and forth until one was above your head. “Clearly there’s a right answer here.” 

“Go, I’ll meet you there in 15,” he waved his hand and with that you smiled and started walking away before taking a beat and turning back to face him. 

“Thanks. For the whole,” you pointed to the stairs, “you know, pep talk.” 

“I don’t think there was any pep in that talk,” Robby let out a laugh. 

“I don’t know,” you tapped your foot on the tile. “I feel a little pep in my step.” You were teasing and then nodded earnestly. “I mean it, thank you. You’re the big brother I never wanted,” another tease from you through a smile. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Robby. Seriously. Thank you.” 

He just nodded and brought his hand up to his heart and tapped it. Nodding back, you turned and walked over to your locker to grab your things. You tossed the sweatshirt that wasn’t yours but you wore to and from work everyday anyways on, zipping it up halfway. You grabbed your rings from your little jewelry plate and tucked them onto your left ring finger, followed by a quick makeup wipe to your face and checking your phone to send one important request out. Once you tossed your backpack over one shoulder, you closed your locker and made your way outside. 

You let your head fall back as the cool fresh air hit your face. Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks still warm from crying, the weight still heavy on your chest but less on your mind at the moment. 

“Feeling better?” a raspy voice filled your ear and you couldn’t help but smile when you heard it. 

“No.” There was sarcasm in your tone, because you knew it’d earn a smile from the man approaching on your left. 

“S’just a boost to my ego that I’m the only one who can make you feel better,” Jack was next to you now, his hand resting on the strap of his army backpack as you both looked out at the road. 

“Well, in that case, I’m fantastic,” you turned to look at him just to see his smirk grow. He turned to look at you and frowned his mouth in a knowing way. 

“Trick question, babe. I win regardless of the answer,” his hand dropped from his bag to grab yours. He was quick to bring it up to his mouth and plant a quick kiss there before looking both ways to cross the road, bringing you along with him. 

“They teach you that in therapy?” you called out over the noise of the late night street traffic.

“Yeah, they uh call it perspective,’ he tossed the words over his shoulder before both of you landed at the park’s entrance.  

“Perspective huh?” your voice was lower now.

“You headed home or want to have a drink?” his question was asked still a good few feet away from everyone, you were tucked behind a tall tree so if you wanted to make your escape, no one would see, not that they’d hold it against you.

“Everyone saw me crying,” your eyes were peering around the shrubs to see Donnie next to the cooler, Mateo next to him handing a drink to Princess who had just dropped her bag next to the bench. 

“Everyone saw you have a rough day,” Jack corrected you, his eyes steady on yours even though you were looking everywhere but. 

“You and that damn perspective,” another teasing remark left your lips and you closed your eyes. “I wasn’t crying over the rough day,” now it was your turn to correct him. “I was crying from stress which turned into crying over family, over shit from my past, over things I can’t fix–things I should’ve fixed,” you took a breath, “I was crying over everything I never deal with.” 

There was silence for a beat longer than you expected so you opened your eyes to see Jack looking at you. His eyes meeting yours felt like a hand reaching into the whirlpool to pull you out. 

“Sounds to me like you’re dealing with it now, and that’s all you can do.” 

“I don’t want to,” you shook your head, it was a bratty response, but it was how you felt. 

“Then you can cry on the steps in the hospital all you want,” Jack wasn’t joking, he was being serious, you knew he probably had an opinion but you also knew he would never push anything on you. If you wanted to cry in the staircase, he’d let you, he’d join you, he’d tell anyone he heard talk about it to mind their fucking business, too. 

“I told Robby I’d have a drink,” you pointed to the crowd of your coworkers that had gotten bigger since you two had started standing there. “Plus, I put in a request to see my therapist tomorrow morning so maybe I can show up still a little drunk.” 

“So the talk did work.” Jack grinned as he grabbed your hand again and started walking towards the benches. 

“I’m open to other options next time,” you let go of his hand and nuzzled into his side. He quickly tossed a hand around your shoulders, holding his backpack strap with the other again. Jack let out a hum in a way like he was questioning what other options you had in mind. “Quickie in the on-call room, quickie in the break room…” 

His face got close to your ear and he whispered so none of the group you were approaching could hear him. “Seems like there’s a pattern you’re getting at.” 

“Mhm.” You turned your head and looked up at him. 

He stopped walking for a minute and stared back down at you, turning so his arm that was wrapped around you, now was settling against your cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” his eyes were locked on yours which is how you knew while he was always down for fooling around with you, he didn’t really mean it this time. He wanted you to be okay for real. He wanted you to get through this weight that’s lived like a cloud over you for years. So you just smiled. “Maybe we can start scheduling our therapy appointments at the same time and have quickies in a supply closet there.” 

That got him to laugh and you caught his gaze moving between your eyes and lips. “My therapist did say I find comfort in the darkness.” 

“No place darker than a supply closet,” your grin was interrupted by a deep kiss to your lips. You melted into it, similar to the way when you come home after a long day and you change into your comfiest clothes and sink into your favorite spot on the couch. It was safe. It was comfort. It was relief. Jack pulled away and then placed another peck to your forehead before he resumed walking you towards the bench with the crew you just finished your shift with. 

“Beer?” Donnie called out to both of you. 

You nodded and held your hands up to catch the cold drink before finding a spot on the bench across from them. “And keep ‘em comin’.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune ੈ✩‧₊˚ 🥼 The Pitt Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (just lmk if you'd like to be added!)

Feel free to send me requests for Jack Abbot & Dr Robby ♡ As always it just might take me some time to jump into them!

[waynes-multiverse]

FINALLY!!!! Diving right in 🤓

He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap.

That description made me snort because it’s so fucking fitting for this guy 😂👌

And seriously, this dude can’t take a fucking hint to literally save his life. Jesus… Bro, she ain’t that into you. Get the memo. The way he kept calling her baby and didn’t pick up how fucking weird that is, is soooo delusional. I actually think he needs mental help at this point 🙈

Anyways, can’t wait to see you go, Cujo!!

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-”

Okay, I might need mental help too. This should not have turned me on 😂😂 (But I’m self-aware, so we’re good???)

On a serious note, her history with Cujo is horrifying. What a fucking creep. Slipping pills into drinks of underage girls? Yeah, he deserves to die, and I totally get why she’d wanna do it. I always thought the most fitting punishment for guys like that was what Ramsey Bolton did to Theon Greyjoy in GoT… ^^

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

And God, I’m melting here with Russell, the killing machine, taking charge and taking care of her. He’s soft for *us* 🫠❤️‍🔥

Michelle, you’re making me question my morals and they weren’t that high to begin with 😂

Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move.

Is this you commenting on TV!Colter? Dead 😂💀

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Oh, don’t sweetie us, Russ... Loved how she wasn’t taking any of his crap and called him out on his shit!! 👏 This was sooo good and I was cheering her on all the way 👇👇👇

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

The fact his reply was “Maybe this was a mistake” made me want to slap his goddamn head off! Whyyyyyy, you emotionally unavailable recluse?!?!

Gaaaaah, I think the most frustrating part is that he tried so hard to convince her he’s the one for her and he’ll be there, and at the first sign of trouble, he fucking walks it back. How exactly is she supposed to trust another word out of his mouth? Grrr

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine.

I seriously wanna hit him so fucking hard for being such a big idiot!!! God, the self-worth issues with this man is almost another Deanism 🙈

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room.

Awww, he really does like her 🥰 The fact he’s willingly staying in a house with another person says a lot lol

No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands.

*sighs* Alright, Fluffy, get in… 🫠 And points for being honest. He really took a long look in the mirror and opened up to her big time! And on the other hand, her point of wanting too much too soon is also true. They have known each other for only a short amount of time. They’ve already shared more with each other than people during the first ten dates lol

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?”

I have that song constantly in my head anyways!!! Can you not?! Russell’s Swifite is showing again 🤣

Those two basically during this scene lmao:

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

Oh her bluntness had me dead 🤣🤣🤣

And I absolutely love that you have Russell running with his own little underground crew here like in the books! 😍

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen.

Not the peanut gallery chiming in 😂🫶

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

God, I’m fucking loving this dynamic so much!!! I’m a sucker for a brutal interrogation 😍😍😍 (Again, yes, I know the mental help. Will get on it soon… -ish)

And my fucking skin is crawling, btw!!! The sheer amount of effort Cujo put fucking into this and the bars on the windows and the padlock on the door??? Holy fucking shit!!! She really was lucky Russell came when he did. I don’t wanna imagine what would’ve happened to this poor girl otherwise 🙈😳

Again, is the Ramsey Bolton option off the table??? Force-feed him his sausage, girl!!!!

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

Yeah… Really is a draw of luck 😔 (And honestly it’s why True Crime is so creepy and sad because it’s always “We never thought this could happen to our town/our family/me” etc. If you’re unlucky, all it takes is sitting next to the wrong person on the bus)

The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.

Yes 💯 Camus has always been my favorite because I do agree that’s it all a little absurd if you think too hard about it…

“I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

Cue the Radiohead 😂💚

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

Aww, I’m so happy they made up too and are getting closer 🥰 The most frustrating part of the show is still how they brushed off Russell’s hurt over being accused of murder for twenty years by his own brother lol. I always loved that honest chat they had in the books about it 🤓

“Just an observation.”

Oh Colter 🫶

After she went to live with our aunt and uncle.

Aaah, loved this little tidbit about Dory!!! 👏👏 I can’t remember if they ever mentioned it on the show as well or if Dory actually lived on the compound till the end 🤔 (Still wild book!Dory has a wholeass husband and kids and goddamn escape plans set in place lol)

“No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

Bahaha loved how he backtracked so fast there was almost a Russell-shaped hole in the front door 😂

Awwww, this was such a perfect ending!! Both of them having a home and each other and a perfectly chosen family 🥹😭

This was an amazing series, Michelle! I loved all the book Easter eggs you weaved in so flawlessly and your characterization of both Russell and Colter! And aside from that, I was so hooked on the main storyline with the mafia and her being a fixer wanting to get out. You did such a great job with her background story and planning all those details perfectly and keeping the tension going, even with that last stretch when Owen showed up at the supermarket and then again during the interrogation. Seriously can’t wait what else you have in store for them with the other two one-shots! Well done, friend!!! 🩵🩵🩵

He's My Man (Part 5)

Summary: Russell's taken care of the reader's problem but things take a turn and the happy couple may not be so happy after all...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,300ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury/past drugging/brief mention of attempted assault (not shown) mention, angst, fluff, smut, stalker, murder, self-worth issues

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me with writing this new character! I might return to this world someday but until then, please enjoy the finale!

__________

When you pulled up to the dark house, you noticed Russell’s car had been pulled into the garage and covered with a tarp. You swallowed as you pulled in beside it, biting back bile when Owen parked right behind you, preventing any escape if it came to that. You’d given Russell nearly thirty minutes notice to prepare. You really hoped whatever he had planned was going to be over with fast.

“Fuck,” said Owen, dashing from his car in the downpour to inside the garage. He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap. You’d seen the gash on his forehead before but from the overhead light, a skull fracture was very visible. The dried blood had matted into his thick hair and, along with the other injuries, made him look half-dead. 

“Why don’t you go relax inside, honey?” you forced out when you exited, slamming the door shut loudly, hoping Russell picked up on the fact you were here. “I’ll get the bags and then I’ll take a look at those cuts.”

“Thanks, baby. Don’t take too long.” You didn’t like how he kept saying that. He’d hung off of you at the store. Even if he wasn’t a raging psycho, personal space was still a thing.

You pretended to fuss about at the trunk as he went in the door from the garage to the house. It was quiet for a beat, your gaze locked on the open door in the corner.

Two quick shots rang out and you hit the cement floor hard. Nothing could be heard over the rain, your heart hammering away in your chest. Russell wouldn’t have shot Owen, would he? No, Russell would have snuck up on him, taken him out before he knew what hit him.

So had Owen been shooting? Was Russell hurt? You slowly sat up on your hands and knees, crawling along the side of the car until you reached the hood. You peaked your head around the corner and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground through the open door. It looked like Owen so you carefully rose, flinching when Russell came bounding in from behind you.

He held up his hands, your eyes widening at the blood staining his crisp white tee. 

“What-”

“My stitches tore,” he said, turning his bicep towards you, the blood staining underneath the bandage. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, glancing back inside to where the body lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”

“Not yet,” said Russell, inching past you towards a work bench. “Although he did shoot my fucking front door. Do you have any idea how much a custom mahogany door costs? I might kill him for that alone.”

Russell opened a drawer, taking out duct tape and zip ties. He slammed it shut, pausing with his back to you.

“He’s not going to leave you alone if I let him live.” 

“I know. He’s been following me for awhile I guess,” you said. 

“I can frame him for Elpine’s murder if you don’t want me to kill him.” You leaned back against your car, Russell setting the items on the bench and joining you. “I don’t have to…you know.”

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-” You went to his workbench and ripped off a garbage bag from the roll, Russell closing his eyes. “Y/N, you should stay out here. Let me do this.”

“Owen started slipping roofies into my drinks when I was fifteen.” His head snapped up as you sighed. “He drugged me twice but nothing happened because my dad was around. I had to be more careful once dad started to lose it. Owen’s a good decade older than me I’m sure you noticed. I’ve been scared of this guy for too long. I’m not asking you to kill him. I’m asking you to show me how to do this myself.”

“I appreciate how strong you are but I’m doing it,” he said, taking the bag from you. You dropped your hand, frowning up at him. He sighed, stroking your cheek with his clean hand. “Your soul has enough scars for a lifetime. Don’t add more.”

“You don’t have to kill someone for me, Russell. You don’t need that on you either. Look what you’ve already done.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

Three Hours Later

“To be perfectly clear, I’m doing this for Y/N, not you,” said Colter with a coldness you didn’t love. You knew Russell’s relationship with his little brother was strained but you’d thought it had gotten better over the past few days.

“Yeah, well it don’t take a genius to see you like her better,” said Russell, Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move. “I’ll never ask you for a thing again. You never even have to speak to me. Think what you want about me. Just please do this for Y/N’s sake.”

“I already…” huffed Colter when you side eyed him with narrowed eyes. He let out a slow exhale. “Fine. You owe me, Russell. Big.”

“Colter,” you said, nodding towards his truck. You left Russell as he went back to taping the large cooler in the garage shut. You assumed he’d put Owen inside and cleaned up while you were gone at the store. The rain had paused momentarily but there was another batch of storms coming through soon. You sighed as you stopped next to the younger Shaw, Colter crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you do this. I know Russell asked but I can’t let you move a body for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, face turning into a scowl. 

“I’m not moving…Russell!” Russ’ head popped up, Colter becoming increasingly annoyed. “Tell me what is going on right now or I swear you and me are done. Forever.”

Russell sighed, throwing his head back. “I may have lied about the Y/N wanting to tag along with you so she can tidy up her place in Virginia.”

“You what?” you asked, storming over to him. “You were trying to pawn me off on Colter again? For what! Owen’s dead, there’s no one left to bother me.”

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Slowly Russell met your gaze, ignoring Colter behind you. “So is this how it’s going to be? Any time everything’s not perfect you’re going to drop me on your brothers doorstep at the drop of a hat? News flash, Colter isn’t my babysitter. I’m a grown woman who has seen and handled more crap than you know. I thought you didn’t think of me as a damsel.”

“I don’t but-”

“But you don’t want me around for the hard stuff. I got the message.” 

“Y/N, someone else could still be left. They could kill you-” You held up your hand, Colter heading back to his truck to give you some space.

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

Russell swallowed, face going stoic. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Your heart dropped like a rock into the pit of your stomach, Russell’s jaw clenching. “You should pack up your stuff here and go with Colter. Go back to Virginia. You’re probably right. This was just attraction, plain and simple.”

“Russell, that’s not what I was saying-” 

“Yeah, it was. Just go. Please. I’ll deal with Owen. Just go back to Virginia and start your life over away from people like us.” With that he brushed past you for Colter, ignoring his repeated calls. 

“Asshole,” you mumbled as you went inside and shoved the few belongings that weren’t in the trunk of your car into a bag. You very purposefully left every pair of underwear, bra and pajamas he’d bought you behind. The cheap sports bra and cotton underwear you’d bought earlier would get you through until you were home.

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine. You were free of the mafia. Free of guys with fucked up pasts. Your options were limitless.

And thank god Colter was smart enough to not ask about your red rimmed eyes by the time you were on the road.

Five Days Later

You gave Colter a wave from your front step as he drove off down the street. It’d taken only two days to drive cross country this time. Apparently you drove faster when you were upset. Or you didn’t sleep as much. Either way, Colter didn’t ask and was happy to get to Virginia where he had a missing accountant to find.

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room. In exchange, Colter got you hooked up with the basics of reward work. There were some extra perils to the job being a woman but also advantages that Colter didn’t have. He went over finding jobs, finding a team, learning how to get access to tools and databases. You didn’t have a lot of confidence in going after a full fledged disappearance yet but Colter mentioned it wasn’t always people that were what was missing.

By the end of his short stay, you had information overload but were grateful for the chance to start doing something good for once in your life.

Meanwhile, Russell hadn’t reached out once. You had to assume he’d disposed of Owen. You weren’t sure why you were still waiting for a text or a call. It was pretty clear things were over. Russell was too protective and you weren’t going to let another man tell you what to do again. 

Yet, you knew you were at fault too. Russell had just killed a guy in his house for you and he knew a hell lot more about getting away with a murder than you did. Russell had points for not wanting to involve you. And you had to be an asshole and pressure him for more when there was literally a dead body at your feet.

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, leaning against the kitchen island with your head lowered. “Why did I do that?”

The doorbell rang, your head slowly rising. You sighed as you went to it, pulling it open quickly. 

“Did you forget-” You cut yourself off when you didn’t see Colter standing there. No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands. “Russ? What-”

“Let me get this out and then I’ll get out of your life forever if that’s what you want,” he said. You leaned against the door jam, Russell taking a deep breath. “Y/N, I like you. A lot. Too much probably for how long we’ve known each other. Everything you said was right. I avoid my problems because it’s a hell of a lot easier to fix someone else’s in my experience.”

He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “Owen could have hurt you at that store. He could have taken you, shown up at the house and killed you. I fucked up and you don’t seem to understand that Owen’s obsession and how fucking smart you are is the only reason we’re still here and he’s not. I told you I took care of it and I didn’t. I was angry at myself and wanted you somewhere safer than with me so I pushed your buttons on purpose. I lied on purpose so you’d get mad and leave with Colter. You deserve a good man and I’m not him. I kill people. I use sex as a way to be close to women but then never let myself be in a relationship because I don’t want them to see beneath the surface and see the shit that’s in there. I want better for you than me.”

Russell looked up, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Can we try being friends again and maybe I can become that man that deserves you along the way?”

“Russell,” you sighed. You stepped forward, cupping his cheeks, green eyes full of caution. “We can be friends. I’d like it if we were more than that, though.” 

He slowly smiled, his lip ticking up when you stroked his cheek. 

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. You do not have to share your deepest darkest secrets with me, never mind the first day we’re actually together. That was unfair of me. I just want you to know you can share them with me if you want to.” 

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Y/N,” he said softly. “Dozens. Some of them, most of them, I never gave two shits about. No nightmares. No trauma. That’s not normal. It’s been years since I’ve felt all that bad about killing.”

“You don’t need to feel bad about killing monsters,” you said. He closed his eyes and you leaned in, kissing his forehead. “S’that why you didn’t want me to kill Owen?”

“Moral and practical reasons,” he whispered. “I don’t kill out of revenge. I don’t think I ever have. It always has another purpose. Protect someone, protect a group or the general public from a threat. Some psych told me once that’s why I don’t struggle as much with what I’ve done as some other folks. The way I grew up helped me with that. But I do struggle with it still and you’ve struggled enough. You don’t need that on you.”

“I understand. I’m so used to being controlled and told what to do…I can never go back to that.”

“You never will,” he said, opening his eyes. You tilted your head, Russell turned into your touch to match. “I’m sure I’ll fuck things up again. We can be friends if that’s all you ever want.”

“I don’t want to be just friends. So what if we fight? That’s what couples do.” You took his hand in yours and the flowers in the other, leading him inside behind you. 

“I quit my job a few days ago.” You froze, spinning around on your heels. He shrugged, still holding your hand. “I can’t change my life without making some changes.”

“You still want to do that home brew for a career?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to give it a shot.” He spotted the stacks of papers on your kitchen table and open computer. “Colter offer you a spot on his team?”

“He did at first but I want to try doing it my way, stop patching up the bad guys and doing something good. He warned me it can be dangerous work though, especially as a woman flying solo.”

“He makes very good points,” said Russell, thumbing at your lip when you smiled. “What’s that look for?”

“Maybe you could be on my team sometimes, show me a few moves from the expert.” You started to walk backwards towards your bedroom, Russell’s eyebrows raising. “If you want to.”

“I’ll show you any kind of moves you’d like, qark.” He held his ground though, stopping you in place. You waited for the but to come, for him to push back on getting back together. Instead, he took the flowers from your hand and went into your kitchen, finding a tall glass and filling it with water. He set the flowers on the island before rejoining you, resting his hands on your hips. “I like the idea of working together as partners.”

“But…” you said, Russell kissing the top of your head.

“But you are far too kind, my queen of darkness. I was expecting to get told to get lost tonight and I have plans I can’t get out of with my friends very shortly.”

“Oh,” you said, Russell’s finger tips finding the ends of your hair and playing with a few strands. “If you have plans, we can meet up another-”

“You want to know my dark side?” Your eyes flicked to meet his, your head nodding once. “You can’t unknow what kind of man I am once you do. I don’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”

“I want to know you. All of you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Go change into something discreet. Dark clothes. Leave your phone home. If at any point you want to leave, say so and I bring you right back here, understand?” You nodded, Russell backing away. “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

“You can change in the bedroom with me.” He smirked but backed away.

“Another time. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, Russell glancing away.

“Don’t be mad but we need to pay Owen a visit.”

Twenty minutes later you quietly followed Russell into what looked like a decommission warehouse that should have been torn down a decade ago. The building was pitch black apart from the single light coming from the end of a hallway. You stuck behind Russell as you entered the room, stopping when you found six different men and a woman inside, most carrying a weapon on their hip or tucked into their jeans from what you could tell.

And smack in the center of the room tied to a chair was Owen very much still alive. Although…alive was being generous. He didn’t look more injured than when you’d last seen him but his color was off and his eyes were red and puffy. He wasn’t even angry when he saw you, just…scared.

“He behave while I was gone?” asked Russell to a man and woman nearby.

“Tried bribing Doug and then all of us to let him go,” said the woman. She gave Owen a nasty look before turning gentle as she looked towards Russell. “I think you scared the poor boy, Shaw.”

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?” said Russell, giving Owen a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So. Owen, my friends. Friends, Owen. You’re already acquainted with Y/N.”

Owen’s gaze flickered to you when Russell grabbed a chair from the wall and sat it a few feet away from Owen, facing him. Russell sat down slowly, nodding when you moved closer so you could see both their faces.

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

“On me, big guy,” said Russell, snapping his fingers, Owen reluctantly looking at him. “You got some options. Prison. You die very quickly. Or…me and my friends can make sure you die very slowly. Your choice.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yet?” you asked again. Russell sighed, glancing down. “Russell.”

“There were some things that never sat right with me that I wanted answers to. The stuff with your family’s accident and your dad’s paranoia, him attacking you. I had a paranoid father too. I know the signs, know that they want to protect us in their own way. The coincidence of meeting someone just like me was too high so I started to dig. You mentioned Owen’s drugged you a few times in the past and tried to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I’m not following,” you said. Russell stood slowly, staring down Owen like a predator with it’s prey firmly caught in a trap.

“I figured if he drugged you, who else had he slipped something to? What good man, good doctor, could a prescription drug running family slip into his drinks? The more I researched, the more my friends helped, the more we found.” Russell clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white. “Should I tell her Owen? Or do you have the balls to tell her yourself?”

Russell ripped off the tape over his mouth, Owen wincing as he breathed deeply. Russell was on him like that, grabbing his throat, not squeezing but adding enough pressure that it was going to be uncomfortable. “I told you to talk, you sack of shit.”

“Y/N, this guys is lying. I never did anything to you!” Russell’s jaw clenched and you watched him squeeze, only backing off when you laid a gentle hand on Russell’s shoulder. 

“He’s psycho!” said Owen, Russell backing up a step. You looked up to him, Russell’s face unreadable. “Y/N, baby-”

“Shut the fuck up before I stab you in your spine,” you said. Owen’s jaw snapped shut, a flicker of something in Russell’s eyes. Pride? Amusement? It quickly flittered away, replaced with worry when you held out a hand. “Can I have your knife?”

Russell slowly took it out of his pocket, handing the engraved handle out to you. You flicked it open and took a seat in the chair, holding it pointed down at the concrete floor.

“Owen. Tell me the truth and I won’t kill you. I swear. But I can get the answers from you if you don’t cooperate. Don’t make me get my boyfriend’s knife bloody.”

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen. He sagged in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Our old fixer wanted out, wanted to go to the feds so my dad had him killed. I was eighteen and he told me to start earning my place as successor. He told me to find a new fixer. Your dad was one of the best doctors in the city. Things were…arranged. Two weeks later we-” 

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

“Two weeks later I…put a hit on your family. Your mom and brother specifically. We only needed one kid to survive and I thought a girl would be easier to control. I started drugging your father that night with antipsychotics to create paranoia,” said Owen, his head hanging low. “I orchestrated the whole thing. We fed him the drugs for years, it made him stay close if not a little extreme. It kept taking more though.”

“Do. Not. Skip. Ahead,” growled Russell, grabbing a fistful of Owen’s shirt.

“O-okay. I-I…I started thinking about how to get your dad to stick around once you grew up and you were pretty and smart and I thought you’d be happy with me.”

“How old was she when you decided this?” barked Russell. Owen whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. “Fifteen you disgusting waste of space.”

“You started drugging me then,” you said. Owen shook his head.

“Not with that stuff. Just roofies. But not enough for you to be completely out of it. Your dad started keeping a closer eye on you and I tried waiting for you to come around on your own but it was so hard when you went away to college. I knew I couldn’t let you run off like that again so…” Owen’s shoulders shook, mouth snapping shut.

“So you roofied her, attacked her and she fought back. Her father protected her and you fucking killed him for it. Your dear old daddy found what you’d done and wasn’t happy, was he? He covered up your murder and blamed her father knowing Y/N wouldn’t remember a thing. Y/N was forced to go to med school and learn crap she didn’t want to all while daddy had you banished away from her. You tried to keep tabs on her but it wasn’t until dad died that you could finally take Y/N like you wanted. It’s pure fucking luck I showed up when I did to make sure that didn’t happen. Would you like to tell Y/N about the fucking padded door locks and bars on the window in her old room back at the house? About your plans for her?”

Russell grabbed Owen’s hair, forcing his head up. Owen was trembling, whispering apologies and saying how he didn’t mean it, over and over.

“So…you killed my family…and tried to assault me more than once over the years…and were planning on keeping me as a…pet in the house until I magically fell in love with you. I think that sums it up,” you said. You stood up, handing Russell his knife. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Thank you,” sighed Owen in relief. “Thank you. I-I knew you’d be able to forgive me-”

“Oh, I don’t forgive you and I wouldn’t be thanking me,” you said, smiling up at Russell. ““Papa Elpine and a few guys made it out I heard. Bobby was his favorite son, right?”

“Y/N! I killed Bobby! They’ll-” Russell shoved some tape over his mouth and hummed.

You crossed your arms, Russell tilting his head at you. “You know they’re going to torture Owen to death.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt him and I’m keeping my word,” you said, Owen shouting under the tape. “I’d tell you to confess but Elpine’s connected. He’d just have you killed in prison. So. Elpine it is.”

“You sure?” asked Russell. You pursed your lips, Owen pleading with his eyes. Everything in you wanted to say yes, let him get what he had coming. 

So why couldn’t you say it? 

You looked to Russell, nodding. “Get rid of him, please,” you mouthed.

“Look away,” said Russell. You turned around, Owen panting hard before there was a loud crack and the room was still. Russell’s hand found your shoulder, rubbing it softly. “We took care of Elpine’s guys. You know that.”

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot over the years. Best I came up with is you got to try and let it go. The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder, walking you towards the door. You nearly looked back but he blocked you with his body. “No. He’s gone for good, you don’t need to give him anything more. I’m sorry for not killing him back in Washington. I just thought you deserved the truth. Your dad was a good man.”

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I wish I realized that sooner.”

“Come on,” he said, walking you out to the hallway. “Let’s get you home.”

One Month Later

You smiled from your chair when Russell let out a single tiny snore from the couch across from you. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days and honestly, it was kind of adorable the way this incredibly dangerous man made the cutest cooing noises while he slept.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled without opening his eyes a few minutes later. You looked around, holding up a finger. ���I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

“Well, you make these cute sounds when you sleep,” you said. He smirked, slowly flicking his lazy eyes open.

“And who’s fault is it that I haven’t been sleeping, hm?” You shrugged and slid down in your chair with your book, grinning behind the pages. “I can see that smile, you know that?”

“Don’t blame me for the amazing orgasms you give,” you said, flicking your eyes over the top of the book, Russell propping himself up on his elbows with a predatory gaze. “Down boy. Later.”

“You better,” he said, plopping back with a huff. “Remind me to never help Frank with a favor ever again.”

“Frank helped you with Owen,” you reminded him. Russell scoffed.

“All he did with Owen was stand there and look scary. I didn’t make him build a fucking deck in the pacific northwest in forty degree weather.”

“Aw, is baby boy cranky?” you teased. He growled, playfully tossing his pillow at you. “You guys should wrap up tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan. Then I’m going back to waking up at a humane hour,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and stretch out with a few grunts. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. You needed it,” you said, flipping a page. Russell glanced over to the dining table, taking in the decorated spread. 

“You set a place for Colter?” he asked. 

“Yes…right next to Dory’s,” you said, closing your book and setting it aside. “You still think he won’t come?”

“He’s not the kind of guy to come to a housewarming party. Especially his brother’s housewarming party. We still haven’t talked since…” 

“I know,” you said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He was still sleepy as you ruffled his hair, Russell turning into the touch. “I’m excited to meet your friends and family properly.”

“They want to know all about you, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine the amount of shit they’ve given me after I said I’d never settle down.”

“I moved in a week ago. We’re a ways from settling down,” you said. He titled his head, smiling at you. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?” he teased, leaning in close, dipping his head, kissing under your jaw.

“Shaw! Do not give me a hickey! I do not want them seeing-” You sucked in a breath, brain going fuzzy when he nipped at the soft flesh. 

“Too bad, qark. If I have to have hickeys all over my neck then so do you,” he said, suckling the skin. A buzzer went off in the kitchen and he groaned when you slipped away so the rolls wouldn’t burn. “Y/N…”

“Saved by the bell,” you said, taking out the pan and leaving them to cool off. Russell was by your side quickly, hands on your hips so you couldn’t escape. “Okay. How about you can give me as many hickeys as you want later if you’re a good boy this afternoon?”

“Hm, I do like being your good boy,” he said, squeezing your hips. “Deal.”

“Good. Where do you keep-“

The doorbell trilled, your heads turning towards the front windows. A familiar pickup truck was out front, Russell raising his eyebrows. You nodded for the door, Russell cautious as he answered. Colter stood on the front porch with an awkward forced smile and a pink box.

“I uh, picked up some dessert for dinner later,” he said offering the box. Russell took it, setting it aside on the front table. “You going to invite me in?”

“I thought you…” Russell shook his head and opened the door wider, letting his younger brother inside. Colter gave you a brief smile before clearing his throat.

“I uh, can help you get ready or cook. I just…last time we talked Russell…”

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

“Yeah,” said Colter, returning it for a moment before the boys broke apart. “How’s the girlfriend situation working out for you?”

“I’m telling you man, find the right girl, you’ll never want to go back to being a loner,” said Russell, giving you a smirk. “They do come with a lot of rules though, fair warning.”

“I asked you to put the toilet seat down, Shaw,” you chided. 

“Like I said, rules,” teased Russell. You picked up a knife by your cutting board, narrowing your eyes. “We should help before she starts using that on us.”

“Yes you should,” you said, Colter shrugging out of his jacket and boots, joining your side after washing up. “Can you cut up the veggies into strips?”

“Can do,” he said, swapping places with you. You smiled when Russell took the dessert box and started to arrange the treats on a platter over on the dinning table. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the last time we were all here.”

You frowned as you peeled a bag of potatoes into a bowl. “You mean when I lost my cool on Russell? You have nothing to apologize for Colter. We were asking you for a favor. Again. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hate me. I know you value your alone time.”

Colter was quiet, chopping neatly and pushing the scraps into a discard bowl. “Did Russell ever tell you how he got that gunshot he went to you for in the first place?”

“Someone kidnapped Doug. He went to save him.”

“Did you know I helped him with that?” You shook your head, setting the peeler down. Colter had stopped dicing, a barely there smile crossing his face. “If it weren’t for my brother asking for my help with his friends, I’m not sure we ever would have spoke again.”

“I know there’s a complicated history there.” He hummed, watching Russell across the room. “It means a lot to him that you’re trying too.”

“S’all we can do is try, right?” he said, going back to his cutting. “So. My brother is clearly head over heels. What about you? Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”

“Uh, no,” you said, laughing to yourself. “We’re certainly not traditional but we’re nowhere near ready for that. We’ll see how living together goes for awhile before we talk about anything like long term plans.”

“Yet you moved in already.” You rolled your eyes. “Just an observation.”

“For convenience sake. Russ is looking into land for the brewery around here since he left his job and apartments in town are limited.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Silly me,” he said. You held up your peeler to him, Colter raising his hands. “Russ, I think I broke one of your girlfriend’s rules.”

“It was nice knowing ya,” said Russell with a chuckle. “Give him a swift death for me, qark.”

“Qark?” asked Colter as you turned your attention to the potatoes. 

“Queen of darkness. Now hurry up with those so you and Russ can have some alone time before dinner.”

Six Hours Later

“This is going well,” said Russell to you in the kitchen as laughed and a smoky scent filtered in from the back porch. “Everyone really likes you.”

“I suppose I have met them all before, except for Dory. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know what I was expecting but-”

“She was much younger than us when our dad died. After she went to live with our aunt and uncle. She’s tough but normal in a way Colter and I won’t ever…” You rubbed his back, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. “Did you like, drug him? Or bribe him? I seriously can’t believe he’s still here let alone came.”

“Of course he came. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves his big brother.” Russell tucked you into his side, smiling when you rested your head on his shoulder. “I found a job in Wyoming. Missing prized show dog. I was going to head out in the morning, see if I’m any good at this.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Be safe though.”

“I will be.” You turned in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms around his back in a hug. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I was safe. It’s nice. This weird little family you have is…I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s yours too.” You raised your eyebrows, Russell raising his own, eyes going wide. “No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

“Me either,” you said, the tension running out of his face. “I want to know who we are without our old jobs, how to be a happy queen of darkness.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “Speaking of which, I got you a present for helping organize all of this and cooking for ten people after literally just moving cross country. I know it was stressful so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need a present, Russ,” you said, a sneaky smile forming on his face. “Oh. This is a present for the both of us.”

“I got you a new pair of jammies, the lilac set this time,” he said. Russell’s smile grew as yours did, his arms lifting you off the ground, bringing you to eye level. “You deserve all the good things in life, qark.”

“I think we got something pretty good starting right here,” you said, kissing him once, Russell humming.

“I couldn’t agree more, baby. Couldn’t agree more.”

__________

[sukukuna]

スククナ EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SORCERER (UNPAID)

premise; Shoko is done with being the only one who has to constantly handle everyone else's trauma and curse induced breakdowns. So when you casually mention you're pretty good at giving advice, she immediately recommends you to the higher ups as the new, unofficial therapist.

this is just a short intro to a series! if people enjoy this, i might continue it :p will include lots of characters!

You think that you made a mistake labelling yourself as a good listener.

Now you have a desk made of milk crates, a bean bag that you're 90% sure is haunted- a bean bag that occasionally tries to swallow some of your clients (just Gojo). Your office is a repurposed janitors closet, and payment comes in the form of boba tea, strawberry mochi and the occasional cursed trinket.

You're not sure how you ended up here. You're not exactly sure how to leave, either.

If you could go back in time, you'd go back to the moment when Shoko was patching you up after a rough mission, smoking a cigarette wistfully and complaining about how she had no time to herself.

You'd rather slap yourself in the face before uttering out the words "I'm pretty good at giving advice," again.

Because apparently, that's all it took for Shoko to appoint you as the new 'emotional support sorcerer' for Jujutsu High.

"I don't have a degree." you told her. She rolled her eyes as you voiced the obvious, tapping out her cigarette bud.

"Neither did Freud," she replied, tossing you a stress ball shaped oddly like a baby cursed spirit. "Welcome to the job."

And then there's the clients.

"Its pretty simple. You just listen to them and maybe patch up a cut or two, and make sure they don't completely implode. If they start crying, that's on you." Shoko handed you a hastily scribbled schedule of her working times. "I figure if you survive today, you'll be fine.

"Ah," you blinked up at her. "Okay." She smiled, and you were certain she was enjoying your discomfort. "Who's first?"

Her grin widened, and you shuddered. "Gojo."

".....Gojo?"

And Shoko just laughs.

CASE NO.1 SATORU GOJO.

You had only been in the Janitors closet Therapy room for five minutes when the door swung open like a storm hit the place. Satoru Gojo, in all his obnoxious glory comes strolling in with his blindfold and smug grin, looking like the worlds most egotistical superhero sorcerer.

"Y/n! You're the new group therapist, huh?" He slid into the beanbag chair like he owned it. You observed the haunted bean bag, as if making sure Gojo's boisterous energy wouldn't affect it.

"Uh-huh," Suddenly you were regretting every decision that led you to this moment.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't you worry. I'm gonna be the best client you've ever had."

"You're also the only client I've ever had." He ignored you.

Sighing to himself with a wide grin, "You won't be able to handle my perfect emotional depth." He sinks further into the bean bag, and you wince as the air starts feeling thicker, and the bean bag starts to seem more...menacing.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Right...So what brings you here?"

He grins, and places his hands behind his head, his blindfold riding up slightly. "Well, I'm perfect, obviously, but... sometimes, I get a little tired of being the brightest star in the sky. It's exhausting being this good looking. And everyone loves me. Its a lot, you know?" No, no I do not.

You just stare at him blankly. "...And that's the reason you're here?"

He sighs dramatically, flopping back into the beanbag. "And also, like, How do you even deal with being this amazing everyday? Its like a curse."

"Gojo," You start, voice thick with sarcasm. "You're going to be fine. I'm sure the emotional toll of being a literal god doesn't keep you up at night."

He blinked. "Wait. It doesn't?"

DIAGNOSIS: CHRONIC GOJO SYNDROME

TREATMENT: COMPLIMENTS. KIKUFUKU.

It had been exactly fifteen minutes since your first 'session' with Gojo. Fifteen minutes since Satoru had stormed out of the makeshift office, having delivered the kind of emotional performance that only someone with his level of ego could pull off.

You rubbed your temples, trying to process the tidal wave that had just crashed into your psyche. You had managed to take a few notes, but they all stated the obvious.

EGO - IMPOSSIBLY LARGE

PROBLEM - ??? TOO PERFECT ???

SOLUTION - ?????? MORE THERAPY ??????

CASE NO2. CHOSO KAMO.

if this gets interactions i will continue <3

[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Nineteen

So this chapter was half written over a month ago, and then school happened, but here it is!! I hope you all like it. plus some spice at the end

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader  Summary: Y/n had a meeting with the managers, and then we get some studio time with the boys, and then onto dance practice! wc: 1621 AU: a/b/o  Genre: Fluff/Angst, with a slight bit of suggestive content warnings: suggestive content at the very end, anxiety, threats, mentions of unseen ass eating, I think that's it, but if I've missed any, please tell me! masterlist

Before either rapper could get another word out, the door opened and a staff member peeked in. “Hello, we need y/n for a moment.” They said to the trio in the room, eyes focused on Hongjoong. Hongjoong looked over at Mingi, both of them a bit suspicious about the intentions of staff, before realizing they shouldn’t antagonize their management any further, for now.

“Go on, y/n-ah,” the captain told the omega, “You remember the way here, yes? Come right back after you’re finished, if staff doesn’t bring you back.” Y/n got off of the couch and stood up, her hands coming to rest in front of her, as she tried to hide her nerves at being alone with the staff members. But she took a deep breath and gathered all her courage as she followed the staff member out of Hongjoong’s studio.

Following the staff member through the various hallways and down a floor, until the reached a similar conference room as the ones they had been in prior. Entering the room, they found a mix of staff members, and the production crew.

“Hello, y/n,” Ateez’s main manager welcomed her in, as she sat down, “We’re here to chat about your role in Ateez.”

That put her on edge, and she wished she had one of the others there, as she would be way out of her depth. “What about my role?” She asked.

“Well, as evidenced by the feedback we heard from Hongjoong, you would fit in as a rapper, however we think that you would do better with some vocal training. Your improvement both vocally and dancing will also determine if you remain in the group, as if you don’t show improvement in both areas, we will terminate your employment and your place in the group.” He told you, in a very no nonsense tone, which was reflected in the serious expression on his face.

Y/n felt her stomach drop, her hands that were hidden by the table, were gripping the hem of her top so tightly that her fingers were almost cramping. She had to take a moment to calm herself down, to try and keep herself from either crying or yelling.

“I’m sure I’ll improve in both categories, and I already know that the members will be working with me both vocal and dance-wise.” She replied, her voice shaking the tiniest bit.

“Well, we hope that you’ll improve quickly then,” one of the others spoke up.

Y/n hadn’t seen this person before, though she assumed they were either from Ateez’s staff, or just a member of the company.

“I shall do my best to live up to expectations then,” Y/n knew her tone was a bit clipped, her frustration with this meeting slipping through.

If they didn’t think she was good enough, or needed improvement, why did she make the shortlist then? Considering that her being chosen was a staff decision. Either way, she would play by their rules, it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy out of the company. However, it didn’t mean she would have to like it. But, she did sign up for it, so she’d go with the flow for now.

“May I return to the studio now? I don’t want to fall further behind than I already am,” she said.

“Of course. I assume you know your way back?” She was asked by the main manager, her main manager now, and y/n nodded. 

It was made clear by him that she was free to leave, and she made her exit quickly, and travelled back to Hongjoong’s studio, taking about five minutes to get there. Before she knocked on the door, she pulled her phone out, finding that the meeting had lasted 20 minutes, though it felt both shorter and longer than that. Raising her hand to knock on the wooden door, it was quickly opened by Mingi, and behind him she could see Hongjoong at the desk. 

“Oh, you’re back! That wasn’t long, what did they want to discuss with you?” Hongjoong asked, as she entered the room after Mingi moved out of the way.

“Oh, uhm, it was just some things regarding the group and my role, that’s all,” y/n replied, trying not to get into it much, even as she tugged at her outfit in slight anxiety. She was trying to keep a tight grip on her scent, so as not to derail their plans for the day, since she knew that that would likely happen if either alpha knew of the meeting’s contents.

She could tell that neither man was convinced with her answer, but they weren’t going to push the topic further, thankfully.

“Well, Mingi and I prepared some lines for you to try, so go ahead and hop in there so we can get started.” Hongjoong said, after a moment of silence.

Y/n followed the captain’s words, slipping into the recording booth and getting ready to start recording. She took a moment to leaf through the pages set out for her, finding that they had pulled a range of lines from throughout their songs, and from all the different members’ lines as well. She assumed it was to test her range, and see what might fit her for past and future songs. She saw a few of her own favorite lines in there, so she smiled at the sight of them. Hongjoong wanted to test her with lines like San’s first lines in Answer, or some of Wooyoung’s from Bouncy, among others. She finished getting herself set up, before looking up at the two men.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said to them, “Where do I start?”

“Start with Yeosang’s lines in Hala Hala. They should be the first one on that top page, if you haven’t messed them up in your look through them.” Mingi replied, being a little sassy.

“I will have you know that I didn’t. Plus I’m not the one who destroys their outfits, oppa.” She replied, just as snarky, referencing the many outfit mishaps with Mingi’s clothes.

“That’s uncalled for!” The taller rapper replied, though he had a smirk on his face that showed he wasn’t actually upset.

“Let’s focus, please.” Hongjoong said, before the conversation could derail them any further. “When you’re ready, y/n-ah.”

She nodded, and signalled that she was ready, and Hongjoong started up the music for her. She took a deep breath, before starting to sing. She knew this line was a bit difficult for her at times, but she powered through and hoped her voice didn’t crack on her.

Thankfully, it went smoothly, and after a few repeats of it, they had her move onto another line. And this is how it went for hours afterwards, or at least it seemed that long to y/n, since one couldn’t really tell how much time has passed since they came here. That was a downside to being indoors with no windows, and the reason she liked them, since she did seem to lose track of time, much like they seemed to do today.

“And you’re done, that was the last line we wanted you to try.” Mingi told her, beckoning her to come out of the booth, and she quickly did so, happy to be out of there.

She grabbed her phone which she had left on the couch, finding that it had only been an hour and a half since she went inside to record. She also found she had messages from those back home, including two she dearly missed. She had meant to text or call them, but with the chaos here, hadn’t gotten the chance to, besides that first night at the dorms. Remembering to message them later once she had finished for the day, she asked the two men where she had to go next.

“It’s time to go to the practice room next, with all of us this time.” Hongjoong said to her, grabbing his bag as Mingi did the same, before ushering the three of them out of the studio.

“This way,” Mingi said, grabbing y/n’s hand so they wouldn’t get left behind. “It’s just a floor down from here, it’s not far once you know the way. I’m excited to see what our firecracker can do. Yunho and Sannie spoke fairly highly of your skills, and how fast you learn.”

“I still have a lot to learn, I’m not sure I’ve earned their praise yet.” Y/n said, her cheeks warming up at Mingi’s words.

Hongjoong kept the elevator open for them, coughing to remind them he was inside, as they slipped in, both a bit embarrassed that they hadn’t noticed the older man entering it. He quickly punched the button to go down to the next floor, and it only took a second to get there, so they quickly exited once the doors opened, and walked the small distance to the practice room, passing a few of the Xikers members on the way. She bowed in greeting as the elder two idols promised the younger ones that they’d introduce their new member to the whole group soon.

“We’re here,” Hongjoong announced, only to stop quickly, not letting y/n pass through the door, though he let Mingi. “Guys, really?” He said, it being immediately clear that the man was disappointed with whatever was going on in there.

“Are you really surprised, hyung? It’s us.” She heard Jongho’s voice come from inside the room.

“No, I’m not, but y/n is here, and I’m sure as hell that she wouldn’t want to see you getting your ass eaten out in the practice room, Jung Wooyoung.”

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[rebelssvy]

idol pt. 2!! ✧.*

idol reader x pro hero bakugo

ੈ✩‧₊˚

part one link here.

summary: fluff !!! you and him bump into eachother on a late night snack run.

alr have an idea for pt. 3… lmk if i should continue

after the ceremony, bakugou hadn’t really left your mind at all. it was safe to say you were a constant thought in his head too.

though you hadn’t seen or talked to him since, you kept looking forward to him maybe reaching out to you.

it had been about 2 weeks since, you didn’t blame his lack of communication. you were both busy. but you started becoming a little obsessed. watching videos of him saving people, interviews. anything you could find you watched.

it was now around midnight and you had grown hungry in your hotel bed. it was a unspoken forbidden rule to go out without a body guard so late at night. but after checking your pantry you couldn’t resist. grabbing layers and layers of all your dark clothes you pulled them onto your frame. finishing your look with the usual mask and baseball cap.

you didn’t mind getting recognized, but you knew if you saw someone that has bad intentions… you didn’t even want to imagine what could happen.

pushing your fears aside you walked out the hotel lobby and onto the cold pavement. the street lights were dim, but you kept your head down. maps said you had about a five minute walk to the closest 7/11. though it was so late there was still a lot of people out on the town.

after a good five minute walk you had made it to the glorious glowing lights filled with your favorite snacks. still keeping an of-putting demeanor, you entered the store. within seconds you had an armfull.

“hey babe. what’s with all the clothes hiding that pretty body?” a new voice startled you. blanking you looked up to see who was saying such a thing. you of course didn’t recognize him. but he looked… weird. like the people your mom told you to avoid when you were younger.

ignoring him you walked to the cashier, putting your stuff on the counter top.

he followed you, “hey don’t ignore me..” he laughed. closing in on you. you knew you had to get him off your back but you didn’t know how.

turning around about to let yourself have a moment of weakness. the sight you saw shocked you. a man dressed far to similar to you, had grabbed your stalker and had him held down.

“say that shit again and i swear to fucking god i’ll kill you here and now. be a real man and kick rocks” though he was covered in a costume, you could make out that voice anywhere.

it wasn’t long at all before the other man ran of the store scared for his life.

“i could’ve handled it…” you grumbled before adding, “but thank you..king dynamight murder.” laughing at the end of your sentence he looked at you startled.

blankly his eyes stared into yours. he was confused.

pulling your mask down you smiled and said “don’t worry. it’s y/n, but don’t tell anyone.” in a hushed voice.

more shocked then he was before he let out a sigh of relief and shook his head. “god..” was all he said before stepping infront of you. putting his food on the table and putting his card forward. “i’m paying for all of this.”

wow.. what a gentleman.

walking out of the store he carried all of your stuff together in his hands. breaking the ice you joked with him,

“i would’ve thought you would have asked me out by now.. with how interested you seemed that night.”

it was silent for a second.

“i didn’t know if idols dated…” he was hushed. calm.

“i would date you. i started to think hero’s don’t date.” you laughed before taking a step to the way of your hotel. he followed without question.

you walked one minute in silence. though you were scared of what he was going to say, you were also comfortable.

“y/n…” for being so loud he sure seemed quiet around you. “i would like to take you out sometime. you can’t say no.” firm he said to you. it was a promise.

“okay. seems like i can say no.” you joked and laughed. then tugging on his arm to grab some of your chips out of the bag.

you two walked to your hotel, every word that came out of your mouth was followed with a giggle. you felt giddy.

once you got to the entrance you leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“thank you for keeping me safe, bakugou.”

“katsuki.” he corrected you.

“have a good night, kats.” turning you walked to the doors of the building.

“6pm, tomorrow i’ll be here to pick you up. it’s a date.” he shouted out to you.

“okay!! i’ll be ready. goodnight!!” you hollered back at him, while entering the building.

god what was this feeling.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·