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urmum-lovesme · 5 months ago

Text

The Gas Station

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pregnant!Reader

summary: Y/n is in her final trimester of her pregnancy and Rafe is eager to make sure the birth of his first baby goes smoothly, but thanks to Y/n's stubbornness they find themselves stuck in a pretty sticky situation with the last two people they expected.

a/n: So I watched "We Live In Time" yesterday and I loved the movie so much that I wanted to rewrite the childbirth scene from it cause it was my favourite! Rafe is so 'grumpy to everyone else but soft for her' core in this. Ps: I’ve never given birth so this might not be too accurate, don’t kill me

warnings: Spoilers for the 'we live in time' childbirth scene, mentions of contractions, labour, childbirth (pretty visual ig?), mentions of a zoot but no smoking, mentions of alcohol but no drinking.

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

The living room of the Chateau was warm and filled with the low hum of conversation. Sarah was sprawled on the floor, while Kiara leaned back against the couch, discussing the possibilities of the new Cameron baby being a boy or girl. Pope sat at the kitchen table, half-focused on whatever book he had cracked open, pen scribbling against the paper trying to figure out the probability the mathematical way, and Cleo lounged near the window, lazily watching the wind shift the trees outside as they all spoke to one another

Y/n was sitting on the couch opposite Sarah and Kiara, half-listening, half-focused on the cookie in her hand as her other one rubbed over her large, rounded belly. Sarah grinned as she caught Y/n eyeing the cookie.

“What, are my cookies that good?”

Y/n opened her mouth to answer but suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand instinctively flew to her lower stomach, the cookie forgotten on the side of the couch.

Rafe, who had been leaning against the doorway, taking the time to admire the girl in her last couple of days of pregnancy, immediately straightened. His relaxed expression vanished. She had been persistent that she wanted to come and visit Sarah and the Pogue’s at the chateau, and as much as he protested, knowing the due date of their baby was any day now, she managed to sway him with those pleading eyes of hers and small pout, which he couldn’t seem to say no to.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice softened, but there was a thread of tension running through it as he crossed the room in two quick steps. Y/n didn’t answer right away. She squeezed her eyes shut, shifting to the edge of the sofa and placing both hands on her belly. She took in a slow, shaky breath.

“I… think I’m having contractions.”

The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence as they all looked at eachother.

Sarah blinked. “Wait, what? Like, actual contractions?”

Cleo sat up straighter, eyeing her. “No way sweet thing, maybe you just ate too many of them damn cookies huh?”

“Okay, that’s it. We’re leaving. Right now.”

Rafe’s face paled and he was already patting his pockets for the car keys, panic creeping into his voice as he grabbed the girl’s shoes from next to the door. Pope closed his book slowly, brows furrowed.

“Hold on, how far apart are they? That matters, right?”

Kiara leaned forward, calm but attentive. “Yeah, how bad was that one? Like, on a scale of one to ‘get in the car’?”

Y/n exhaled slowly, leaning her head back. “It wasn’t that bad. Just… caught me off guard. I’m fine.”

“Fine? You just said you’re having contractions!”

Sarah gawked her eyes wide with disbelief. She had been buzzing with excitement ever since she found out she was going to be an aunt. The girl had been planning baby showers and picking out names for months, practically bouncing off the walls with anticipation that her brother was going to be a father, and that he’d changed so much since the couple had found out about their little angel. And now, that Y/n was in labour, and she couldn’t help but feel a mixture of concern and sheer excitement.

“She said ‘think,’” Cleo corrected, smirking. “Key word, Sarah. Could just be gas, ya know?”

Y/n let out a weak laugh. “Thanks for that, Cleo.”

Rafe didn’t laugh. He crouched in front of her, eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress, “Y/n, we should go. The hospital’s all the way in Figure 8, and we’re in the Cut, that’s not a quick drive.”

Y/n shook her head, breathing steadily, she’d noticed how he’d been on edge for the past few weeks, his nerves fraying with every little thing. Rafe cared about her more than he ever thought possible- she was everything to him. The thought of losing her or their baby terrified him to his core, he couldn’t bear the thought of not being there for her, of not protecting the two most important people in his life.

“Rafey, that was the first contraction, my waters not even broken yet. We have time.”

“No, we don’t,” he snapped, then caught himself and softened his tone, letting out a sigh, “I just… I don’t want to risk it, okay?”

Kiara, who was watching the exchange with an amused expression surprised to see the once frat boy asshole so attentive, leaned over to Sarah.

“Is he always this dramatic?”

“Oh yeah, it's become a talent.”

Pope stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Look, if they’re still spaced out, you probably have hours. First babies take their time. But we should keep track.” As he looked around the kitchen drawers for something, cutlery clanged in them as he opened and shut the wooden furniture, finally fishing out an old plastic stopwatch.

Rafe shot him a glare, “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly betting on that.”

Y/n reached for Rafe’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Lets just sit here for a bit more please. If they get worse, we’ll go.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, then let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. But if anything changes, we’re out of here. No arguments.”

“No arguments.”

She responded as she smiled in agreement, leaning forward slightly to give the boy a quick peck on the lips. Reluctantly, Rafe sat beside her, shuffling so she rested against his side, his hand protectively resting on her belly, a place it had gotten used to resting on in the past few months. Sarah cleared her throat.

“So… does this mean more cookies, or…?”

Y/n laughed out nodding her head with wide eyes and Cleo snorted at the girl's reaction.

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

The room had grown quieter, but the tension clung to the air as Rafe stood by the window, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. His free hand raked over his short hair as he listened to the calm, too-casual voice on the other end of the line.

“What do you mean we shouldn’t come in yet?” Rafe snapped, disbelief lacing his voice.

“She’s in labour!”

The nurse on the other end responded evenly, used to anxious fathers. “Sir, unless her contractions are between three to five minutes apart, there’s no point in coming now. First-time labours can take hours, sometimes longer. You’ll be more comfortable at home.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Do you know who I am?” his tone dropped, sharp and cold, “My family practically owns half this island, and you’re telling me to just sit around and wait?”

From the couch, Sarah groaned audibly and rolled her eyes.

“Oh my God.”

She pushed off the armrest and stormed over, snatching the phone from Rafe’s hand before he could say another word and pressed it to her ear,

“Hi, sorry about him,” Sarah said sweetly into the phone, giving Rafe a sharp glare. “We’ll keep an eye on things and call if anything changes. Thanks for your help.”

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the table.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “Pulling the Cameron card on a nurse? What was that supposed to do- magically speed up labor?”

Rafe’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked down to his younger sister, his finger jabbing into his chest as he spoke, “I’m trying to make sure she’s safe, Sarah! We’re stuck in this shithole cause you've,” his raised his finger pointing it to his temple, “put some voodoo spell on her so she doesn't want to leave and no one seems to care!”

Cleo looked over from where she was sitting, flipping her pocket knife, her eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by his sudden bizarre speculation. Sarah crossed her arms.

“Yelling at the hospital won’t fix that. You need to calm down before you stress her out even more.”

Rafe opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of the back door creaking open cut him off. Kiara stepped in, shaking off the light drizzle from outside, a bright blue yoga ball awkwardly tucked under her arm.

“Found it!” she grinned, holding it out like a trophy.

Y/n’s face lit up despite the discomfort. “Oh, thank God.”

Kiara rolled it over to her, and Y/n carefully shifted forward, accepting it gratefully.

“I heard these help,” Kiara said with a small smile.

Y/n slowly eased herself onto the ball, her hands holding onto Kiara’s outstretched ones in support before she sat down on the plastic sphere starting to gently bounce. A relieved sigh slipped from her lips.

“Oh wow… yeah, this is way better.”

Sarah smirked. “Look, see? This is called helping, Rafe.”

Cleo, still lounging by the window, spoke up. “Yeah man, maybe if you threaten the ball next it’ll really speed things up.”

Pope cracked a small smile from his spot at the table at the girl’s words. Rafe, still tense, exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair by the kitchen table, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes drifted to Y/n, watching her breathe easier with each bounce. As he watched her, he realised he seemed to be more stressed than she was, but was he in the wrong for that? He only wanted to make sure the mother of his child could have the most comfort possible. Without a word, he pushed up from his chair and slowly crossed the room. He crouched down in front of her, eyes locked on her face, his hands resting lightly on her knees.

“Baby… are you sure you want to stay here?”

His voice was softer now, the edge gone, replaced by something fragile. Y/n blinked down at him, her breathing steady. She lifted one hand from her belly and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing along his skin which was still smooth from when he shaved before they left their home.

“Rafey, please relax, yeah?” she murmured, her other hand drifting to rest protectively over her bump. “We’re okay.”

The weight in his chest loosened just a little at the sound of her voice, but it didn’t disappear.

Rafe leaned in just a bit closer. “Okay, but when you start feeling off you tell me, yeah?”

Y/n gave him a playful eye roll, but her smile was soft. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips once more, she knew he was on edge, but she just wanted peace for the last few hours it was going to be just the two of them.

“Yes, I promise.”

Rafe’s shoulders finally dropped as he let out a quiet breath, grounding himself in her touch. Behind them, Kiara exchanged a look with Sarah and smirked.

“Well, that’s gross.”

Sarah laughed under her breath at her best friend's comments, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her smile as she watched them. As much as she teased, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness for her brother. It was clear that Y/n had done something to him- something that had changed him for the better, something that made him softer, more present. Sarah could see it in the way he looked at her, how much he cared. It warmed her heart to know her brother had found someone who truly made him happy.

Rafe didn’t hear the girls giggling as his focus was completely on Y/n, “Alright,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her knee before standing.

“Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

Y/n smiled, leaning back and resuming her gentle bounce on the yoga ball hands circling her bump again.

“No promises.”

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

Hours had passed the sky outside the windows now dark, the streetlamps having switched on which caused an orange glow around the island, but time seemed to stretch as the intensity of Y/n’s contractions grew. The living room was dim, the rain outside tapping softly on the windows, the air thick with anticipation.

Y/n was on her knees, her body leaning against the couch for support. Her face clearly reflected her discomfort, lips pressed together in effort as she rocked back and forth slowly, trying to breathe through the latest wave of pain. Rafe kneeled beside her, one hand gently rubbing her back, the other resting on her arm. His voice was low, soothing, a steady presence as he spoke to her.

“Is it passing?”

Y/n groaned softly, her breath hitching before she let out a quiet whine, barely audible.

“Yeah… it’s passing.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he kept his hand on her back, massaging in slow circles, his eyes never leaving her face. He looked up to Pope, who was standing near the window, timing her contractions with the stopwatch hanging loosely around his neck.

Pope glanced at the timer, then back at Rafe. “Okay, that’s about ten minutes apart now, but getting closer.”

Rafe’s gaze shifted back to Y/n, his concern deepening. He rubbed her back a little harder, as if that would somehow ease her discomfort, “Sweet girl,” he murmured gently, leaning closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“I think we should get going now, hmm? The hospital’s still a bit of a drive.”

Y/n, in a small haze of pain, didn’t answer immediately. She just rested her head against her arms on the couch, humming out in agreement. Her nod was slow, but definite.

“Mmhm… yeah, let’s go,” she whispered, her voice small and weary.

Rafe exhaled, relief flooding through him but mixing with the urgency that had been building in his chest. He helped her slowly rise, supporting her as she stood, her legs somewhat unsteady beneath her.

“Alright, that's it”

As Rafe helped Y/n slowly stand, Sarah came rushing down the stairs, her face flushed from the hurry. Cleo was right behind her, holding a bag in one hand and a frantic expression on her face.

“Rafe!” Sarah called out, her voice breathless. “We got the bag Y/n left last time.”

She handed it over to Rafe, but before he could take it, Cleo swiped it from her hands with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Let the man take her to the car,” Cleo said, “I got this.”

Cleo gave Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to Y/n. “You’re good, girl. Just focus on not giving birth in here, aight?”

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, despite the tension in the air. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice calm and steady. Rafe shot Cleo a grateful look, still holding Y/n’s arm as she stood by herself, steady on her feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, before turning back to Y/n. “Okay, baby, let’s get you to the car. You sure you’re alright to walk?”

Y/n gave him a sideways glance, rolling her eyes a little. “I’m fine, Rafe, really.”

But before they could make it to the door, Kiara popped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and determination. “Wait, wait, don’t leave without me I want to say goodbye!”

Sarah quickly followed behind, carrying a jacket for Y/n, while Pope grabbed his keys, shaking his head in amusement. The group swarmed around Y/n, helping her navigate the small space. It was a chaotic rush of arms and voices as everyone tried to keep the situation under control- except for Y/n, who was walking at a steady pace, looking far calmer than anyone else in the room. It was amusing, watching everyone fuss over her, she couldn't wait till the baby was here and they’d have all their aunts and uncles fussing at their every cry.

“I swear, I’m fine,” she said again, giving Rafe a teasing smile as she walked on her own. “I’ve got this.”

Rafe’s eyes were glued to her, his brow furrowed in concern, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he followed her toward the door.

“Alright, if you say so,” he muttered, his voice low but full of warmth.

The car was already parked outside, the engine running, the group had gathered around the car, each of them offering their well-wishes as Y/n leaned against the car door, not wanting to get in till Rafe came out. He’d gone back in to the bathroom and Sarah had scolded him for being an ‘unprofessional dad-to-be’ which he told her to ‘fuck off’. Sarah called out, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Good luck, Y/n! Let us know when Baby Cameron gets here!”

“You got this,” Kiara added, offering a smile. “Call us if you need anything- I mean we can’t give birth but you know….”

Cleo, arms crossed and leaning against the car, smirked. “Don’t be taking forever, yeah? I wanna meet the little Poguette!”

“Poguette? We don’t know the gender yet” Pope asked as he turned to the girl eyebrows drawn down into a small confused frown

“Don’t worry- auntie Cleo’s got a feeling” She responded with a wide smile as she winked to Y/n causing her to giggle.

“I think you mean Kookette not Poguette”

Rafe spoke up as he appeared back from the house helping the girl into her seat. Y/n, sitting in the car, gave them all a tired but genuine smile, her face a little flushed from the effort. “I’ll do my best. Don’t worry, you’ll all get your chance to meet Baby Cameron soon.”

Rafe was about to close the door when she paused.

“Wait!”

The group froze, and all eyes snapped toward her, panic flashing in their faces for a brief second.

“Is everything okay? Are you—?” Sarah started, her tone suddenly worried.

Y/n looked up at her friends, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Biting her bottom lip gently before she spoke out,

“Are there any of those cookies left?”

The entire group stared at her for a beat, then burst into laughter, the tension breaking in an instant. Kiara snorted. “Nope, you ate them all, girl, not a crumb left.”

Y/n’s face dropped in exaggerated disappointment. “Aw, man… they were so good.”

Rafe, who had just started to walk around the front of the car, stopped and turned back to her with a grin. “Come on, baby. You’ll get your cookies in the hospital. I promise.”

“Guess that’ll have to do.”

Y/n sighed softly, leaning back into her seat with a deep breath. Kiara leaned in the window, shaking her head but grinning. “You’re gonna eat cookies while in labor…?”

“Hey, it’s what I want.”

Rafe sighed, shaking his head at the girl, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile that crept onto his face as he finally closed the door. He muttered, half to himself, as he walked around to the driver’s side. “We’re getting you to the hospital, cookies or not.”

The group waved them off, still laughing and calling out their goodbyes, as Rafe got in the car. Y/n smiled at the familiar faces outside the window before the car pulled away, heading toward the hospital.

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

The drive from the Cut to Figure 8 was a blur. Rafe’s focus was entirely on the road, but his eyes kept flicking over to Y/n, every so often. She was gripping the handle on the roof of the car, her knuckles white as the pain of her contractions began to intensify. Rafe’s hand rested on her thigh, his fingers gently squeezing as he glanced at her.

“How we doing baby?”

He asked softly, though he could already see the tightness in her jaw, the way she was trying to breathe through the pain. Y/n groaned lowly, her grip on the car handle tightening as her breath hitched.

“Mmm, not great…”

She muttered, her voice strained. Her back arched slightly as another wave of pain hit, and her hand shifted to rest protectively on her belly. Rafe’s heart ached for her, but he kept his voice steady, trying to keep her calm.

“Breathe, baby. Yeah? Just like we practiced in the classes.”

His voice was gentle, encouraging, though it wasn’t lost on him how much harder it was for her now. Y/n nodded slightly, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her whole body rocked with the rhythm, but it didn’t stop the groans slipping out of her.

“That’s it, baby. Good—”

“Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”

Her voice was sharp despite the pain, and Rafe froze for a moment, blinking in surprise at her words but he couldn't help but accept them with a nod. She was the one in labour not him. Y/n’s hand pressed harder against her bump as she groaned, her head resting back against the seat, her body arching slightly in response to the contraction.

She wasn’t having it.

Rafe couldn’t help but smile slightly at her attitude, but it was tender as he spoke, “Okay, okay,” he muttered, his hand still gently on her thigh. “I’m sorry.”

He kept his eyes on the road driving carefully, now that he had precious cargo in his car, but they would flicker occasionally to Y/n in the passenger’s seat. Always watching, always waiting, as they pushed forward toward the hospital. The pain was coming in waves now, each one crashing over her with more intensity than the last. Y/n’s body was tense, and her breathing was shallow, but she still managed to mutter through the strain,

“Sorry… just hurts…”

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes focused on the road, but Y/n could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles went white around the wheel.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, baby,” Rafe said softly, his voice tight.

Y/n turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for a split second. He looked anxious, his focus split between her and the road ahead. The tightness in his posture didn’t escape her, and she could see how much he was trying to hold it together. With a small, reassuring smile, Y/n placed her hand over his, which was still resting on her thigh. The touch was gentle but firm,

“Ready to meet Baby Cameron?”

She mumbled, her voice soft but sincere, trying to ease some of the stress in the car. Rafe’s breath hitched at the mention of their baby, and he glanced down at their hands, a small smile crossing his face. He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing gently across her skin.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m so lucky that you’re the mother of my child Y/n… I love you.”

She squeezed his hand back, her eyes softening as she leaned back against the seat. Her breath was steadier now, a calmness settling in her chest as she gave him a small, exhausted smile.

“I love you, too, Rafey,” she whispered back.

—

The car crawled forward for a few agonizing seconds before the engine came to a halt once more. Rafe slammed his hand against the horn in frustration, the sharp sound echoing through the stillness of the traffic. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched tight.

“Fuck.”

He muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of why the cars ahead weren’t moving. Y/n, breath coming in heavy bursts now, groaned quietly beside him, trying to steady herself as another wave of pain rolled through her.

“Rafe…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he spoke out to her, his voice tight with frustration. “No one’s fucking moving.”

She turned her head slowly, her hand resting on her belly as she let out another shaky breath. She could feel the tension radiating off him, could see the way his shoulders were hunched in that familiar way he got when he was stressed.

“Rafe, please… just relax,”

She said softly, though she was struggling to keep her own calm with each passing minute. It was no use because he could barely sit still anymore. Without another word, he threw the door open, slamming it behind him, and stepped out into the stagnant heat of the afternoon. Y/n’s eyes followed him through the windshield as he walked down the line of cars, frustration written in his tense shoulders. The bridge conjoining The Cut to Figure 8 stretched ahead, a long line of unmoving vehicles in both directions, but it seemed like nothing was happening. No one was getting anywhere.

Rafe walked halfway down the bridge, his eyes scanning the cars as he tried to figure out what was going on. He stopped beside a car with a window rolled down, the driver staring out at the traffic in the same defeated way everyone else was. Rafe stepped closer, his voice terse as he addressed the guy.

“What’s going on up there?”

The guy glanced at him, his face creased with annoyance. “Accident upfront and tree fell in the back. Gonna be stuck here for a while, man.”

Rafe let out a low curse, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

He stood there for a second, staring at the endless line of cars, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. They were stuck. Stuck in the one place they couldn’t afford to be, halfway in the middle of nowhere. Taking a deep breath, Rafe turned around and started walking back toward the car. The frustration was palpable in every step, but it didn’t touch his determination. Rafe opened the door to the car, his eyes already scanning the area as he made his way back toward Y/n. But the moment his gaze landed on the seat next to him, his heart skipped a beat.

She wasn’t there.

His mind raced as he blinked, looking around the car in confusion. He slammed the door shut, his breath quickening as he jogged over to the other side of the vehicle, checking the backseat and the floor. Where the hell could she have gone? His pulse started to race- this wasn’t happening.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice frantic.

He spun around, looking down the bridge, feeling the panic rise in his chest. She couldn’t have just disappeared, she’s literally a nine month pregnant woman, she wasn’t easy to lose. His eyes locked on a figure at the end of the bridge, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

There she was.

Y/n was standing at the far side of the bridge, her body leaning slightly against the wall, one hand resting gently on her bump. She looked serene in a way, her posture relaxed even in the midst of the chaos, but Rafe could see the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way she was swaying lightly from side to side. The air around him seemed to still as he watched her, his thoughts spiraling, but then he broke into a jog, moving toward her with urgency.

“Y/n!”

He called out again, his voice rough. She didn’t seem to hear him at first, or maybe she was just focused on the feeling of her own body, her eyes unfocused as she rubbed her belly in slow, soothing circles, looking down at her hand. Rafe’s steps quickened, and when he reached her side, he gently cupped her arm, his fingers warm against her skin.

“You can’t just run off like that! Are you crazy?”

His voice was sharp, but underneath it, the worry was clear. He wanted to scold her for being out of the car, but the relief flooding him kept him from doing anything but reaching for her. Y/n raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his scolding, as she gently rubbed her belly.

“I just wanted some air, Rafey,” she replied with a calmness that made Rafe’s frustration falter for a second.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered, shaking his head. His shoulders dropped in exasperation as he sighed. “I—I don’t know what I’d do- what if I lost you huh?”

She smiled at his concern, “I'm nine months pregnant and in labour, I doubt I would’ve gotten very far Rafe.” A soft, reassuring smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, that helped calm some of the nerves still buzzing in his chest.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the car,”

He said, his voice softer now, his hand gently brushing the hair away from her face as he guided her back, but as they started walking back toward the car, Y/n’s eyes drifted behind him, catching something in the distance. Rafe looked over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Y/n’s gaze lingered on the gas station behind them, her fingers lightly playing with his as she spoke.

“Really want some cookies right now…”

She said, her voice full of that playful lilt. Rafe blinked, taking a moment to process what she was saying before he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you serious right now?”

Y/n looked at him with a sweet, innocent expression. “Mmhmm.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, torn between disbelief and the need to smile. He glanced at the car, then at the standstill traffic behind him, a long sigh leaving his lips as the realization set in.

“Please?”

Y/n added, her voice soft but pleading, her hand still holding his with that familiar touch which guided his palm to rest it against her baby bump which made it hard for him to say no. Rafe’s lips curled into a reluctant smile.

“C’mon then,” he sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. “Let’s just be quick, aight?”

And just like that, they veered off toward the gas station, Y/n’s determination to get her cookies almost making Rafe forget about the fact she was in labour, if it wasn’t for her groan every couple of minutes.

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

The door of the gas station swung open, the little golden bell above it ringing as soon as they stepped inside, Y/n’s breathing hitched. Rafe was right behind her, his hand resting gently on the small of her back, ready to support her. Yet the moment the door closed behind them, Y/n groaned loudly, the contraction hitting her with full force. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and her hand instinctively went to her belly. A few people in the gas station glanced over, some in surprise, others in concern, but Rafe barely noticed them as he leaned closer to her, his voice low and calm.

“Let’s grab your cookies and go, baby,” he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear.

Y/n barely registered his words, still trying to push through the pain, her face scrunching in discomfort as she stepped forwards towards the sweet treat aisle. She let out another soft, pained groan as she leaned against the shelf, her hand gripping the cool metal for support.

She scanned the shelves in front of her, her eyes landing on a pack of cookies, double chocolate-chip. They weren’t Sarah’s but she guessed they would have to do. She grabbed one, then another right next to it, her body rocking slightly as she breathed heavily through the contraction.

Rafe stood behind her, watching in a mix of concern and frustration, trying to hold everything together while his brain screamed that they needed to hurry. He sighed quietly, trying to hold his patience as he watched whilst she picked up random things off the shelves- gatorade, crisps… a microwavable hot-dog for one? He furrowed his eyebrows at the girl as she shoved them all into his arms, groaning in distress, was she planning on having a picnic in the hospital?

“Is that good now?”

Rafe asked quietly, glancing at her with a raised brow as he balanced the pile of items in his arms. Y/n didn’t even look up at him. She was bent over slightly, both hands gripping onto the handles of the fridge, her body still rocking gently as the contraction slowly passed. She nodded, the sound of her breath steadying now.

“Mmhmm,”

She mumbled, barely able to focus on anything other than the sharp ache she was still feeling.

“Jesus,”

Rafe muttered under his breath, his frustration mixing with disbelief at the bizarre situation, as he moved toward the counter to pay. He tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking from Y/n to the Rolex on his wrist. The seconds were ticking by, and every minute felt like an eternity. He glanced over his shoulder at the long queue in front of him, a subtle frown on his face. He hated waiting, but he hated even more that they were stuck in this gas station in the first place. Y/n was still by the fridge, her back slightly arched as she leaned against it, trying to breathe through the pain of another contraction. Her groan echoed loudly through the small shop, and Rafe felt his stomach tighten.

“Oh my Gooooooooddddd-”

The people in line ahead of him turned around at the sound, their eyes narrowing as they glanced in the direction Y/n was. Rafe clenched his jaw, his grip on the products in his arms tightening as he fought to keep his composure. Another loud groan broke through the silence, and Rafe’s patience snapped. He shot a look at the guy in front of him who seemed somewhat disturbed by the sound, his teeth gritting as he tried to stay calm but his irritation bubbled over, and he shot at him quickly, his voice sharp.

“She’s pregnant, okay?”

He snapped, his gaze hardening. The man blinked, taken aback by the harshness in Rafe’s voice. The rest of the people in line seemed to take a step back, all of them suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. Rafe was breathing heavily now, his mind racing as the seconds dragged on, but he couldn’t look away from Y/n. She was still by the fridge, still gripped by the pain of the contractions, but somehow, there was a calmness in her, even in the middle of everything, and she was now once again rocking softly back and forth. He exhaled, trying to push down the anger and frustration bubbling up inside.

The man in front of Rafe raised his hands in surrender, his face showing quick understanding. Without another word, he grabbed his items from the counter and muttered a hurried, “Sorry,” as he quickly walked past Rafe, giving him space. Rafe, barely noticing the man’s retreat, threw the items he was holding down onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. His eyes immediately darted back to Y/n, his head swiveling as he tried to spot her over the shelves. The moment he looked away from the counter, though, a voice interrupted his frantic search.

“Rafe?”

Rafe froze. He knew that voice. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, but of course, he did anyway. There, standing a few feet away, was John B. He groaned inwardly. How much worse could this get? He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Pogue.” The name slipped from his lips, a reflexive reaction to the guy who always seemed to be around just when Rafe didn’t need him. John B gave him a tight-lipped smile, clearly trying to keep the peace, but Rafe could see the faint annoyance in his eyes.

“You need a bag?”

John B asked, trying to be helpful, but Rafe wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Uh, yeah,”

Rafe replied absently, barely glancing at John B as he spoke. His focus was entirely on trying to spot Y/n. His hands clenched the card in his hand as he tried to spot her around the shelves, his eyes scanning every inch of the small store. He didn’t even wait for John B to reply as his feet moved instinctively, carrying him away from the counter. He walked quickly down the aisles, his breath shallow as he called out her name, his voice strained with the urgency and stress building inside him.

“Y/n?”

His eyes darted from side to side, but there was no sign of her. He rounded the corner to another aisle, his heart starting to race as panic set in. He called out again, his voice louder this time.

“Y/n?!”

But there was still no response. Rafe felt the irritation crawling up his spine, seriously? Not again.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, his words laced with frustration as he threw a glance back at the counter. He felt like the whole world was working against him right now. Rafe’s eyes flicked back to John B, ready to ask if he’d seen Y/n, but then something caught his attention. The door near the counter, with a small blue sign W/C, was just slightly cracked open- it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He shot a quick glance at John B, his jaw tightening.

“Put my stuff to the side,”

Rafe said, his tone clipped, he once again didn’t wait for an answer, already moving toward the bathroom door. The women’s, men’s, and disabled toilets were all closed, but Rafe stepped closer to the disabled bathroom, he placed his ear against the door, trying to hear anything over the noise in the gas station.

It was then he heard it- a soft groan, followed by heavy breathing.

A slight whine escaped the other side of the door, and his pulse raced. Without thinking, he knocked gently against it, his voice low but full of urgency.

“Baby?”

A faint voice from within answered, weak but clear.

“Yeah?”

Rafe let out a relieved breath, his forehead resting briefly against the door, relief slowly hitting him. For a moment, he just stood there, collecting himself before he pulled back, his hand still gripping the handle of the door but it didn’t move. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, but he needed to stay calm- for her- well maybe for himself too.

“Are you okay?”

He asked, his voice soft but still edged with concern.There was a pause before her voice came through, strained but almost casual.

“Um…yeah?”

“What do you mean, um?”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed at her response. Another groan came from the other side of the door, followed by a sigh.

“Well, I… uh, I thought I needed to use the toilet, but now that I’m in here… I think I need to push.”

“NO!”

Rafe’s eyes widened, and before he could even think, he blurted out the word. His hands raked over his hair, the panic setting in as his mind raced.

“Baby, no- no, don’t push, okay? Please. I need you to open the door.”

He could hear her groaning again, and the sound made his chest tighten, “Y/n, I need you to open the door, okay? So we can go to the hospital. Are you listening to me, baby?”

His voice cracked with desperation as he waited for her response. Rafe took a step back from the door, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. His mind was spinning in panic, but he was doing his best to keep it together. Another groan came from the other side of the door, louder this time, and Rafe’s chest tightened.

“Rafe, I can’t… I can’t open the door,” her voice cracked, strained. “I need to push.”

His breath hitched, and he placed a hand against the door, his grip tightening. “Okay, okay. It’s okay.” His voice was soft but desperate.

“I’m gonna come in, yeah?”

There was a brief silence before her voice came through again, strained but barely audible.

“Yeah.”

The word was cut off by another loud groan, and the sound sent a jolt of panic through Rafe’s veins. Rafe’s patience snapped. Without a second thought, he barreled back to the counter, his voice urgent as he slammed his palm onto the surface.

“I need the key to the toilets Y/n is stuck in the disabled one.”

His words came out in a rush, and John B didn’t hesitate. His brows furrowed in concern, and he quickly reached under the counter, pulling out multiple sets of keys before he found the right one.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.”

He gripped them in his hand as he looked at Rafe, he’s never seen the brunette so worried. “Sorry,” John B muttered to the guy on the other side of the counter as he quickly stood up, walking around the register. Rafe was ready to go straight back to Y/n when suddenly, John B called out.

“JJ!”

Rafe froze for a split second. Not him too. He shook his head in disbelief. What had he done to deserve this? He knew he had been a dick to so many people, for so many years, but was this really the punishment he deserved. JJ, the last person Rafe wanted to deal with, sauntered up to the counter with his signature blonde hair and cocky grin, with a zoot tucked behind his ear.

“Sup?” he asked, sounding entirely too carefree for the situation.

“Need you to take over the counter for a bit,”

John B said, his voice tight with urgency. JJ nodded lazily, unconcerned, “Mkay, my man,” he said, easily slipping into the role. John B turned back to Rafe, and the Cameron boy grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go.”

They both moved toward the corridor with all the bathrooms, John B crouched in front of the disabled toilet door, the key in his hand as he started to unlock it. Rafe stood by him, his muscles tense, feeling like he could finally somewhat breathe again now that they were this close. They were about to get Y/n out, and finally going to leave this godforsaken place.

“Don’t worry, man,” John B said, trying to reassure him as he worked the key into the lock. “We’re gonna get her out of there.”

But then, there was a loud snapping sound. Both of them froze.

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

“What? What is it?”

His voice was sharp, fear creeping in. John B hesitated, his face a mixture of guilt and disbelief. “Well… um… the key broke.”

Rafe blinked in stunned silence. “What? Speak up!”

John B looked back at him, the words tumbling out quickly. “The key broke.”

Rafe’s frustration hit a boiling point, his voice cracking with anger as he slammed his hand against the wall angrily.

“What the fuck do you mean, you broke the key?!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident, alright?” John B’s hands shot up in defense.

Rafe’s eyes went wide. “How the hell do you fuck up opening a door? Are you fucking serious right now!?”

Before John B could answer, they both heard a loud voice from the other side of the room. “Heyyy, what’s going on here? What’s all the yelling for?” Rafe’s head snapped toward the voice. He could feel his blood boil. Of course. It was JJ. Of course it was. John B rolled his eyes.

“Y/n’s stuck in the toilet, and I broke the key-”

Then, a loud, strained groan from the other side of the door cut him off. Y/n’s voice echoed out, desperate and pained.

“Fuuuucckkkk,”

Rafe slammed his hand against the door, his voice softer but filled with worry. “Baby, you okay?” There was a brief pause before she answered.

“Yeah, just… fuuuuuuck…”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running his hands through his hair, trying to keep it together. John B glanced at him.

“What was that?”

Rafe’s breath quickened, his anxiety rising again as he looked down to the door handle of the door, the snapped metal now lodging into the keyhole.

“She’s in labor.”

JJ blinked, processing that. “What the fuck?”

“And now she’s fucking stuck in there… because of you!” Rafe growled, his eyes narrowing in fury. “I swear to god-”

But before Rafe could say anything more, JJ was already moving. He pushed past both of them, walking straight up to the door. Rafe stared at him, scoffing in disbelief. JJ turned to face the door, knuckles knocking against the wood in a rhythmic pattern. He called out, looking toward the door,

“Hey sunshine,”

“JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah,” JJ answered as he pulled his cap off and readjusted his hair, putting it back on backwards. “I need you to take a step away from the door.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Rafe’s confusion was evident, his brow furrowed. JJ didn’t respond. He kicked the door hard, and the force of it echoed in the space, making Rafe’s heart skip a beat as he realised what the boy was trying to do.

“Wait!”

He called out as he rushed forward, his voice frantic as he called out to Y/n.

“Y/n, I need you to step back from the door, yeah?”

“I just told her that.”

JJ spoke back to the boy, hands out in the air in confusion at his actions. Rafe rolled his eye’s as he spoke back so Y/n couldn’t hear,

“She’s a stubborn pregnant woman, obviously she’s not going to listen to you.”

JJ gave him a look before shrugging his shoulders, “touché.” From the other side, her breath was labored, each inhale shaky. “Ughh… okay,” she responded weakly, and there was a faint sound of movement behind the door.

“Have you done that for me, Y/n?”

Rafe’s voice was strained, as if he was holding onto his patience by a thread. Another soft “yeah” came from her, and he stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Without saying another word, Rafe squared his shoulders. The frustration of the past few minutes boiled over. He looked at the door one last time and, without hesitation, launched his foot into it with everything he had. The sound of his kick reverberated through the small space, but the door didn’t budge. John B stepped forward, shaking his head in skepticism, but nevertheless he kicked the door next, his hit less forceful than Rafe’s but still forcefull.

Nothing.

JJ followed suit, throwing his foot at the door, his kick full of impatience.

Still nothing.

Rafe watched them, frustration building in his chest. “Get out of my way,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Without another word, he ripped his jacket off in a quick motion, tossing it aside as he stepped forward with sheer determination. This time, he didn’t just kick. He slammed his foot into the door again and again, each strike more powerful than the last, the force of his anger and desperation driving him. Finally, with one last powerful kick, the door swung open, the sound echoing loudly in the small hallways to the toilets.

Rafe rushed in, his breath still heavy from the effort of kicking the door in. His eyes darted across the cramped space until he found Y/n. She was sitting there, slumped against the toilet, arm supporting herself on the sink next to her as she sat leant over, her face flushed with sweat, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands instinctively cupped her cheeks, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Are you okay? C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital, yeah?”

Y/n’s eyes were wide, and her grip tightened around his wrist. “I can’t… I can’t, Rafe,” she gasped, her voice a strained, breathless whimper.

“I need to push, Rafe… I can’t—”

The words trailed off as another wave of contraction hit her, causing her body to tense up. Rafe’s heart dropped in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He’d promised her he’d make sure everything was smooth, that she’d be in a safe, controlled place when the baby came. This definitely wasn’t how he’d envisioned the birth of his first child to happen.

“Okay, it’s okay-”

He whispered, his hand brushing the small strands of damp hair away from her flushed, sweaty face. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile, even though inside, panic clawed at him.

“-I’m here now, yeah? C’mon, let’s get you comfortable.”

And as he gently helped her try to shift, he held her gaze, his own filled with worry and tenderness. He wasn’t sure how things would play out from here, but he knew one thing- he was going to make it work.

The moment John B and JJ stepped through the door coming back from locking up the door of the small gas station shop, they froze. Their eyes locked on Y/n, who was still leaning against the sink, her breathing ragged and uneven, sweat dripping down her face. JJ’s eyes widened in realization, his mouth falling open.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“This is like for real- she’s in labor… like it’s legit-”

Rafe didn’t even look at them as he snapped into action, the blonde boys rambles falling on deaf ears. His focus was solely on Y/n, his voice low and strained.

“Go get some towels, some water- anything.”

They both stared at him motionless as they took in the scene of the Kook who’d tormented them for so many years, gently help the girl down to a sitting position on the floor.

“NOW!”

He barked out. John B and JJ scrambled out of the bathroom, their feet clattering as they bumped into each other in their rush to get the supplies. They didn’t say anything, just focused on finding whatever they could to help in their panic. Rafe turned back to Y/n, his face softening despite the storm of anxiety in his chest.

“C’mon, let me help you.”

He murmured, his hands gently gripping her arms as he helped her pull down her sweatpants, hands lovingly rubbing against her calves in an attempt to comfort her. Y/n hummed out slightly, her uneasiness palpable, but as another contraction hit, she winced, her face contorting in pain. Rafe’s brows furrowed with concern, his heart aching for her.

“I know, baby, I know. Just breathe. We’re gonna get through this, okay?”

And just as she nodded, another wave of pain hit, and Rafe exhaled in frustration, running a hand over his hair. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to contain the rush of panic rising inside him.

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

The gas station bathroom looked nothing like it had before. Blankets and towels were scattered across the floor beneath Y/n, cushioning her knees as she rocked back and forth, panting through each wave of pain. Bottles of water and crumpled packaging littered the corners- whatever JJ and John B had managed to grab in their scramble. Y/n’s skin glistened with sweat, strands of hair clinging to her flushed face. She reached up with trembling hands, tugging at her top, desperate to get it off. The sticky fabric clung to her skin, and she let out a frustrated groan.

"Here, baby, let me—" Rafe’s voice cut off as his phone buzzed against his ear, someone's voice being heard from the other side. He was crouched down, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Yeah, okay, yeah—she's on the floor, towels everywhere. No, the hospital’s blocked off! We're stuck. I've just told you this, are you even listening to me!"

His voice cracked, running high with panic. John B sat awkwardly near Y/n’s head, trying to offer some sort of comfort. Her hand suddenly shot out, fingers digging painfully into his arm. His breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes. He muttered, voice shaky,

"Shit- okay, okay, you're okay,"

Y/n barely managed to choke out, "Sorry," between laboured breaths as her nails digged into his skin. John B’s voice squeaked,

"It's fine! Totally fine!"

His face twisted in pain, but he didn’t dare pull away. JJ hovered uselessly in the doorway, wide-eyed and wringing his hands feeling a little awkward with the situation at hand.

“Uh… y’all need anything else? Snacks? Beer? No—okay, cool.”

Rafe paced in a tight circle before crouching behind Y/n again, gripping the phone. The nurse’s voice was brisk but calm as she spoke into his ear,“Can you see the baby’s head, sir?”

Rafe swallowed hard, leaning over for a quick glance. His face was drained of all colour.

“Uh… yeah I can see the head.”

Y/n’s head snapped up. "What?! What do you mean you can see it?!"

Rafe’s eyes were wide, panic rising in his throat as the nurse’s voice cut through the phone, steady and firm. “Listen to me carefully. That means she’s ready to push. You need to place your hand firmly against the baby’s head to guide it out slowly. If it comes too fast, there’s a risk of decapitation.”

Rafe froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stared at Y/n, blinking rapidly, his mind spiralling. His brain was screaming at him to move, to do something, but fear was holding him in place, like a heavy weight on his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this. He had no idea what to do, only that he couldn’t screw this up.

“Hello? Sir? Are you still there? Is everything okay?”

He cleared his throat, forcing the words out.

"Yeah—yeah, I’m here."

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a shaky hand down his face, his fingers briefly pressing into his eye’s. He needed to keep it together, but every second felt heavier than the last. He sucked in a breath, grounding himself before snapping his head up.

“JJ! Get over here and hold this fucking phone!”

JJ shuffled forward, noticeably hesitant, eyes fixed awkwardly on the wall as he stood beside Rafe, who held the phone out for the boy slightly. However, as the blond boy refused to look down Rafe remained with his hand held out, causing him to look away from Y/n and see the boy still staring straight ahead at the wall. Rafe stared at him, disbelief simmering under his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Bro?”

John B glanced over from where he was crouched by Y/n’s head, frowning. JJ muttered under his breath, barely audible. Rafe’s patience snapped.

“What!?”

“Listen, your girl is literally naked right there, man! I don’t wanna look- it’s disrespectful!”

JJ winced, shoulders tensing. Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His fists balled at his sides, knuckles white. Every muscle in his body screamed to just hit him, to shake the stupidity right out of him. He could see himself doing it- just one solid punch. But instead, Rafe forced himself to take a breath, exhaling hard through his nose. He dragged a hand roughly over his face once again, muttering, “Jesus Christ-”

Y/n let out a sharp, pained groan, her voice cracking.

“JJ, I don’t care! Just help him- oh SHIIIIIIT!”

Her scream cut through the room like a knife, yanking everyone’s attention back to reality. JJ’s eyes shot wide.

“Okay! Okay! If you insist-”

He didn’t even get the words out before Rafe shoved the phone- now on speaker- hard into his chest. JJ scrambled to steady it, and as his eyes flicked down, his face drained of colour as he looked at Y/n. The very top of the baby’s head was there.

“Holy shit, Y/n there’s like a fucking baby in your pussy-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JJ!”

Y/n’s scream was sharp and furious, echoing in the cramped space. JJ jumped, gripping the phone like it might explode.

“Okay! Sorry! Jesus!”

His voice cracked as he lifted the phone so they could hear it if the nurse spoke out. Rafe knelt back down behind Y/n, and he swallowed hard, as he felt the slick warmth of Y/n's skin under his palm, pressing his hand gently but firmly against the top of the baby’s head, just like the nurse had told him. His other hand rubbed slow, steady circles along the curve of her trembling back, grounding her as best he could. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he forced his voice to stay calm, soft- for her.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, “I need you to listen to me, yeah?”

Y/n’s head lolled against her arm, sweat-damp hair clinging to her flushed face as she let out a shaky breath. His voice firmed, but it was still gentle, coaxing. His hand didn’t stop moving on her back.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good. But I really, really need you to push on the next contraction, alright?”

Her glassy eyes flickered to his, searching, scared. He gave her the smallest, crooked smile despite the panic clawing at him.

“We’re so close, yeah? You’re so strong. Just one big push for me, okay?”

Y/n’s fingers dug into the blankets beneath her, knuckles white. She gave a slight, barely-there nod.

“That’s my girl,” his hand pressed steady against the baby’s head, the other still rubbing soothingly along her back, “Next one, baby. We’re gonna meet our little Cameron. You’ve got this.”

Y/n clenched her jaw, groaning through another push, but Rafe could feel it- nothing was changing. He leaned back slightly, panic creeping into his features, and turned towards the phone in JJ’s grip.

“I—nothing’s happening,” he said quickly, his voice strained, eyes darting from the phone to Y/n’s hunched figure. “What’s going on? Why isn’t the baby moving?”

The nurse’s voice came through, calm but firm. “She’s not pushing hard enough. You need to get the baby out soon, Mr Cameron. The longer the baby stays in the birth canal, the more risk there is of oxygen deprivation.”

Fuck. Rafe’s heart plummeted at the words, and he felt his hand slip slightly against Y/n’s damp skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, his lips parting to respond, but before he could, a faint sound drew his attention.

“Rafe…”

It was John B, his voice hesitant, almost soft. He was kneeling at Y/n’s side, her trembling fingers curled weakly around his forearm.

“Rafe, man… I think you need to talk to her…”

He said quietly, glancing down at the way Y/n’s grip seemed to falter, her breaths shallow and uneven. Rafe swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the sight of her pain and exhaustion. God, she wasn’t even on any painkillers, he didn’t want to imagine how she felt right now. His eyes darted between Y/n and the phone before he scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair, frustration and fear mixing in his expression. John B slowly rose to his feet, giving Y/n’s hand a small squeeze before letting go. He turned to Rafe who had also risen, his face softer than it usually was when the two of them interacted.

“You heard what she said,” Rafe said slowly, voice tight.

John B met his eyes and gave a small, steady nod. “Yeah. I heard.”

Without warning, Rafe’s hand shot out and fisted the front of John B’s shirt, yanking him in close, nose to nose. His grip was iron, knuckles white.

“You hurt my child…” Rafe’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his blue eyes blazing, “…I’ll kill you. Is that clear, John B?”

John B didn’t flinch, didn’t fight back. He just stared at Rafe, steady and calm. Because for the first time, he wasn’t seeing Rafe Cameron the hotheaded psycho- he was seeing a terrified father on the edge.

“Yeah,” John B said quietly, voice even. “Crystal.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over his face, searching for any sign of weakness, but all he saw was understanding. He slowly uncurled his fingers, shoving John B back slightly. Without another word, they switched places. John B moved towards the phone, kneeling behind Y/n and Rafe dropped to his knees beside her, his hands instantly reaching for hers. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her own holding her hand, while the other gently rubbed along her back in slow, grounding circles.

“Hey, hey, baby, look at me,”

He murmured, his voice softer now, but the cracks of fear still clung to the edges. Y/n barely lifted her head, her body trembling.

“Rafe… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice thin and shaky, “I’m so tired-”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his throat burning. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this. Not here in this crappy gas station bathroom.

“I know, sweet girl… I know,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this for you.”

Y/n shook her head faintly, her grip on his wrist weakening.

“No, baby, listen to me.”

Rafe cupped her face, his thumbs brushing the sweat from her cheeks. His own eyes were glassy now, but his voice steadied. “I need you to be strong for me now, yeah? Just a little longer. You can do this. You’re so close.”

She blinked at him, breath shaky, and he leaned in closer, his nose brushing against hers.

“Please, baby. For me. For our baby.”

Y/n swallowed hard, a tear slipping down her cheek, but she gave him the faintest nod.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as his thumb came out to wipe her cheek free of the salty water..

“That’s my girl.”

Y/n let out a guttural groan as she pushed with everything she had on her next contraction, her entire body trembling under the effort. Rafe was right beside her, one hand braced on her back, the other still gently cupping her hand, which she gripped ferociously.

“Oh my God- the head’s out!”

John B shouted, voice laced with disbelief and panic. He was kneeld awkwardly, eyes wide as he stared down. JJ was next to him, his knees slipping slightly on the layered towels.

“Holy shit, man, I see it! Okay, okay, you’re so close, Y/n!” His voice was high with adrenaline, but there was something soft in it, too. “Come on, mama, just a little more, you’re about to meet your baby!”

Rafe tightened his grip on Y/n’s shoulder, leaning in close, his breath shaky. “Sweet girl, we’re right there, yeah? One more push. You’ve got this.”

The nurse crackled through the phone still in JJ’s shaky grip, “Support the baby’s head! Careful, slow—don’t let it drop!” JJ scrambled, hands trembling as he carefully cupped the tiny, slick head, his face frozen in panic. “Okay, okay, I got it—I got it! Oh my God, John B, help me!” John B, swallowing his own panic, steadied JJ’s hands, both of them crouched and bracing themselves.

“Y/n, baby, one more. Just one more push,”

Rafe whispered, voice breaking but full of determination. Y/n let out a ragged sob, gripping Rafe’s arm like a lifeline, her face buried into his neck. She drew in a shaking breath and bore down, crying out as her body strained.

“There we go!” John B’s voice cracked with disbelief. “The shoulders are coming!” JJ’s eyes were wide, hands gently guiding the tiny body. Rafe’s hand slid to her damp cheek, brushing her hair back.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

And in the next moment, the baby slipped free into JJ and John B’s waiting hands, their eyes wide with shock and awe. For a moment, the entire room was still. Breathless. Then, the silence shattered. A sharp, piercing wail filled the air—raw, loud, and alive.

The baby was crying.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with warmth. “That’s exactly what we want to hear, means their airways are clear- congratulations!” the nurse’s voice came through, vibrating with relief.

Y/n’s body sagged with relief, sobs breaking free as she wept, trembling from exhaustion and overwhelming joy. Rafe let out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. His chest tightened, and his eyes, glossed over, locked on Y/n, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Oh, sweet girl…” His voice was raw as he leaned in, cupping her tear-streaked face.

“I’m so proud of you. You hear that?”

He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, voice breaking. “That’s our baby Y/n, you did that.” He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her forehead, his arms holding her close. Y/n’s breath hitched, tears slipping freely. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Is it… is it a boy or a girl?”

John B, though still emotional, took the lead as he carefully placed his hands on the baby’s tiny chest, rubbing gently as the nurse instructed to ensure air was circulating properly. His movements instinctual despite the fear and emotions tangled in his chest.

“It’s a girl.”

A fragile, joyful sob escaped Y/n’s lips, her hand flying to her mouth. The nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, her tone calm and clear. “Alright, now I need you to swaddle the baby tightly, make sure she doesn’t get cold.”

JJ moved quickly, wrapping the baby snugly in the towel, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the chaos unfolding around them. The nurse continued as they worked on the little being amongst the towels. “And how’s mom? Make sure she’s covered up too, don’t want her getting cold either.”

John B, standing up from his kneeling position, grabbed a second blanket and draped it over Y/n, making sure it covered her body as he gently rubbed her back. “Good job, Y/n. You’re amazing.” Never in a million years did he think when he got a job at the gas station he would be helping to deliver his brother in law’s baby. Y/n, leaning heavily against Rafe, gave him a small, exhausted smile.

The nurse’s voice came through again, more reassuring this time. “Now, I need you to pass the baby to mum. Be gentle, don’t pull on the umbilical cord. The ambulance is just two minutes away.”

Rafe, still crouched behind Y/n, gently helped her lean back against his chest . His arms were wrapped securely around her, as he supported her with a steady, comforting presence. He gently adjusted her position, making sure her back was firmly against his chest, and spoke softly, his voice laced with concern,

“You okay, baby?”

Y/n hummed softly, her breath shallow as she nodded faintly, exhaustion clouding her features. She leaned back further into him, her body still trembling, but her grip on her blanket was firm. Rafe gave her a soft kiss on the side of her head, his hands gently rubbing her arm in soothing circles. JJ gently cradled the newborn, his hands trembling slightly from the weight of the moment.

“Well done sunshine.”

He said softly, his voice full of emotion as he carefully passed the baby to Y/n. With shaky hands, Y/n cradled the baby to her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she looked down at the sweet, tiny face. Tears welled up in her eyes, the overwhelming joy of finally holding her daughter too much to contain. She let out a shaky sob, her heart swelling with emotion. Rafe leaned in close, his voice soft as he spoke,

“It’s okay, we’ve got her now, yeah?”

He wrapped his arms around Y/n from behind, his chin resting gently on her shoulder, offering her all the reassurance she needed. Y/n barely heard him though, her attention entirely on the little life in her arms. She watched as he ran a trembling finger over the baby’s cheek, the softness of his daughter's skin pulling at his heartstrings.

“She looks just like you, Rafey”

Y/n murmured, her voice full of awe. Rafe let out an emotional laugh, a tear slipping from his eye as he leaned in to kiss Y/n’s forehead, feeling completely overwhelmed by the moment. Y/n turned her head to look at him, and he leaned forward slightly to press his forehead gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet, sacred moment. After a moment of silence, he kissed her softly, his lips lingering for just a second. With glossy eyes, he whispered,

“Thank you for giving us our sweet girl.”

Y/n smiled, her heart full as she leaned her head against his, both of them looking down at their peaceful, sleeping baby in her arms. Although baby Cameron was born in a gas station on the cut, in the hands of two Pogues who they didn't always get along with, and not in the prestigious private suite of the hospital they had planned to give birth in originally, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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

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hotchnerwrites · 2 months ago

Note

“Enemies to lovers, but only one of them thinks they're enemies. The other has been entirely obsessed since the beginning.” Saw this concept on here and got me thinking—reader works at the bau and thinks hotch hates her, but in reality it’s the opposite and she’s misreading his signals?

Mixed Signals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: SFW, idiots in love, good ending, swear words

A/N: Hi hi hi hi!!! sorry for the long wait!!! finally have some time on hand from exams and im getting all reqs done!!! chose to go down a dry humour/funny route for this. honestly reminded me of my olive branch fic, except it's reversed ahahah. anyway, thank you so much for your patience. i hope you enjoy this!!!! so much love, mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open. Send me stuff! Please read the rules before asking, and be advised there is a slight wait time right now. But I will post for sure. :)

ps- i kind of maybe forgot to proofread so let's pretend any errors don't exist 😬

At the end of the day, it was just work.

You all were colleagues— professionals selected for their skills, all crammed together into one bullpen and expected to play nice. That didn’t mean you had to be friends. People were allowed to dislike each other if they wanted. It happened. Tensions flared, personalities clashed, and someone always ate the last yoghurt tub.

And if Aaron Hotchner happened to hate you in particular, well, that was his right. It was just part of the job. And you were aware of it. Oh, so aware. Acute, constantly and embarrassingly aware.

There was no question about it: he hated you. Not disliked. Not tolerated with professional indifference. No— this was loathing. Cold, calculated, deep-in-his-bones hatred.

You felt it in your blood every time Hotch walked into the bullpen and skipped over you when saying good morning. It radiated from his office like a laser death ray whenever you laughed a bit too loud.

It wasn’t paranoia. You’d done the math.

Morgan? A nod of approval. Prentiss? Professional respect. Reid? Indulgent patience. Rossi? Best friends. You? Fuck all.

You were sick of the stone-faced silence. And that look he did. That little glance from the corner of his eye, paired with a crease between his brows. Like your presence caused him physical pain. You’d once made a joke in the SUV, and he sighed. Not laughed. Sighed. It was actually quite impressive, how consistent he was about it.

You’d retaliated by calling Hotch all kinds of names. Mentally, of course. It was childish and dramatic, you know. But no more dramatic than the way he had once corrected your paperwork with a red pen, and hadn’t even told you— just left it on your desk like a cursed object.

You tried not to take it personally. For a while, it worked. But then he started doing this thing— this new thing— where he’d enter a room, and leave as soon as you walked in. It had only happened twice, but it had been the same excuse both times: that superiors called him away. Suspicious.

So you did what any well-adjusted and emotionally mature adult would do. You went straight to Garcia’s office and told her that your boss hated you and you were going to get fired because he could smell your weakness. She’d gasped, handed you a bejewelled stress ball, and offered to hack into some database on your behalf (you declined, but it was nice to feel loved for a change).

Still, you couldn’t shake it. It seemed like he couldn’t be in your orbit for more than three and a half minutes without the need to file an HR report.

So when the moment came, you weren’t prepared.

●・○・●・○・●・

You were in the briefing room, finishing up your notes after everyone else had gone. The case had closed. People were smiling. Even Hotch had smiled at someone. (Not you. Obviously. But still.)

You were alone now, sorting through crime scene photos, muttering under your breath about timelines, when his voice startled you.

“You missed lunch.”

You jumped. Clutched a photo like a weapon. “Hotch—you can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

He looked vaguely alarmed. “I knocked.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” he insisted, like someone trying to explain doorbells to a raccoon.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want?”

He paused. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and—without ceremony—placed a sandwich in front of you. Neatly wrapped. Labelled with your name. From your favourite place.

You blinked. “…What is this?”

“You didn’t eat.” A beat. “It’s been a while since the brief ended.”

“I— I was going to—”

“I’ve noticed.”

You stare at the sandwich like it’s a bomb. Then at him.

“You got me food?”

“Yes.”

“Because you hate me and you’re trying to poison me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“It’s fine,” you said, hands raised in mock surrender. “I respect it. A clean kill. No one would suspect a thing.”

“…Why would I hate you?”

You let out a single, disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding? You avoid me like I’m radioactive. You only talk to me when absolutely necessary, and even then, you struggle. You sigh when I speak.”

Hotch looked absolutely, entirely baffled.

“I sigh at everyone.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. It’s a thinking thing.”

You scoffed. “Well, you don’t think around Morgan that much, apparently.”

He exhaled. Then, before you could launch into Exhibit D (the Unspoken Broom Closet Incident), he said:

“I’ve always valued your insight.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your reports are consistently the most thorough. Your geographic profiling is precise. You’re one of the most detail-oriented agents I’ve worked with.”

You stared at him. “…So you don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Quite the opposite.”

Silence.

You opened your mouth, about to ask what the opposite of hate even meant in Hotch-speak, but he was already turning away, clearing his throat.

“Anyway,” he said, suddenly very interested in the wallpaper, “I thought you might want lunch. That’s all.”

And then he was gone. Just—left. Like he hadn’t just lobbed that cryptic grenade over his shoulder and walked away.

●・○・●・○・●・

You don’t eat it right away. Not because you’re still suspicious—it’s from your favourite deli and has your name written on the brown paper in what can only be described as Hotch's weird, neat serial killer handwriting—but because you're too busy mentally disassociating.

Quite the opposite.

What on earth did he mean?

The rest of the day passes in a weird, slow-motion haze. JJ gives you a weird look when you accidentally sit in her chair. Reid asks if you’ve seen his recent paper, and you blink at him like you’ve just returned from war.

Because you’re thinking. Hard.

Like:

That time Hotch asked if you were staying late and then looked weirdly panicked when you said you were walking home.

The morning you came in limping from breaking your ankle, and he said, “You shouldn’t be here,” in the flattest tone imaginable.

How he called you by your first name once, and you almost fell out of your chair because he never uses anyone’s first names. You chalked it up to a lapse.

And then. Then, the worst one.

Last month. You’d been coughing like a maniac during a briefing. He had placed a bottle of water in front of you with a dull thunk. At the time, you had taken it to be his passive-aggressive way of saying please shut the fuck up right now. Only to find out later from JJ that he’d actually gotten up and left mid-meeting to get that water for you.

Now you're sitting at your desk rewatching it all in your head like the twist ending of a psychological thriller.

●・○・●・○・●・

You don’t see Hotch again until nearly 6 p.m., and when you do, he’s at his office door, jacket folded over one arm, clearly intending to head out.

You’re not even thinking when you get up and intercept him halfway down the hall.

He stops mid-step when he sees you. “Everything alright?”

“I… need you to clarify what’s going on.”

He exhales like someone who just got caught by airport security. “About what?”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but your heart is pounding like you’re about to ask your boss if he’s mad at you—because that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“You’ve been… weird,” you say finally. “With me. For months.”

Hotch tilts his head. “Weird.”

“You barely speak to me unless it’s about a case. You avoid sitting near me on the jet. I brought cookies in last week, and you took one, then put it back. Who does that?”

He has the audacity to look mildly horrified. “I didn’t mean to put it back.”

“That’s not the point.”

You’re spiralling and he knows it. You can tell by the way his jaw tightens like he’s trying not to laugh. You, on the other hand, are mortified.

“I just need to know,” you continue, quieter now. “If I did something wrong. If I’ve annoyed you somehow, or if you genuinely just… can’t stand me.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make you want to crawl into the floor tiles.

Hotch runs a hand down his face. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I—” He pauses, and then, with all the charisma of a man giving a congressional hearing, says, “You make me nervous.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“You… distract me,” he mutters, like he’s admitting to tax fraud. “I didn’t mean to be distant. I thought it would help.”

“Oh.” It comes out stupidly small, because your brain is too busy cataloguing every single interaction the two of you have ever had and realising, oh no, he was just emotionally repressed and completely, tragically bad at this.

You swallow. “So… you don’t think I’m annoying?”

“No,” he says, almost immediately, and then after a pause, “Not even a little. Not even when you talk over me in briefings.”

You almost laugh. “That’s because you talk like we’re in court.”

“And you talk like you’re arguing with your GPS.”

Now you do laugh, and something about the way his shoulders ease tells you this is maybe the most honest conversation you’ve ever had with him.

You look at him for a second longer, searching his face. “You’re really bad at this.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve just said you liked me.”

“I’m saying it now,” he says, softer.

And okay—maybe Hotch didn’t confess it with a rose in his teeth and violins playing in the background. Maybe it came out like a man filing paperwork for a broken heart. But it’s still something.

“You want to get coffee or something?” you ask.

He nods once. “Yeah. I do.”

You don’t know what this is yet. But it doesn’t feel like work. And this time, he didn’t glare— so, by your standards, that was basically a proposal.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

#criminal minds #hotchnerwritescm #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x f!reader #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x bau!reader

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ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

Note

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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illyrianshadow · 3 months ago

Text

Lost in Shadows (pt. II)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: mentions of difficult home life, most likely angst in future chapters (and potential smut)

A/N: I still can't believe how many of you interacted with the first part of this! From the bottom of my heart, thank you!! A little bit more back story in this chapter. Hopefully the switching of POV's isn't too confusing. As always, any feedback more than welcome.

ps, let me know if you want me to make a taglist

Word count 2.25K

Part 1 | Part 3

—————-

The day you left Windhaven was one of the worst ones of your life.

You had overheard your father tell one of his friends that he had promised you to a male named Kaelen, a warrior from Frost Edge, a nearby camp known for its strong traditional views and values on the treatment of Illyrian females.

Now that your 18th birthday had come he could finally send you away, to him. You were to become his wife.

You’re a unique Illyrian female. Born to a high fae mother and Illyrian father, you never had wings of your own but did possess Illyrian anatomy, something that was extremely rare.

For centuries, your father had pursued high fae females in the hope he’d one day have a wingless child.

He picked young, impressionable fae, females that did not know about the dangers of giving birth to a winged babe. Your mother fell right into his trap and after a short courtship she fell pregnant. When you were born, wingless as your father had always dreamed off, he was convinced that they were cauldron blessed. It was so incredibly rare, the mother must have granted him the ultimate gift.

He became obsessed with having another child. Your mother fell pregnant again within the year and died when giving birth to your brother. You didn’t remember her, your brother didn't survive.

Your wingless back was your fathers pride, the ultimate “clipping”, a daughter born to serve on the ground not soar in the skies.

His voice was filled with pride as he told the other male that you were send away to be used for breeding. As if you were some prize mare that was only good for producing offspring. Wing clipping was standard in Frost Edge and wingless females were worshipped above all. They had heard of your rare anatomy and hoped you would be able to pass your rare genetics on to the next generation.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, he’d never seen you as anything more than a cleaner and a cook.

Your father did always say you had ridiculous notions. Wanting to have a job, wanting to travel and see the other courts. Whenever you expressed wanting to do anything besides cleaning his house and looking after him, he would shut you down immediately.

He had treated you like this from a young age, and as you grew older you became more and more isolated. Your father forbade you to interact with any of the Illyrian males in the camp, and the other females were afraid to come near you because of your father's reputation. Your friendship with Azriel was the only thing keeping you sane.

The colour drained from your face as you heard your father's words.

You knew you couldn’t stay. You would have to leave, get out as fast as you could. You headed back into your room and started packing the few belongings you had as the reality of it all hit you.

You could never come back, it would never be safe. Not until your father was gone, or dead.

You were furious, tears streaming down your face as you thought of what leaving really meant. You would lose him, Azriel.

You grabbed a pen and a bit of paper. You had to leave him a note, you had to tell him how much he meant to you. You stared at the sheet for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the words that could convey the depth of your feelings. Nothing came to mind. In the end you opted for a short explanation of the situation at hand instead. You told him you had to leave Windhaven for your own safety, and you told him that you loved him more than anything in the world.

When your father had left the house, oblivious to you overhearing his earlier conversation, you sneaked out into the forest to leave the note in your hiding place.

And then you were gone.

You fled to Velaris hoping you would be able to find passage on a ship that could take you to the day court. In your first days there you noticed one of Azriel’s shadows. He had sent one after you as soon as he realised you were gone and it had followed you all the way to the city. His gifts were still untrained and his shadows were young, but they were drawn to you like moths to a flame. Sending one after you to find you had been easy.

You felt its presence, being so used to the feeling of having them close. They couldn' t hide from you.

You whispered to it to return to its master, that it wasn’t safe for you to be tracked. You told it to tell Azriel that he needed to let you go. You made a promise you would try and find your way back to him one day when it was safe for you to return.

You had never thought it would take more than 500 years for you to do so.

—————-

Present day, Azriel’s POV

He knows you are here as soon as you walk through the door. His shadows calm in a way they have not done for over 500 years. A quiet, soothing feeling. It’s as if they say he can stop looking, he can relax, you are here.

“Alive,” they whisper in his ear; “found, safe.”

His heart rate picks up, his palms become sweaty. This is it, the moment he has been dreaming of for centuries. Confirmation that you are okay, that you are still breathing. Now that it has arrived he is unsure of what to do with himself.

Even though he can sense you are there he has no idea if you’ll remember who he is.

He’s sitting with his back to you and even though he is the Spymaster of the night court (and one of the most feared warriors in Illyrian history), the thought of turning around and looking at you leaves him feeling unsettled.

The reality of it all is utterly terrifying.

What if he finds your gaze and there is no recognition in your eyes? Or worse. What if you do recognise him and are disappointed by the male he has become?

He’d rather keep looking forward and stay oblivious for all eternity than live in that reality.

Azriel is so different from the boy he used to be. He’s learned to close himself off over the centuries. He’s become guarded, distanced, learned to keep his cards close to his chest. Some would even describe him as cold.

Years of training as an illyrian warrior and being the Spymaster of the night court will do that to a male.

The open vulnerability he had displayed towards you as a child was for you and you alone. When you disappeared out of his life you took that part of him with you.

How is he meant to live up to the image you undeniably still have of him?

The image of a boy untainted by murder and violence. Your best friend who would wrap you in his shadows and cloak you in darkness whenever you needed to feel safe. You once explained to him the feeling of them made you feel grounded, protected. You saw them as something beautiful. No one else had ever looked at them that way.

You knew him as a boy that had only ever used his shadows for good, not the illyrian warrior who had hurt and tortured countless people. Who had used his shadows to instill fear rather than offer them to people as a safety blanket.

The only similarity between him and who he had once been are the boyish curls framing his face and the scarred hands clenching his drink.

He is scarred, broken.

He tries to ground himself by bringing his attention back to his family. Mor is waving her arms around enthusiastically as she recalls something adorable Nyx had done when she’d last visited the river house.

He’s hoping his frequent nodding and occasional “hmhm-ing” will be enough to convince her he is fully engaged in whatever story she is telling him.

“And then Nyx picked up Cassian and threw him across the room.”

Azriel snaps out of his trance at her latest words. “Nyx did what now?”

“Finally! I’ve been spouting nonsense at you for ages. Rhys and I have been having a bet going for the last 5 minutes to see how long it would take for you to notice." She turns to Rhys with a triumphant smile on her face. “Pay up.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend I don’t already pay for everything your heart desires, dear cousin.” he says, a feline smile gracing his lips. “I think we can probably call it even.”

Mor gasps and grabs her chest as if wounded. “Me, spending your money? I would never.” she says in mock exasperation.

This immediately results in a discussion about Mor's spending habits as Rhys starts listing the countless things Mor has bought with his money in the last week alone.

Offering the perfect opportunity for Azriel to let his thoughts wander back to you.

His shadows start whispering again, reporting your movements to him. “Watching.” They whisper. “Staring.”

Is it because you recognise who he is? Or is it because the sight of an Illyrian sitting in a crowded bar in Velaris has grabbed your attention?

If your shared past is anything to go off, the sight of one of your own kind will undeniably have put your guard up. You might be watching him out of habit, to make sure he doesn’t do anything unpredictable.

Rhys’ voice suddenly crowds the space inside his mind. “As much as I enjoy watching whatever inner conflict you are having brother, I just wanted to inform you that there’s an incredibly beautiful female staring at your back.”

Azriel’s breath hitches at his brother's comment and he feels a pang of jealousy knowing that Rhys has seen you before he has had the chance. The high lord raises his eyebrows when he notices the effect of his words.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. Some Spymaster you are. Should I be reconsidering your position in my court?” he continues, a teasing tone lacing his words.

Azriel just glares at him in response, resulting in Mor pouting at the both of them when she notices the exchange. “Oi, stop having conversations in your head you two. It’s rude to gossip in the presence of a lady.”

Rhys just snorts at that remark and brings his attention back to her as their bickering continues.

This time the High Lord opts for commentary on the mountain of incredibly unladylike situations he has seen his cousin in while out at Rita’s.

“Moving.” his shadows whisper “Getting up. Walking.”

Azriel’s shadows start to stir, becoming restless just like their master. Were you leaving?

Still too scared to turn around, he sends one of his shadows after you to investigate your movements.

“Bar” it reports back and Azriel lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. You weren’t going anywhere.

Good. This was good. He just needed a little bit more time.

—————-

Reader POV

You need another drink. You’ve been staring at Azriel for god knows how long and since you can’t seem to find the courage to approach him, you need something to distract your busy mind.

A trip to the bar will have to do. Maybe an additional drink (or 5, or 10) will help you find the courage you need, or at least quiet down your anxious mind.

As soon as you start walking you think you notice something. A presence, something calming. The feeling disappears just as quickly as it had come on. You must be imagining things.

As you make your way over to the bar you realise that if you were to turn around and head back with your drink, you’d have to look at Azriel face on.

Flustered by the idea you decide to settle on one of the bar stools in the corner instead. You take a deep breath and when your drink arrives you hold on to it for dear life. You down it way too fast and order another one, which turns into a third and then a couple of shots.

The pace at which you're drinking seems to keep the other people in the bar at bay. No one really pays you any mind or approaches the corner you are sitting in. Good.

As the alcohol starts to cloud your judgement and you begin to feel its full effects, you decide that it’s time. Consequences be damned, you cannot leave here tonight without speaking to him.

You can’t lose him again.

You turn and jump up from your seat, misjudging the full effect the alcohol has had on you. You stumble forward and you would have fallen face first on the ground had strong, scarred hands not steadied you.

You are many, way too many, drinks deep.

Your eyes grow wide as you look at the hands holding you upright, knowing damn well who they belong to.

As you look up into a pair of hazel eyes, you feel your whole world slow. Your chest fills with warmth and you feel a longing, something familiar but also incredibly new.

It’s as if your heart is reaching out to his. It’s like something is tying your souls together.

It’s that familiar feeling his shadows used to give you. A quiet calm, a steadying comfort.

And that’s when you know. You’d probably always known deep down.

Mate.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x female!reader #azriel x f!reader

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ditzybeee · 15 days ago

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Read your jason todd x reader oral fixacton. Could you please write about reader who stims orally like chewing on things. like maybe chewing on a pen and acidently drools all over it.

❥・a/n: hi hello i love this sm <3 ps the oral fixation series is semi-inspired by this post by @cat-castors pls go check it out !!

❥・Jason Todd — oral stim (nsfw)

❥・tags: mild nsfw, jason todd blurb, established relationship, gn!reader, no use of y/n, neurodivergent!reader, reader has an oral stim, gn!nicknames (baby), fingers in mouth

❥・word count: 372

❥・─────────────────────

When Jason Todd first started dating you, you were weird—in a charming way.

You'd speak in slang, ramble about anything and everything, and he'd love it.

It started getting weird for him when you started stimming.

You'd clack your teeth together, bite his arms and hands in the soft bits, just to feel pressure on your teeth.

Jason found something out about himself, though, when he watched you chew on a pen, saliva trailing down the barrel.

"Baby," he hums, leaning closer to you, watching as you pull the pen out of your mouth. He huffs softly, pushing it back into your mouth.

"What?" You tilt your head, chewing the pen again.

"Why... what's with your mouth? I mean, you like biting and pressing your teeth together."

You shrug, unsure how to explain. "Sometimes I'm stressed—like now," you gesture to the documents you were filling out.

"Or when I'm happy, like when I bite you," you smile.

"You... you don't have anything, right? Like- like kinks I should know about?" He asks slowly, unsure how to continue.

"Do you?" You respond all too quickly with a sparkle in your eye.

Jason blinks. He couldn't respond. How could he?

How could he tell you that—of course, he loves your mouth—he loves every part of you.

Fuck it.

"Can I?" He mumbles quietly, pulling the pen out of your mouth.

You comply, watching as he sticks his index finger into your mouth. You close your lips around his finger and suck.

His eyes widen and his face warms.

He is so fucked.

He presses his finger against your teeth. Despite biting anything and everything, your teeth are pretty sharp. He hums softly when he gets to your canines.

His free hand holds your chin, opening your mouth before a second finger is stuck in between your lips.

Jason is having fun.

He presses his fingers to the back of your tongue, inhaling sharply when you gag.

He continues—pressing his fingers in intervals—watching you gag on his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out eventually, staring at the glistening saliva on his hand.

"Thanks, baby," he hums, pressing a quick kiss on your temple before acting as if nothing happened.

Jason Todd has an oral fixation.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・masterlist

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sweetvoidstuff · 14 days ago

Text

Just a Normal Night: Seoul Edition

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: You visited Seoul to spend time with Jungkook in person—finally closing the distance between you again. In his presence, everything felt fuller, brighter, more real. Even if others might overlook you. It wasn’t just a trip; it was a reminder of what you both were building together.

Word Count: 15K

Masterlist

Just a Normal Night

Just a Normal Night: Missing You

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

PS: Really afraid to post this after all the love the first part got.

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You stood at the airport, fingers curled around the handle of your carry-on, eyes flicking occasionally to the flight information board above. The gate number had just been announced, and you were now officially waiting—your first international flight, and, unsurprisingly, your first time flying business class. The weight of that reality hadn’t quite settled yet.

Phone in hand, you opened your messages and quickly typed out a note to Jungkook: “Found my gate. Just waiting now 😊” As usual, it took a while for him to respond. That was something you’d grown used to. Being with Jungkook was like living in an echo—conversations happening slightly out of sync, affection delivered in delayed but meaningful beats.

It still felt surreal sometimes. The way you'd met him, how easily he had slipped into your life that first night—like he'd always been part of it. You'd welcomed him into your circle of friends without question, as if he was just some guy, not the Jeon Jungkook. That night together had been more than just impulsive—it had been oddly right. Real. And yet, somehow, the deeper emotional connection only started forming after the physical one.

The last few days of his vacation had been spent in the most ordinary ways—wandering your city, drinking coffee, watching dumb reality shows, laughing at inside jokes that formed way too fast. It had all been strangely easy. Strangely intimate.

One afternoon, you'd sat down with his lawyer and signed a non-disclosure agreement. That had been the one jarring moment. Formal. Cold. You remembered how Jungkook had kept glancing at you, like he was waiting for you to flinch or back out. You hadn’t. You’d just signed, asked for a pen that didn’t smudge, and moved on. If anything, it made him more affectionate afterward. Like he’d realized you were serious.

And then—he was gone. Just like that. Back to his world of stages and cameras, press schedules and airport chaos. You hadn’t put a label on anything. There had been no ‘are we something’ conversation, no dramatic goodbye. Just a kiss that lingered, and a promise to stay in touch.

You did. As often as time zones and chaos allowed, you texted, sent photos, shared voice notes. Sometimes hours passed between replies. Sometimes whole days. But the rhythm was steady. The thread stayed unbroken. Now, here you were. Sitting at an airport gate, boarding pass tucked inside your passport, heart a mess of nerves and excitement.

You were flying to Seoul.

To see him.

And even if nothing was official, even if the words hadn’t been said aloud—you couldn’t deny it anymore. This meant something.

You’d fought him on the visit at first. Not about going—God, no. You wanted to see him. Missed him. Dreamed of him. But the cost of an international flight was no joke, and your budget had limits. It would’ve taken you at least two more months to save up, even if you lived off instant noodles and cut every corner. You had told him so, somewhat shyly, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Jungkook, in true Jungkook fashion, had looked at you through a video call and simply said, “Don’t be stupid. A plane ticket isn’t going to bankrupt me.”

You’d groaned at that, partly amused, partly exasperated—and it sparked a longer conversation, one you were glad you had. Because just like that, money had become the shadow in the room. Not between you emotionally—he’d never made you feel less—but between your lives. The very real difference in scale. Jungkook could buy anything. Fly anywhere. And while he never flaunted it, you didn’t want to start something that made you feel like a kept secret, or worse, a guest in his world.

You’d told him you didn’t want gifts. Didn’t want him throwing money around to impress you. You just wanted him. He’d listened. Really listened. And then explained that paying for your flight wasn’t about spoiling you—it was about making it easier to be with you, when his job made it nearly impossible with the upcoming album to travel freely where he wanted to be. “If it were up to me, I’d be flying to you,” he’d said quietly. “But it’s not. So please, let me do this.”

In the end, you’d agreed. But you’d made your stance clear. He could cover the flights—but you’d pack your own toiletries, bring your own snacks, and cover your fun expenses while you were there. You weren’t arriving with empty hands.

So now, here you were.

About to board a flight to Seoul. Staying for three weeks. It still didn’t feel entirely real. Another small argument you’d had: accommodations.

You’d offered to book a hotel—at your own expense, no frills needed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to him. It was just... staying with him felt like a big step. Like something official. Something people in actual relationships did. But Jungkook hadn’t even let you finish the sentence.

“No.” One word. Flat. Final.

You blinked at him through the video call, and he softened when he saw your face. He wasn’t mad—just adamant. Steady in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“I want you home,” he’d said quietly. “I want to fall asleep next to you. Wake up next to you. I don’t want to waste time driving across the city every night to drop you off like you’re temporary.”

And then he added the real kicker, the one you hadn’t thought of: “And if I come to your hotel… if someone sees me there, sees you there—paparazzi could have a field day. I don't want you dragged into that. You don’t deserve that kind of attention.”

You understood, of course. It made sense. Practical, even. You knew what world he lived in—and what came with it. But it still felt weird. Like stepping into a role you hadn’t auditioned for. You weren’t his girlfriend—not officially. You hadn’t had that talk. You hadn’t labeled anything. Yet here you were, planning to sleep in his bed. In his space. With his driver picking you up. Like you belonged there.

The dissonance was strange. Sweet, but strange.

Still, he wanted this. And if you were being honest with yourself, so did you. So you’d caved, of course. Not because you didn’t have boundaries—but because that quiet, vulnerable side of him? The one that peeked through his fame and confidence? That version of Jungkook you couldn’t say no to.

So you were going to his home. A private driver was going to meet you at Incheon airport with a small placard bearing your name—another thing you didn’t really need, but Jungkook had insisted on, citing security and comfort. And once the workday was over, once he was done being the global superstar the world knew him as, you’d finally see him again.

Not on a screen. Not through messages. But in person.

So you packed for Seoul. Not like you were meeting your maybe-boyfriend. No—like you were about to walk into something quietly important. Something real.

And the thought of seeing him again—offstage, unfiltered—made your stomach knot with something dangerously close to excitement.

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The flight had been as comfortable as a long-haul business class flight could be—plush seats, a quiet cabin, even a decent meal you didn’t have to pay extra for. You’d done your best to relax, but anticipation buzzed beneath your skin, tugging at your nerves the closer the plane got to Seoul.

At the arrivals gate, your driver had held up a discreet sign with your name. He was polite, maybe a little stiff at first, trying hard to speak English as he helped with your luggage. But when you replied in Korean—halting but clear—his face visibly brightened in relief. The ride became lighter after that. Your Korean had improved quickly in the last few weeks, mostly out of necessity. Daily conversations with Jungkook had turned from playful chaos to something deeper, smoother. You still stumbled over grammar, and your spelling was a disaster, but you made it work. And he always answered patiently, even when you texted him three different ways to ask the same question.

The driver brought you straight to Jungkook’s apartment. It was late afternoon, the sky a watercolor mix of soft greys and warm golds, the city humming in the background. Jungkook wasn’t home yet, caught up with work, but the door code worked just like he said it would. The space inside was quiet and immaculately clean—modern, tasteful, and subtly masculine. Not cold, though. Not with the welcome you got.

Because the moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a tall, sleek doberman trotting toward you, ears perked and tail wagging slow and steady. Bam. You crouched instinctively, hand held out, heart thudding a little—he was much bigger than you'd expected from old videos. But he sniffed your fingers, let out a soft huff, and nudged his head under your palm.

You melted immediately.

Bam followed you around the apartment like a quiet shadow while you explored only the spaces Jungkook had told you were fine to use. You didn’t go into his bedroom, unsure if that was too much. You felt like an intruder, a guest in something delicate, even though he had been the one to insist you stay here. You were still wrapping your head around it—this whole thing. You. Him. Here.

Jetlag hit like a freight train not long after. You curled up on the big living room couch, your travel bag still half unpacked in the corner. Bam, loyal and massive, hopped up beside you with a low grunt and carefully tucked himself against your side. His weight was comforting. His presence grounding.

You sent Jungkook a quick message:

You: i’m here. bam says hi. talk soon <3

You passed out before you saw his reply.

Later that evening, Jungkook stepped into his home quietly, the soft sound of the door the only warning. He didn’t call out. Just slipped off his shoes and padded in, shoulders loose with exhaustion—until he turned the corner and saw you.

You were curled up in the middle of his living room, tangled in a throw blanket, mouth parted slightly in sleep. One arm was draped around Bam, who was nestled against you like a guard and a traitor all in one. His eyes flicked open at the sound of his master entering, but he didn’t move—he just blinked lazily and stayed close to you. He couldn’t remember the last time Bam had taken to someone that quickly—or that completely.

Jungkook stood there a long moment, completely still, a soft ache blooming in his chest.

It wasn’t the sight of you in his home.

It was how right it looked.

You, barefoot and flushed from sleep, his dog choosing you without hesitation. You fitting into his space like you’d always belonged there.

He smiled slowly, heart warm and full, and whispered so quietly that neither of you heard it:

“Welcome home.”

He approached slowly, kneeling beside the couch and gently rubbing behind Bam’s ear. The dog grumbled, low and disgruntled, when Jungkook nudged him away, resisting for a moment before finally huffing and hopping down with reluctant steps. He gave Jungkook a betrayed look before slinking off to his usual spot in the corner, flopping down with a groan of effort.

You stirred faintly in your sleep, your hand reaching absently for the warmth that had just left your side. A soft whimper left your lips as your arm fell against empty cushions. Jungkook's heart ached.

But he didn’t let you stay cold for long. With practiced care, he maneuvered into the space Bam had just vacated, lifting the blanket slightly and slipping in beside you. You mumbled something in your sleep, brow furrowed briefly before it smoothed out again when his arm circled your waist. You exhaled slowly and relaxed into him, instinctively curling closer, your head tucking beneath his chin like it belonged there.

He wasn’t tired. Not really. Adrenaline still buzzed faintly in his veins from a long day, but lying there with you in his arms melted every ounce of tension in his body. The way you fit against him. The steady rise and fall of your breathing. It was all too easy to close his eyes and let himself fall.

Still, from past experience, Jungkook knew the jet lag would catch up to you fully in a few hours. You’d wake in the middle of the night, confused and out of place, maybe even a little anxious in the unfamiliar dark. He wanted to be there for that moment—to meet it with calmness and quiet company.

So he stayed, anchored to you. He would wake with you. He would walk you through the time zone shift and sleepy confusion and maybe heat up some tea. And then he’d hold you again, as long as you’d let him. For now, though, he simply breathed you in and let himself drift.

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You woke up groggy and disoriented, your mind struggling to place the moment. For a few seconds, it was like surfacing from a deep, unfamiliar dream—blinking into the darkness, unsure where you were, let alone what year it was. And then you felt it. A warm arm draped tightly around your waist. A solid chest beneath your cheek, rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Someone was holding you—and for a panicked breath, your heart jumped into your throat.

But the scent hit you a second later—warm cotton, clean skin, and something faintly musky and familiar. Jungkook. You exhaled in relief, sinking back down into him with a soft sigh, the tension draining from your muscles all at once. Oh, right. Seoul. His apartment. Your nap on the couch with Bam. You hadn’t expected to fall asleep for so long—or to wake up like this. With him.

A low, husky groan rumbled beneath your ear, followed by the gravel-soft voice you’d missed hearing in person.

“You awake? … Awake?”

His voice cut through the quiet of the apartment, rough with sleep, brushing against your skin like velvet. You hummed an answer, still not fully ready to rejoin the world. You could’ve stayed like this a little longer, maybe forever—but the haze of jet lag was clearing, and restlessness had started creeping in.

You shifted slightly, intending to sit up—but Jungkook’s arm tightened around you, the pressure a little too firm for someone half-asleep, his strength not yet tethered by full consciousness.

“Hey,” you whispered with a sleepy laugh. “That’s my… back you’re cracking.”

He grunted, barely lifting his head, and loosened his hold—just enough to still keep you against him. You didn’t really mind. After so many weeks apart, after only seeing him through flickering screens and filtered photos, being this close to him again felt surreal. Grounding. Like your whole body remembered something your mind was still catching up to.

After a long moment of quiet, just the two of you breathing each other in, Jungkook’s voice came again, still a little slurred. “Wanna eat? I could make something…” At the mere mention of food, your stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, betraying you completely. You laughed softly, hiding your face in his chest.

“I mean… yes,” you murmured, “but no. Go back to sleep. I’m not moving.”

But Jungkook was already sitting up, dragging you with him like a giant human blanket. His arms stayed wrapped around you as he shifted, and his head dipped to your neck, lips brushing against your skin as he buried his nose there and sighed.

“You smell different,” he mumbled against your collarbone.

“Is that a complaint?” you teased, still half-draped over him.

“No.” He shook his head lightly. “Just… missed it.”

You smiled, a little dazed, and tucked your arms around him tighter. You were both a little stiff, your backs mildly protesting from the awkward sleep on the couch, but honestly? There were worse ways to start a day than tangled up with him, sore but smiling, in the quiet cocoon of morning.

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You’d arrived on a Thursday, so you woke up Friday morning—jet lagged and disoriented, but wrapped in Jungkook’s sheets and warmth. The day had started slow and soft, exactly the way it should when you’d just flown halfway across the world. And honestly, waking up at an absurd hour because of jet lag had its perks, because you had woken up early, and that only gave you more time to start the day gently. The world was quiet. Still. Yours.

Jungkook stayed near you that morning, brewing coffee and making toast like it was a sacred ritual. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. The way he moved around you, careful and present, already said enough.

It was easy to fall into something like a routine. Too easy, maybe. Like you never left each other’s side.

He’d cleared as much of his schedule as possible before your arrival and only had to leave for dance practice that day. Then the weekend would be entirely yours. Even the week after, he’d made sure to carve out as much time with you as possible. There’d be a few appointments he couldn’t skip, but nowhere near as many as usual. He wanted to be around you. He’d made that very clear. Not that he needed to say it out loud. The way he hovered around you that morning, stealing lazy kisses like he had all the time in the world, said it better than words ever could.

He wanted you involved—you could feel it in the way he clung to each moment with you, unwilling to waste even a second—to show you his world the way you had shown him yours. One of those ways included tagging along to his dance practice, where Taehyung and Yoongi were set to join. He’d already talked to them about you—casually, naturally, like you were simply part of his life. He’d even gone the extra mile to make sure nothing major would be filmed that day, just in case you ended up on camera.

That part made your chest warm in a way you didn’t know how to name.

Yoongi and Taehyung had known about you for weeks now, ever since that night Jungkook had been on vacation, since the night he had wrote them about you. He hadn’t meant to fall for anyone really—especially not someone outside the industry. But you didn’t orbit him like so many others did. You’d walked straight into his life, and instead of pulling away, he’d let you stay.

They’d seen the shift in him. The quieter smiles, the full nights of sleep, the way he stopped mindlessly scrolling late at night because he was on the phone with you instead. He wasn’t seeing anyone else. He didn’t want to. Still, you and Jungkook weren’t officially together, not in any public or defined sense—but even that felt like a technicality.

They knew enough to know that whatever this was, it mattered.

That said, the dance practice didn’t start with any proper introductions.

Yoongi and Taehyung arrived barely on time—Yoongi blaming traffic, Taehyung blaming his iced coffee addiction—and both of them gave you brief but warm nods as they breezed into the studio. There wasn’t a second to spare. The choreographer was already running warm-ups, and Jungkook had been pulled aside for notes on the updated routine.

So no handshakes, no formalities. Just quick glances and quiet acknowledgments. You weren’t offended. You were just grateful Jungkook had brought you along.

The dance studio was enormous and dimly lit in that moody, creative sort of way, mirrors lining one wall, the faint scent of sweat and fabric softener clinging to the air. You’d taken a seat against the mirrored wall, laptop open, tapping away occasionally—but mostly you were watching him. Quietly. Intently. The way Jungkook moved—precise but fluid, powerful and impossibly graceful—it was like watching sound come to life. He'd worried you'd be bored watching him for hours. But you weren’t. Not even close.

You weren’t sure he’d ever believe how easily he captivated you just by being himself. What was harder to enjoy, however, was the female background dancer paired with him in the choreography. From a purely professional perspective, she was skilled. Confident. She executed the routine well. But you weren’t oblivious. Every touch that lingered just a second too long, every extra flick of her eyes toward Jungkook, every unnecessary smile—it all added up. She was trying.

And though Jungkook was polite—ever the professional—you could see the discomfort beginning to pinch at his expression in brief, subtle flickers. Still, the routine required proximity, some contact, a storyline. And no matter how much he dialed back, there was only so much he could do in front of a full room.

And you weren’t the only one noticing.

Taehyung had paused mid-stretch, one arm hooked behind his head, his eyes scanning across the studio before they landed on you. You sat quietly, unreadable, your fingers still moving on the keyboard even as your shoulders had gone rigid. You didn’t say anything, didn’t frown or scowl or even blink too long—but the tension clung to you like smoke. Your polite smile had dulled, just slightly, around the edges. And with each unnecessary brush of the dancer’s hand against Jungkook’s chest, it faded a little more.

Every time that dancer reached for Jungkook like she wasn’t acting, like she meant it—Taehyung saw the flicker in your expression. The stillness behind your eyes. Like you were trying not to flinch. Yoongi caught it too. He’d sat himself against the opposite wall, his back against the mirror, pretending to scroll through his phone—but he was watching both of you with quiet calculation. He didn’t need to say anything. Neither of them did.

Jungkook caught it too. He was watching you through the mirror when he thought no one would notice.

Between movements, he glanced in the mirror—and saw you sitting there, trying to focus on your work, trying not to let any emotion leak through. But he knew you. He’d memorized every micro-expression, every twitch of your fingers. And he hated the way your jaw had tensed the moment someone else’s hands had found their way to his skin for to long.

“Break,” he called, cutting off the music mid-count. “Can we take ten?”

The dancer—persistent as ever—stepped toward him, her voice light and playful. “Want to grab water together?”

Jungkook didn’t even blink. “No. I need the room for a second,” he said, gaze flicking to Yoongi and Taehyung. “You guys can stay. Just—everyone else out, please.”

His tone wasn’t unkind. Just final. The dancer blinked, clearly thrown, but didn’t push it. One by one, the others filed out, some tossing curious glances back, sensing the undercurrent but not quite placing it. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the quiet hum of the AC and the soft squeak of rubber soles in its wake. You looked up from your laptop as Jungkook approached, breath still heavy, sweat at his temples. He stopped a few feet in front of you, his jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice low enough for only you, to hear. “I didn’t like that and...”

You tilted your head, offering a half-hearted shrug, trying to play it off with a weak smile. “I know it’s your job.”

“I know,” he echoed, already reading everything behind your eyes. “But it didn’t feel right. And she knew what she was doing.”

Taehyung, ever tactful when he wanted to be, stood and stretched with exaggerated effort. “Yoongi-hyung, I think I need coffee. Right, now. Like, desperately.”

Yoongi didn’t even look up from where he was kneeling to tie his shoes. “I thought you were cuttingback on coffee.”

“I lied.” Taehyung replied smoothly.

The two of them disappeared without another word, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the quiet, mirror-lined studio. The door clicked shut behind them, and Jungkook slowly sank down to kneel in front of you. He reached out but didn’t touch you yet, like he needed to explain something before he earned that right again.

“She’s a coworker. That’s it,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “But it didn’t look like that, did it?” You didn’t answer right away. Your silence must’ve said enough, because Jungkook’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve shut it down the second she tried.” His hands curled into loose fists in his lap. “You flew across the world to be here. And I just stood there and let her touch me like that in front of you.”

“She’s not a stranger to you,” you said, gently—not accusing, but not softening the truth, either.

“She is,” Jungkook said firmly. “I’ve danced with her maybe twice before. We don’t talk. I don’t want her. I just—” He sighed and sat back a little, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should talk to the choreographer. Ask if we can change that section. Or switch the dancer.” Jungkook was rambling now. As if talking more to himself than you.

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t want her touching me like that again,” he said, the words fast, almost rushed like he’d been holding them in. “Not just because of what it looked like—because I hated how it felt. She knew what she was doing.”

You nodded. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”, you said softly, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook said, leaning closer. “I’ve been in relationships where jealousy ruined everything. Accusations, silence, punishment. It got ugly. Where we spent more time questioning each other than actually being together. I don’t want that with you.”

You exhaled slowly. “I told you I understood. I’m not jealous,”, and the way you said it made him look up. “I mean, okay. I felt something. I didn’t love watching her touch you, but I’m not angry at you. I just needed to know if you saw it, too.”

“I did,” Jungkook didn’t smile. He lowered himself to sit in front of you, cross-legged, damp hair falling into his eyes. His eyes searching your face. “And I believe you when you say you understand. But understanding doesn’t mean it didn’t sting. I saw your face. You shouldn’t have to pretend like you’re fine with it just to be supportive. I don’t want you to swallow things for my sake.”

There was a pause.

“I just—” He rubbed at the back of his neck, voice quieter. “I don’t want this to be something that chips away at us, slowly. Before we even get the chance to be real.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. “You think that could happen?”

“I think I’ve seen it happen,” he admitted. “And it scares me. I’ve never had something like this before. Something that feels… good and safe and like it could actually last. I’m scared of ruining it.”

You reached out, your hand brushing his where it rested between you. “Jungkook, you’re not ruining anything.”

He looked down at your joined hands, then back at you. He nodded. “But I want you to really know it. I don’t just want to be good on stage and careful in private. I want to be someone you can trust not to hurt you, even when you’re not watching.”

You smiled, heart catching in your throat. “I trust you, Jungkook.”

He leaned forward at last, his forehead resting against yours, his hand warm as it wrapped around your fingers. He smiled, just barely, like it still didn’t feel real to hear you say that. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently to yours, his hand curling around your fingers like an anchor.

“I wish I could tell the world about you,” he murmured. “I hate hiding this. But I want to keep you close.”

You smiled, and the tension in your chest finally gave way. “Even when I barely talk and just type on my laptop?”

“Especially then,” he said, eyes glinting with warmth.

“Okay,” you murmured. Nodding. Believing.

The rest of the room faded after that. The tension began to drain from your shoulders. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding and let him pull you into a hug. You let out a little sound of protest as he hugged you tightly, your cheek squished against his chest, which was still faintly damp from earlier practice. You wrinkled your nose and tried to push lightly against him.

“Ugh, you’re sweaty, Jungkook,” you grumbled. “Now you make me sweaty.”

He leaned back just enough to look down at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes and the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Oh?” he said, chuckling low in his throat. “Are you daring me to make you sweaty?”

Your eyes widened a fraction, caught between amusement and something heavier. Your fingers stilled against his shirt. “Jungkook—”

He grinned, his voice dropping. “Because I would really like that challenge.”

You swatted at him, but your fingers didn’t stray far. Not really. Now, standing this close, with his warmth clinging to your skin and his breath brushing the edge of your jaw, it was hard to ignore how much you’d missed him. “I’m just saying,” Jungkook murmured, pressing his lips gently against neck, “I’ve been very respectful, today. I’ve been good.”

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. “You have.”

“But I don’t want to behave anymore,” he added, lips grazing your temple. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Your stomach flipped, and your hands gripped lightly at the hem of his shirt as you leaned into him. Your voice was quiet, but certain. “I don’t.”

He hummed like he’d been waiting for that—like he already knew, but would wait for you—but needed to hear it anyway. His hands settled on your waist, grounding, careful, and his kiss was slow and deep, like he’d been holding onto it for far too long.

You lingered like that—just a moment longer—before a distant shuffle reminded you both where you were, and what was still ahead.

Because somehow, as practice started again after the break, even though the female dancer’s lingering glances didn’t stop, it was easier. Easier to sit through the rest of it knowing exactly where you stood with him. Easier to ignore the subtle looks she sent him during water breaks, when you knew—without even needing to check—that Jungkook’s gaze would always find yours, quietly checking in on you like he couldn't help it.

And then, eventually, practice wound down. The choreographers called it a day. Dancers peeled off in twos and threes, chatter echoing down the hall. The energy in the room began to cool, leaving behind the heavy press of silence and your quietly building nerves. You shut your laptop and packed your things slowly, fingertips tingling with leftover adrenaline—not just from practice, but from what came next.

Something Jungkook hadn’t pushed you toward.

But something he clearly wanted.

A proper introduction.

Taehyung and Yoongi lingered back as everyone else filed out, casually pretending they weren’t waiting for Jungkook’s signal. He gave it with a tilt of his head and a soft, “Hey, guys—come meet her.”

Your stomach flipped again, harder this time.

Even though you’d heard about them from Jungkook for weeks—had seen their faces in performances, in behind-the-scenes clips, in his photos—nothing really prepared you for what it was like to meet them for real. In person. In a quiet, echoing studio where they were no longer just global icons, but his friends.

Taehyung was taller in real life, wearing a fuzzy cardigan that somehow made him look both rich and soft. He smiled like he already knew all your secrets. Yoongi moved slower, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but not unfriendly. And they were still international superstars, no matter how casually they approached.

You smiled nervously but held your ground. “Hi. I’m—uh—”

“We know,” Taehyung grinned, stepping forward first. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Yoongi nodded in agreement. “Took him long enough.”

You laughed quietly, feeling the warmth begin to settle in your chest. Jungkook stepped beside you, still in his sweat-damp shirt, looking slightly more nervous than you were.

“I’ve told them about you,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Like… a lot.”

There was a soft pause—one of those rare moments that wasn’t awkward, just gently charged. Everyone in the room knew Jungkook didn’t bring people around often. Definitely not women. Definitely not ones who made him rearrange his whole schedule and his whole mood.

Taehyung tilted his head a little, eyeing you with interest—but not the sharp, assessing kind you were worried about. Just the warm curiosity of someone who'd heard too much secondhand and was finally getting to fill in the blanks.

“So,” he began casually, hands in his pockets, “how do you like Seoul so far?”

You smiled, grateful for the low-pressure question. “Honestly? I haven’t seen that much of it yet. But what I have, I’ve liked a lot.”

Yoongi raised a brow. “Wait, seriously? You haven’t shown her anything yet?”

You gave an innocent shrug just as Taehyung groaned, dramatically scandalized. “Jungkookie! What are you even doing?”

Jungkook held up both hands. “She’s staying a while, okay? I was gonna show her around—just not yet. We’ve been resting first!”

You laughed, nudging him with your hip. “To be fair, I did need to recover from the flight.”

“Still,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “You bring someone all the way here and don’t even take her to Han River. Rookie mistake.”

“Not even Hongdae?” Taehyung added, hand to his chest like he was offended on Seoul’s behalf.

“I will!” Jungkook said, exasperated and laughing now. “We have time. You all act like I’m messing this up already,” Jungkook grumbled, running a hand through his hair, but his smile gave away that he was enjoying the teasing. “Can I live?”

“Barely,” Taehyung shot back, grinning.

You chuckled softly, watching the exchange with a growing sense of ease. “It’s okay, really. He showed me his home so far , so we’ve been kind of a homebody since I got here.”

“Homebody with him?” Taehyung asked, teasing. “That’s dangerous.”

You laughed softly. “He’s alright. A little dramatic sometimes.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Me? Dramatic?”

“You said Bam was a traitor because he cuddled with me.” You raised a brow at him.

“He is my puppy,” he defended, then added quieter, “You already like him more…”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

Yoongi made a disgusted face. “Okay, can we not flirt in 4K right now?”

Taehyung grinned wide, clearly enjoying himself. But before the teasing could get too far, Yoongi shifted the topic with an easy tone. “You two wanna come by later? Me, Hobi, and Jimin are grabbing food. Just something casual. You could tag along.”

Jungkook shook his head, looking genuinely regretful. “Can’t tonight. We’ve got plans.” Your blush returned like a reflex, but you didn’t say anything, just adjusted the strap of your bag with sudden interest.

“Ohhh,” Taehyung said, dragging the word out, his smile going fox-like. “You just don’t want us around her too much. Worried we’ll steal her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jungkook grumbled.

“I was planning to steal her,” Yoongi added dryly. “You are an idiot for not making a move earlier anyway.”

“That’s what we all said,” Taehyung agreed immediately. Nodding your way. “When you came back from that trip going on and on about her? All of us were like, ‘You didn’t make her your girlfriend?’ We were about ready to write you ourselves.”

“Hey!” Jungkook sounded scandalized, face burning bright red now. “She just got here!”

“You’ve been talking about her for weeks,” Yoongi deadpanned.

“Yeah, and the NDA? That was girlfriend energy,” Taehyung said, nodding toward you. “That was ride or die behavior.”

You blinked, then giggled face starting to get red as well. “I just didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook. “And this are the reactions why we all decided you are an idiot for not locking it down then and there.”

Jungkook groaned into his hands while you smiled, cheeks warm. “Okay, okay! I get it,” he said, muffled. Taehyung was practically bouncing now. “So? Did you ask her properly now, or do I have to?”

“I was going to—later!” Jungkook exclaimed, still flustered. Then, muttering as he glanced sideways at you: “I had a whole thing planned…”

You leaned in slightly, voice soft with a teasing edge. “Was it before or after sweating all over me at dance practice?”

He made an exaggerated sound of protest. “You liked that.”

You gave him a look. “Did I?”

“You did,” he said with a grin, already wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “And if you didn’t, I’ll make you like it.”

“Ugh,” Yoongi groaned, grabbing his bag. “I’m out. Text us if you two get married or something.”

“Wait, are we invited?” Taehyung asked you with a grin as he followed Yoongi.

“Depends,” you called after him, smirking. “On how much you bully him between now and then.”

“I can stop bullying him immediately. Cold turkey. Not a single jab from here on out.” Taehyung spun dramatically on his heel, hand to his chest like you’d just wounded him. You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then you’re definitely not invited.”

A beat of silence. Then—Taehyung burst into laughter, shoulders shaking as he gave Jungkook a look of exaggerated sympathy. “Man, she’s worse than us.”

“She’s better than us,” Yoongi said, already halfway out the door. “You better keep her, Jungkook. Or we will.”

Jungkook just stood there for a second, lips parting in a soft smile that made his whole face light up. His eyes flicked to you and then back to his friends, something tender settling deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

And as the door swung closed behind Yoongi and Taehyung’s teasing voices, Jungkook didn’t even seem to notice they were gone. His hand brushed down your back, grounding and light, his grin lingering even as he sighed like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“You know,” he murmured, “they’ve never liked anyone this fast.”

You looked up at him, lips twitching. “Even if it’s mostly just to make fun of you?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “They like you because of that.” Then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, voice soft and filled with warmth.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

By the time you two finally made it home, it was well past dinner time. Dance practice had—as usual—run later than expected. The sky was already dark, your limbs heavy from sitting through hours of choreography and quiet nerves. Jungkook unlocked the door with one hand, the other holding three stacked takeout containers, while you shuffled in behind him, kicking off your shoes and already sighing at the familiar comfort of his apartment.

“I still think you should’ve let me carry something,” you said as you reached to take two of the boxes from him.

“And let you mess up my perfect balance?” Jungkook grinned, nudging the door shut with his heel. “I had a system.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow as you both moved toward the kitchen. “Your system involved leaning all the containers against your face. I’m not convinced.”

“I looked cool.”

“You looked like a walking bibimbap ad.”

Jungkook let out a boyish chuckle, placing the food down on the counter. “Still cool.”

As you helped him unpack the containers, the smell of spicy rice cakes and grilled meat filled the air. You reached for the plates as he started opening the lids, already falling into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized had formed between you. He’d set the table, and you’d plate the food. He’d pull out drinks, and you’d grab chopsticks. Like you’d done it a hundred times before.

You started telling him about what you did during his practice. “Oh—Pascal and Flora say hi,” you added with a grin, referring to your two best friends from home. “They’ve been trying to find cheap flights for next time, but Flora refuses to fly economy again after last time. Apparently his spine still hasn’t forgiven him.”

Jungkook chuckled, setting two glasses of sparkling water down. “He sounds like Namjoon.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then paused, chopsticks in hand, his eyes landing on you as you shifted around his kitchen like it was your own. And just like that, the moment slowed. He blinked, watching you with quiet wonder. The sound of you humming under your breath, the way you straightened the napkins even though no one would notice, the ease with which you belonged here—it all struck him harder than he expected.

Domestic. That was the word for it.

And for someone who lived most of his life on stages, in airports, and under blinding lights, the realization that something so quiet could feel this… right? It hit like a punch to the chest.

You looked over at him, catching his expression. “What? Did I use the wrong word again?”

His eyes flicked back to yours, startled from his thoughts, and he quickly shook his head. “No—no, you didn’t. Actually, your Korean’s gotten really good. Really fast.”

You beamed, proud. “I had a good teacher.”

His face lit up as he opened his mouth. “Me—”

“Eumi,” you interrupted innocently. “You know, the one I started learning with?” Jungkook let out an exaggerated groan and immediately crossed the space between you, dramatically draping himself over your back as you laughed.

“You’re so mean to me,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, his lips dangerously close. “Here I was, waiting for my praise. And you give the credit to your friend?”

You snorted. “She deserves it. She got me through verb conjugation hell.”

Jungkook groaned again, this time lower, like the betrayal physically pained him. “I knew I should’ve snatched you the moment I met you.” You rolled your eyes fondly, tilting your head just slightly into the warmth of him as you reached for the last of the banchan. “Why didn’t you? Pascal and Flora think you were a coward.”

“I was a coward,” he murmured, pressing his cheek to your shoulder. “Everyone knew it. Even the hyungs gave me shit the moment I came back from that trip.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“You should’ve seen the group chat. I told them I met someoneand a little bit about you, and instantly it was—‘Why didn’t you make her your girlfriend already?’ ‘What’s wrong with you?’ ‘Do you need me to write the text for you, Jungkook?’” He groaned softly, mimicking Yoongi’s unimpressed tone. “Namjoon even offered to draw me a diagram on how to confess.”

You grinned, clearly delighted by the image. “Poor thing. Peer-pressured into love.”

Jungkook shot you a mock glare, but it was softened by the way his eyes sparkled. “You make it sound like I didn’t want to.”

“Well…” you let the word hang teasingly in the air, plucking a piece of pickled radish from the side dish tray. “Did you actually have a plan to ask me? Or were you just bullied into into the topic by Yoongi and Taehyung?”

You expected him to laugh, to deflect the way he usually did—but instead, he hesitated. His mouth opened like he had something to say, then closed again. A beat passed. He groaned softly and leaned forward, burying his head against the crook of your neck as he mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch, his breath warm on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side with a soft laugh, one hand coming up to steady the takeout container he was threatening to knock over. “What was that?”

He exhaled again, dramatically. “You’re mean.”

“You’re avoiding.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered there for a few seconds more, arms tightening slightly around you before he drew back just enough to see your face. He wasn’t wearing any of his usual playful masks now. His eyes were wide, dark, sincere—and maybe a little shy. “I was just…” he began, then paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Comfortable. With you. Like—weirdly comfortable. From the start.”

Your heart stuttered a little. He wasn’t joking now. He shifted back just enough to glance at you, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted like he wasn’t sure how much more to give you without combusting. “It’s been a while since I felt that,” he admitted. “Close to someone like that. Like I could stop trying to be… whatever people want me to be.”

You blinked, taken aback by how quiet and honest his voice had become. He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flickering to the counter, then back to you. “I did have something planned,” he said. “Not yet—later. During your trip. Something better than this.” He gestured vaguely to the table with a sheepish half-smile. “I wanted to ask you properly. Like… lanterns or a rooftop or a song or something dumb like that. You know. All that rom-com bullshit people do when they like someone a lot.”

You laughed gently, chest tight in a good way.

Jungkook reached for your hand, threading your fingers together without looking down. “But yeah,” he said, voice soft and steady now. “If you’re willing to deal with the long distance, the time zones, the stupid hours, and… y’know. The cameras and sneaking around, and whatever else comes with dating me…”

He swallowed. “I’d love for you to be my girlfriend.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, tender, charged with the kind of feeling that sat low in your chest and made your throat ache with the effort of holding it in. You smiled, leaning forward just slightly, so your foreheads touched.

“I was already planning to say yes,” you murmured. “Even without lanterns.”

His expression broke open like sunrise—light and wonder and something a little awestruck. His fingers curled tighter around yours as if grounding himself in the fact that you were real, here, and choosing him. “I’m still gonna do the lantern thing,” he whispered, already imagining it. “You deserve cheesy. You deserve better than takeout and my messy kitchen.”

“You’re the cheesy one,” you said.

“Yeah, well…” He leaned back and moved toward the table as his phone started to vibrate on the counter. He glanced at his screen and let out a quiet, bemused huff.

“You okay?” you asked. He turned the phone so you could read the screen.

The group chat had been renamed:

💥 JK’S GIRL SQUAD (UNAPPROVED) 💥

Yoongi: if you don’t marry her, I will Hobi: JK still hiding her huh?? Taehyung: she’s fun!! bring her next time Namjoon: did you two eat?? hydration check??

You tried not to laugh, but a little snort slipped out anyway. “They’ve officially adopted me, haven’t they?”

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

You had eaten—eventually. After ignoring his group chat for long enough to quiet the buzzing guilt (and teasing), Jungkook finally gave in to your suggestion of a quiet walk with Bam. The night air had been cool and refreshing, the stars just barely visible between the city haze. Bam trotted happily beside you, his tail wagging like a metronome as Jungkook kept pace on your other side, his hand brushing yours more often than not.

Now, back in his living room, everything felt still. Comfortable.

You shifted on the couch and let your neck tilt until a faint pop echoed in the quiet. “Ugh,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your shoulders to chase the tension away. The long flight was still weighing down your limbs, even after the food and fresh air.

From the kitchen, Jungkook reappeared with two glasses of something cold. He paused mid-step as he heard the creak of your neck, his lips already quirking. “Damn, was that you or the sofa dying?” he teased, eyebrows raised in mock horror.

You gave him a tired side-eye but didn’t bother with a comeback. Your body spoke for you—slouched posture, sleepy eyes, one leg tucked under the other as you reached down to pet Bam’s soft ears. The big dog had, without hesitation, claimed your lap the second you’d sat down, curling up with a low huff of contentment like he’d been waiting all evening for that exact moment.

Jungkook crossed the room with a quiet chuckle, handing you your glass. His fingers lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he let go. He hesitated, watching how you leaned gently into Bam, your fingers absentmindedly stroking between his eyes while your own blinked slower and slower.

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep? Sleep?” he asked softly, crouching beside the couch with one hand on the armrest, the other resting lightly on his knee. His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to startle you out of your calm, but there was a note of concern in it too. “You’ve been fighting the jet lag like a champ, but it’s still catching up to you.”

You met his eyes and smiled, slow and lopsided. “Yeah, I should sleep of the rest of this stupid jet lag,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend a little more time with you.” Your voice came out softer than you intended, the honesty in it slipping through like warm light through sheer curtains. Jungkook blinked once. Then, without hesitation—without a single ounce of his usual playful stalling—he leaned in.

There was no dramatic pause, no question asked, no teasing remark. Just the quiet shuffle of his body drawing closer, the brush of his knee against the couch cushion, and then the warmth of his mouth on yours.

His kiss was gentle, slower than the ones from earlier. Less about thrill, more about holding you there with him. It tasted faintly of citrus from whatever he’d poured into your glasses and carried the same softness you saw in his eyes when he looked at you.

One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly across your skin, like he was trying to memorize the texture of your tired smile. Bam let out a tiny groan of protest from being slightly jostled, but didn’t move.

When Jungkook finally pulled back, he was still close enough that his breath fanned across your lips. His eyes searched yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, softly but firmly, he said, “No.”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “No?”

His gaze was warm but unwavering. “You belong in bed.”

You raised a brow, ready to argue just for the sake of it—because this moment was so nice, because you didn’t want it to end—but you didn’t get the chance. Without stepping far or breaking his rhythm, Jungkook reached forward, placed both glasses neatly on the coffee table, then gently moved Bam’s head from your lap.

Bam grumbled like a toddler denied his favorite toy, but didn’t put up a fight. Maybe even he knew better. And then, before you could so much as blink, Jungkook grabbed you—swift and effortless—and tossed you right over his shoulder.

“Jungkook—!” you yelped, hands scrambling against the back of his hoodie. “Put me down! Down!”For a moment you even struggled to find the right word.

He laughed, the sound low and amused against your side as he started walking. “Nope,” he said again, like he actually enjoyed denying you.

“Jungkook!”

“I distinctly remember,” he added, shifting you slightly so he could tap the back of your thigh playfully, “someone telling me they didn’t want me to behave anymore. At least for a while.”

Your face flushed so fast it made you dizzy. “That was a different context!”

“Still counts,” he said smugly.

You buried your burning face against his back, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as he carried you down the hallway like you weighed nothing. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the strength in his arms, the way his hold on you never once faltered.

He kicked open the bedroom door with one socked foot and marched straight to the bed.

Then, without ceremony, he tossed you onto the mattress like a victorious knight claiming his reward. You bounced once, letting out a startled laugh—but it cut off abruptly as Jungkook climbed over you, caging you in with one hand braced beside your head, the other gently threading into your hair.

For a beat, he just looked at you. His expression was unreadable—dark lashes lowered, lips parted slightly, something intense glinting behind the softness in his eyes. His thumb brushed along your temple, his breathing just a little uneven now. Then he leaned in, and his mouth found yours again—this time deeper, hungrier.

The warmth of him pressed down just enough to let you feel the full weight of his presence, but never so much that it overwhelmed. His hand moved in your hair, firm and grounding, and you felt the heat bloom low in your stomach. Whatever exhaustion you’d been carrying, whatever jet lag was left clinging to your bones—it vanished, scorched clean by the kiss he gave you.

Jungkook’s lips moved against yours like he couldn’t bear to stop, like the space between kisses was too wide to stand. And then, barely audible, barely a breath: “I missed you,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours. “God, I missed you…”

The words melted into your skin, into the space between your parted lips as he kissed you again—soft, reverent, and then deeper, like he was chasing the feeling. “I missed touching you,” he confessed against your cheek. “Missed how you feel, how you sound…” His voice was low, rough around the edges, like it scraped up from somewhere deeper than his lungs. “Missed you so bad.”

God, you’d missed him too—so much it hurt. So much it had snuck up on you in quiet moments when you hadn’t realized how deeply he'd settled under your skin. Now, with him over you like this—warm and solid and entirely focused on you—it was unbearable and euphoric all at once.

One of your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the dark strands, holding him close. The other drifted lower, finding where the hem of his hoodie had ridden up just slightly—leaving a sliver of warm skin along his side exposed. Your fingertips brushed against him, just barely, and Jungkook inhaled sharply, his body tensing like a pulled string.

His breath hitched. His kiss faltered for the briefest second. Then he exhaled shakily and moved lower.

His mouth trailed down from your lips to the corner of your jaw, then under your ear—slow, purposeful, almost teasing. You felt every word he wasn’t saying etched in those kisses.

You tilted your head back instinctively, giving him space, your fingers curling tighter in his hair. And when his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck, your back arched ever so slightly, a quiet sound catching in your throat.

Jungkook groaned, softly, like the sound of you alone did something to him. His hand slid down the side of your body, over your waist, anchoring you in place while his mouth kept moving—down, down, until—

He hit the neckline of your shirt. He paused. You felt him sigh, a deep and frustrated thing against your skin. His fingers flexed at your side like he was trying to decide whether to keep going or not. Then he lifted his head, gaze a little wild, lips kiss-bitten and pink.

“Too many layers,” he said hoarsely, and there was a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes burned with something else entirely.

Jungkook’s hands skimmed along your sides, warm and steady as his fingers found the hem of your shirt again. He looked down at you—really looked—and you could see it in his eyes: the hunger, yes, but also restraint. That careful, trembling line between reverence and desire.

He tugged lightly at the fabric between you, voice low and breath warm against your throat. “Can I get rid of this?” he asked, fingertips slipping just under the edge of your shirt, grazing bare skin. Your breath hitched. You met his eyes, reading the question for what it was—not just about the shirt, but everything else.

“If,” he added softly, “you are … up for this?”

A breathless laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You tilted your head back into the pillow, the flush in your cheeks rising with the tension curled tight between your hips. “Yeah,” you nodded, voice airy. “I’m up for this.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened at your answer, his grip tightening just slightly on your waist.

“But,” you added, lifting a brow as you brushed your fingers lightly over the curve of his hip, “if you were planning to keep me up all night riding you… you might want to adjust expectations.”

That got him. He let out a low, startled laugh—part amused, part aroused—his head dipping forward as if he needed a second to recover from the visual that clearly slammed into him. “Damn,” he murmured against your collarbone, his smile curling wicked. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

You laughed again, softer now, but your heart was pounding. Jungkook leaned back just enough to look at you again. His eyes gleamed with mischief, heat, and something more tender tucked underneath.

“Not tonight,” he said with a quiet promise, shaking his head, though his voice dropped an octave. “Tonight’s not about that.” Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he helped you sit up just enough to ease the shirt over your head. His fingers brushed your sides, your arms, the curve of your shoulder blades as he pulled the fabric away—almost like he was unwrapping something delicate.

He tossed the shirt somewhere off to the side, not caring where it landed. Then his hands settled on your waist again, thumbs sweeping slowly across your skin. His gaze dropped for a moment—taking you in, reverent and slow—before returning to your face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost like he was telling himself, not you.

And then he was leaning in again, mouth finding yours. His kiss devoured and gave in equal measure, his body pressing just a little more fully to yours as if something inside him had finally snapped loose. Just like that, the warmth between you turned into something else.

Jungkook’s mouth found yours again, this time with more heat—no hesitation, no teasing. His kiss deepened, growing messier as his body pressed more fully against yours. One of his hands cupped your breast, his touch slow and deliberate, while the other caged you in. You felt the shift in his weight, the slow grind of his hips as he settled between your thighs.

You gasped softly into his mouth at the contact—he was already hard, the press of him insistent even through the layers of clothing still between you. Your hips tilted upward instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction. He groaned, low and broken, into your kiss. The sound thrilled you, igniting something hot and desperate in your core.

He rolled his hips again, slower this time, just to feel you respond. Your thighs squeezed around him in reflex, your nails digging slightly into his back through the fabric of his hoodie. He smiled into the kiss at your reaction, then broke away just enough to look down at you—his lips kiss-swollen, his chest rising and falling faster now. As his thumb brushed over your nipple in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing a soft gasp from you as he explored the sensitive peak.

His tongue and lip nervously fiddle with his lip ring, his gaze flickering down your body and then back to your face like he couldn’t believe this was real. “Just so you can adjust your expectations as well,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, “we haven’t seen each other in a while…” You raised an eyebrow, breathless but grinning. “I’m aware.”

He swallowed, his blush darkening as his fingers tapped against the edge of your jaw. “So I might not… y’know—last long.” His voice cracked a little, and you could see just how flustered he was by the confession. But you were already shaking your head, your smile impossibly fond.

“It’s fine. No judging,” you said softly, tracing his spine with your fingertips. “And if it comes to that…” You let your voice drop as you added with a playful smirk, “I’ve got two perfectly good hands, and can just jerk myself off to an frustrated idol, no?”

Jungkook choked on a breath—his laugh a shocked, aroused rasp as he buried his face into your neck, groaning dramatically. “God, please tell me you mean me now.”

Your only answer was a breathy hum, your legs wrapping around his waist as you tilted your hips again, sending another jolt of sensation through both of you. He growled softly, biting back another moan, then started trailing kisses down the line of your throat. His hands slid from your waist to your chest, cupping your breasts through the lace of your bra, thumbs brushing experimentally over the peaks until you gasped again, arching up into his touch.

He murmured something that sounded like a curse under his breath, his mouth following the curve of your chest until he reached the valley between your breasts. He kissed you there, slow and reverent, before flicking his tongue just under the edge of your bra, lips brushing heatedly over every inch of newly exposed skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he tugged gently at the band of your pants.

“Off,” he whispered hoarsely, not quite begging, but close.

You nodded, helping him as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants. The fabric slid down your hips, dragged by eager hands that trembled just slightly. He watched, eyes locked to every inch of newly revealed skin like it was something sacred—something he’d been starving for. When your underwear followed, his breath caught audibly.

His palms smoothed down the outside of your thighs, his lips not far behind, leaving a hot trail of kisses and slow exhales as he worshipped every inch of you. You threaded your fingers into his hair, your chest rising and falling faster now, overwhelmed by the intensity of his focus. When he looked up, lips red and parted, eyes heavy-lidded with want, he whispered like it was a confession, “You’re gonna kill me.”

You let out a soft breathless laugh, dazed but still playful. “Don’t die on me, Jeon.” His mouth curled into a crooked grin at your answer, but before he dove back in, you tugged at the hem of his hoodie. “Your turn.”

He bit his lip, then sat back on his heels, straddling your thighs as he grabbed the hoodie and yanked it off in one smooth pull. His hair was a little mussed from the motion, his chest rising as the fabric left his skin. The soft lighting of the room carved gentle shadows down his torso, every line of his body familiar and still somehow dizzying to take in again.

Your hands rose instinctively, skimming over the muscle of his stomach, your fingers grazing the spot you'd touched earlier under the hoodie. His abs twitched beneath your touch, his breath hitching. “I missed you,” you murmured, almost without thinking.

His gaze softened instantly, but there was a fire just beneath the surface. “Not as much as I missed you, this,” he replied, voice low and dark, before leaning down to kiss you again—slower now, but deeper, heat building steadily between you.

You fumbled for the waistband of his pants next, tugging at it in silent invitation. Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stood long enough to kick them off, tossing them somewhere to the floor, and joined you again in the nest of tangled sheets and fevered breathing—now skin to skin, heat to heat. You sighed as his body settled against yours, your thighs parting to welcome him fully between them. The weight of him, the warmth, the familiar press of muscle and tension—it filled something raw and hollow that had been aching in his absence.

Jungkook groaned as your bodies aligned again, harder now, no clothes left between you. His hand found your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked at you with something deeper than lust. “You still good?” he asked, voice tight with restraint. You reached up to tug him down into a kiss that left no room for doubt.

“Better than good,” you whispered against his lips. “Now shut up and touch me.”

He laughed, breathless—and this time when he kissed you, it wasn’t playful. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your waist, your thighs—warm hands leaving behind trails of heat that pulsed beneath your skin. And his body, all taut muscle and warm skin pressed flush against yours, was like a weight you welcomed—anchoring you, teasing you, torturing you. You tried to shift beneath him, to move your hips up into his, desperate for more friction, for more of him—but Jungkook was faster. His palm pressed against your hip, firm and commanding, pinning you to the mattress.

"Not yet," he murmured into your ear, voice so low it shivered down your spine. Then his hips rolled, deliberately slow, the thick, hot length of him dragging across your core in maddening precision. You gasped, your legs trembling with the aftershocks of every pass, every denied relief.

The friction was overwhelming. You could feel him clearly—hard and leaking, slick between your bodies—and it made your whole body clench with need. Your thighs quivered involuntarily around his hips. Your mouth parted in a breathless moan, your head tipping back against the pillow. And then… he stopped. You whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, hips lifting unconsciously toward him. Jungkook laughed softly at your frustration, his breath warm against your neck.

"You're so greedy," he teased, lips brushing your jaw as he sat back just slightly. Then his hand was between your thighs, fingers sliding through the mess he’d made of you. And when two sank into you, easily, fully, you both groaned—Jungkook from the raw sensation of feeling you clench around him, and you from the maddening fullness and pace he set without hesitation.

You arched, gasping again, hands flying up to clutch at his biceps.

"God…" he groaned, jaw tightening as his fingers slid deep, his eyes flicking down between your bodies. "You're so wet. You're…"

His words fell off into a ragged exhale as his fingers began to move, slow at first, then pressing into you with a rhythm that was devastating in its precision. He watched you—watched the way your lips parted, your brows knit, your hands clawed lightly against his arms as you tried to keep yourself grounded. But your body had other ideas—your walls fluttering around him, thighs twitching, the growing pressure in your belly unbearable.

Jungkook was transfixed. "Look at you," he murmured, brushing his nose against your temple. "Fucking beautiful."

You tried—you really did—to keep your eyes on him, to meet the heat in his gaze, but they rolled back without your permission, and a broken moan spilled from your throat. He loved it. He drank it in. Your legs trembled under the intensity, hips twitching, hands grasping at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything to ground you.

Jungkook’s other hand slid up your thigh, thumb brushing slow, hypnotic circles just above your knee as he held your leg steady over his hip. He was watching you again, hyper-focused, studying your body’s every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Right there,” he whispered when your walls began to flutter, when the tension in your thighs started to coil too tight to hold. “So pretty like this. All of you—falling apart for me.”

His voice alone could’ve undone you. And then—right as the edge got close, just a breath away—you moved. Your leg jerked—your foot gently pushing at his chest, a quiet, trembling push. Not rough, not panicked. Just enough. Your hand covered his, holding him in place. Your breathing was uneven, your lips parted, eyes hazy as you stared up at him, halting the movement of his fingers inside you.

"W–wait," you managed, your voice hoarse and trembling. You weren’t trying to stop him completely—you just needed to breathe. To speak. To ask.

Jungkook froze, his fingers stilled immediately, but stayed inside though his thumb was still ghosting soft, slow circles along your inner thigh—his other hand anchoring your ankle gently against his chest.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly. There was no panic in his voice, no alarm. Just attentiveness. He was watching you closely—reading you like a book he already knew by heart. But still, he needed your answer.

Your eyes were glassy, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You stared at him—He looked... devastating. Wild hair falling over his forehead, lips kiss-bitten and red, his body flushed with restraint, so close to release. His cock lay heavy against his thigh and dripping between you, flushed pink and glistening with slick, twitching against his stomach like it hurt to be untouched. You felt dizzy just looking at him.

You reached for him, fingers skimming over his hip, voice low and wrecked.

“I’m okay. I just… I need you. Not just your hands.”

Jungkook's eyes darkened instantly, chest visibly rising with a shaky breath as your words sank in. He leaned in and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His expression shifted—desire tightening into something feral, something reverent.

“…Say that again,” he said, almost breathless, leaning closer like he couldn’t believe his ears.

“I need more than your fingers,” your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes holding his. “Now.”

His groan vibrated through his chest, deep and guttural. “You want me now?” he asked, voice low and wrecked.

You nodded, a small, breathless smile curving your lips. “Need you. I want to come around you, not just your fingers.” He groaned again, the sound breaking in his throat, and pressed a long kiss to your lips—soft, but buzzing with restraint that was wearing thin by the second.

“Okay,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

The condom was on faster than you could blink—Jungkook had moved with practiced ease, but even in those brief seconds without his touch, the absence felt unbearable. You whined quietly, sitting up just enough to press messy kisses to the line of his jaw, his throat, anywhere you could reach. Your hands wandered his chest as he fumbled slightly, your lips pulling a soft groan from him when they found that spot just beneath his ear.

“Could go faster if you didn’t keep distracting me,” he muttered, faux-annoyed, but the heat in his voice betrayed how much he liked it—how much he needed it. Then, finally, he was over you again, hands framing your hips, his gaze dragging down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real. Your leg curled around his waist instinctively, but he took your thigh in one hand and lifted it higher, draping it over his forearm to open you further, make more space for him. Your other leg slipped between his, foot pressed gently to his calf, guiding him into the perfect angle.

And then—God.

He pushed in, slow and steady, inch by careful inch. The stretch, the heat, the way he filled you—it knocked the breath out of your lungs. Your hands gripped his shoulders like a lifeline, fingernails biting into his skin as a broken sound escaped your throat.

“Shit,” Jungkook choked out, voice shaking as he stilled inside you. “You’re—fuck, you’re so tight.” You trembled in his arms, body twitching from the sheer intensity of being filled again. Of him. It had been too long—too long without him, without this—and your body remembered every second of it in the way it clung to him now.

Jungkook ducked his head, hiding the overwhelmed look in his eyes by pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You felt the tremor in his arms, the tight control in his slow breathing, the restraint pulsing through every inch of him.

And then—your voice, breathy and already cracking:

“Jun… Jungkook… please—please move. Or I… I might—”

He looked up, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the light. You were trembling beneath him, flushed and nearly undone, and still barely able to form words. The sight made him feral. Something in him broke—in the best, most reverent way. He hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t known if he could live up to the memory of you. But this?

You were already so close to unraveling beneath him. Around him. And it was making him lose every shred of composure he had. He leaned down, kissed you like he was starved for it, and then started to move—slowly, carefully at first, hips rolling into you with a rhythm that immediately pulled a soft, high cry from your throat.

“You feel,” he gasped, breath caught, “so—fucking—perfect.”

Your hands scrambled across his back, pulling him closer, grounding yourself as the world spun from the way he moved in you—like he was savoring you, like every thrust was an offering. His pace started to shift as you clung to him, breaths shared, skin sliding against skin. It was frantic and tender, desperate and unhurried all at once, like both of you were trying to make up for every second lost between the last time and now.

And Jungkook couldn’t stop kissing you—your mouth, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. Like he needed to taste you everywhere, remind himself this was real. “Gonna come soon,” he breathed, voice raw. “If you keep looking at me like that—I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold back.”

You smiled through the haze, pulling him closer until your foreheads touched, until every movement of his body was yours and every breath you took belonged to him.

And you whispered, “Then don’t.”

Your smart little comment had barely left your lips before Jungkook dipped his head and caught your breast in his mouth, lips warm and soft as he sucked gently, tongue circling your nipple before he gave it a teasing nip that made you jolt under him with a strangled gasp that started your downfall.

“Smart mouth,” he murmured against your skin, grinning as your body twitched from the overstimulation and want. “You just love driving me crazy, don’t you?”

But then he pushed forward again, his hips grinding down just so—right over that spot where you were already trembling. The thick, perfect slide of him hit home deep, the ridge of his pelvis pressing tight against your clit in a way that knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You shattered, voice breaking apart into a gasped cry, hands clawing at his back as your entire body locked up and then trembled violently around him.

“Jungkook—!” Your walls fluttered and clenched hard, dragging him down with you. He barely managed a few more erratic thrusts before he groaned—low and raw—burying his face in your neck as his hips jerked. The heat of his release filled the condom as his entire body tightened over yours.

“Fuck,” he gasped, voice shivering as he came, still rolling his hips just enough to ride out the end. “You—God, unreal.” You were both breathing like you’d run miles, chests rising and falling in tandem. His forehead dropped against yours for a long moment, sweat clinging to his hairline, breath hot against your cheek.

He stayed inside you a little longer, reluctant to leave the warmth and the aftershocks still fluttering through your body. His lips pressed lazy, tender kisses to your neck and collarbone, his weight comforting above you without being too much. Eventually, he slowly eased you down with him, shifting so you were both lying on your sides, your leg still draped over his hip.

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning now that the high was fading—embarrassment blooming quietly in your chest. “I… came so fast…” you muttered, barely audible. “I—shit, sorry.”

Jungkook blinked, and then his smile split wide, bright and boyish and disbelieving. “Are you kidding?” he said, his voice rough but teasing. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I thought I’d lose it just from hearing you.” And just like that, he twitched inside you.

You let out a soft sound—half gasp, half groan—that made him chuckle.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not sounding sorry at all as he placed a kiss just below your ear. He finally pulled out of you with care, murmuring something soft when you twitched at the loss, and disposed of the condom before turning back toward you.

But before he could lie down again, you were already pushing yourself up gingerly on shaky limbs, breath still shallow. He blinked at you, brows lifted, concern and curiosity mingling on his face. “You okay?” You nodded, brushing your hair out of your face. “Bathroom,” you said simply, voice still wrecked around the edges. His lips quirked into a crooked smile, eyes fond. “Ah.” You wobbled slightly as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed—but Jungkook was already sitting up behind you, hands at your waist, helping you up with exaggerated care.

“Anything for my girlfriend,” he said playfully, kissing your shoulder as he steadied you.

You groaned. “God, you’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” He grinned and gave you a soft smack on the hip. You pushed yourself upright, but before you could take more than a few steps, Jungkook’s hand wrapped gently around your wrist. “I’ll come with you,” he said, standing up beside you in one smooth, quiet motion.

You gave him a tired glance, amused. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally walking like a newborn deer. I feel obligated.”

You huffed a laugh, letting him tug you toward the bathroom with fingers laced through yours. He kept close as you both stepped into the low-lit space, the faint hum of the fan filling the silence. You reached for the faucet and splashed water on your face as he stood behind you, watching with a small, soft smile, the glow from the mirror lighting his features gently.

Your reflection caught his—a mess of tousled dark hair, flushed cheeks, a lip still slightly swollen from your kisses. His hoodie and pants were gone, his inked arm on display, his chest bare and scattered with faint red marks you’d left in the heat of it.

You handed him the washcloth you’d wet, and he accepted it easily, dragging it across his chest and neck with a low, content sigh before tossing it into the hamper. The two of you brushed your teeth side by side in companionable silence, hips bumping every now and then, like even now, your bodies couldn’t help but seek each other out.

When you finished and leaned against the sink, Jungkook reached over and gently tucked your hair behind your ear, studying your face like it was something precious. “What?” you asked, voice quieter now. He shook his head with a lazy smile. “Nothing. You’re just really damn pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming again. “I look wrecked.”

“Exactly.” His voice dropped, teasing and rough. “My kind of wrecked.”

You groaned, pushing lightly at his chest, but he only grinned wider, catching your wrist and kissing your palm before guiding you back toward the bedroom. When you reached the bed, you both climbed under the covers at the same time, your bodies drawn together instantly like magnets. Jungkook settled on his back and opened an arm without question. You tucked yourself against his side, one leg thrown over his hip, your head finding the crook of his shoulder.

His skin was warm—soothing—and he smelled faintly of shampoo and the clean linens. His hand smoothed slow circles into your lower back while the other combed lightly through your hair, grounding you with every touch. You stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the quiet glow of the night, breaths syncing, heartbeats slowing.

“Hey,” he murmured eventually, voice soft. You hummed, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“I really missed this,” he said, fingers still tracing invisible lines on your skin. “Missed you.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “More than I realized. It’s stupid how good it feels... just to hold you.”

That made your chest ache in the best way. You kissed his collarbone, lazy and lingering, and felt him hum in response. “I missed you too,” you whispered. “Even when I pretended I didn’t.” Jungkook’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he said quietly.

You nestled tighter against him, and he pulled the blanket up higher, another kiss pressed to your forehead. The room had settled into silence, save for the sound of your breaths mixing, slow and even beneath the covers.

You were nestled into Jungkook’s side like you’d never left, like there had never been a gap of time or space between the two of you. His fingers continued their lazy path over your back, warm and familiar, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“You know…” he murmured after a moment, voice low and sleepy, vibrating softly through his chest beneath your cheek. “I’m flying you out more often now. Whether you want me to or not.” You let out a tired, amused breath, not even lifting your head. “So you’re just going to kidnap me now?”

“Exactly,” he said with a small grin. “I’ll drag you into my suitcase if I have to. Make this long-distance crap work.” You chuckled, eyes still closed, your legs tangling deeper into his under the sheets. “Fine. But only if you also make time to visit me. Not just airlifting me to you every time.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Deal. But I want to be where you are anyway, so that’s not exactly a compromise.”

“Mmh…” you shifted closer, like that was even possible, pressing your nose against the base of his throat, letting the warmth of his body soothe every frayed nerve. “We could do workcations, too. Pick a city, hole up somewhere nice. You shoot your stuff, I take meetings, and we eat too many pastries in between.”

Jungkook laughed softly at that, the sound a deep, muffled rumble in his chest. “You’re dangerous with ideas like that.”

“I’m serious,” you mumbled. “I’m not letting you disappear into some blackhole schedule again. If I have to sit in your studio in pajama pants just to see you, I will.”

“You can sit on my lap in pajama pants,” he offered, smirking against your hair.

You groaned into his neck, voice muffled. “God, you’re impossible.”

But your arms didn’t loosen around him. You were already curled into his side like you’d come here to stay, like this was your rightful place. And Jungkook—he didn’t move an inch to suggest otherwise. If anything, his grip around you only tightened, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you like he was locking the moment into place.

“I like this,” he whispered after a beat, voice quieter now. “You here. Like this.”

Your fingers brushed across his ribs, drawing idle lines. “You planning to trap me like this for a while?”

He hummed, not even pretending to sound guilty. “That’s exactly what I’m planning. But tomorrow we need to visit the Han River first.”

And the way he cradled you after, his chin resting on top of your head, his breath warm in your hair, told you he meant every word.

Masterlist

Tags: A/N I was stupid and not specific with the Tags at my Tag post for this. So as to not Tag anyone that doesnt want to be Tagged I changed the post and tagged only the people that interacted after the change. I am sorry! If you wanted to be tagged :/ If you want to be tagged for Missing you, just write it in the comments or dm me. Sorry!

@dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @notyourfriendooo

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing. English is my second language, and this tools help me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #just a normal night #jungkook fanfic #bts imagine #bts stories #bts imagines #bts jk #bts au

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aangell333 · 1 year ago

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hi hi hello, i’m actually clinically obsessed with the way you wrote post-prison reid, so i was wondering if i could get a quick smut wip about spence x fem reader with an oral fixation, and him just going nuts about it. greatly appreciated for my messed up brain, thank you🙏🏻🫶🏻

ps have a good day, and take your time<33

um yes I creamed.

spencer had always known about your oral fixation.

he’d catch you chewing on pens, the lid of your lipgloss, once even sneaking his tie away from him while listening to hotch and nibbling on the pointed end. he’d find you snacking throughout the day, and when asked, you’d simply say ‘my mouth feels lonely’. kuchisabishii, the japanese call it.

spencer had always known about your oral fixation.

the way you fumble for his fingers while he’s ramming into your tight hole and draw them to your mouth, the way your eyes roll back when you get your mouth around them and suck.

it sends him certifiably insane.

he loves to pull his cock out of you just before you cum and make you suck your own juices off his glistening length, edging you for his own pleasure. it’s dirty, depraved. but he loves it.

sometimes, he’ll make you cockwarm him with your hot, wet mouth. he could be watching a movie, having the lunch you’d forced him to eat or doing paperwork. when you ask why he has so much to do, he simply shove your back down on his cock, you’re too silly to understand, sweetheart; besides, you’re happier with your mouth around his cock.

and, with a mouthful of salty cum running down your throat, you can’t help but agree.

barking, cumming, crying.

@pidgeispunk

#x reader #smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #post prison spencer #spencer reid x fem!reader #post prison spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #x reader smut

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enbycarp · 1 year ago

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Hey all, it's Juneteenth. I feel like this is a good day to talk about folks in prison.

I'm pen pals with several folks in prison. I've been doing this for many years now, and i think it's one of the most important things I've ever done. I started because i was interested in prison abolition, and i was told this was the way to get started in that movement. It's also a way to invest in our communities. Because queer, poc, poor, and disabled communities are disproportionately affected by the industrial prison complex. It's our people who are being thrown into cages and often being forgotten, tortured, enslaved, and denied their rights. We can invest in our communities and participate in mutual aid no matter what our resources or ability levels are. Being a pen pal requires investing a pretty small amount of time and money. Literally, if you can write a letter, you can do it (and often, you can send the letters online, so you don't even need paper).

I have made some true friends as a pen pal. People who have offered me support as much as i have offered them. I have one pen pal who i can talk to about things that i don't talk about with anyone else.

I won't lie, it's not always easy. There have been a couple pen pals that i didn't get along with well. I had to tell them that it wasn't working and gently end our correspondence. I've had two pen pals that stopped writing to me after they got out, and i just have to hope that they're ok out there. And these folks put up with really hard, sometimes horrifying shit inside. It can be hard to process that. Though, I've known other folks with pen pals who clearly set boundaries about what they're comfortable talking about and that's worked for them. I've had a pen pal ask me to do more than i was able to do for them, and i had to tell them no. They understood. You have to be able to set boundaries in any relationship, though.

You get to decide what you can do to help a pen pal. For some of us, that's just writing letters. I sometimes send gifts to folks (mostly books from Amazon). For one of my pen pals, i look up info about magic the gathering or D&D because she plays those games inside. For another, i wrote a letter to help support her case for getting a shorter sentence. One friend likes me to look up facts about his favorite actresses and sports teams. When one friend was facing transphobic discrimination, i organized a call in to the superintendent (and we really helped her). Some pen pals are looking for romantic connections (they generally tell you up front of that's the case). Many queer prisoners just need a connection to their community.

Please at least check out www.blackandpink.org and learn about what being a pen pal can mean for people on the inside. That organization has connected me with several queer pen pals. Even if you're not going to sign up to be a pen pal, just take a few minutes to learn about it.

Thanks!

Ps: you can ask me if you have any questions about

#prison abolition #pen pals #juneteenth #prison #queer #trans #mutual aid

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livelaughlovesubs · 5 months ago

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Hiii, Nini! Can I please request a Sigma x male reader fic with impact play? We've seen Sigma in fics getting absolutely decimated by the reader LMAO- I almost feel bad, so here's a twist, this is light impact play. Instead of spanks/floggers he can brace for, nope, feathers that make him jump out of his skin every time, giggling despite himself because wtf he's taken so much worse-. I think he'd absolutely lose it with the lighter/gentler stuff more so than the harder stuff purely because of how flustered he'd get XD. Ps I'm making it canon, you cannot look at him and tell me that stressed-as-hell man ain't ticklish.

Ahhhh so true!!! I imagine him as very sensitive and ticklish as well, like 🤤🤤 also since the gender wasn’t mentioned anywhere, you can interpret it however you want :]

Dom!reader x sub!sigma - reader is gn neutral

Warning: tickling/soft impact play, teasing, humiliation, slight dacryphilia (can’t write a fic without good’ol dacryphilia), using his hair as a brush???

Edit: started & finished this in the middle of the night, I’m so tired and I didn’t proof read it, also my brain is cooked idk what I did here

It’s been too quiet these days. Too boring, too mundane, too relaxing. There were many adjectives that would fit this little dilemma you were facing, called ‘dying of boredom’. You’ve been waiting around for your sweetheart to make a mistake, just so you’d have a reason to punish him. Yet how could it be that he’s so perfect in every way possible? You weren’t even exaggerating or meaning to sing his praises, heck you wanted him to be a little more human!

Otherwise you couldn’t think of a good reason to pull him out of his busy schedule, just to have him all to yourself, in such a selfish way. He wouldn’t agree, everyone knows how he puts his work above everything else. Such a horrible work ethic he has. Whatever, no one is perfect, even the manager of the sky casino will have to slip up somewhere, and you were way too eager to find it.

Sigma was just signing some documents as you watched him over his shoulder, taking sneaky peeks as if he hasn’t noticed you already. At this point he was probably wondering what you were doing. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, in fact, you knew due to you being so close, he’d get nervous and overthinking again. Something along the lines of: Did you want something from him? Why were you watching him all silently, so creepily?

And there it was— what you’ve been waiting for! “Sigma~ gosh, you clumsy thing! You wrote down the wrong date there, look.” You pointed it out a little too enthusiastically, eyes sparkling like morning sunlight, reflecting how excited you were. He glanced at you funnily, probably baffled why you were so happy about it. “Ah- yes, I see, uhh.. thanks, y/n.” Sigma furrowed his brows for a split second, then turned his attentions back to the papers. Though before he could continue writing, you snatched the pen out of his hand.

“Nope, you made a mistake sigma, and such a simple one as well. Tsk tsk tsk.” You faked a disappointment sigh, and facepalmed, putting your acting skills to use, “I’ll need to punish you, don’t you think?” So that’s what you’ve been waiting for, and probably the reason why you were so full of glee earlier. “A-are you serious..? For such a small thing?” Sigma looked taken aback, leaning his head back until he met your eyes. A slight blush was already convering his pale cheeks, such a naughty boy, he was excited as well.

“Why of course, it was a grave mistake after all. Stand up.” He was more ready to comply than you thought, not making any fuss as he stood up. “Good boy, now sit on the table.” You moved the chair away, pinning his body between your arms and gripping the edge of the furniture. Sigma glanced at you a few times, seemingly surprised with your demand. To be honest he expected you to bend him over your lap. This was fine as well, in fact, this position would prove itself to be more comfortable than what he initially predicted.

You were close, all up in his intimate space. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off your body. A slight blush covered his cheeks as he waited for your orders, already feeling the effects you had on him. It was almost terrifying how much control you had with just a few words. “Come on, you know how it goes. Strip.” After waiting for what felt like forever, you smirked as you whispered to him. “Ah- right. Sorry.” The boy replied half-minded, hands moving up to unbutton his vest.

This wouldn’t have been all that humiliating if it wasn’t for the fact that you were staring him up and down like some prey, watching his every move as he peeled off one layer after another. “Can’t you.. look in the other way?” He muttered in a meek voice, currently taking his pants off. “I’ve seen you nude plenty times darling,” you reached for his hands and helped him undress, “why are you still embarrassed?”

“You- stop teasing me..” The way his face flushed even more while he desperately tried to shake your hands off was so precious, you couldn’t stop grinning. “Ever thought it’s part of the punishment?” You asked, grabbing his thighs and spreading them apart. They were soft to the touch, and so squishy, his skin was flawless. “Ah-ahh… I’m- I’m really getting punished… over that little mistake?” He bawled his hands into fists, biting his lips to stop the trembling.

“I mean what I said.” He inhaled shakily, and breathed an equally unsure exhale. Eyes glossed over and half-lidded, body burning under your every touch. Poor boy was just preparing for the worst. You gave him a reassuring smile, then raised your hand right over his thighs. So it was going to be spanking, he thought and squeezed his eyes together. To his surprise, instead of the painful slap he expected, he was met with a teasing one. In response his body twitched involuntarily, and his eyes ripped open.

He didn’t flinch because of the pain, no there was no pain to speak of. There were only a soft, faintly red mark that gradually appeared on his inner thigh. Pretty much nothing worth mentioning, you left more marks when you grabbed his skin to spread his legs. “Erm… Y/n?” He couldn’t help but question your actions. That was a slip up, right? He’s taken so much worse, compared to all that you were basically caressing him.

Suddenly, another slap, though just as soft and gentle as the first one, making him jump out of his seat. “Wait- y/n, what are you doing?” It was such a light slap, can you even call it one? Wouldn’t tap be a more fitting description? “Punishing you. Why, do you want to be bullied instead?” You teased, followed by another slap, this time on the other thigh, and his toes curled. Why did this feel even more embarrassing than anything else? The sound was way louder and more dramatic than the actual impact.

“Ah- no but, seriously, what are you doing?” Out of nowhere you slapped his chest, once again it wasn’t painful in the slightest. He tensed together, still able to feel your touch in the places you’ve touched. “Shhh, be good and endure it for me, alright?” Instead of answering him, you stroked his fluffy hair, and smiled all self confident. The look on his face screamed confusion, but he trusted you, and so he simply swallowed the lump in his throat.

You grabbed a strain of his hair, one of the longer locks, sliding your hand through them, a little amazed at how untangled his hair was. As soon as you reached the ends, you held it fairly firm in your hand, and used it like a brush to graze over his skin. First over his cheeks just to annoy him, earning yourself a glare from him, then a feather-light brush over his nipples. He really didn’t know where you were going with this, but god did it rile him up.

It tickled, and it was so foreign, he couldn’t help but subconsciously clench his thighs together. Hands trembling from clenching his fists too hard, the pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears. You made sure to not touch him anywhere except with your hands, which made him all the more sensitive. Those touches were driving him mad, and that fact itself made him all the more flustered. You were barely doing anything, how could it be that he wanted to cry amidst all these sensations?

Soft, muffled whimpers slipped from his swollen lips, he arched his back forward whenever everything became too much. “Hnng- please, ah.. stop the t-teasing…! Hmm..!!” You carefully traced a line down his belly, resting your makeshift brush around his pelvis and moving it in a circling motion. As if all this wasn’t humiliating enough, he now knew why you had him sit on the table. All so you could observe his every move, every shameful expression and listen to every shaky breath he exhaled.

“Look at you getting all excited just from a few touches, you are way more needy than you’d like to admit, aren’t you?” “HnnGh..~ p-please.. ah-!!”He whined again, feeling you finally, finally giving his neglected dick some attention. Only using one finger to lazily rub his tip a few times, before using his hair to brush over the already sticky gland. His precum slowly dribbled from his slit, down his shaft before getting smeared around by you. “So messy.” Was all you had to say.

“Y/n, y-you’re so Mnn.. mean,” he squirmed around, shaking his head as tears rolled down his crimson cheeks, “I-i wanna cum…” you tilted your head to the side, sliding the bush of hair over his inner thighs, “that’s not how you ask for things, baby.” Then you used your other hand to rub his tears away, it ended up with him crying even more. “Such a crybaby, why don’t you try asking nicely?”

He gulped, trying to cease the sobbing for a moment, bending forwards as he let his head drop. The shame was eating at him, but he really couldn’t do this anymore~ which is why he looked up at you like a lost puppy, with glistening eyes and rosy lips, shaking ever so slightly as he begged, “please.. ha-Ahhh…I-i wanna cum♥︎ please m-make me c-cum..!!♡♡♥︎”

You smiled, staying quiet for a moment to raise the intensity and anticipation, then wrapped your arms around his shivering body. “You’ve been so good for me, and good boys deserve to be rewarded.”

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rodrickrulezz · 2 months ago

Note

hiii! I was wondering if u can do a Rodrick x soft pink girly reader? if that makes sense ( ᴗ_ᴗ̩ )

oh and ur work is so coollicious ^^ (ps take ur timmmmmee)

soft! reader does rodrick's makeup :333

Rodrick was surprisingly compliant when you asked to do his makeup. On one condition; no 'girly shit'.

You hurry to gather all of your makeup products, not only because you're excited, but you quickly start to prevent him from changing his mind.

You straddle his waist, a cute grin plastered onto your face so excited to make him all pretty. "No cute shit, make me hot." He says as he grabs your hips.

You playfully roll your eyes, "You're boring, Roddy." You stretch the headband onto his face, pushing his hair back.

You rub basic skincare into his face. Rodrick sighs, his eyes closed, and the corners of his lips curled. "This is nice." He mutters.

"'Kay, you're all prepped!" You gentle pat his face, earning a smile from him. "Makeup now,"

You reach over him, retrieving a bottle of foundation, and you push down on the nozzle, making a puddle on the back of your hand. You spread it evenly onto his face, "You're a nice canvas, Roddy." He grins, "yeah?"

"Yeah," you say as you pat your beauty blender onto his skin. A comfortable silence blankets you both, only quiet breaths, and the pat of you putting on his concealer is heard.

"What are you doing now?" He cracks an eye open as you grab your powder. "Powder." You speak, patting a layer of powder onto his face with a brush.

"Blush now!" You squeal, tapping the pink powder onto the apples onto his cheeks. "So pretty," you beam.

"So..." you grab an eyeshadow pallete and a pen eyeliner. "You just want eyeliner?"

"Yeah, like what i do for my gigs." You pout at him. He opens his eyes at the silence, "What?"

"That's so boring. Can I just put black eyeshadow on, too? It'll look so hot, I promise." He thinks for a moment, "As long as I look hot."

"Yay!" Delighted, you swish your brush into a pot of black eyeshadow, "Close your eyes," you utter as you dab it onto his lids.

You swiftly put a base of black eyeshadow lightly onto his lids, liquid eyeliner borders his brown eyes.

"Roddy..." You draw out the 'y' "Yeah?" he responds.

"You know how you love me so much, and you said one time that you'd do anything for me?" You ramble. "You want to put glitter on me, don't you?" He says flatly.

"Yea...can I Roddy? Can I?" You place your hands on his chest eagerly waiting for his answer. He lets out a deep sigh before answering, "Whatever, go on."

"Thank you, Roddy!!!" You beam, placing a sweet kiss onto his lips before rummaging into your bag, retrieving the perfect glitter.

He rolls his eyes, secretly melting at your simple happiness. He closes his eyes once again. The pad of your finger strokes the pot of black glitter with hints of silver you transfer it on his crease.

"Ugh, so pretty." You admire your work. After a few finishing touches and a spray, he was officially glammed.

He opens his eyes to see his exhilarated girlfriend and feels a weight on his lids. "You ready to see how beautiful you look?" You cheerfully say with a hand-held mirror ushering it towards him encouraging him to take it.

"Look, Roddy!" He grabs the mirror and spins it towards himself. He looks back to his reflection. He saw a familiar yet unrecognisable face stare back at him. His false eyelashes flutter with each bewildered blink.

"Woah..." You smile in response, you lean forward, squishing your face next to his. Looking at him in the mirror too, "Aren't you gorgeous?"

"Yeah.. the glitter is cute." He says, turning his face different angles. "I know, right? Brings out your eyes." You ramble on, so happy with the end result. He no longer is looking at himself in the mirror; just you and your adorably cute face.

#rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick x reader #fem reader #boyfriend #rodrickrulezz

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duskandstarlight · 6 months ago

Text

A Golden Opportunity: Part Four

Nessian [Modern AU]

Notes: Wow, long time no speak, no post, no write. But I'm back - maybe, who knows (hopefully). It turns out this little fic is the thing that made me want to write again and it's been so fun rediscovering my Nessian babies.

No idea if anyone is reading this anymore (@simpingfornestaarcheron tells me the Nessian fandom isn't as active on here anymore so I live with no expectations) but here's an update anyway - and it's also on A03! Big thanks to @noirshadow as always, for being my champion and for getting out her red pen for me despite being absolutely slammed at work.

Oh, and this is angsty AF I am sorry.

PS Sorry, this taglist is most likely HUGELY out of date but it's all I have. Shout if you are under a diff name / don't want to hear from me anymore - TY.

Part Four - Cassian

Cassian didn’t hear from Nesta for weeks. She didn’t turn up to brunches or family events where he was in attendance. And, of course, she didn’t text him. That conversation remained entirely untouched, like a lone tombstone; surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds, some abandoned flowers brown and crumbling collected with a dirty ribbon at its feet.

If it had not been for the subtle nods to Nesta’s continued existence, Cassian might have thought she’d been entirely erased from the planet. But there were name drops from her sisters, mentions of meeting for coffee, of having her over for lunch. At dinner the previous week, Cassian had overheard Elain confiding to Feyre that Nesta had seemed out of sorts. And Cassian, who had been straining to overhear the conversation, had felt both pained and filled with some a stark sense of hope that if she’d at least let him go, at the very least, she might be mourning him, too.

Maybe, he thought fatuously, she cared too much. Maybe, she was still mulling them over, weighing the pros and cons.

Maybe, by some sort of miracle, she would come to the conclusion that he was worth it.

But that hope dwindled as the days continued to pass and Cassian still heard nothing from Nesta. At some point, he knew he needed to take her silence as a no. Knew he would need to follow through on his side of the bargain. Allow that line to be drawn beneath them, the flame snuffed out until there was nothing but ash.

As the weeks passed, Cassian’s spiky irritability fell into a flat sadness that physically ached. He continued to run every day despite his protesting knee. He continued to work himself until he just couldn’t anymore and tried not to think of her.

But Nesta crept through the gaps in his mind anyway - snatches of her, always beautiful, always sardonically cruel in their torture. Jasmine and vanilla. The smell of her skin as he buried his nose into her neck. Wisps of golden-brown hair escaping from a braid. The glint in her eye, the upwards tilt of her chin as she accepted a challenge.

The taste of her mouth, the sound of her sigh, her breath whispering across his cheek.

A hint of a smile - then better, the sound of her laugh. A true one, just for him.

And on and on it went with no reprieve—

“Is that the amended timetable for next week?”

Anyone else might have jumped, but Cassian was used to Azriel’s ability to sneak up on him.

The thought of Nesta vanished in a wisp, like smoke rising from an extinguished candle. And despite having spent the past few weeks trying to forget her, Cassian found himself irrationally disgruntled that Azriel had interrupted the vision.

Leaning back in the leather desk chair that resided in he and Azriel’s shared office, Cassian grunted in affirmation.

“Boxing needs to be at six thirty if you want me to take that class,” Azriel replied. “I’m in a meeting at the Sangravah site until four.”

Cassian made another noise in the back of his throat. Scribbled out the timetable with a little too much outward frustration and acknowledged, not for the first time, how tired he was.

But regardless of the fact that his eyelids were actually burning due to a severe lack of sleep, the problem still remained that whenever Cassian tried to rest, his mind did the opposite.

And then he was thinking of Nesta again. Of the way she stared dead ahead during their car ride, unable to face him as he laid his feelings bare - how he’d always felt right from the start.

Not that it had made any difference.

And then there was his mum, too.

She was always at the forefront of his mind at this time of year. The blurry shape of her, the edges of her fading into shadow, time slowly eating away at her frame until she threatened to disappear completely.

Soon, all that would be left of her would be the cavernous space where she should have been. And Cassian knew that would haunt him too - worse, even, his mourning growing even more acute.

For now, he was lucky enough to still hear the crackle of his mum’s laugh, feel her chapped palm warm against his as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. He could even scent the shampoo of her hair as she hugged him close, her hair tickling his nose. Could remember how, whilst his chin always met her bony shoulder, Cassian always felt like they fit just right. The two of them, together - always.

But now it was just him, alone.

Reaching for the red pen atop the surface of his desk, Cassian intended to tackle the timetable for good. But then his laptop pinged with a notification.

Lifting his eyes to the messaging app open on his browser, Cassian expected to find his one thirty pm client cancelling on him.

But what he saw had his fingers diving for the keyboard.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Where are you?

Cassian felt his heart beat with such force that it lurched upwards, tearing through pericardium to lodge itself impossibly in his throat.

His fingers moved before he could command them. Had hit enter before he could even read his response.

Cassian: Work.

Cassian’s thoughts began to race, his anticipation a tempo to the rapidity of his pulse. Did she finally want to talk? Had she finally made a decision on them? Was she going to end it all without even looking him in the eye, a hastily typed dismissal to match the original message she’d sent to cancel their first date?

He couldn’t bear waiting, couldn’t bear that Nesta was not typing. But then, as the wait became a little too long, something crept along the back of his neck. A feeling. A premonition. An omen that something was off.

“What is it?”

There was a rare frown that accompanied the usual chill to Azriel’s voice.

But Cassian didn’t have time to tell his brother to kindly fuck off and stop reading the conversation over his shoulder.

Instead, he was typing, his fingers moving at a speed he hadn’t known possible - terrified that if he was not fast enough, that she might disappear on him.

He hammered his fingers into the keys, asking what he, somehow, knew to be true. What’s wrong?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came back.

Cassian found he was holding his breath without realising. And when the answer finally came, his heart seemed to thud to a stop in his throat, as if it were too horrified to beat.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: I’m at Kaffe at the corner of Bone and Salt. Tomas is here.

Cassian’s office chair roared as it wheeled back across the hardwood floor - straight into the granite planes of Azriel’s stomach before rebounding back into Cassian’s knees.

Not that Cassian registered it. He was already leaning back over the oak desk, firing off the question he needed an answer to.

Cassian: Has he seen you?

No. The cursed three dots appeared again, but this time they didn’t take long to disappear as Nesta’s reply materialised on the screen. I don’t think so, he shouldn’t know I live near here. But I can’t leave. I’d have to walk straight past him.

Cassian: Stay there.

Blindly, Cassian reached for the jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair, for the mobile in his jeans’ pocket.

When he turned towards the door, Azriel was already there, car keys in hand.

“Kaffe?” he asked.

The downwards jerk of Cassian’s chin passed as a nod. “On the corner of Bone and Salt.”

“Let’s go,” Azriel said as Cassian’s mobile buzzed again in his hand.

Another notification from Nesta. And when Cassian read what she’d typed, he knew just how it sounded. Small and unsure and so unlike his Nesta that Cassian wanted to beat something—a very particular someone until they didn’t stand again.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Cassian?

Cassian: I’m coming to get you. Don’t try and walk past him, ok? Promise me, Nesta.

For a moment, nothing. Then:

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: How long will you be?

Cassian: Fifteen minutes if the traffic is good. Can you wait that long?

Not that Cassian could change the shape of time to get there sooner. But what he meant was: can you survive? Can you keep it together until then? Because Cassian had witnessed Nesta scared around her ex and it made someone who was usually perfectly composed, wild and unpredictable. He had no idea what Nesta she’d be today. Whether she’d suddenly bolt, her fear overriding her ability to be inconspicuous and grabbing Tomas’s attention in the process. Or whether she’d freeze where she was, paralysed with fear, unable to move.

The rear lights of Azriel’s Tesla flashed through the drizzle as they exited via the back entrance of the gym.

Cassian didn’t remember tugging on his seat belt or the soft chime of the infotainment system as Azriel brought the car to life.

All he was focused on was the screen, his conversation with Nesta as she told him, Don’t let him see you.

That was something Cassian knew all too well.

In the time Cassian had had the displeasure of knowing Tomas, the male had been consumed with the idea that he and Nesta were having an affair behind his back. On that count, he’d been wrong. But there was no denying to anyone who knew him that Cassian had taken one look at Nesta across the room at Feyre’s birthday party and known that his gravity had just shifted, his world tilting even further on its axis.

Cassian: He won’t.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: He won’t?

Cassian: He won’t. I’ll be there soon, ok?

After that, no answer came. Every second on the road was torture, but thankfully, despite the spitting rain darting patterns on the windshield, the traffic was on their side. Azriel streamlined along the road, smooth as butter and for a while, they remained in silence.

Until finally, Azriel asked, “What do you need?”

So, Cassian told him. Together they formed a plan. Together, they stepped out of the automatic doors and into the small parking lot at the rear of the coffee shop, ready to step into their assigned roles.

After all, he and Azriel had always been a team.

Yet, it all seemed to take too long - especially as Cassian waited uselessly in the alleyway out the back. Feet eating up the rain-soaked tarmac, pacing back and forth, past the foul smelling bins that lined the concrete wall and the employee entrance to the coffee shop opposite.

Too much time had passed when the back door finally opened with a loud clank.

A girl stood in the entryway, the heavy industrial door propped open with an outstretched arm. She was wearing a coffee-stained apron, her hair haphazardly piled atop her head.

She looked unsure. “Are you Cassian?”

Together, they walked down the short echoey corridor, the vinyl floor squeaking too loudly beneath the wet soles of Cassian’s shoes.

“There’s a door through that closet,” the girl told him. She pointed through the doorway, into the darkness. “If you open it you’ll be at the back of the shop.”

Cassian stepped over a mop and bucket, passing cleaning supplies and endless stock that lined the shelves: takeaway cups, stirrers, and sugar packets.

Then the door was there. The light from the shop on the other side shining through the cracks, beckoning him.

It was like stepping into another world, out of a vacuum. Immediately, the quiet from the storeroom was swallowed up by the noise of the shop: the chatter, the moving bodies, the background music coming from the speakers on the walls.

The mid-morning rush was a relief - a shop bustling with customers made it easier to be inconspicuous. After all, it was exactly that which allowed Azriel to slip away from the front counter and out the entrance, a baseball cap angled low to shield his face from view.

They’d meet at the car as planned - once Cassian had extricated Nesta from the shop.

Easing the door shut behind him, Cassian scanned his surroundings. It was no surprise that his eyes immediately snagged at the sight of Nesta’s golden head. She was not sitting too far from where he’d entered, her laptop balanced on the tabletop in front of her.

The tension knotting her shoulders, her neck, her ramrod spine, were as clear as day. In fact, the utter stillness emanating from her could only be described as inanimate - that of a statue.

And Cassian knew what had caused it, had been prepared for it, but when he saw the evidence before him, it still struck hard.

Ahead of Nesta, only by a few seats, was Tomas Mandray.

He was leaning back in his chair in the way Cassian had learnt to expect of Nesta’s ex-partner: taking up more space than he should for a male who was neither wide or tall. Slouching practically sideways in his chair, Tomas was scrolling mindlessly on his phone. One foot was stretched out so it was slap bang in the lone aisle that separated the two halves of the shop. The calf of his other leg rested atop it, the sole of his shoe sticking out so anyone wanting to get past him would have to ask for him to move - Nesta included.

Anger flared inside of Cassian, fresh and salt hot. It tasted like blood, smelt like it, looked like it, but Cassian made himself push back the colour red as he began to make his way down the aisle.

Nesta didn’t sense him coming. Nor did Cassian expect her to. He hadn’t messaged her since he’d first entered the car and it had been a decision he’d weighed up the entire rest of the ride.

But in the end, both he and Azriel had decided that if Nesta knew the intended plan and it went sideways, she might panic enough to do something rash.

It was a choice Cassian came to regret the moment he opened his mouth.

“Nesta.”

It didn’t matter that he’d had purposefully moulded her name into something soft: Nesta jumped a mile. Then, two things happened at once. The first was that her head turned so fast Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gotten whiplash. The second, was that the shock of seeing him sent the mobile in her hand flying.

Cassian didn’t have a moment to think, but his reflexes never failed him. His hand shot out to catch the phone at the same time that Nesta’s did. The mobile missed the table by a breath and tumbled into her lap where they trapped it, their fingers tangled.

Nesta’s grip was so white Cassian could see the straining tendons. Breathing hard, he raised his eyes to meet hers only to find that they’d already snapped back to Tomas.

Cassian had seen that look of fixation in people plenty before. There was flight or fight but there was also freeze — and Nesta was definitely in the latter. He needed to get her attention for long enough that he could convince her to leave, but with her eyes so saucer-wide that he could see the whites of them, her pupils blown, skin bloodless, breathing shallow, Cassian knew it was going to be easier said than done.

“Hey sweetheart.” The affectionate term came out in a low rumble that did nothing to penetrate Nesta’s steadfast attention. Cassian sank into a crouch beside her. Tried again, “Nesta.”

This time there was enough quiet command in his voice that her eyes finally dragged to look at him. It was fleeting. A scant acknowledgement that he was kneeling beside her, but it was all Cassian had to work with so he seized it. “Time to go.”

But it was too late. Nesta’s attention was already back on Tomas and she was drawing herself in, shrinking back into her chair until she looked so small and so unlike the Nesta Cassian had come to know, that his heart cracked on her behalf.

It physically ached, that fissure. Threatened to snatch Cassian’s breath as he teetered at the edge of it - a depthless cavern, jagged like a lifeline.

For years, Cassian had watched as Nesta glued herself back together. He’d seen it all. The grief of who she’d been, who she’d been forced to become when, on her knees, she realised the shattered pieces of her identity didn’t fit back together. Splinters were missing, core fragments of her personality had changed shape so monumentously that she finally realised they would never slot back into the past version of herself.

And she’d weathered it. Mourned it, yes, but then Nesta had gritted her teeth and fought it. Discovered the new pieces of herself, acknowledged the changed, filled the gaps until she’d drawn together into someone who was stronger, more resilient yet intrinsically still Nesta.

Cassian would not let that battle go to waste. Would not let a male with a small dick and an abusive temper ruin someone who, quite frankly, was the most amazing person he’d ever met.

Shifting his weight onto his better leg, Cassian ignored his throbbing knee and said, “We don’t need to walk past him. We can leave out the back—”

But Nesta was shaking her head. When she finally spoke, her confession was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t do it, Cassian.”

In all the time Nesta had known him, she’d barely ever called him by his name. He’d imagined her saying it like it was a habit, for sure. But he hadn’t thought it would come out with a confession, in a crackled, broken whisper.

Gently coaxing Nesta’s phone from her vice-like grip, Cassian slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then, before her fingers could ball into fists he slowly threaded their fingers together. “Yes, you can. I know you can. I’ve seen you do it before.”

Cassian had dared to hope that the contact would pull her attention back to him, but it didn’t work.

So slowly, Cassian raised their hands, pressed them into his cheek.

For a fleeting second, he had her. Nesta’s eyes snapped to him - to the warmth of his skin. But then they darted away, back to Tomas who was now talking on his mobile.

Nesta's grip on him tightened at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice, locking down so hard that Cassian knew if he were to look at their threaded fingers, they’d appear bled dry.

Hoping that Nesta was still listening, Cassian continued, “There’s a door out the back. It’s how I got in. He won’t see you but we should go now whilst he’s distracted.”

And then Cassian took the biggest risk of all. He lifted their hands to his mouth, pressed his lips to her fingers.

That’s what did it in the end— it was like a summoning. Nesta tore her eyes away from Tomas. It took effort, Cassian could tell because her eyes darted back and forth until finally they stayed with him. Long enough for her to confess her greatest fear around the tightness in her throat. “He might.”

“Not today.”

Carefully, Cassian stood, ignoring the painful tweak in his knee as he did so.

Tomas was still on his mobile. Somehow, he was leaning back even further in his chair, commanding the space. His voice was so loud and obnoxious that the woman at the table next to him shot him a glare.

Cassian didn’t care. Tomas was busy and that was how they wanted him.

“We’re going to get you out of here, but I need you to get up. You can do this, ok?”

There. A hesitation. A belief that dared to creep in through the cracks of Nesta’s fear and tell her that there might be hope.

After that, the adrenaline kicked in. Nesta fumbled for her bag, her belongings. By then her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped her laptop, but Cassian swooped in, swept everything into her satchel and shouldered it.

“This way,” he coaxed, summoning every ounce of restraint not to touch the small of her back in encouragement. He had a feeling if he did that all the adrenaline coursing through her veins would make her startle.

Somehow, they made it out. The moment Cassian closed the closet door behind them, shutting out the coffee shop, he could breathe a little easier. Didn’t worry so much when Nesta stumbled over a bucket, the sound ricocheting around the storeroom as she righted herself.

The fresh air that hit them as they stepped outside was bracing. It snatched the breath from their lungs. But to Cassian it tasted like nothing but relief. He barely noticed the fine fuzz of rain that immediately coated his clothing, wet his face, his hair.

And clearly neither did Nesta. For the second the back door shut behind them, Nesta met his eyes. And then, without any adieu, she bent over double and vomited onto the tarmac.

The suddenness of it all was so unexpected and so violent that Cassian moved on instinct. He forgot that he was supposed to be keeping his distance. Forgot that he was trying not to spook her.

In hindsight, during the long night that followed, Cassian replayed the following scene over and over in his head trying to make sense of it. And each time, he came to the same conclusion. Nesta - whose body was hyper-vigilant beyond belief - clocked him leaping towards her out of the corner of her eye and catalogued him as a threat.

Nesta startled like an animal running for its life, jerking away from him before he could reach her.

But whilst Cassian had paced up and down the alleyway for a good five minutes before Azriel had sent the staff member to the back door, Nesta was unacquainted with her surroundings.

Bent over double as she was, she didn’t see the wall until it was too late. Straightening and twisting away from him at the same time, Nesta collided into the pebble dash with a crack.

“Shit,” Cassian panted, eyes wide, hands up as he hastily backed away from her. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I didn’t think—”

He abruptly stopped speaking as Nesta lurched forwards again, the movement jolting and ugly, and retched.

The acrid scent of bile mingled with the odour coming from the trash cans - old food and stale coffee and the wet mulch of cardboard intermingling with damp rain - the latter of which was coming down harder now.

But now, neither of them noticed.

All Cassian could think of was Nesta. He watched her straighten, her hands now clutching at her head as if that might physically hold in the shock of the collision.

And all Cassian could do was stand there, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon but the rest of him frozen in place. His palms, which had flown up on instinct when she’d thrust away from him, were still facing her, as if she had him at gunpoint.

He was too scared to move, too frightened that he’d do something else idiotically stupid and cause her more harm.

For a moment, they stared at one another wide-eyed. Cassian could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, trying to burst out of his skin.

Nesta swiped at her mouth with the back of her shaking hand. When she dropped it from her bloodless face, her lips parted as if she were planning on speaking but then they shut again, her mouth a thin, brittle line.

He watched this happen again, then again. After the third attempt to speak, Cassian watched her give up. Watched her press the heel of her palm to the exact spot where her head had collided with the wall, her brows knitting in confusion, as if she didn’t understand where the pain had suddenly come from.

When her fingers came away, Cassian was alarmed to see that they were red.

It took everything he had not to step towards her, to see if she was ok. But he didn’t dare risk it after he’d terrified her so badly.

Instead, his punishment for being so idiotically stupid was to watch this play out. To watch her lower her trembling hand so it hung limply at her side and watch a trickle of blood escape down her temple.

Nesta didn’t seem aware of it. Instead, she just continued to stare at him in disbelief.

Then, her expression rippled. A tremor, violent before it was trapped and smoothed out.

A beat passed.

“Sorry,” she said hoarsely - finally, when she clearly thought herself composed. But her voice wavered as she spoke, and the sound of it seemed to be the breaking point.

Cassian balled his hands to stop himself from reaching out to her. Slowly, he took a discreet step backwards, granting her more space even though all he wanted to do was to pull her to him and swathe her in his arms.

But the action didn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it was the finger on the trigger, the foundational straw pulled out from beneath her.

There was a shaky, high-pitched rush of breath, a last attempt to keep the tears at bay - but it was too late. Nesta’s face crumpled and then words were toppling out between gasped sobs.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why he’s here. He shouldn’t be here—”

“I know.” There was a crack in Cassian’s voice now, a maelstrom of emotions. The aching sadness of seeing her like this, the angry truth of it all, the stark, terrible reality. And then there was the fury of his contribution to it. Him, the male he had hoped she might come to trust, ruining it all. The sound of her head hitting the concrete. “Please. Let me take you home—“

“Is everything ok here?”

A voice interrupted Cassian, smooth as always and deliberately tempered down to be soft.

Nesta startled anyway. She scrambled away but when she realised she was too close to the wall, she halted in her tracks, panting.

Cassian didn’t need to turn to see who it was, but when he did, his arm outstretched to tell his brother to stay put, he found Azriel in the mouth of the alleyway.

In his left hand, the car keys dangled.

Azriel did not take a step forward. Instead, he kept his eyes on Cassian. Said, “Tomas is still in the coffee shop, but we should make a quick exit if we want to be safe. He looked like he was readying himself to leave and I’m not sure if his car is in the parking lot.”

Later, when Cassian was back at home he marvelled at how they managed to get Nesta into the car. He supposed the threat of her ex was enough to make someone who was currently very afraid of men shut herself into a car with two hulking ones.

Striding ahead, Cassian opened the rear door for Nesta before backing away. Heart in his mouth, he got into the passenger side, opposite Azriel at the wheel, keeping his gaze locked ahead, not wanting to spook her, not wanting her to second guess a thing.

In fact, Cassian didn’t feel like he drew a breath. Not as the rear door shut, as fabric rustled, the seat belt pulled across a body, the click as Nesta buckled herself in.

Even as Azriel eased them onto the main road, the rain coming down harder now, Cassian starved his lungs of air.

But when the coffee shop disappeared from view, Cassian allowed a breath to slowly rush back in.

He turned to Azriel. “Head to the hospital—”

“No.”

The response was forthright and quick while at the same time having a quiet incorporeal quality to it - as if it caught in mid-air and retracted into itself before it established itself.

Turning in his seat, Cassian looked at Nesta.

She was staring vacantly out the window, her body moving with the car as it turned in the same way

a puppet followed the command of its strings. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“You’re bleeding, Nesta.”

Absently, Nesta raised a hand to her temple, stared at the red glistening on her fingertips. “It’s superficial.”

“You don’t know that.”

Nesta let her hand fall into her lap, discarded. “I do.”

The seconds that followed felt as if they were swallowed by the gaping maw of silence. Two simple words threatening the imagination as it conjured images Cassian didn’t want to see. A body being thrown around, bruises and fractured ribs, a broken nose and two black eyes. Fell down the stairs, tripped over my own feet. The crack of a nose being set back into place, hiding away to protect a monster. I can’t come tonight, I’ve got a book deadline to meet. I’ll see you when I'm done.

All of it unravelling behind Cassian eyes, in his head, overtaking his senses - everything.

“Where should I drive to?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the images, abrupt, like a full stop thrown into the middle of a sentence.

Cassian didn’t stop looking at Nesta. She was still staring fixedly out the window, but he could tell she wasn’t seeing anything at all. He watched her slip farther away, the distance growing and growing, a cavernous feeling, vast, empty.

He turned back in his seat. A plan was already unfolding in his mind.

Cassian’s hand dipped into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cool metal of his mobile.

“Mine.”

***

“I need a bowl of warm water.”

A snap punctuated the end of Mor’s request as she stretched the fingers of the disposable rubber glove she was fitting to her hand.

The action came with the precision of someone who spent her days taking them on and off. Of the doctor who worked at the female health clinic in the less affluent districts and saw things she wished she didn’t.

There was no familiar warmth in his friend’s voice as she spoke. In fact, Mor didn’t even look at Cassian. Instead, she seated herself back atop the coffee table and began to rifle through the personally engraved medical bag he, Azriel and Rhys had gifted her for Winter Solstice last year.

Opposite her, curled up small in the corner of the couch was Nesta, pale in every sense of the word. Pale in pallor, pale in expression, pale in existence - as if she was fading from the room.

The distance that Cassian had felt growing between Nesta and the world had quadrupled since their car journey home. Wraith-like, Nesta had followed him into his apartment and sat mechanically onto his couch without really seeming to take any of it in. Nor had she touched the mug of chai he’d left on the coffee table in front of her.

That absence, that space, had seemed to worsen since Mor had stepped through the door five minutes ago.

And Cassian knew that bringing Mor into the equation was not something Nesta would take lightly. But he had been at a loss for what else to do. Nesta had refused to go to the hospital to be checked over and the only person Cassian knew could help - and who would be discreet - was his best friend.

And Mor, despite her rare day off, had dropped whatever she had been doing and driven straight to him.

Ceramic clinked against the wood of the coffee table as Cassian set down the bowl beside where Mor was seated.

Mor straightened, a small pocket torch in hand.

She clicked it on.

“Thanks. We’ll be a few minutes.”

It was a firm dismissal and Cassian didn’t dispute it.

He had already turned to leave when Nesta spoke—

“He can stay.”

Slowly, Nesta slid her gaze away from the tears crying down the window pane, locked them onto Mor in a way that was both absent and wholly fixated at the same time.

Nesta’s eyes were the same slate colour of the sky — no hope of blue within them.

Mor simply stared back, unfazed, undeterred - strong. “When I’ve performed the initial examination he can come back in. But not until then.”

“No.”

One word. Simple. Defiant despite the disembodied quality to it. The most emotion Nesta had displayed since he’d found her.

It was enough to tell Cassian that his Nesta was still in there fighting - even if she looked like hell.

Mor’s lips flattened into a grim line. “That’s my policy, I’m afraid—”

“Then change it.”

The aftermath of Nesta’s order crackled with static. Like a radio before it tuned into the right station. A gear grinding into fourth.

During the whole interaction, there had been no change to Nesta’s expression. It was as if her body had almost shut down, but as Mor searched it, really looked, her serious honey brown eyes scanning Nesta’s face, she seemed to see something in the depths Cassian couldn’t. For she straightened, looked from Nesta to Cassian with a grim sort of understanding, before shifting her attention back to Nesta.

Mor held up a gloved hand.

“Follow my finger,” she instructed.

***

The snap of rubber and then the subsequent rustle as they nestled amongst the other discarded items in the waste paper basket signalled the end of the examination.

“It’s a nasty bump but it looks worse than it is,” Mor told Nesta as she began to stow away items into the open medical bag. “No need for stitches and no major concussion from the looks of it. But you’ll have significant bruising, I’m afraid.”

Cassian shifted on his feet from where he stood by the dining table. He had strategically positioned himself by the dining table, which had allowed himself to observe Mor’s assessment of Nesta without crowding the scene. But now, he was unable to stop himself from voicing one of his concerns. “And the vomiting? Nesta was sick right after she hit her head.”

“And before.” Nesta’s reminder was scratchy and resigned, as if Cassian was fussing for nothing. She leant backwards farther into the couch, the cushions threatened to swallow her up. “I just need to sleep it off.”

She tugged the blanket Cassian had draped over her knees higher over her body, towards her chin. Cassian wondered if she was consciously trying to create a barrier between her and everyone else in the room.

Cassian didn’t know what last time meant, but Mor didn’t press Nesta for more information as her head swivelled back to face her patient.

“The vomiting is most likely from the acute shock of—”

But Nesta wasn’t interested in hearing more. For the first time, her face showed a ripple of what she was feeling: irritation, her patience clearly as threadbare and worn as her body. “Can I sleep now?”

Seemingly unaffected by Nesta’s directness, Mor nodded. “It will do you good. But—” she held up a hand, as if anticipating resistance. “—you will need to be monitored every few hours just in case you do have a light concussion. Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

Nesta stiffened. “I live alone.”

“Emerie? Gwyn?”

Nesta’s gaze shifted past Mor’s shoulder, back to the window. There was a stretched out pause as if the hypnotic stream of water falling down the glass had taken Nesta out of his moment, this room.

When she spoke, her voice seemed faint, like an echo. “Emerie’s on a business trip. Gwyn has her National Counselor Examination exam tomorrow.”

Mor looked to Cassian. “And you?”

“Done for the day.” Cassian lied, watching Nesta’s face closely in case it betrayed any further feeling. “Nesta can stay here.”

***

When Cassian emerged from the bedroom, Mor was waiting. Leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, her hip propping her up, she watched him discerningly as he quietly closed the door and came to join her.

A soft rattle sounded in Cassian’s ear as he flipped on the kettle switch. Turning his head, he found Mor shaking a small round bottle at him. “Found these painkillers in the bathroom cabinet. Give these to Nesta every four hours if she wants them - they’ll help with the headache until she’s feeling better.”

Cassian arched an eyebrow but didn’t bother to berate Mor for rifling through his cabinets. Mor sometimes had a tendency to rummage around his one-bed apartment as if she lived with him, helping herself to whatever she needed. Cassian didn’t really mind. Growing up, he’d never had a sibling. He’d always been a lone child.

Now, he was fortunate to have two brothers and a best friend who had eventually evolved into someone he considered to be a sister.

He was never going to complain about her feeling comfortable in his home.

So, instead he took the bottle from Mor and asked, “And the nausea?”

“If it’s the result of physical shock, it should disappear soon. Sleep will certainly help reduce the stress and adrenaline in her body. Emotional shock can take longer.”

Now, Mor’s eyes turned sharper as she moved to face him fully. Even as she feigned casual, planting her freshly manicured hands behind her on the counter and leant backwards. “Nesta has had quite the day.”

The kettle clicked off, steam rose from the beak and billowed outwards, spreading like fog. Cassian poured hot water over the tea bag, the familiar scent of green tea momentarily assaulting him.

When he realised Mor was not going to continue without some sort of response, he made an acquiescent sound in the back of his throat.

“Not like Nesta to get into an accident like that,” Mor continued carefully. “She’s always so composed.”

At that, Cassian turned his head and simply looked at his friend, not speaking. Steam rose between them from his mug. It felt damp on Cassian’s face, but he didn’t blink. He knew what Mor was trying to get at. Had been well aware that when he’d called her over here that she’d know something was up. That, even as she was trod carefully, that this wouldn’t be a subject she’d let lie.

“Cassian,” Mor tried again, her voice low now, “does Nesta need to report someone for the bump on her head? I see it all the time at the clinic and the shock she’s in goes beyond physical.”

The gentle clunk as Cassian set down his mug was enough to disrupt Mor. “Not unless you want to report me.”

Mor grew very still. “What are you talking about?”

“She was scared and I startled her.” Cassian hadn’t planned to confess this - and he still would never betray Nesta by mentioning Tomas - but the guilt that had been rotting inside of him since the incident in the alleyway was now pouring out of him. He couldn’t stop it.The responsibility of causing her more harm when he had supposed to be rescuing her.

Scrubbing the heel of his palm hard into his forehead as if that might rid the headache of the utter shit show that had been today, he continued, “It was so stupid of me, Mor. So stupid. She threw up and it was so sudden that my head just emptied of sense. Instinct overtook me. I moved towards her, to help or to comfort her, I don’t know and she bolted. Ran headfirst into a wall trying to get away from me.”

There was a careful look to Mor now. The frown that had been marring her forehead whilst he spoke evened back out. But Cassian knew her well enough to see the thoughts sliding behind her irises as she tried to connect the dots. “You didn’t scare her initially.”

“No.”

There was a brief pause whilst Mor processed the information. Then, she stepped towards him sombre-faced and slipped her hands around his waist. She hugged him tight. She smelt like she always did — of cinnamon and citrus, of home.

“Don’t punish yourself too harshly. It was a mistake.”

Mor’s voice was muffled, almost swallowed by his jacket.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian rested his chin atop her head. “I made things worse.”

Pulling back to examine his face, Mor kept her arms looped around his waist. “But your intentions were good. You are good, Cassian.”

Cassian just clenched his jaw.

“Are you going to be ok?” Mor asked after a beat. When he didn’t reply, she gave him a final squeeze and, minding the mug of boiling water he still held in one hand, extracted herself. “Silly question, I suppose. Want me to stay?”

“No, I won’t be much company. Plus,” he continued, raising an eyebrow at her subtly elevated outfit that sat just above casual and the undulating waves of her freshly-washed hair that Cassian knew had been painfully crafted in front of a mirror, “it looks like I’ve already interrupted your plans for today. Are we dating again?”

Rolling her eyes, Mor hefted her doctor’s bag off the counter and onto her shoulder. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be at home anyway.”

“Thanks.” Deciding not to press her for more details, Cassian trailed his friend to the door. “I think it goes without saying that I owe you.”

But Mor just turned. Gripped Cassian’s shoulders until he met her eyes. “Friends don’t owe one another, Cass. Ring if you need me, ok?”

***

Despite the gravity of the day, time continued to pass - albeit slowly, torturously.

Nesta slept and Cassian worked from the dining table in the living room, trying to work but ultimately failing, his eyes more often than not trained on the bedroom door.

He’d pushed it ajar as soon as Mor had left, unable to stop worrying that something could happen to Nesta and he might miss it.

Cassian knew he was overreacting and if Nesta hadn’t been so scared of him earlier, so on edge, he might have worked from the armchair in the bedroom itself.

But the dining table had to do. From his vantage point, Cassian could just make out the curled up figure beneath his duvet, the shadowy tangle of hair draped across his pillow.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been instructed to check in on Nesta every few hours. To ask her mundane questions like: What’s your name? Where are you? What day and year is it? Spell ‘world’ backwards?

But each time, when it finally came to wake Nesta, Cassian found himself full of a sort of dread that felt akin to chunks being taken out of his chest every time she opened her eyes.

It was not least because the depth of Nesta’s sleep was so vast and weighty that it made it hard to rouse her in a way that didn’t feel violent. But also because each time Cassian managed to haul Nesta out of it, she startled.

The first time had been the worst. Cassian could have sworn that he’d scented her fear before she wrangled it under a forced sort of control that did nothing to hide the panic lingering beneath it. All the while, Cassian knelt beside her as unthreateningly as possible, trying not to loom, cursing the breadth and height of his frame.

Six hours on and Nesta’s reaction to him had thankfully weathered into an apprehensive wariness, as if her body and mind had anticipated what was happening in an attempt to save her from further stress. Opening her eyes, Nesta would tiredly answer whatever Cassian asked of her before she let sleep drag her back down again to its murky depths.

Nesta’s fatigue was not a tiredness Cassian recognised. Instead, he had come to understand that this was Sleep. An entity that yanked at you with taloned hands, snatching you back down so body and mind could restore itself.

The buzz of an incoming call pulled Cassian’s attention away from the bedroom door. Quickly, he plucked the device from the table so the vibrations wouldn’t wake Nesta and took long strides down the hall.

Putting the door on latch, Cassian stepped into the hallway.

“Emerie,” he said.

Relief surged through Cassian as Emerie’s voice, complete with the soft curl of her Illyrian accent filtered down the speaker. “Why have I got the feeling that I’m not going to like the reason why I’ve got six missed calls from you and a text to ring you as soon as I can?”

“Because you’re right.” Cassian cleared his throat, readying him to elaborate, but Emerie got there first.

“Is it Tomas, Cassian?”

Emerie’s voice was so gentle that Cassian suddenly felt as if he might choke.

He fought the sensation, swallowed. “There was a close encounter today,” he admitted, and he felt the noose around his neck loosen at the confession. He might not have been able to tell Mor, but Emerie knew everything - more than him - and he hoped that she would know how to best help Nesta - even if she was currently in another state on a business trip.

Emerie remained quiet as the day’s events poured out of Cassian. But when he finished and her silence continued - the faint sound of traffic in the background the only indication that she was still with him - he began to worry.

But then Emerie sighed. It sounded sad, the noise trailing out until it hung between them. Finally, Emerie said, “The tiredness is normal. When she left Tomas, she slept for days. The same happened after the court ruling.”

“That’s what Mor said but—”

“Mor?”

“I—” Cassian broke off with a sigh at the high-pitched and disbelieving tone of Emerie’s voice. Running his free hand exasperatedly over his face, before tugged at the knots in his hair, he said resignedly, “She wouldn’t go to the hospital. Mor was the only person I could think of who would be discreet.”

Emerie snorted. “And how’d that go down with Nesta?”

“I wouldn’t know. Badly, I suspect. She’s barely said a word since we got her in the car.”

A lull followed his words and Cassian gave Emerie the time she needed to ask what he knew she’d been wondering the moment he’d disclosed what had happened. “D’you think Tomas knew she was there?”

“Didn’t seem like it. Nesta didn’t seem to think so, either. He was only a few tables ahead of her and didn’t turn round the entire time.”

Emerie loosed a relieved breath. “Well, that’s something at least. Tomas is a manipulative, masochistic misogynist, but he’s stayed away since the restraining order. He doesn’t even live in town anymore.”

Cassian swallowed. He hadn’t known that, but he just said, “Right.”

“I can come and get Nes tomorrow. She can stay with me for a few days, but I don’t land until ten tomorrow morning—”

“I’m not trying to get rid of her—”

Emerie snorted, a faint playfulness ghosting back into her personality. “I know that, you oaf.”

But Cassian ignored her jest. “I just thought she’d be more comfortable with you. She startles every time I have wake her and she wouldn’t let me try Gwyn—”

“—because of her exam tomorrow,” Emerie finished.

“Right,” Cassian said again.

There was a pause

“You ok, Cass?”

“Besides making everything worse, you mean?”

Emerie barked a laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“She was bleeding from the head, Emerie. She thought I was going to hit her—”

And I teach self defence for a living. Cassian wanted to finish. He, of all people, should have know better. He’d witnessed the way his mother suffered. Had watched it all.

“Well, Tomas did - hit her, I mean.”

“She told me.”

There was a pause as the reality of it sank in all over again. Cassian had known Tomas had beaten Nesta, of course he had, but today had made the truth of it even more harrowing - something he hadn’t thought possible.

When Emerie continued, her voice rang with the confidence that came with delivering an unvarnished truth, “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, Cassian, trust me. I’ve seen Nesta after she’s had an encounter with Tomas. Everything becomes a threat, even things that don’t exist. Once, Gwyn took Nesta by surprise as she came out the bathroom and Nesta threw her mobile at Gwyn’s head.”

“I—” Cassian began but he broke off, not sure how to continue. Finally, he found his voice, “Will you tell Nesta you’ll be coming or shall I?”

“I’ll tell her, but I’d mention it as well when you can. Her memory gets patchy when she’s been through something like this - best to repeat it until you know it’s sunk in.”

“Ok.”

As if sensing Cassian’s discomfort, Emerie added candidly, “Look, what Nesta needs right now is not to be in an empty apartment - which you have covered. If she wants to stay with you when she wakes up rather than go back to her apartment - which I doubt is going to be a no, by the way - let her stay. And whatever you do, try not to scare her. No creeping up on her, ok?”

“Ok,” Cassian repeated. And then again, as if he reassuring himself. “Ok.”

“Good,” Emerie said. “See you tomorrow, Cass.”

So, with a pep talk tight under his belt, Cassian hung up and returned to the apartment.

Sat down in front of his laptop, not seeing, not doing and waited.

***

When Nesta finally emerged from Cassian’s bedroom, it was late. Cassian was still sat at the table staring mindlessly at the rota on the screen, which remained unconquered.

At first, Nesta was so quiet he didn’t notice her. But then there was a movement in the corner of his eye, a whisper and sigh of fabric and then Cassian only saw her.

It was a cruel irony, Cassian thought, that he had been waiting for Nesta to emerge this entire time. But now she was standing in the doorway that connected his bedroom to the living room, her hair mussed and pillow creases imprinted into her cheek, Cassian found that he wasn’t prepared at all.

It took Cassian a moment to recover his voice. And when he did, it came across too rough, too abrasive from lack of use.

“Hey.” He caught his wince a fraction too late, but he cleared his throat gently in a bid to disguise it. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta swayed a little in response, throwing out a hand to right herself against the doorjamb just in time. Cassian did his best to remember Emerie’s parting instruction: slow, purposeful movements.

Essentially, under no circumstance was he to jump across the room to Nesta’s aid only to startle her all over again.

What Cassian really wanted to do was walk over to her. Raise his fingers to her face, touch her skin, check she was actually there, blood pulsing slowly through her body, warming her skin, rather than a spectral manifestation.

Scrounging up every inch of his willpower, Cassian remained seated. Watched her instead and tried not just to conjure the illusion of calm but feel it too — a place of safety where Nesta could come back to herself.

“I feel like I’ve been asleep a long time,” Nesta replied hoarsely - distantly. Evading his gaze, she cast a look to the dark windows, to the night sky and the grey blanket of clouds blotting out the stars. “Can I use—”

“The bathroom?” Cassian interjected smoothly. “Towards the front door on the left.”

Cassian tracked her every step as she made her way up the hall. Usually, Nesta floated in a way that was purposefully untouchable. But now, she seemed untethered and unstable, as if she didn’t have control of her body.

It was a while until Nesta emerged again. In that time, Cassian tried to suppress his worry by busying himself in the kitchen.

The hot water was running when he finally heard the lock turn, the door creak open.

Purposefully, Cassian did not turn. Instead, he carried on with what he was doing. Plunged his hands into the suds in the sink and began to wash the dishes, purposefully ensuring they clinked softly together so Nesta could guess his location.

“What time is it?”

Nesta’s voice emerged from somewhere behind him. Slowly, Cassian turned his head to glance over his shoulder and there she was, the kitchen counter safely between them, her skin as cool as the moonlight lancing through the window.

“Just gone midnight.”

This elicited a blink and a tiny frown that Nesta kneaded with the crook of a finger before retracting it with a wince. “I didn’t realise I’d slept that long.”

She didn’t elaborate but Cassian read it for what it was: an apology for what she viewed as imposing. “It’s good. You clearly needed it.”

Unhurriedly, Cassian reached for a dishcloth to dry his hands. When he turned to look at Nesta properly, he was careful to modulate the speed of his movements.

What he was not expecting, was for everything to shatter. But it did. The instant their gaze connected and Cassian saw the vacancy in her eyes, whatever he and Nesta had been trying to be, broke away, unravelling until it was nothing.

It felt like a hand was fisting at Cassian’s intestines, twisting tighter and tighter as they continued to look at one another.

And the more they looked, the more Cassian knew with devastating surety, that this was not their time.

Nesta didn’t need a love interest. What she needed was support. For the people around her not to terrify her so much that she ended up causing herself further harm.

Cassian swallowed in a bid to rid himself of the lump in his throat.

Between them, the silence stretched, almost mesmeric in its intensity.

There was so much Cassian wanted to say, but he realised that what he really needed to do was to not say anything of consequence at all.

The only thing that mattered was that Nesta was going to be ok. That she was here and breathing. And hopefully, in time, she would heal again.

And in the meantime, Cassian would be here if she needed him.

It took everything in Cassian to feign casual. It felt like shards of glass had taken up residence in his throat, cutting every time as he spoke. “Want some chai?”

It was not what Nesta had been expecting him to say and Cassian had known that. The surprise of it dragged her back to him, the smallest of lights flickered faintly in the depths of her eyes, cracking through the trauma. “Chai?”

Cassian nodded to the saucepan atop the stove. “I made a fresh batch earlier. Thought you might want some when you woke up.”

Nesta’s eyes followed him as he slowly went through the motions of pouring two cups, using a sieve to catch the cinnamon sticks, the star anise, the cloves.

When he was done, Cassian slid the mug across the counter to her, careful to keep his distance.

Together, they drank. Neither of them broke the spell of silence between them, not until Nesta’s mug had been drained to the dregs.

Then, Cassian dared to ask, “Are you hungry?”

An answering grimace.

Cassian made the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile. “No appetite of a baby dinosaur today, then?”

No reaction — nothing. Nesta just watched him, the grimace fading away until her expression was yet again vacant.

“You look like you could still use some sleep,” Cassian told her carefully. “Why don’t you go back to bed.”

The alarm that fissured through Nesta’s expression took Cassian by surprise. Her gaze snapped to his and every muscle in her body pulled taut. Suddenly, miraculously, and to his surprise, Nesta was fully present. “Where will you be?”

“The couch pulls out.”

The tension that had come so suddenly to Nesta’s shoulders unspooled slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

Cassian pretended he hadn’t detected her unease. Was she worried that he’d leave or that he’d be around the apartment whilst she slept? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did she think he’d insist on sleeping in his bed with her?

Not for the first time, Cassian felt horribly out of depth. But he tried to continue as normal, tried to get her to engage with him. “Want something comfy to wear?”

Nesta fisted the sleeves of her jumper.

“There are t-shirts in the second drawer down if you do,” Cassian continued. “Toiletries are in the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink or the one above it - a new toothbrush, toothpaste. Take what you need, ok?”

Later - eventually - when Cassian slept, there was no escaping the day. He relived it all - yet another awful nightmare. Nesta’s bloodless face, her vice-like grip on his fingers. The sound her body made as she struck the wall. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood glistening on her fingers.

When Cassian woke the next morning, he didn’t need a moment to remember why he was sleeping on the pull out couch.

And he certainly didn’t need to remind himself that the secret hope he’d been harbouring, the foolish optimism that he and Nesta might still be something, had been thoroughly stamped out.

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