#maybe they get to know each other more and he opens up more about how he thinks of laios and like. falin is able to explain more about him

[ruesol]

DISLOCATION - one shot

(SUKUNA x FEM/AFAB! READER)

PLOT:

Sukuna, your best friend, (begrudgingly) helps you no matter what hurdles you face in life. Even when that hurdle involves getting a sexual fix after your ex cheats on you.

AO3 LINK

CW & TAGS: bffs to lovers, tattooist sukuna, yearning, (hinted) reader with low self esteem, shitty ex, kissing practice, lots of build up, angry confession, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), piv, stiff dirty talking, (honestly this fic is just me trying to get my smut writing practice in)

fanart: @/r5x95r13ros on tumblr & insta

wc: 6.8k

—

It was like resetting a bone after a fracture. Painful, but unavoidable. The idea has finally cornered you, setting a dark shadow over your sanity.

Your tongue is thick and heavy as soon as the words leave your mouth, the hypothetical shards of broken bone poking you from the inside of your body, the sting reminding you of how stupid you sounded.

Sitting before you was your best friend with his mouth hanging open, remnants of his half-chewed lunch falling out.

“You made me push my client an hour forward to tell me that you’re going to engage in casual sex?” Sukuna asked while resuming to chew with his mouth open, barbecue sauce smeared on his chin. Any other person would’ve grimaced at the sight, indirectly tossing him a comment about using a napkin. Still, the relationship between you two has gone on long enough for each of you to eat like it’s your last day alive in front of one another. However, you still sigh and grab a napkin, wiping off the sauce for him.

Sukuna goes cross-eyed when your hand reaches his chin, following its motion even when you retract it to your side.

“I-yeah, kind of, but it’s more like…” You uneasily trail off, staring at your glass of water instead. You imagine a race between the condensation droplets to buy some time to think about how you’re going to tell your friend that you want to have sex with him, so that you can get over your ex.

“Like what? Spit it out,” Sukuna impatiently said as he grabbed a fry off your plate. You couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at him for it. Not when your little idea had been eating you alive since you’d received a breakup text from your ex.

‘Hey, I’m not in the right headspace to continue our relationship. You’re too good for me, and I don’t deserve you.’

The jerk was a grade A phony, blocking you on everything as soon as he saw that you replied to the text, hoping that you could meet him in person.

When you used a fake social media account to see what he was doing, you discovered that he had moved to another country to be with a woman he’d been dating online for six months.

Meaning that your one-year relationship meant nothing to him.

So, feeling used and abused, you decided to rip the band-aid off for one last session of wallowing via sex.

“I want to have sex with you so I can get over my ex,” you rambled out as fast as possible.

You sit with a bated breath, the sound of the restaurant soon ceasing to static because of the barrage of thoughts fogging your mind.

The burger falls out of Sukuna’s grip, his eyes trained on the plate. A vein in the middle of his forehead highlights itself as his frown deepens, his eyebrow piercing shifting positions.

“And why me?”

About eighty percent of your brain had assumed that he’d either groan out a disgusted ‘no’ or blush and look away while politely rejecting you, but that was not the outcome you expected. It’s like discovering that you’re a millionaire but not knowing how much you’ll need to pay in taxes every year.

“Look, we’ve been friends for a while, and you get me better than anyone else. It’ll be a one-time thing, of course—if you consent, that is.” Sukuna still doesn’t look up from his plate after your answer. “No pressure at all, I can totally understand if you don’t want to—“

But Sukuna interrupts you before you can vomit out any more conversation buffer. “I need a minute or an hour. Maybe a day. Or two. I don’t know. I’m gonna be late for my appointment,” he rambles as he abruptly gets up, swiping his leather jacket off the booth’s seat in a flash and bidding you a quiet farewell before briskly walking out of the diner, door slamming shut loudly. The other customers sharply turn their heads at the sudden ruckus.

Sukuna’s greasy, flat, half-eaten burger had been left behind because of his urge to escape.

A part of you feels bad for throwing your concerns on him if his feelings aren’t important to consider in this matter. But the wounds your ex left on you have been running deep, festering, and aching for a salve. You just need one good fix from someone who cares. Nothing more, nothing less.

Which is why you figured it would’ve been easy for Sukuna to grant it to you, especially given his history of having many friends with benefits in college. But his sudden aversion to the idea was understandable. At least he was taking time to contemplate his answer.

Well, it was either that or he would ghost you for good.

—

The needles punch and poke the skin as the black ink seeps into the first layer, swollen skin puckering as Sukuna’s hand moves along his client’s back. The dragon tattoo that was given to him was an intricate design. Something he needed to practice for days so he could get the details down to a T, in contrast to his memory of the time you two went skinny-dipping.

He repaints the canvas every time the memory visits him like a rising star, distancing itself from him as the years pass, yet ever sparkling.

The moonlight was shining down on the lake, and he was tipsy with you in his grandfather’s old cabin. He still didn’t understand how he never made a move that night, especially after seeing how you’d filled out your hips, and how perfect your breasts were.

It’s a memory he’s not proud about recounting, yet he does so anyway to soothe the perpetual ache he’s had since his brain first rewired itself to see you as the love of his life.

The first instance of him being aware of his feelings was when you were babysitting his nephew with him, and how easily you meshed with his family. Jin still recalls your jokes and, without daily, cackles to himself even when Sukuna does not find your humor to be as amusing.

His feelings for you have him collared and tethered to you, heart easy for yanking, and mind filled with nothing but silent yearning.

Sukuna knows there’s no coming back if he has sex with you.

The question rattles in his brain, leaving him periodically discombobulated during the entire work day, often bumping into corners and nearly writing the first letter of your name while tattooing his client. Like a fish in a bowl, the thought of having sex with you has nowhere to go but to swim into the different spaces of his mind.

The amygdala is already forcing him to imagine what your heady wetness would taste like on his tongue. His ears ached to find out whether you were unabashed with your voice or you’d only whimper when he was balls deep in you.

“You seem distracted,” Choso, one of Sukuna’s only two friends, calls out while lying on his stomach on the tattoo bed.

“How can you tell?” Sukuna mumbled, wiping sweat off his nose with his free hand. He was working up a sweat just thinking about you.

“You’re sighing a lot. What’s up?”

Sukuna didn’t want to tell Choso about his mental anguish. It was embarrassing, like he was a teen all over again, staring at you across the classroom, and sleeping in for the entire weekend after he heard about you going on a date. Though his condition barely changed even after he had entered his twenties. It’s a fact that’ll make him bite his tongue off before he ever acknowledges it to himself.

Even then, he tells Choso about your request, making the obsidian-haired nearly jump in surprise. Luckily, Sukuna held him down with a single palm to prevent ruining the tattoo.

“You’re gonna do it, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for her to notice my feelings, not the fact that I wanna bone her.”

“Come on, don’t be stupid. It’ll be like getting a fix. Maybe you’ll get over her if you just sleep with her once.”

Sukuna pulls away from Choso momentarily and stares at the mirror across the room. He sees a traitor–a man who conceals the truth for his gain. The buzzing of the needle fades into nothingness when he begins to imagine your face when he finally confesses to you.

Would you be uncomfortable? What would happen to your weekly movie nights if you rejected him? 

And most important of all: what would he say to Yuuji, his six-year-old nephew, when you stop visiting during babysitting nights?

“Start with a chemistry test; kiss her. If it feels weird, don’t sleep with her. If it feels good, then do it. Easy as that,” Choso continues.

‘Easy as that’

Easier said than done. However, the thought of kissing you has never felt odd. He’s imagined the scenario too often–you’re wearing that one sundress he secretly likes, and the sun is setting. You’re both eating ice cream, and you get some on your lip. He tries to wipe it off, but instead of using his thumb, he swipes his tongue across your lip. You’re flushed, lashes fluttering as you try to look away, but Sukuna turns your chin just in time, and kisses you deeply before you can further protest.

“So, what do you think?” Choso asks, pulling Sukuna out of his heavenly daydream. It’s a rude awakening, his eyelids pressing shut in annoyance when he sees Choso’s swollen, naked skin with a halfway done tattoo.

“I’ll try it,” Sukuna says as he returns to working on the tattoo after rolling his stool closer to the bed.

“Good. I’d like updates, please.”

“I will knock down the price of your tattoo by twenty-five bucks if you don’t ask anything more about my situation.”

—

Awkwardness sits heavy in Sukuna’s living room and the back of his throat. He was sure his voice would crack if he initiated any kind of conversation, so he kept his mouth shut, watching what was left of Lilo & Stitch. Yuuji was sleeping in Sukuna’s room. The boy was tired after running around, playing board games with you, and watching the movie's first half.

You were sitting on the floor, collecting all the toys Yuji had brought and putting them in his bag (all while Sukuna burned holes into the back of your head). It had been three days of no words spoken between you two, except for when Sukuna called you to let you know that Yuji missed you.

“Oh, he got a new Sulley plushie,” you mumble as you put a fuzzy blue toy back where it belongs. The television was playing the movie on mute so Yuji wouldn’t wake up, your shuffling being the only noise echoing in the living room.

“Yeah, I lost a bet to the little shit.”

You giggle before turning around, a small smile growing into a larger one.  “What was the bet about?”

Your lips are plush, and when you lick them, your saliva leaves a sheen.

(Strawberry jelly, ripe cherries–maybe that’s what your lips would taste like)

He cannot stop staring at them—and you, like you’re right where you need to be. You fit like a puzzle piece in his apartment. Right at home, in his living room and his heart.

“Huh?” Sukuna’s ears grow red at the slight crack in his voice, and he prays you cannot sense his embarrassment. He was glad his hood covered his ears. He wore it like armor.

“The bet—what was it about?” you speak out again, adjusting your hair back into place, making sukuna dig crescent indents into the skin of his palm, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he imagines touching your hair and adjusting it for you instead.

“Nothing exciting. Just had to beat him in Mario Kart, and unfortunately for me, he’d been practicing.”

Your giggles grow into laughter, and Sukuna follows suit with a slight smirk, looking away towards the window instead. His heart was racing fast enough, and if he saw your laughing face, he was sure it would simply leap out of his chest.

The awkwardness sets in again when silence returns. You break it once more. “I’m really sorry for what I said three days ago,” you sheepishly say as you look up at him from your spot on the floor. You could feel yourself sinking into the ground while replaying the memory of Sukuna bolting out of the restaurant.

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve acted like a grown man and just told you I was caught off guard and needed time to process.”

‘What’s there to decide?’ his heart yelled. It’s simple: have sex with you, get you off his mind, and then he can be on his way, and so can you. Like Choso said before, it’s all about getting a fix. Sukuna reasoned with himself, maybe it’s like smoking weed for the first time–exciting, kind of addicting, but you know won’t do it again.

(That is until you end up saying the same thing the second time.)

“So…have you decided then?” You maidenly wring your hand in your lap, almost like a vestigal virgin, and his cock nearly swells at the thought.

“Ah…” Sukuna rubs his hand across his face. The words were present in his throat, but they refused to come out—a final silent protest. To save one’s friendship also means choosing to lose one’s mind; a frustrating juxtaposition.

“Look, again, there’s no pressure. I totally understand if you’re not comfortable–”

“No! Let’s kiss,” Sukuna would’ve yelled, but Yuji was still sleeping inside, and he’d be damned if the nephew he loved so much interrupted an almost life-changing conversation for him.

“Oh, like, right now? Cause Yuji–” Your face grows warm immediately, and you get the sudden urge to pull your sweater off, but the context of your conversation with Sukuna wouldn’t help the situation.

“Shit, no, I meant that we should kiss to see if, uh…having sex is gonna be…you know, weird.” Choso’s voice rings in his head like a bell. “Kind of like a chemistry test.”

You frown at Sukuna’s words. “Chemistry test?”

“Yeah, like the shit actors do in romance movies.”

Sukuna assumes that you think he’s an idiot when you shake your head and laugh sarcastically as you zip up Yuji’s bag.

That is, until you get off the floor and sit beside him on the couch, your thigh touching his muscular one. “Okay, let’s kiss.”

It was Sukuna’s turn to be surprised. “What? Just like that?” he asked as his brows rose.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” you reason. Though your tone sounds confident, your body language says otherwise as you had folded your arms while sitting upright on the comfortable couch.

“Okay, then, I guess I’m gonna kiss you,” Sukuna says while staring into your eyes, searching for a smidge of hesitation, but he sees nothing. He turns his broad shoulders to you as his hands reach your face, touch so delicate that it feels feather-light.

Looking at him through your lashes, you lean closer, palms flat on the couch, as you stabilize yourself. He notices your elbow trembling and pulls you onto his lap. You gasp in surprise, and Sukuna rolls his eyes to push through his and your flustered states.

“You’ve sat on my lap before. I’m just doing this so it’s convenient.” It’s hard not to sound strangled when the woman of your dreams stares at you with her dewy lips parted.

“Yeah, but that was when we were in a tiny car with a bunch of other people and there was no space for me to sit,” you counter while playing with the strings of Sukuna’s hoodie. You stop when Sukuna’s large hands engulf yours, and he slowly moves them, securing your hold around his neck. He pulls his hood off and looks earnestly into your eyes.

“Let’s just do this, okay?”

You nod, close your eyes, and lean in first, but are taken aback when Sukuna doesn’t mirror your actions. You lean in further, your breath hitting his lips, but he still makes no effort.

It’s petrifying, this moment. Having you on his lap alone felt like something far away from reality. Living as your lover was his ultimate fantasy, and he hoped that he’d be kissing you under those circumstances, but this was the closest he could ever get. It was all his fault, really. He never wore his heart on his sleeve like the rest of your exes, and could never get over his pride to confess to you, so he was in this predicament by his design.

It frustrated you not to see him make any effort to kiss you, so you pulled away. “This is so stupid–”

He wraps his hands around your waist and neck and pulls you to him before you can continue. “I was just mentally preparing.” His lips brush against yours when they move, and you gulp.

“Oh,” is the most you can muster up. His palm is warm against the thin fabric of your tank top. When your breathing is finally steady, you realize he’s lightly squeezing your waist.

Nothing he hasn’t done before, of course.

He starts slowly, testing the waters with a small peck to check if you’re real or want to stop. He nips your bottom lip. “Open your mouth a little, feels like I’m kissing a statue.”

“R-right,” you choke out, parting your mouth, shivering when Sukuna’s lips brush against yours to brace you.

When he finally kisses you, it feels perfect. His lips were meant to be on yours as fate intended them.

Your lips do indeed faintly taste of strawberries. He thinks it’s because of the remnants of your lip balm. Your smell, taste, and skin all feel intoxicating. His five senses have been taken over. The groans that escape your throat egg him on to kiss you deeper, making you arch into him. His fingers snake into your hair, and you gasp when he tugs it.

His hot tongue explores your mouth with no decency, a clash of saliva and teeth.

‘Temporary paradise, temporary paradise, temporary paradise’–it’s all that echoes in Sukuna’s head as his mouth devours yours. Years of pent-up feelings and frustration were being let out.

His mouth begins to stray away, leaving kisses on your chin and cheek instead. You sigh when he kisses the spot just beneath your jaw’s hinge, and you tighten your hold on his shoulders.

“Sukuna, I think–”

“Little more,” he mumbles in a drunken haze against your skin, nipping your neck while also trailing kisses down to your collarbone.

He simply cannot stop himself. Not when the person he’s wanted for years is finally in his grasp. He will clutch onto you like a vice if he needs to. However, judging by how you’re squirming and gasping in his lap, it does not seem like you want to escape.

“Ahem.”

When you hear Jin, you’re quick to harshly push Sukuna off you, nearly falling out of his lap.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’m here to pick up my son.”

You adjust your rumpled tank top from where Sukuna almost sneaked his hand under it, and you awkwardly cough as you walk over to Sukuna’s room to get the little boy.

“Finally grew a pair, I see,” Jin snarkily remarks as he picks up his son’s backpack off the floor, and Sukuna throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off.”

“I’m happy for you, idiot. It’s about damn time.”

Oh, if he only knew. Jin, the lankier of the set of twins, would challenge Sukuna to a fight if he knew what was going on between you. As frustrating as it was for Sukuna to have unrequited feelings for you, it was even more frustrating for Jin to watch his brother endlessly pine over one woman for years. With his sanity sacrificed, Sukuna’s head was only filled with thoughts of you, going as far as basically integrating you into his little family because his heart knew that you’d fit in just right.

“Yeah, about time.”

You abruptly leave Sukuna’s apartment after Yuuji wakes up, and Jin does not say much when you only send Sukuna an awkward wave before rushing out the door.

–

The following days after the kissing experiment were bleak–at least for Sukuna. The man was glued to his phone whenever you’d update your social media with a picture of you and your girlfriends at brunch or some club. Avoidance being obvious, he decides to take the first step again. It’s either talking to you or awkwardly skirting around each other till you slowly exit each other’s lives.

He shoots you a seemingly harmless text.

Forgot my leather jacket at your place. I’m coming to get it tomorrow at 3.

–

Cameras don’t do justice to Sukuna’s devilishly handsome looks. Being a natural-born charmer with Adonis-like features makes him the center of attention in every room, so he never feels self-conscious. Of course, that also goaded people around him because those features only fueled his narcissism and rude and repulsive personality.

But still, he checks his face in his phone’s front camera before knocking on your door. Lookwise, he was the polar opposite of what your exes looked like, but he still had some confidence in himself that you didn’t completely disregard how conventionally attractive he was. He runs his hands along his chin to rub off any extra crumbs from his lunch earlier, and then he finally knocks on your door.

“In a minute!” He hears muffled shuffling and stumbling before you open the door in a frazzled daze.

“Hey,” you say as you let him in. Your apartment looks the same except for the three pairs of shoes, two bags strewn on the floor, and your ransacked coat closet beside your door. “I looked everywhere but couldn’t find your jacket,” you huff out breathlessly.

“Of course you couldn't. I lied about it. I wanna talk.”

“Right now? I’m kind of running late for something,” you say, avoiding eye contact by tidying up your place, hands placing your shoes back on the shoe rack. That’s when Sukuna finally gets a good look at you. You have more makeup on than you usually do, but it’s not like the kind you wear on girls’ night, no, it’s the type one wears to make their features naturally stand out. You’re wearing a baby pink sundress that ends just above your knees, and it flutters around your smooth and freshly-shaved legs as you shuffle quickly around your living room.

His eyes narrow as he scoffs at the realization, the thought hitting him hard between his ribs. “Are you going out on a date?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, you freeze, your head slowly turning to face Sukuna in shame. The increased tension in your shoulders was enough of an answer for him. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

Sukuna isn’t sure whether what’s currently fueling his anger is jealousy or resentment. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Flashes of the incident that took place a few days ago invade his mind, more vivid than before. You look so devastatingly beautiful that he nearly convinces himself that he should accept whatever escapes your pretty little mouth. You fold your arms, and your cleavage presents itself, making it even more difficult for him to handle the sight in front of him. Oh, if only you got dolled up for him instead.

But it’s now or never. Sukuna either tells you how he feels, or you go ahead and give some random bastard a chance.

“Don’t go,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Finally saying what’s on his mind feels liberating and mind-numbing at once—anticipation and insecurities at war.

“What? I’m not gonna do that. I have someone waiting on me.” You roll your eyes as you try to walk past him, but he grabs your arms, large hands basically encircling your biceps as he holds you in place in front of him. “Sukuna, let me go.”

“No, I won’t. Not until you listen to me. You can’t just fucking makeout with me and go out with some other guy. You can’t just make me have all these…complicated feelings and skip away like it was nothing.”

Your eyes widen as you try to twist out of his grip, but he pulls you flat against him, his chest against yours, just like a few days ago.

“You think I didn’t notice how something had clearly changed between us? Did the thought of us together feel too real for you? Well, you know what? It felt damn real for me. And the way you kissed me, fuck, it’s like you knew how I felt!” His red eyes bore into your glassy ones. Sukuna’s confession started to feel more like a rude admonition, but he didn’t care. Having his words weigh heavily on your shoulders was cathartic for him. You looked positively guilty, and it fueled something deplorable in him.

“H-how you felt?” you rasp out, still in shock, fear-stricken yet pliant enough to relax in Sukuna’s hold.

“Yeah. How I felt, how I feel. I fucking love you and I always have for the longest time,” he replied without missing a beat. His grip on you has loosened, yet he still keeps you close, the scent of your intoxicating, musky sweet perfume grounding him to earth. The man you were going to meet tonight did not deserve even to catch a waft of it. A part of him wished you’d smell exactly like this when you both would do nothing but watch movies at his house on the weekends. The wish scratches his ribcage like a desperate request, but he contains himself with a shuddered exhale.

“I didn’t kiss you to amuse you or help you escape your dry spell–no! I kissed you because I’m a selfish and arrogant asshole who wants someone who probably doesn’t feel the same way.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins in amounts that rival oxygen, making you feel lightheaded. You tightly clutch onto the bottom of Sukuna’s denim jacket to stabilize yourself. Noticing this, he leans down, his forehead against yours as he whispers one last time.

“Tell me none of it was real or that it meant nothing. Tell me so I can leave and forget this ever happened.” His breath hits your lips like a puff of smoke, menthol suffusing in the back of your mind. 

It’s all becoming too real: his hands on your arms, his mouth near yours, and the hunger in his eyes.

And then the world, as Sukuna knew, ceased to exist, heaven’s light shining on his head, the heat so real that if he ran his hand through his hair, it would be oddly warm. Despite not being religious, the man always had a vision of what heaven could be.

And your lips tasted exactly like the first fruit he imagined having there.

Your lips are sweet, tart strawberries when you crash them into his. He smiles to himself as he relishes the taste, divine blessing coating his tongue as he licks into your mouth. Reward does not come easily to the greedy, but Sukuna would gladly sin for a thousand lifetimes if he could kiss your lips in each one. And to think that some undeserving asshole almost got a taste of what has belonged to him since the day he set his eyes on you.

Sukuna’s body melts onto yours as his hands haphazardly move around your waist and pull you closer to him. The kiss gets deeper as he pulls your chin down with his thumb, lapping up all the gloss you had put on for your little outing, which he was hoping you still did not plan to go to.

“Don’t go,” he gasps against your mouth. “Don’t go on that date, fuck, do you even know what you do to me?”

You try to pull away after he leaves another smacking kiss on your lips, but he continues to stay latched to your bottom lip, nipping it as he squeezes your waist. “I’ve waited years. Don’t take this away from me just yet.”

“Sukuna, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna go out on that date after what you just said. I’ve always loved you, too.”

Your confession makes Sukuna abruptly pull away. Unlike how rough he was before with the kiss, he gently caresses your face as if touching something priceless.

“Then why’d you date all those stupid guys?” he interrogates with a gravel-rough voice.

You slide your hands up his firm chest to his neck, wrapping them around, before answering. “I thought you never liked me. You were always messing around with a different girl every week. Not to mention, I was nothing like them.”

Sukuna scoffs before pulling you back into him, the bare skin of your legs in contrast with the rough denim of his jeans. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, mainly because he still cannot believe what’s in front of him and because it’s a stamp of reassurance. 

(Still, it was more for him than for you.)

It’s the guilt that bites. Of course, he never gave you an in. He kept you at arm’s length to get over you, and of course, that miserably (and fortunately) failed. “I fucked them cause I was trying to get over you. You are everything they weren’t, and I was afraid that if I let myself be selfish like now, I would fuck everything up between us.”

He cannot bring himself to face you, so he looks around your apartment instead. Memorabilia of your friendship are scattered everywhere: Polaroids of the two of you as kids stuck on your refrigerator, a vase he had gifted you on your birthday, and a fuzzy blanket you had always kept for him on your couch. The answer to his age-old question had been staring at him right in the face. Years of yearning reciprocated, but he was too blind to see it because of his insecurity.

He moves his hand to your cheek, almost covering the entire space, before he tips your head back slightly. “But now, I’ve been waiting so long that it’s impossible for me to think about anyone but you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Me too,” you whisper against his mouth before giving him a heated kiss. You push your tongue into his mouth, and he groans at the feeling of your slick muscle against his. Enveloped in gooseflesh, your knees nearly buckle when Sukuna squeezes your plush hips before snaking his hand to your ass. He walks you back to your bedroom, lips still on yours as he haphazardly unzips the back of your dress. It’s easy for him to move with fluidity, like it’s a script that he’s been practicing for ages, synapses firing each time your hold tightens on him when he sips a kiss from you.

Your dress, his pants and t-shirt are on the floor. The two of you are only clad in your underwear as Sukuna lowers his body on top of yours, the delicious heat of his abdomen on yours.

“Been dreaming of this for so long.” You can only whimper in response when Sukuna nips at the column of your throat. He kisses the spot where your necklace rests between your breasts as he slides the strap of your bra down.

He pauses for a moment, looking up only to find the most beautiful sight of all–you with your rubicund cheeks, glossy parted lips, and half-lidded eyes. Your hands stroke up the back of his neck, into his pink hair, where the buzzed hair above his nape is slightly darker than his crown. The groan he lets out when you scratch his head reverberates within your ribs, making you arch your back. Sukuna takes that as a sign to take your nipple in his mouth, and his mind immediately takes him back to the day you two went skinnydipping–when he first laid his eyes on your perfect, pert breasts.

That night has fueled his fantasies for many months following it. The way your nipples glistened under the firelight, how they’d wrinkled because of how you were shivering after the swim. A gross part of him didn’t even want to wash the towel you borrowed after the swim.

He feels like he can taste the freshwater of the lake when he sucks on the sensitive flesh. Only this time, your skin is dewy with sweat, and some body lotion that smells intoxicatingly sweet. He grinds his bulge onto your clothed pussy, and you gasp at the pressure.

“Sukuna, please, I need you now,” you grind up to him, and moan out when he pinches your nipple, making you firmly flex your thigh at the sting.

“Let me take my time, needy girl.”

He kisses down your body, savoring the smoothness of your skin, dragging his nose along the length of your abdomen to the center of your mons. Your panties are soaked, the gusset saturated with your juices.

Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when he peels the fabric down, the sight of your pussy, making his heart race sinfully.

“Do you know what my ultimate fantasy was for the longest time?” The man wasn’t even looking at you when he asked that question, eyes hypnotized by the sight before him.

When you don't reply, he bites the flesh of your inner thigh, his canines leaving a deeper imprint than expected. You whimper at the brazen expression of possessiveness, but Sukuna seems unapologetic about being the reason behind your surprised state. “Don’t be quiet with me, pretty girl.”

“What was it?” you whisper.

“Taking you on the forest floor that night. Rubbed my cock raw for months after that day. Thought about eating this pretty pussy out after pulling you out of the water, with your hair wet and clinging to your body.”

It was filthy, disgusting, and gross. You could only grimace at the overstimulation of feeling leaves and twigs poking you from all angles, and the water only making the forest soil stick to your body in crevices that would be a nightmare to clean in just a single shower.

But there was something so heady and hot about the whole situation–how you imagined him eating you out like he was a starved beast who’d just had his first meal after days after hunting, your cunt’s juices being his only sustenance, his tongue deep in your pussy, pushing you to the edge with every lick and suck.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your voice comes out broken when he licks up your slit, tongue circling your little clit, nub too swollen and sensitive to be directly touched.

“Don’t fuck with me right now. You wouldn’t be laying with your legs spread open like a slut if you didn’t want my cock that night.”

Sukuna was not wrong. He never was. Especially when it came to you. Your best friend was scarily tuned to your wants and needs, and how your mind worked, almost like he was programmed to be the perfect man for you.

When you didn’t reply, he smirked against your pussy before sucking your clit, leaving little kisses on it after your thighs jolted at the sensitivity. His rough, tattooed hands stroked your thighs to calm you down, but your cries only egged him on to further overstimulate you.

He imagined being on that forest floor, taking from you what he deserved, what belonged to him since the dawn of time, since your atoms came into being and combined. Forever intertwined within nature and cosmic law.

You see stars on your plain white ceiling when you cum, involuntarily grinding into Sukuna’s mouth as he continues to flatten his tongue and drag it up your cunt. “Sukuna, please, I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, legs shivering as he pulls away.

“You want my dick?” Sukuna cockily asks, as he pulls his boxers down, his cock standing red and proud. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but the context changed your feelings about it.

You could take it.

 (Well, maybe.)

You nod, babbling about how you were wet enough, but that still wasn’t enough for the egotistical tattoo artist. His pecs glistened with sweat as he leaned over you, his dog tag necklace meeting your pendant as he kissed your neck.

“Tell me how bad you want. Tell me how bad you want your best friend to fuck you,” he whispered against your skin, and your brows furrow at his command. His assertive gaze quickly urges you to spit out what you’d been wanting for years.

“I want your cock to stretch me open, Sukuna. Stretch me good and fuck me till I scream,” you bashfully ramble, looking away, but Sukuna tips your chin back with a finger, staring deep into your eyes. There’s something so beautiful yet sensually arousing about how shy you are, a heady juxtaposition that only rushes more blood to his thickened cock.

“Good, now, tell me you love me, baby girl,” his deep voice rumbles against your warm cheek, and you comply.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you gasp when his hands sneak down, playing with your clit once more.

“Again,” he commands as he kisses your earlobe.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He kisses down your neck, sucking the thin skin by your collarbone.

“I love you, Sukuna Ryomen. I always have and always will.”

He looks up at you this time, and kisses you square on your lips, your heady wetness still fresh on his tongue.

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

It doesn’t take him any effort to split your legs open; you’re needy and pliant, already wet for two of his thick fingers to easily slip inside. You whine when he pumps them in and out a little, just to prep you for his ruddy cock, the tip already dripping beads of precum.

The head of Sukuna’s cock is warm, stretching your pussy good as you slowly take in every inch. Your wet walls cling to his phallus, already spasming when he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning over as his dog tag dangles above your head.

When you nod, he kisses you before slowly rocking his hips against yours. Your eyes follow the hypnotizing pendulous movement of his necklace, and you bite your lips as his hips move at a relentless pace.

“Shit, my gorgeous girl, all you needed was your best friend to fuck you. Look at you–fit so well around my cock.” Sukuna leans back, his pace uninterrupted as he slots his hands under your knees and places your legs on his shoulder. He kisses your ankle in hopes to soothe you, but you only grow more restless, hips moving up to keep up with him.

You know he’s reached his limit when his hips begin to stutter, spurts of his cum painting your walls white, its warmth making you shiver as Sukuna groans. He rubs his hand down to your flank, patting it to check in on you, and you nod as a reply.

Sukuna nearly topples over you when he lies back down. You decide that you can wait a couple of minutes before washing up, relishing being held in his muscled embrace.

Only when you’re finally pulled out of your post-sex haze do you notice a small tattoo on the inner side of his bicep–a word, in Japanese. It looks new and completely unrelated to his usual, harsh, and brutalistic art style. His body was basically a canvas covered in doodles. Whatever spare skin he had was used for practice during his apprenticeship days. Your fingers are drawn to the inked patch of skin, tracing along the unfamiliar letters.

Sukuna opens an eye, still tired, but amused at your curiosity. “Your name,” he roughly mumbles as he pulls you tighter to his chest. His cock aches from how sensitive it is considering that it softened up inside you, though, he’s too comfy holding you to do anything about it. (There’s also something so filthy about plugging you up with his cum.)

“Huh?” you ask, still busy tracing the tattoo.

“That tattoo–it’s your name but in Japanese script.”

There’s not a lot that Sukuna has been passionate about growing up; art was always more of a hobby for him than his passion. He never imagined himself working hard, or going through mentally or physically strenuous labor to make money, but your smile? He’d do anything for it, no matter how arduous his effort to bring it would have to be.

Especially for the deeply lovesick look you had on your face, right now.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 16

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe ovulating, angsty and overthinking reader, some verbal tension, some very long-ass conversation starting in the second half, reader having some intense episode of spiraling and need for reassurance, rafe being very dramatic at the end aka him jumping to the craziest conclusion known to man aka he's actually going insane (monologue only), also rafe being possessive and if you look closely also some unresolved trauma of abandonment, some hints at past platonic kiara x rafe

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ waking up with a hangover, the first thing you saw when opening your phone was the drunk texts you’d sent to rafe after getting home last night. the two of you had exchanged blurry selfies, and rafe had made some very suggestive comments. cringing at yourself, you texted cara to meet up later. after your shower, you found rafe in the living room bc he wanted bring you your forgotten bag. his bruise getting looked at by your dad (rafe later claimed he told your dad the bruise was an accident with a golf club). your mom invited rafe for lunch and they seemed to like him. afterward, you and rafe are left alone with him suggesting to continue your project. you being too hungover declined. rafe decided to drag you outside so you could properly sober up. in his car, rafe gave you his phone to shut kelce's spamming up. however, opening the chat, an upper body pic of kelce greeted you. after replying to kelce in rafe's name, you got a little too curious scrolling through the chat and finding thirst trap of rafe (the boys seemingly update each other with their gym progress). rafe caught you staring but he shrugged it off with a cocky remark. you finally arrived at the health store rafe claimed had magical anti-hangover smoothies. and somewhere between the car ride and the smoothies, you started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, rafe actually liked you more than you originally thought.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.4k+ (reader's fault)

✿ A / N ✿ getting to add some barry action into KMS? don't mind if i do hihihii;; also literally so anxious about this part (i know i say this with every new chapter help) bc the second half took me a while to figure out or rather i had a hard time debating how i wanted their convo to go AND which pov i wanted it to be in and ngl i actually had to keep my own patience in check with reader 🤣 and well, i’m always scared some stuff might feel forced or rushed, especially bc i’m aiming for a natural development BUT ANYWAY, it is what it is and i hope you guys enjoy. as always, lmk what you think <3

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"That looks like the stuff that came out of me this morning," you said with scrunched-up brows as you crouched in front of the smoothies' fridge at Bulk & Bloom (shit, yeah, that was the actual shitty-ass name, and no, Kelce was not a co-founder).

And somehow, seeing you in that position there beside him, lips slightly parted in a way that could be viewed suggestive in a different setting, Rafe had no fucking clue why, but the sight did something to him. Suddenly, there was an urgent need to think of wrinkly old grandmas and dead puppies.

Rafe let out a chuckle. "Which end?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is horrible.”

Fucking hell. And now you were looking up at him with that bratty gaze. Rafe tried to think about literally anything other than how badly he wanted to—

Fuck, what.

"Shit, still better than expressing my feelings through some fucked-up images that look like they came straight out of a crackhead’s brain," he shot back with a crooked smile.

Because yeah, your weird-ass reaction pictures? Only Wheezie seemed to understand what the hell those pictures were supposed to mean, or how to use them (not that he'd shown them to anyone else anyway). And Rafe still questioned his own sanity for actually asking his little sister to explain them to him.

Not because he cared, of course. He just didn’t want you to think he was beneath you when it came to that crap.

You turned your gaze back to the line-up of smoothies. "Should be easy enough for you to understand, considering you and the crackhead share similar hobbies."

Oh, how badly Rafe wanted to shut you up and teach you some respect in a way that made his blood rush faster and adrenaline shoot higher.

He had skipped the fucking coke this morning on purpose, and he was still having these insane thoughts. Worsening by the minute.

"Real funny," he muttered.

You chuckled. "Who says I’m joking?"

Rafe scoffed. You were definitely doing this on purpose—acting all bratty, just to get a rise out of him. And he seriously questioned how the fuck you had the confidence to act like that when just earlier in his car, you’d been a stuttering, awkward mess after he'd caught you staring at his post-gym pic like you’d just pulled a legendary FIFA card.

“Feeling bold now, huh?” he said. “Funny, considering you were damn near drooling on my phone a few minutes ago.”

And the little side-eye you threw him? Brows furrowed, lips pressed together? Rafe drank that shit up like ice-cold water.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you looked at him. Yeah, how were you gonna talk your way out of that one? With another I-I didn’t mean to, sorry, I just—

"I'm not ashamed to admit that Kelce has a nice build."

what.

Rafe didn’t even feel his smile drop or his brows furrow because the sudden rush of anger hit so fast, it short-circuited everything else.

Like, what the fuck.

Obviously, he hadn’t been talking about fucking Kelce. It had been his pic. Him your nosy little ass had been staring at.

Shit. No fucking way.

Had he been right to suspect something during that project session at Kelce’s? Did you actually have a thing for that fucker? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t fucking understand how—

You little shit.

The second that sly smile crept onto your lips, the tension in Rafe’s jaw eased.

Shit, how badly he wanted to shut your mouth. And you still crouching next to him only fueled the flashing images in his head.

"Hilarious," Rafe muttered with a scowl, gesturing toward the fridge. "Now have you finally picked one? They all taste the fucking same anyway."

And you had the audacity to chuckle in response.

God, you were eating away at Rafe’s last nerve, which somehow just worsened the pressure building in his chest. And the crazy part? It was the kind of pressure he usually only got rid of when he was knee-deep in some random girl.

And that thought triggered more images. Of you. Sounds you’d make. The way you’d get all flustered and—

Fuck this shit.

No way he needed to get off that badly that you ended up being the one his brain fixated on.

It was just pent-up tension. Yeah, that was it. Just because he hadn’t gotten the chance to take care of it last night—thanks to fucking Topper crashing in the guest room with him—and you just happened to be the nearest girl around for his brain to throw into those kinds of scenarios.

It’s fine, he told himself. Gonna take care of that shit later at home.

"Well, you claimed one of them helps with hangovers," you said, eyeing him with an amused smile. "How am I supposed to know which one to pick when they're called..." You leaned forward (Rafe took that as a green light to check out your ass) and squinted at the name tags on the dumbass smoothies. "Maxx Mass Mango, Triceps Tropic Thunder, or," you let out an embarrassed laugh, "The Triple Load."

Rafe let out a low chuckle because the way you'd said it—so innocent, so awkward—was fucking priceless. You getting flustered over anything even remotely suggestive? Stupidly hilarious.

"I think one load will be enough for you today," he said with a lopsided grin, relishing the way you immediately looked away with a frown, all awkward again. Then he reached into the fridge for the Thirst Aid bottle and held it out to you. "Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the first wave of lunchtime joggers comes crashing in."

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“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his wallet from the center console, and reached for a backpack in the back seat.

Okay. Three funny things: One, he had clearly lied to you earlier at home because this definitely meant he was about to do something sketchy. Two, you still hadn’t recovered from those ridiculously named smoothies. And three… guess where you were?

Barry’s pawn shop.

Like yeah, you'd kinda figured he and Rafe knew each other with Rafe selling fucking coke to his classmates. And sure, Barry probably wasn’t the only plug in the Cut but still, funny coincidence that it was him.

Aka the same guy Cara got her weed from.

Aka the guy she lowkey tried setting you up with since you'd first met him.

Barry was chill and cool, and okay, objectively speaking, he had a pretty face if you ignored the tangled hair and commitment-issues beard. And yeah, okay, you did like him, but in a completely platonic way.

More like two bros. Except for that one very steamy dream you'd had about him once that we’re never, ever talking about again from this point on.

Okayyyyy, hahaha, moving on.

But since you were already here, you kinda wanted to say hi.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rafe snapped as he saw you unbuckle your seatbelt just as he was about to get out of the car.

You eyed him dryly. "Getting out?"

"No. I told you to wait here." Oh, this dude was DEFINITELY picking up drugs with that sudden change in tone.

"Yeah, I have ears," you said with a scoff, slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching for the car's door.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "I’m fucking serious. Stay here."

You chuckled at how ridiculous he sounded, your gaze flicking to the backpack on his lap. "Why? Because you’re about to do some sketchy shit in there?"

"Because I don’t need some girl clinging to my ass everywhere I go," he snapped.

Braincells = 0.

You blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong but weren't you the one asking me to come along?"

He looked so dumb with his lips pressed tight, brows drawn, and hugging his backpack like a pissed-off schoolboy running out of patience.

Eyeing you with an irritated smile, he said, “You don’t actually think—”

“Okay, no,” you cut him off, body shifting back toward him. “Which part of what I've said offended you now?”

Rafe’s brows twitched. His brain was probably running a marathon trying to figure out why he was actually pissed off.

“I don’t have the fucking patience to argue right now,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just fucking stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

Considering his usual reactions, that was almost a polite reassurance.

“Well, maybe I’ve got business in there too,” you said, brows raised.

Oh, this idiot found that hilarious. His face lit up like a kid watching a clown trip over its own shoes. “Yeah, nah, I doubt that.”

You held his gaze without saying a word. He didn’t want a discussion? Fine. Let him stew in the awkward silence and realize how dumb he was acting.

National Geographic should honestly study this dude because the silent treatment riled him up more than anything else, and you were this close to snapping a photo of his dumb little expression.

He ran a hand over his face and nodded dramatically. “Fine, then come along, for fuck’s sake. Don’t piss me off. But don’t start whining if some crackhead in there gives you a dirty look.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. He sounded mad, but: “So you were trying to keep me away from shady people. How heroic."

“If it helps the voices in your head,” he muttered, the most dramatic scowl painted across his face. “Now get your ass moving, don't wanna get stabbed out here.”

“I’ll be damned,” Barry said with a lazy grin as you and Rafe stepped into the little shop. “Country Club and Little Alley Cat showing up together? What is it—my birthday?”

You chuckled, heart skipping a beat for… WHATEVER REASON. OKAY, MOVING ON.

The shop was completely empty, aside from grumpy Larna who sat in the back room behind a desk, glancing up with a death glare before going back to whatever she was doing.

Fucking dumbass Rafe just blinked, flabbergasted and visibly disoriented. Apparently, he hadn’t expected you to know his plug, and for some reason, that made the whole thing feel like home turf.

“You two fucking know each other?” he asked, face scrunched like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Barry chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You can bet your spoiled little ass on it.” Then he turned to you with a smirk. “And I see Little Kitty has finally gotten herself a guard dog.” He nodded toward Rafe. “Hoping you got him checked for rabies with that temper of his.”

Why did everyone just assume you and Rafe had something going on? You two weren’t exactly radiating happy couple energy. Then again, Rafe wasn’t known for having female friends (which you also weren't), so... yeah.

Rafe tilted his head toward you, ignoring Barry completely. “How the fuck do you know this fucker?”

You had to bite your lip not to smirk at the way he immediately got so worked up.

“Easy, pretty boy,” Barry cut in before you could even respond, clearly amused. “You better be nice to that lady or I’ll beat your rich ass.” He tapped his own cheek. “That bruise of yours? Don’t wanna end up with a matching one on the other side.”

OH. MY. GOD.

The butterflies in your stomach that usually went berserk for Rafe? Yeah, a few of them were dancing for Barry now. Because Dealer Barry stepping up for you in front of Dumbass Rafe? That was… kinda sweet, not gonna lie.

Rafe furrowed his brows, clutching the strap of his backpack like a schoolboy on his first day, about to throw a tantrum because he didn’t wanna go.

He squinted at you. “So what—you're secretly a fucking crackhead now, or what am I supposed to take from this?”

Seriously. Did this guy ever think before he spoke? Like, he literally dealt coke and snorted it himself, but you’re the crazy one?

At this point, you should question your own sanity for even crushing on this guy.

But the funny part wasn’t how hypocritical he was being, no, it was the fact that he chose to go after you instead of Barry despite him basically threatening Rafe. And there was no way Rafe would let a chance pass to put another guy in his place.

Which made the whole thing even more entertaining because, for once, he clearly didn’t have the upper hand. Usually, he carried this presence, this aura, that screamed “look at me wrong and I’ll beat your ass.”

But here? He seemed small.

Like a hyena baring its teeth at a lion.

Rafe Cameron, proud Kook and official Pogue-hater, actually keeping his mouth shut in front of little pawn shop owner Barry? Fucking hilarious.

“No. Sometimes I'm just tagging along when Cara's picking up her weed,” you said amused, watching the gears in Rafe’s brain grind themselves into dust.

“Miss Fancy Boots actually dropped by earlier,” Barry said. “Had her little mutt with her too.” He made a cupping motion in front of his chest, smiling all big. “Top barely holding on for dear life. Wouldn’t even tell me which backwood shack she was visiting.”

Oh, she was really trying to bag JJ Maybank this time. Best of luck, bestie.

You chuckled, but Rafe beat you to a response with a scowl, stepping forward and dropping his backpack on the counter. “Okay, fuck this. I’m not here to fucking chit-chat.”

Barry gave him a look, something sharp flashing in his eyes, but then he just laughed and peeked into the backpack. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll tell Lil’ Alley Cat who was whining on my couch just a few days ago.” He pushed the backpack back toward Rafe and nodded to the right. “Now move your ass to Larna. She's gonna take care of the rest.”

Rafe smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Nah, that's not what—”

“I’m in a good mood today, Country Club,” Barry cut in, tapping the counter. “Don’t make me introduce you to the girl hiding under here.”

And somehow… you really didn’t think he was joking and you hoped Rafe knew how to behave.

Thankfully, he did.

With a scoff, he grabbed the backpack, threw you an unreadable look, and disappeared into the backroom where grumpy Larna was waiting.

"So, you and Country Club, huh?" Barry stepped around the counter, leaning against it with a lazy smile on his face. "Didn’t think you’d fall for a Kook prince."

After seeing his idiot side, I hadn’t thought so either.

You smiled sheepishly and adjusted the strap of your bag. “He’s not—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Barry let out an amused chuckle. “Was already wondering how he managed to get you to stick around, ‘cause that stupid boy?” He pointed his thumb toward the backroom. “Nothing but daddy issues and anger problems. Ain’t worth one look from an Alley Cat.”

Shit, that stupid nickname? Only Barry could make it sound right.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot,” you said with a soft smile, sounding like a widow reminiscing about her dead husband. “But he’s actually kinda fun to be around once you figure out how to deal with him.”

Were you seriously defending Rafe’s stupidity right now?

Barry raised his brows, eyes lighting up with the biggest grin. “Cat’s all smiley and dreamy over a boy. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“What? No, I just—” Heat crept up your neck and you shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “We were paired for a school project. That’s how I got to know him better.”

“Ain't seeing you doing school work right now,” Barry replied, his grin widening. “Must be serious if he’s letting you tag along to this stuff here.”

I actually annoyed him so much he just gave in.

You shook your head again, feeling like you were digging your grave deeper with every word. “No, I’m serious. This is just—”

“I’m just messing with you, Lil Kitty Cat. No need to puff your tail,” Barry said, raising his hands with a lazy chuckle. “But you should watch out. Wouldn’t call that fancy-looking boy my friend, but I know his type well enough to say—if he’s keeping you around, there’s a reason.” His tone shifted ever so slightly. “Don’t want my Alley Cat getting bitten by some spoiled hound dog.”

You eyed Barry quietly for a moment. Him warning you about Rafe stirred something strange in your gut, and part of you knew better than to ignore it.

But right now, you were too scared to question it, so all you did was offer a soft smile. “He’s more of a wired Doberman anyway. Big attitude, but pull the leash once and he gets all dramatic.”

To your surprise, Barry didn’t laugh. “A dog’s a dog. They bite if you’re not careful. And for a sweet kitty like you? That shit can turn bad real fast.” He nodded toward the backroom. “And Dobermans? You don’t wanna pull their leash too hard. Loyal and shit until they start thinking they own you. Then it ain’t cute no more. Had an uncle—couldn’t be around people without his mutt flipping out. Damn thing almost took my hand off once."

Your brows furrowed in irritation. It had been funny when Cara had joked about Rafe being possessive and jealous and all, but hearing Barry say it like a genuine warning... yeah, that hit differently.

And suddenly, Rafe’s weird behavior since yesterday started making sense.

Him getting mad when Topper asked you to come along. Him nearly beating the crap out of Rob for no reason. Him now suddenly wanting to spend time with you, being all flirty and suggestive and—oh god, please no.

Maybe this wasn’t about him liking you. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone else playing with a toy he’d throw away the moment he got bored, found another, or worse, shredded it to pieces. And until then, he'd bark at anyone reaching out for it.

The smoothie you'd drank earlier threatened to come back up. You didn’t want to be someone's toy.

“Aww, no. Didn’t mean to wipe that smile off your face, Kitty Cat,” Barry said, his lazy smile returning. “I’m just saying—be careful around a boy like that. Though, I trust you’ll know when to pull your claws out.” He knocked on the counter and chuckled. “Otherwise, just say the word, and I’ll introduce his fancy ass to my girl.”

Barry probably meant well, but your brain had already soaked up his words like a sponge, throwing them into a spiral, dragging them into the most anxious corners of your mind.

Still, you managed a smile. “No worries, Barry. I don’t think he even—”

You didn’t dare finish that sentence as Rafe came out of the backroom, a deep scowl on his face. He didn’t even look at you as he passed between you and Barry, only muttering, “Let’s go.”

“Nah, nah, nah, Country Club,” Barry said, raising his brows and pushing off the counter with a grin. “We ain’t done yet.”

Rafe stopped, turning back with a glare that practically screamed he was done with everyone. He towered over Barry, but somehow still looked small. “I got your shit. What fucking else do you wanna piss me off with?”

Barry ignored him, smiling softly at you. “Was nice seeing you again, Alley Cat. Don’t go running off too far.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get those little paws outta here, I still got some business with this boy.”

An uneasy feeling spread in your stomach, but you knew better than to argue, so you just smiled with a nod. “Yeah, see you around, Barry,” you said, trying to ignore Rafe’s burning stare on you.

You passed him quietly, trying to suppress the sudden thoughts threatening to tear open a pit you thought you’d buried not even a few days ago.

And while you’d entered Barry’s little pawn shop with a smile and warmth in your chest, you left it now with uncertainty in your eyes and a deep heavy feeling in your gut.

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“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and Barry?” Rafe asked after the two of you had gotten back into the car.

And the reason for that question? Such a funny fucking story. And it started with you even knowing this fucker in the first place. You two apparently getting along—and oh, fun fact—apparently getting along really well, because guess what? Barry hadn’t kept Rafe in the shop to talk business. Oh no, he hadn’t just talked.

He had fucking threatened him.

Said stupid shit like he’d show Rafe how people in the Cut handled things when no one was looking if Rafe didn’t behave. If he dared to hurt or play with you or whatever fucking else Barry had preached like some back-alley saint.

Rafe couldn’t even wrap his head around what that fucking Pogue thought he was doing. Like if Rafe actually wanted to, he could send every cop in town straight to Barry’s crusty little pawn shop and have him write his bullshit threats on the damn cell wall.

Fuck. Like seriously, what the hell was that shit?!

You just shook your head, a weird smile on your lips that didn’t even come close to your eyes. “What? Nothing. Like I said, he’s Cara’s dealer. That’s how I got to know him.”

And now you had the audacity to lie straight to Rafe’s face in his car? Nah.

“He literally threatened to blow my brains out if I looked at you the wrong way,” Rafe said, tapping his temple with a confused laugh. “Like—what kind of crazy-ass psycho bullshit is that? And that weird-ass nickname? No way in hell he isn't your fucking boyfriend or some shit.”

The idea that you belonged to someone—Barry, of all people? That messed with Rafe’s head in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. It filled him with such rage and confusion, he was so close to grabbing that damn backpack on the backseat, taking out a bundle of coke that stupid grandma had handed him, and snorting a line right off his Mercedes' hood.

But he was so thrown off by your sudden change of demeanor, your whole vibe completely off since Rafe had come back from the shop—strange, distant, almost... bitter—that he decided he'd rather demand some fucking answers.

And when you just smiled weakly instead of snapping back like usual, pushing his buttons, he knew something was up.

“No, that’s just how he is,” you said while buckling your seatbelt, the weird tone in your voice not sounding like you at all. “He only means well.”

Rafe blinked at you, his chest tightening as your eyes finally met his, but something was missing.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Your brows twitched, and there was a flicker in your gaze he couldn’t place. Again, that strange smile that didn’t fit your face. “What? Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head slightly.

Just nothing. Normally you’d say some shit like, ‘Why are you getting all worked up, I don’t owe you any explanation, blah blah’—but this? It confused Rafe. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Barry said some shit to you?” Rafe raised his brows.

That was the only logical explanation. You went in all cocky and smiley, and now you looked like someone had shot a puppy in front of you.

You shook your head again, and Rafe felt a sharp stab of disappointment from how empty you sounded. “No, I’m just tired. Guess the lack of sleep’s finally catching up,” you said with a soft smile.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the console. He was this close to snapping, but he didn’t want to yell. You’d probably shut down completely. Wheezie did the same thing when Dad started raising his voice and Rafe hated witnessing that.

“Okay, something’s clearly bothering you,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “You’re always on about how important it is to talk shit out, and now you’re the one being all weird.”

Seriously, why did your behavior even bother him in the first place? Normally when some chick was trynna act sulky he’d drop her off at her place or kick her out immediately because he didn’t care about that shit.

But with you, he somehow couldn’t and that irritated the fuck out of him. Probably because I deserve some fucking answers.

“There’s nothing to solve because there’s no issue,” you finally said softly, clearly bullshitting.

Rafe clenched his jaw, running through every possible reason why you were suddenly acting like this. “Fuck that. There’s obviously an issue.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “Did I say something that got the minions in your head running again? Shit, I was just pissed earlier because—”

“No, really. Everything's—”

“Fine? Don’t bullshit me. You were all bold and mouthy earlier and now?” Rafe furrowed his brows, trying to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. “Now you’re acting all wilted and melancholic like Topper after some chick rejects him.”

That got a chuckle out of you, and Rafe felt his features soften.

“I’m not acting wilted,” you said, a little amusement finally slipping back into your voice.

Rafe nodded. “You are. I’m guessing Barry ran his stupid mouth while I was gone.” He narrowed his eyes, another thought hitting him. “Or did that fucker creep on you?”

“What? Oh my god, no,” you replied, shaking your head, puzzled. “No, it’s just…” You held his gaze like you were the one with questions. After a second, you looked down at your fidgeting hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just creating a problem in my head that doesn’t even exist.”

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck did he say?”

You looked up, pretty eyes somehow carrying that sad little shine again, and Rafe had to fight the sudden urge to storm back into Barry’s shitty shop and drag the guy’s face across the counter.

“I...He didn’t exactly say it… I mean, I’d already been wondering...,” you started, clearly struggling to continue.

Rafe was so fucking close to losing it. He shook his head and gestured to his chest again. “What, huh? Me dealing coke? Is that what suddenly has you all scared? Shit, I’m not some criminal like Barry, okay? I just—”

"No, that's not it", you cut in, voice lacking your usual attitude. "I mean, sure, it's—"

"Holy fucking shit, just spit it out." Rafe couldn't bear you dancing around the answer any longer. Aggressively he gestured toward the pawn shop. "If Barry didn't fucking harass you then I seriously can't fucking imagine what's got you acting like this."

You pressed your lips together, eyes wide, brows raised like some deer about to get shot. "I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding like I'm ... delusional or crazy."

Rafe scoffed amused, both hands gesturing toward you. "Shit, you are crazy. Now fucking spit it out or I'm driving the car into the next fucking tree."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh, the smile quickly fading as your gaze drifted to the fidgeting fingers in your lap. "Okay, I just—" You seemed to take a deep breath in. "What's your business with me?"

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I…” You pressed your lips together, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m not saying there is any business," you said, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I’m just… confused. I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before. I know it’s stupid, I’m just…”

You furrowed your brows, meeting his eyes again. “You need to understand, I’m not trying to piss you off. I mean, you're probably right. It’s just my brain spiraling over nothing again. It's just… shit, I know this here is completely casual, I mean we aren't even friends, I just..."

You let out a strained breath, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I really don’t wanna come across like I’m assuming something’s going on in the first place. I mean, you already think I’m crazy,” you said, a distant smile tugging at your lips. “But obviously it’s totally fine if you’re only looking for a chance at some temporary fun. It’s just… in the hypothetical case you actually do expect something to happen...”

Another awkward laugh slipped out, and you sank into your seat, brows furrowed as you smiled nervously, “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, I probably sound—”

“Holy fucking shit, you need to chill the fuck out,” Rafe cut in, staring at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Because this? How much fucking longer did you wanna go on?

This was absolutely insane. The way your brain made up all this shit. How the fuck did you even function at all?

He pointed to his temples, eyes wide. “Seriously, this is not just borderline crazy. This is straight-up insane. I mean I am going insane just by listening to this."

“Well yeah, that’s actually what I was trying to say,” you muttered, hands fiddling in your lap. “I just don't understand why you'd wanna hang out with me if I'm getting on your nerves—unless there's some other motive.”

Jesus Christ. Rafe didn’t know anyone with this level of anxiety and overthinking. Not even Wheezie came close.

But that wasn’t what really pissed him off.

Sure, if you were a little nuts, fine. It was even kind of amusing, honestly. At least you had the brains to think about shit.

No, what really pissed him off was that you were questioning him, even after he’d already told you the answer to this topic in school just a few days ago. He'd just tried to help you by suggesting to work at Tannyhill for the next project session but you fucking declined because you'd thought he was just trying to hook up with you.

Okay, yeah, maybe at this point the idea of sleeping with you wasn't exactly unwelcome—though with your nerves, you'd both probably have a mental breakdown halfway through—but it wasn’t about that.

It was about the fucking principle.

You were acting like his word meant nothing. Like he was just some lying, sleazy, piece-of-shit Pogue.

Rafe clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-control not to snap. “There's no fucking other motive. You make it sound like I'm plotting some crazy-ass shit.”

Your brows twitched, lips pressing together. Somehow, you still didn’t look satisfied.

For a moment, you just stared at him, hesitation flickering in your eyes, but then your voice came out soft, so soft it made Rafe's chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. “I’m not trying to be annoying or—”

“You are,” Rafe interrupted, surprised by the lack of bite in his tone. His face twisted and he raised his shoulders, gesturing at his chest. “Like, I don’t fucking get why you’re questioning me when I already told you—”

“I know.” You nodded, frustration leaking into your voice. “I know and I really appreciate it, but I just… it’s my brain, okay?” You tapped your finger against your temple. “It talks shit and I start believing it and I just can’t stop it. And then I get anxious—especially when someone gives it something to chew on—and it’s just so frustrating because I'm definitely not trying to piss you off, I don’t wanna ruin—I mean, I’m just asking for some reassurance, that’s all.”

Your brows knit together. “But then again, I don’t want some fake reassurance either if you actually—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I like hanging out with you, okay?” Rafe pressed his lips together as the words left his mouth, not even sure why the fuck he’d said them. Why he even cared enough to listen to all this bullshit. But right now, all he wanted was to shut you the fuck up, so he didn’t bother filtering.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?” he added, wearing an irritated, almost amused smile. “I’d have to be fucking desperate to put up with all your messed-up crazy shit just for the chance to hook up with you. That's... fuck, I’m not that needy.”

He gestured to you, frustration seeping through his voice. “You piss me off, but I can deal with it. Shit, I think I even like it. You’re not some boring-ass gossip bitch like Ruthie.” He furrowed his brows, refusing to unpack what the hell that meant, now tapping his chest with his fingertips, voice strained. “But what I can’t fucking stand is not being taken seriously.”

Judging by your face, he hadn’t just shut your brain off, he’d completely nuked it. Your eyes were wide, lips pressed tight, and even your fidgeting had stopped.

He half expected you to start crying for whatever reason, but thank fuck you didn’t. You just frowned, that softness still in your expression. “I do take you seriously. That’s why I'm so confused. All these… I don’t know, suggestive comments and stuff. You say you don’t mean anything by it, but then you’re all teasing the next second. It’s confusing.”

Seriously, had you ever even interacted with a boy before Rafe?

He let out a frustrated smile, nodding. “Shit, yeah, ever heard of fucking flirting? That’s the thing people do because it’s fun. It doesn’t fucking have to lead to anything.” Rafe raised his brows. “Unless you want it to.”

And there it was again—that shift in you. Your whole vibe changed, whenever he said shit like this. And he couldn’t fucking tell if you were flustered, uncomfortable, or just weirded out.

You shook your head, a nervous laugh bubbling up like he’d asked you to strip in the backseat. “Of course, I know what flirting is. It’s just—In my head, this feels like… I don’t know mixed signals or whatever and—“

“Okay, fuck. Stop.” Rafe had hit his limit. He ran a hand over his face, voice tight with frustration. “I’m only saying this once, so fucking listen, alright?” He gestured to you again. “I fuck with you. You’re somehow fun to be around, even though you’re literally the least chill person I know.”

His brows twitched, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face, but he pushed through. He wasn’t gonna overthink—he wasn’t you. “And shit, yeah, of course, I’m flirting with you. You’re a cute chick. If you said the word, I’d be down to bend you over in the backseat right now, but why the fuck would I waste my energy on someone who’s clearly not into casual shit.”

Fuck. Now that he’d said it, he felt just as stunned as you looked.

Saying these words out loud ... it angered him. He'd basically just given in to you. But the thing that actually riled him up? The fact he'd just acknowledged out loud that he knew you weren't interested in him. That he couldn't get you into bed with some charm and a little flirting. That you were out of reach.

And fuck, this just made hanging out with you all the more confusing because why the fuck did he enjoy this shit if he was well aware that he wouldn't take you home later for some quick fun.

But worse than all of that was the way he found himself waiting.

Desperate for your response. Hoping you’d push back. Hoping you’d say something—anything—to let him know he'd just interpreted your signals wrong, that, yes, you did indeed find him attractive, that you actually enjoyed his presence, his flirts, and teasing. That you'd love to be his new friends-with-benefits-chick.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should go back inside Barry’s store and beat the shit out of that fucker for whatever the fuck he'd said to you that made you spiral this hard, and now Rafe was out here saying and thinking shit like this.

"Okay, now I'm even more confused," you said, smiling awkwardly. "You say you like spending time with me but at the same time, you also feel like you're wasting your time here."

Rafe was so close to smashing his head against the steering wheel. He raised his hands in exasperation. "And you say you're not trying to piss me off but right now I'm so close to losing my shit."

He aggressively tapped his finger on the middle console. "I just tried telling you that I'm not here because I'm looking for a chance at a fucking hookup, okay? Seriously, how much clearer do I need to be?"

“Okay. Just to clarify, for my own sanity,” you started slowly, voice soaked in nervous energy (Rafe was literally one second away from having a fucking stroke). “You like hanging out with me but according to your logic, you're not someone who's wasting his time with a girl if you're not gaining something from it."

With a pained expression, Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded with a distressed "Uh-huh".

Maybe if he just continued agreeing with you, then you'd finally shut up, because clearly snapping back only seemed to continue dragging on this horrible limbo of yours.

Some strained chuckle escaped your lips. "And considering you're still asking me to chill with you even though you seem to be aware that I don't wanna be someone's pastime, does that mean… I mean, is what you're hoping to gain from spending time with me… a friendship?"

Rafe's head snapped up.

That was your fucking conclusion to all of this?

Fucking hell. Did he look like someone in need of more clingy idiots crowding his life? Topper and Kelce were already enough and he didn’t even receive anything in return for dealing with their bullshit.

And having a female friend without getting to bend her over once in a while? He'd never even considered it. The only girls Rafe had ever privately hung out with were the ones he'd benefit from.

And all of them either got so fucking annoying, he'd dropped them, or worse—they'd wanted more. Dates, gifts, PDA. A label. The title of Rafe Cameron's girlfriend.

They all wanted the benefits that came of being with him but none of them had actually wanted him.

But you? Well, he had to admit you were different. You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t chase him because of his last name and the benefits that came with it.

And the crazy part? That just fucking pissed him off more.

Because for some fucked-up reason he'd actually learned to tolerate your presence enough that he could deal with your crazy-ass brain outside of the project despite him not receiving some fun time in return. And now you assumed he wanted this to actually result in some permanent shit.

But for whatever reason, the idea that this might be over after handing in your project next week? That actually stirred something weird in his chest.

Right now, Rafe could still claim the project was the reason for you two spending time together (if you ignored the fact you weren't doing school shit at the moment). Sure, he’d admitted he liked you—but everything about the way you two had been hanging out this past week could still be chalked up to the assignment. But once that was over… then what?

Fuck, all of this was giving him a headache. And now you were pressuring him to define whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you.

Rafe shook his head in irritation. "Why do you even need a fucking label for some casual hangout? Can't we just fucking chill?"

You gestured to your chest, a distressed smile on your face. "Yeah, of course. I just… my brain needs to make sense of this somehow, so I can place this in either ‘okay, this ends when the project’s over’ or ‘alright, get ready to make space for this person, they’re gonna stick around.’ It’s fucking stupid, I know, but it helps me adjust to new people."

This right here was the biggest fucking test of patience in Rafe's entire life and he was so fucking sick of you demanding him to clarify shit when you were the one that made him question his sanity.

"Shit, I don't fucking know, alright?" Rafe raised his shoulders with an irritated smile. "I mean what the fuck do you want? You’re calling me confusing, but I don’t even fucking know if you actually like me or if you’re just tagging along because you’re too scared to decline because of some people-pleasing bullshit or whatever.”

Like he'd admitted all this fucking shit just now, but why didn't you? Why didn't you offer him some reassurance?

Your gaze softened, and that only irritated him more.

“I'm actually very capable of saying 'No',” you replied.

“Yeah, the fuck do I know.” Rafe threw his hands up. And then, a disgusting thought crossed his mind. “Or are you just tagging along because you're hoping for some attention of being seen with me?”

Finally, your frown returned—thank god. That little bit of fire he was used to.

“What? No!” You shook your head, clearly confused. “Aside from the fact that I couldn’t care less about shit like that, I’d rather jump off a cliff than draw unnecessary attention to myself.” Your expression softened again, lips quirking into a crooked smile. “I came along because I wanted to. Not because I’m trying to get some pics snapped of me being seen with an A-List celebrity.”

Just say it, Rafe thought, not even caring about your stupid comment. You were so fucking close to saying it. Tiptoeing on the edge of it. So damn close to saying what he needed to hear.

But you didn’t. And it pissed him off. Fucked with his head. Just—

Fuck all of that.

Maybe it sounded pathetic, maybe it was, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “So you actually do like hanging out with me?”

A soft laugh left your lips and your brows knit slightly. “Yes? I’m not spending my time with people I can’t stand.”

And just like that, something in Rafe finally let go. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It felt like a win—even though he hadn’t actually won anything. Actually, he’d probably lost some fucking braincells discussing that shit.

He sank back into his seat, staring through the windshield, running a hand through his hair, no fucking energy left after this marathon of a discussion.

He tilted his head toward you with furrowed brows, motioning between the two of you. “So where’s the fucking problem, huh? We both like hanging out and neither of us is hiding some secret agenda or some shit.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Except you literally said—”

“Yeah, I know what I fucking said,” Rafe cut in, already regretting having voiced that he'd be down to bend you over. But whatever. It was out there now, so who the fuck cared.

“I’m not some horny perv who's unable to be in a room with a chick without trying to get in her pants,” he added, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up on a little flirting and teasing.”

You raised your brows slightly, chin tilting downward. "So—"

"YES, for fuck’s sake!" Rafe raised his hands, shifting up in his seat, absolutely at the end of his rope. "If that helps to end this fucking stupid discussion, then yes please, go ahead and tell your crazy-ass brain it can open a new fucking folder titled ‘I made Rafe Cameron lose his fucking mind to the point where I force-befriended him’. And put some big-ass lock on it because that shit stays closed from now on."

He let out a strained breath, an exasperated smile twitching on his lips. "There. Does this shut you up or do I need to craft you a fucking friendship bracelet with my name on it?”

The worst part: The image of you wearing his name around your wrist sparked fucking JOY in his fucking chest for some fucked-up reason.

SEE. YOU'RE MAKING HIM GO THIS FUCKING CRAZY, HE WAS GETTING EXCITED ABOUT STUPID FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

You just stared at him, lips parted slightly like your brain was still spiraling over the obvious. Rafe almost thought he’d have to go back into the pawn shop and ask Barry to blow his fucking brains out, but you simply shook your head, a gentle smile forming.

“I don’t think that’s necessary", you replied with a soft smile.

Rafe eyed you impatiently, waiting for you to go on and spiral into another damn monologue about how you had to figure out the right color for this mental folder, and which fucking font would best match the content—because god forbid you’d use some bullshit like Papyrus or—WHAT THE FUCK DID HE KNOW, JESUS CHRIST YOU MADE HIM THINK ABOUT THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT.

To top it all off, you had the audacity to stay quiet and Rafe could physically feel his nerves blow up. “That’s it?”

No fucking way that actually resolved this fucking discussion.

You eyed him amused like he’d just hallucinated this whole fuckass conversation. “Well, yeah.”

Rafe’s brows dropped to a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me, right?”

“No.” A small laugh left you, and that familiar glimmer was back in your eyes. “I just needed some clarity to calm my nerves. That’s just how my brain works. I’m okay as long as things make sense. But the second a thought enters my mind that could mess with that—even if it’s ridiculous—it sticks. And then it ruins the whole logic. And until the thought can be ruled out, it stays, and my head chews it up until it gets worse.”

That's it. You were officially the reason Rafe considered therapy just so someone could tell him why the fuck he even put up with your shit.

Like, seriously, Rafe had some fucked-up shit going on in his head, but you? Holy shit, if he had to deal with the crap your brain pulled every day, he’d fucking lose it.

Your head sounded like a fucking prison.

Rafe let out a distressed breath. "Now, care to tell me, what was the actual fucking reason for you spiraling this hard in the first place?" He gestured toward the pawn shop. "And don't fucking think about lying. Either you tell me or I'm gonna go back inside and beat the answer out of that fucker."

He wouldn’t, though. Barry might’ve looked like a little bum, but Rafe had seen it enough times—his threats didn’t usually stay just threats. And sure, Rafe might’ve had the upper hand physically, but Barry didn’t do fights.

He'd pull out a gun and even Rafe's fists had no chance against that.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a second. “He just told me to be careful around you. It wasn’t even really what he said, it was more the way he said it.” You shook your head, puzzled. “And I guess my brain just filled in the worst-case scenario because… well…” A flicker of uncertainty in your pretty eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a dick, but it’s just a fact that you don’t really hang out with girls. And when you do it’s like... you know.”

Yeah, that was true. Rafe didn’t deny it. But still, why the fuck did you have this fucking player image of him?

Sure, he did hookups once in a while—every few weeks maybe at some random party. And yeah, he’d had friends with benefits, but like four or five times at most in his whole damn life. But the way you made it sound? Like he was out here fucking someone new every night.

“So instead of just asking me straight up what’s going on, you’d rather fucking… what? Sulk and act weird as hell? What kind of childish reaction is that?” Rafe asked, face twisting in frustration.

You let out a short laugh. “I didn’t wanna piss you off by bringing this up. Which, clearly, I did.”

“Well, yeah, because I practically had to beat the answer out of you,” Rafe said with a scowl, motioning to his chest. “What actually pisses me off is when people won’t just say what the fuck they're trying to say.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m sorry for making this so messy.” A soft chuckle slipped out. “I guess we both value clear answers… just on different scales.”

Yeah, except Rafe didn’t have a mental breakdown when he didn’t get one.

“I just don’t fucking understand why you can’t just ignore these fucking thoughts,” he said, oddly calm for some reason. "When some shit starts bothering me, I just fucking ignore it. If I need to make a decision, I just do it. If some asshole pisses me off? I put him in his fucking place.”

He scoffed. “And your brain sounds like one big asshole. You just gotta show it who's boss.”

Surprisingly, you laughed—soft, genuine—and Rafe blinked, confused.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. It’s absolutely insane that your own mind is your worst enemy. That’s fucking fucked-up.”

He gestured to himself. “I mean that dude pisses me off so badly, I wanna smash his face into a wall just to get him to shut the fuck up. How the fuck do you let him pull this shit on you?”

“That’s—” You laughed again, and something weird flipped in Rafe’s stomach. “I appreciate the energy,” you said, “but honestly, I’m already good when people just have a little patience with me.”

Your expression grew distant. “When I bring stuff like this up, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m just genuinely trying to find clarity in the chaos up here.” You tapped your temple, smiling gently again. “That’s why I really appreciate that you actually talked with me this time—even though I’m sure you wanted to smash my head through the window.”

He'd rather have your head pressed against some sheets to let go of this fucking pressure inside him but Rafe forced this thought down (see? easy).

So he just shook his head. “I did but I’d rather not have your dad on my ass because of that. That dude’s got some crazy aura.”

Another laugh slipped from your lips, and Rafe felt his features soften. “I guess. He served as a combat medic in the military, so I think some of that still lingers beneath the surface.”

Shit, that made sense. Rafe knew there was a reason that guy had given him the creeps the first time he'd looked at him. He seemed nice, sure—kind even—but deep down Rafe was certain that man could knock someone out cold with a single punch.

The weird thing was: Rafe actually felt less tense around him than around his own dad.

“Shit, another reason to keep my hands off you,” Rafe muttered with a low chuckle. “Don’t need Liam Neeson in Taken chasing me down.”

Another laugh. And damn, that made Rafe feel like some kind of winner.

“I doubt you have to worry", you said. "He actually seemed to like—”

Your phone started buzzing inside your bag.

"Cara," you said when you pulled it out with an apologetic smile. “I should take this.”

Rafe gave a reluctant nod, even though the sudden interruption annoyed the fuck out of him.

“What’s up?” you said, holding the phone to your ear. After a beat, you added, “I’m with Rafe.”

His head snapped up like he’d been struck by lightning.

That was... he couldn’t remember you ever saying his name out loud before. And now that he’d heard it—coming from your sweet voice—fuck.

It did something to him. A weird kind of something. Buzzing in his stomach, warmth blooming in his chest, and this deep, unfamiliar ache for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Really?” You laughed. “We’re actually close by—Yeah, at Barry’s—Girl, no—Yeah, I know he told me—Yeah, I know I was the one who asked you—Okay, yeah, sure—So I assume you're with—yep, thought so—Okay—Seriously?—Alright—Yeah, nah, let’s not.” You laughed again. “Okay—Yeah, see you in a bit.”

You hung up, your whole presence lighting back up.

“Sorry,” you said with a soft smile, slipping the phone back into your bag. “She’s at the beach nearby and asked me to join her. Or well... I kinda asked her earlier if we could hang out, so....”

Rafe felt a frown creeping in, disappointment taking over his entire body. You were about to fucking ditch him.

He raised his brows. “Now?”

You nodded, toying with your bag strap. “Well... yeah. She needs some backup.”

“What, her boots got stuck in the sand or some shit?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “No, she’s with some people and… well, she needs help with a boy.”

“Her?” Rafe scoffed, disbelieving. “She’s the most upfront and confrontational person I’ve ever met. What the fuck does she need help with?” He tilted his head. “And didn’t she have some thing going on with Topper?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you said, holding your hands up in amusement. “She’s super complicated when it comes to that stuff.”

Girls. Rafe didn’t fucking get them.

“So what, you want me to drop you off now?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. You were actually going to leave him now—after he'd helped you get rid of your hangover, after he’d actually shown patience and calmed the voices in your head, after all his nerves were fried beyond repair.

You were scared he might play you? Nah, he was the one who felt toyed with right now.

But as much as Rafe wanted to call you out for it, snap at you for being all anxious and now daring to pull this shit, he just didn’t have it in him. No strength left. He really didn’t have the fucking energy or patience for another long-ass conversation with you monologuing about shit.

Sure, he could just decide to tag along, because when did Rafe ever ask for permission, but his gut told him that was a weird fucking move. He wasn't your fucking dog to accompany you everywhere.

Fuck, he didn't fucking know how to handle shit with a girl like you.

So he just nodded, buckled up, and started the engine. Letting out a tight breath as he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

You hesitated for a second. “Do you know where the western beach of the Cut is?”

Rafe scoffed and nearly stopped the car. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course, he knew where that fucking beach was. Sarah always went there after school to hang out with her stupid little Pogue friends.

So yeah, he could already guess exactly what kind of people Cara was hanging out with: those annoying-ass rats.

The thing that pissed him off the most wasn’t even you ditching him. It wasn’t driving you around like a damn chauffeur. It wasn’t even that you were trading him for a group of Pogue losers.

Nah. It was the fact that Sarah had once again managed to stick her nose into shit that didn’t fucking concern her. Because somehow this reeked of her meddling.

And the worst part? It felt like she was winning again. Like she’d won over their dad, like she'd won over Kie during her time at Kildare Academy by turning her against Rafe just for them to end up having some bitchy fallout shortly after.

Like she’d get to win you over too with some fake-ass bullshit.

And you, being prone to falling for shit like that with that brain of yours, would probably believe her too. Not because you were naive, nah, but because your head would probably soak Sarah's sweet words up, falling back into a spiral over Rafe's intention or some bullshit.

Fuck.

Rafe actually liked this weird acquaintanceship with you (THERE, THAT'S THE LABEL THAT FIT THIS SHIT). He didn’t need Sarah to ruin that—or worse—take you from him. Pull you into her little shitty-ass, feel-good Pogue bullshit friend group.

And the most fucked up thing? You weren’t even his. But the very thought of Sarah turning you against him anyway?

Nah. He wouldn't let that happen.

You said Rafe was hoping to gain some shitty-ass friendship from this? Fine. If that’s what it took for your brain to hold on to Rafe, he’d gladly be your fucking friend.

He’d throw every goddamn principle he had out the window before he let Sarah take something else from him before he even had a chance to claim it for himself.

Because for the first time in years, Rafe actually felt like he didn't wanna let go of a girl. Nah, he actually wanted to keep you around. Not as some warm body in his bed—it fucked with his head that you weren’t into hookups but he could accept that—but because somehow, you were the first girl who didn't hang on his ass to brag to her friends later about getting to ride his dick.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were either a lesbian or just completely uninterested in sex altogether. Which only messed with his head even more, because if both of you were here willingly, what the fuck was the point if no one was gaining anything from it?

Like, why the fuck did Rafe feel this pull toward you? Not just sexually… more like—fuck, he didn’t even know. He also couldn't compare it to the short-lived whatever-thing he'd had with Kie either because he'd only ever seen her as some extension of Sarah that he tolerated. Thinking of her even remotely sexual had just felt fucking weird.

But you? Being around you came close to landing a hole-in-one during golfing, the feeling after being praised by his dad, the way his body buzzed after a line of coke. Which honestly made him wonder if the perfume you were wearing was laced with chemicals or some shit that messed with his head like that.

Fuck, this? Him thinking about this shit at all—that was your fucking fault.

Rafe just knew he liked having you around so there was no need to let you go.

For now.

So as much as he hated, despised, and loathed the idea of you ditching him for some beach party with dirty-ass Pogues and Princess Sarah, by now, he'd learned that if he kept his temper in check, his patience with you would pay off.

Shit, he'd even add a little bonus.

So, when you'd asked if he knew the way, he shot you a raised brow and a casual side-eye, and in the most unbothered tone he said, “Yeah, it’s just down the road. Assuming your friend's succeeding with that guy, I’m guessing you’re gonna need someone to pick you up later.”

And when your brows twitched and your eyes lit up, Rafe knew he was one step closer to keeping you around for real.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[callmeimlost]

Open to requests? Stand ready for my arrival 👹

May I request a Main!Mark x Starfire!reader? Like maybe reader is a kryptonian and Tamaranean mix, just super OP. Like imagine Starfire!reader coming to earth, becomes a famous hero, becomes the symbol of hope, and Mark becomes super nervous to meet her, but turns out she’s really kind and fun

(And maybe a cameo of Cecil, losing his mind trying to find weaknesses for these OP aliens that keep crashing into earth 💀🤚)

Just imagine Starfire!reader teaching Mark about krypton and Tamaran, while he teaches her about earth. And how Starfire!reader would help him after all his battles, and how she’d make him feel better by always just being there for him

(If this is too confusing, or if you’re just not getting the vision then that’s okay. Have a nice day 💕)

✷ PLANET HER:: mark Grayson x Starfire!reader

WARNING:: reader is very OP, cannon gore, mark & reader teach each other about their planets, bubbly! Reader.

SUMMARY:: after crash landing onto earth and being held by GDA to make sure your no true threat, you meet Mark Grayson who is utterly smitten with the idea of introducing you to life on earth !

MEIMEI YAPS:: this was all written on my phone bcs my iPad sucks rn, so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. Also im so sorry it took me this long to write I was sick and then I went to a concert yesterday and had no time 🫩💔.

The smell of dirt and copper filled your every sense, the distant shouts, the sound of your planet falling apart at your own feet; it felt like a fever dream, truly unreal. Even with the two suns that hung over Tamaran like twins; yet even then a chill wracks through you, unsettling and churning in your stomach.

You felt the bile itching at the back of your throat, how your legs felt like jelly, or even your fingers shakily gripping at your family as you were sent into the endless abyss of space. You had floated through orbit; for how long? You couldn’t remember. The many planets you had passed by, even picking up on languages before setting off once more. Nothing habitable for you, nothing to make you stay longer than short of a day or two.

You had grown used to the impending trash looming around as you fly through, swatting at the debris of asteroids and trash floating from planets that had been long abandoned. Like an endless cycle of floating through nothing, before you had heard word of planet- earth, an odd sounding planet but nonetheless you were willing to try.

It had taken you days to fly to Earth, you had known you’d made it when you had seen the odd shaped metal floating not too far from the blue and green planet. And without hesitation you had set off onto your decent. At the speed you were going you could’ve been sick at just how hard you had pushed your self.

Breaking through the mesosphere the heat on your skin sizzling against your skin bothered you none, bringing a sense of comfort though it pales in comparison to the twin stars that hung in the sky of tamaran. Your skin felt like it was buzzing within the moment you hit the stratosphere, the air thin as you hover slowly.

Taking your time to now get closer, the air or lack there of, makes your head spin and your heart burn. You could feel your body dropping quicker than your brain could respond. Wind whipping past your face as your ears ring. Black splotches cover your vision as you realize there was no possible way of willing your body to catch itself from the whiplash inducing crash it was going to make.

You didn’t hear it; but you definitely felt it. Your body laid out in a crater sized hole in a rural field; the raw dirt and smell of flowers and grass had been the only comfort as you were lured into the darkness of your own sleep. Earth wasn’t off to a great start at all, your first impression on their people was slightly destructive, you didn’t mean to! How would you know that the spikes green stuff would be there?!

It was odd; waking up somewhere you hadn’t fallen asleep, almost panicked at the realization. The sterile walls, the smell of antiseptic. It felt powerful, protected. Your hands twitching at your side as the clatter of cuffs to the handles of the frame to this mysterious bed.

Your palms feel warm and tight balled in fists as you yank at the cuffs, the metal bending at the sheer strength of your incessant tugging before pulling harder out of frustration you break the handle of the bed frame making you yelp softly at your wrist that was not old still in the cuffs but now had a metal bar latched to the other end.

You can only hold it up as you look at it dumbly, before you could even try to further free yourself from the bent out shackle the door to the room slides open with an almost comical sound. A man; no- a handler. A man who looks to not know rest, the distant yet stern look in his eyes, and the crisp look he had told you that he was in charge; and he had done this to you, and it makes you press yourself harder against the pillow behind you.

The chilling blue eyes he held that pinned you to your spot and kept your mouth sealed shut, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t- at first. He lets in a heard of doctors who check these odd shaped projectile machines that move and fill up the once quiet room with loud medical noises. You watched with curious eyes and a pinched brow as the man steps forward at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t ask you any questions, he only looks to the doctors flitting his gaze between them and you as he speaks in a tone you could tell he was talking about you but not to you, and the very few words you do understand stem from him mentioning Tamaran. He speaks quick and with purpose and it confuses you but you, but the small broken sentences you can make don’t seem to help either of you much.

But you improve! Only at the expense of a poor doctor trying to check your vitals when you use the Tamaranian way of exchanging language when you lay one on him. And even more to the dismay of Cecil because the moment you start forming true sentences he learns you are just lollipops and rainbows; well- for someone who grew up on a planet where warriors are practically bred.

And with that you had spent little time under Cecil’s watch from what you understood you had only been under watch for the purpose of making sure you were no real threat to Earth, you were almost harmless had it not been for the fact that you could probably blow half of the building up with only a few beams of that green light glowing around your fists when you train.

But it was a surprise not only to Cecil but you as well when Mark Grayson stumbles upon you in private training he watches you with curiosity, his skin buzzing with warmth, you were intimidating. How easy everything seemed for you, the way you effortlessly move around and can be efficient. When Cecil catches Mark he felt like a kid being scolded for eating snacks before dinner.

“who was that?” Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even as Cecil was practically guiding Mark out of the vicinity, he didn’t need two stupidly strong aliens consorting around with each other seeing as Mark is a loose cannon and you are emotionally driven. Cecil would only glare at Mark before spatting “Earth’s second biggest gain and potential enemy” and it wouldn’t be long before Mark would see you again, just not necessarily in the presence of Cecil.

When you were trusted under the guise that you were to work for the GDA you were propelled into the hero scene and became popular amongst the younger crowd, he’d see you on the news when he was on patrol, how you had taken the lizard league down on your own, how you mainly worked solo jobs.

He’d see how truly easy you made it look, how you knocked around people way bigger than you, how you could take a punch and not react let alone show any weakness; and when he finally met you face to face he was practically sweating out of his suit.

You were prettier up close, you emanated an aura that could be ignored- well for the purpose of Mark’s job in that moment it wasn’t time to be star struck but do his job. Cecil had sent the two of you with a group of astronauts to Mars where you’d make yourselves stay hidden unless something where to go wrong and god did Mark try to convince himself he was petrified to spend any time alone with you; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of another really strong alien who could understand at least a fraction of how he feels.

When the two of you are sent of to take the two day flight to mars the two of you sit quietly the first few hours as Mark as unserious as it sounds tried to be as nonchalant and mysterious as he could because in his eyes that’s what you were. It wasn’t until you offered to make food for the two of you had Mark let his guard down. You were a mystery to him; your words polite and tone soft, your stride was strong and though you didn’t speak much, your presence was quiet and slightly refreshing.

The first time you and Mark had truly tried to teach each other about your planets was when you laid out a plate of food that had looked odd and almost inedible. Mark put on the best smile he could as you watched with eager eyes “on my planet it is much like a turkey on your planet” and Mark would have worn a small smile at how cute the excitement on your face was had it not been for the fact that he’s pretty sure he watched the food on the plate move….

But for the sake of not ruining the small connection he just gained between the two of you he sucks it up and eats the food anyways- even if it was squishy and salty with an off putting color. “Do you have any meals on Earth that your family likes?” You had now seated yourself across from him curling your knees to your chest as you watched eagerly waiting to learn.

The two of you sat for the rest of the ride happily exchanging stories and history of your planets. How Mark knows that Tamaran is 26 light years away and that you’re actually Tamaranean royalty; is beyond him. He wondered if Cecil knew these things, or if it too personal? He didn’t know, so he never told; keeping it between you and him.

Though Mark does catches the looks of bewilderment when he explains that technology had not evolved that far on earth to the point of spacecrafts as advanced as ones on other planets that fly lightyears faster than a helicopter or an airplane. He didn’t know wether to feel pity or almost laugh when he realized that on Tamaran you didn’t have cell phones or internet, and you didn’t speak as fluently accurate; so when you watch him looking at pictures of Debbie and Nolan on his phone it was like he had grown a second head.

Plucking the little device out of his hands between your index and thumb as you tilt your head looking at the boxy metal piece of technology in your hand. “This is your communication?” Though it was more of a statement it came out as a question and it makes a small curious grin grow on Mark’s lips. “Cecil didn’t teach you about the power of a phone?” It sounded outlandish at first but Mark realized exactly who he was talking about; the man who only had time to stress out over everything else going on in the United States.

You only shake your head as you fill grip the phone looking down at the screen. “It is like the projectors we have on my planet….but trapped in a box” you swipe the screen and watch as another photo comes up, a picture of Mark with people who looked around his age all close together smiling happily. “Are these people your companions ?” You look up at Mark who looks at the photo’s with a smile. “On Earth we call them ‘friends’; companion sounds….formal”

Regardless of the fact you continue to let Mark show you many different photos of his friends and family, every time he showed you a picture he could feel your body temperature rising almost as if it were radioactive, yet you watch with curious eyes as he turns to you with a hint of amusement in his eyes “can I teach you how to use it?”

The explanation on how to work a phone was like a battle of with his brain; you were curious what every button does and what certain apps do. To say Mark had to test his wits with answering every question you have to the best of his ability without sounding like a complete fool. The two of you laughed at the others lack of under within certain contexts of conversations neither would have thought you’d have.

The two of you had been so caught up in his phone and how to work it that when it had eventually died, Mark would come to find out the astronauts were gone. The only thing left behind were a track of prints. “Shit!” And that’s when Mark also realized you were impressionable as you float by his side testing the curse word on your tongue and it makes Mark sigh as he realized how much of an influence his bad vocabulary would also have on you…..poor Cecil.

When the two of you eventually land on mars; the two of you work well together, though mark did have to worry a few times… It had never occurred to him before that sometimes the two of you were very emotionally charged, letting your moral compasses guide you rather than logic. And when the two of you learn of their disappearance the two of you go searching when you stumble upon the underground palace that belonged to sequids.

You watched Mark pull open the small hat hatch door that led underground, seeing the many little creatures slimy and sticking to helmet and suit of Mark as he tried to pull off the creature’s with yelps and shouts; watching him squirm makes you giggle as pull the last sequid off of him. “Are you okay?” You ask gently as the dull thump of the parasite on the group makes Mark shiver in disgust before he hums.

The two of you looking at the creatures with completely different looks on your faces, Mark had to do a double take when he saw the way you coo at the pink little membranes that squirmed disgustingly. “You think those things are cute?!” He whisper shouted he was flabbergasted on how you could such a thing to be anything but gross. But the way you nodded and stepped closer made his heart leap out of his ass.

“They are adorable!” You’d chime in quickly but quietly not to trigger any of them to attack “on my planet we keep creatures like these as pets….or we eat them!” Mark’s skin almost turned green at the idea of ever eating one of those things. “Maybe we should keep you at a distance from those” he’d chuckle cautiously as he watches you look at the pink beings with almost heart shaped eyes.

He almost has to tug you away with each carefully placed step you took towards the small creatures. And when the two of you find yourselves with your hands up surrounded by Martians who had clearly been in some kind of distress due to said pink creatures after you had basically shot it down from jumping on you, with that in mind the martians take you into their leader when you finally meet face to face with rage astronauts you and Mark were supposed to be watching and protecting.

After getting the run down on what exactly sequid’s were and what they do, Mark could clock the dark cloud looming over you at the deeply disturbing story. He had watched your once pouty smile slowly fall into a deeply disturbed frown and once he sees the look on your face he immediately feels the frown on his lips weighing down on his lips as well.

The Martian’s had practically disappeared from Mars due to the insurmountable amount of sequids had plagued the planet and had latched onto their kind before completely taking over the mind and body.

“I should have eaten them when we saw them” you mumbled to Mark and had it not been for the serious matter at hand he would’ve burst into laughter; but he had to be serious. “No eating” he says back and it makes you roll your eyes and slightly kick the flooring your very efficient plan being shot down.

“Tell me, how are you able to resist them” the Martian asked as he stands towering over the two of you and it leaves an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that makes you reach for the sleeve of Mark’s suit clutching slightly for some sort of comfort. “I come from the planet Tamaran” you answer quickly as Mark stutters slightly before dumbly answering “I’m part viltrumite; ever heard of us?” An impending and almost embarrassing silent beat passes by before he answers.

“I am the emperor of Mars, of course I’ve heard of you!” And that makes you step back slightly letting go of Mark’s sleeve so unaware that invincible belonged to an empire, to a race of people who didn’t have the greatest track record in space. “Well if you know us then you know; we like to help out wherever we can. Which is why; we were sent to help protect these astronauts” you could tell that even in costume; Invincible was just a boy at heart.

The slightly distressed look on his face as he tries to talk his way out of this. “So if your all good, we can finish our science and head home” he points towards the way you had came step back a few steps before the two men who had captured you blocked your paths. Your brows scrunch as an encroaching feeling of heat along your skin spikes. “Impossible! Human’s are sent to immediate execution!” The emperor shouts taking a step closer flickering between you and Mark.

“We cannot risk them coming into close counter with a sequid!” He urges in frustration you frown looking at your feet, you weren’t all too sure how Mark handled situations like these; but you knew for a fact that you were not a failure, you will not leave these people here to die, you will not die, and neither will invincible. You were sure of it. “I understand” you heard Mark say in an almost disappointed tone that makes your brow twitch.

He was onto something; brute force, maybe. But it was still something! And by the time you make it back to the surface hoards of martians had been chasing you through the thick clouds of dirt cloud your eyes you keep up and almost pass everyone before you yell over your shoulder you can see one of the human’s falling behind with a petrified face. “Flying sounds real efficient right now invincible!” You push yourself of the ground using the leverage to pick the woman up and a man before Mark follows behind you back into the ship.

As you and Mark try holding off the Martian’s as the smoke rises the two of you were practically clearing house until Mark had practically gotten tossed right under the ship. “You try and get that thing off the ground, I’ll hold them off. Can you do that?!” You ask over your shoulders as you feel anger growing in your stomach. Your eyes were glowing green and Mark didn’t know if he should be concerned or do what you say; regardless he would try.

He gets the ship up in the air in no time as he gets hit with the heated beams you could hear the pained grunts he let out making you return the favor, hearing the jets buzzing you take off towards the ship as you make your quickly awaited exit, you see Mark fly back down for a Rock that makes you laugh. “What’s that for?” You ask sitting on one of the wings. “Just thought I’d get something out of this whole ordeal” he shrugged holding the rock out to show you.

You tilt your head with a sad smile, Mark didn’t have to look at you, he could feel a sense of sadness lingering “it reminds me of the color Tamaran” you run a finger over the rock letting the dirt of mars stain your finger a burnt chalky orange. “Do you miss it?” He asks finally looking up at you with sympathy dripping from his words. “Sometimes…but i can’t go back” you swing your feet back and forth enjoying the lack of gravity with each moment.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not about why you can’t go back home; because he wasn’t there yet. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he’s too scared he’d overstep so he took the silent route instead. The two of you enjoyed the ride back home. It was better than awkwardly sitting together for hours.

Though when the two of you got back to Earth and checked in with Cecil it seemed he wanted the two of you to work together more often, keeping an eye on not just the two of you; but Mark’s own father. With the disappearance of the Guardians of the Globe and their unsuspecting deaths everyone searching for answers publicly and privately.

You had only met Omni-man in passing once or twice, not one for help or conversation you seemed to steer clear of him regardless of the fact that he was invincible’s father. When it all came spiraling down; Omni-man had officially lost it. Chicago was in ruins, people were trapped under collapsing buildings, cars and debris filling the streets.

Cecil had sent you out to do damage control as much as you could, the fight had ripped through subways, killed pilots and cracked a fucking mountain. When you had seen how much damage was done you were pissed. Nothing could have prepared Cecil for an angry alien basically standing over of him shouting. “You have to get this under control, he will kill him! You’re just sitting here watching it!” It was an outrage, how could he just stand there and watch like this was peak entertainment?

You had been so caught your own anger you hadn’t realized the woman who watched you with wide eyes on the brink of tears. “You know Mark?” She asks weakly and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest as you nod walking closer gently taking her hand into yours gently “Me and Mark went to Mars together. He was my first…friend on Earth” the word sounded weird falling from your lips but it felt like the right word.

“I’m so sorry this happening; I’ll see if can do anything to help Mark” squeezing her much smaller and weaker hand gently “I’ll do whatever I can” the gleam of hope flickering through her eyes makes you give a firm nod without saying anything else you look to the other workers amongst you watching Omni-man practically brutalized his own kin.

You took off towards the mountains, your body practically buzzing with heat and anger, your eyes and hands glowing and buzzing the closer you get to the fight- more like pummeling; but you had decided you were going to stand a fighting chance, and you were going to help Mark in anyway you can.

You understood that that the Guardians of the Globe was Earth’s protectors, and the track records Viltrumites had back on Tamaran Omni-man had a huge target on his back now. You’ve watched neighboring planets be destroyed and fallen victim to the empire you had so desperately prayed stayed far away from your home.

You were angry, these people, Mark; close to or already being dead- it pissed you off, how could you come to a planet like Earth and want to destroy it? Ruin the little peace it already holds? Every sharp turn, no matter how hard you pushed yourself to fly faster it still didn’t feel fast enough. You had grown to care for Mark since you’ve met, dealing with his small rants about some silly little earth cartoon on paper, or even sprinkles of him talking about school work.

So the moment you see Omni-man looming over the onyx haired boy whose face was practically swollen shut, blood covering his uniform. You could feel your insides churn at the sight, the bile sitting at the back of your throat, how your body tensed and fists tighten. You don’t hesitate to throw yourself into the mix; tackling the man off of his own son.

Thinking back; had you been human you’d had died. The brute force the two of you exchanged wasn’t much; but who could really beat a viltrumite who had been alive for centuries that had conquered planets and killed for strength? He had broken your arm and had finally flown off. Even with the sharp pain running through you in searing waves with every inch you moved, you still found yourself laying beside Mark’s feeble body checking if he was still alive; once you had fully recognized him as breathing and alive you had accepted exhaustion and passed out beside him.

And from then on you had an unwavering loyalty to Mark, going as far as to wheel your own IV around in the hospital to marks room and sit by his side watch trashy TV on mute because remotes still confused you, sometimes apologizing for not doing more, complaining about Cecil, just even eat dinner. Debbie had started to see your face way more often after the fallout of her family.

Even at times you had become very protective over him, going as far as to stand outside of his room and glare at Cecil for the poor job he was doing taking Mark under his wing. And eventually when Mark had woke up you two were glued at the hip. In return for helping him during his fight with his dad he’d help you emerge in Earth culture!

He teaches you about social media, slang, he at one point had to use parental controls in order for you to not accidentally call or text any of the numbers he gave you. You did break the first phone Cecil got you, you were very concerned when you got a call from Mark but couldn’t see him, his voice barely audible from how low your volume was making you shout into the line before ultimately throwing the phone out of stress.

He taught you how to make ‘Earth food’ though it was debatable on if it truly mattered what you ate because truly….you ate anything; and that kind of scared him. Having to explain why eating burnt toast or something that has been in the fridge for clearly too long was not something people on Earth do, he got an odd stare and a shrug before you reluctantly threw it away.

You do teach Mark about your planet, the history, the environment, how you were born into a planet where being warriors was normal; brutality was not frowned upon as much as it is on Earth. Though you have questioned him on why people don’t kill their enemies you had to have a serious discussion on why that isn’t exactly always okay.

Mark takes you to different countries, states and cities to show you how much fun Earth was; Breakfast in Paris and Dinner at Mark’s with Debbie with food from her favorite Mexican restaurant. The field trips were always great, he enjoyed watching the way your hands and eyes glow green when you got excited to experience new things.

Eventually when things start to get sour between Mark and Cecil especially after going through that rough patch with his dad, finding out about Oliver, and most of all Cecil not trusting Mark. Mark had been nothing but good! He could do no wrong in your eyes. The day Mark parted ways with Cecil you dipped in solidarity.

You help him train Oliver, you adore the small boy. Sometimes Mark comes to you for advice when he needs help with how much Oliver starts to pick up the ideologies of their father and how fast he’s even rapidly growing. You try your best to help make his work load less heavy. With the year he was having you don’t know he hasn’t found the time to lose his shit.

Mark appreciates you more than he has probably said it; feeling just slightly less alone because of the random alien that crashed into Earth like a meteor and just stuck around. Although you do have a slight innocence to you now; Mark looks back on his first encounter with you and can’t believe how nervous you made him when really you were in a way….kind of like him.

[cherie-doll]

LADS: They Take Care Of You After A Mission

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier has medicine not for himself but for you in case you ever need it when you come back. He checks you over for injuries probably as soon as you pull away from a hug. Even if you try to wave him off saying you're not even hurt he still insists on checking for any injuries you could've missed. Silent while you're getting your rest, he will not make any noise at all to minimize the interruptions that could wake you up. He also gets jealous if you spend your following days off with other people, he'll use the excuse that you're supposed to be resting after potentially straining your body too much. Forget even sleeping in your own bed or apartment, he has you in his room instead. He insists on it since he can keep an eye on you, after all, hunters have to look out for one another right?

₊ ೀ Zayne won't admit it but people at his workplace; nurses and other doctors will notice how anxious he gets when you're not responding to his messages or calls. Everyone is worried thinking he's got some delicate surgery he's got to perform but no turns out he just hasn't heard back from some hunter he deeply cares about for some reason. When you finally do come back he'll be very upset if you don't come to see him right away. Not only because he is your doctor and he has to make sure you're alright but also just because. Like you two eat together nearly everyday why wouldn't you check in with him first? He might have to force his role as your doctor since you clearly aren't taking your health seriously. And as he tends to you, giving you a full checkup he's thinking about how grateful he is that you weren't hurt.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel probably couldn't even focus on painting while you were gone. He made a few strokes with his brush and that was about it. The moment you came home felt like relief to him. He will not let go and will be extremely clingy which is rather unfortunate to your exhausted body. But he takes good care of you. He'll recharge your energy right away so you already feel better after a couple of days when normally you'd be knocked out for at least a week. And when you want to go away to rest in your own apartment and maybe not come out in like a week, he'll get very upset you're thinking about leaving his studio in the first place. Seriously?! You don't see each other for idk he can't count but you think one afternoon is enough for him to be satisfied from seeing you and let go? You're funny haha, please stay with him. please stay with him. please stay with him.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus doesn't see why you keep letting them overwork you when you could just switch to him; he would treat you better so much better. Whatever, he'll still let you rest before wanting to meet up because that usually leads to some very... interesting dates (flashbacks to all the times you've had to pull out a gun mid-date to take some enemies out). Also, he occupies himself when his favorite kitten is away. Despite your fatigue, you still open your phone to try and reach out to him, but if he's busy he'll send Luke and Kieran on errands to drop you stuff off, which he can and will go overboard with. Someone like you ought to get everything they need and his errand boys have to see that you're not left missing anything. Just because he's caught up in some business doesn't mean you have to be neglected. And you better be making sure you clear your schedule ahead of time because trust he will be making up his lack of time spent with you.

❦ Caleb knows exactly when you're home, matter of fact, he's right there waiting as soon as you unlock the door to receive you with open arms. He scares you because you don't remember giving him access to your apartment so how'd he get in? At the time you were more concerned about reaching your soft bed in time to crash. You don't even need to use your head to think anymore because he knows what you're thinking right now. You must be tired, right? So he already has your room cleaned and prepared, or he's also set up a place for you on the couch if that's what you prefer. If you're hungry he's willing to cook anything you want if he doesn't already have some five start meal warmed up on the stove ready to be served. You sure are lucky to have someone like him to automatically knows what you like, dislike and what you need in that exact moment. Surely, it's no coincidence how much he knows about you?

[g4rvez-r3id]

We Only See Each Other At Weddings & Funerals

Ex!Spencer Reid x Lamontagne!Fem!Reader

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 18x03 CRIMINAL MINDS: EVOLUTION ‼️ you have been warned!!

Summary: When your brother dies suddenly, your ex shows up to support you at his funeral. And you’re left wondering maybe if you two are worth trying again.

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: oh where to begin- ‼️ MAJOR SPOILERS FROM SEASON 18 OF CRIMINAL MINDS: EVOLUTION ‼️ established exes, death and grief and crying, reader being a tough gorl, mentions of the prison arc, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of divorce, minor mentions of S13 and S15, lack of communication, reader left spencer a note when she left, lowkey mommy issues, angst angst angst, sadness, reader breaks down, spencer and reader have a talk, spencer and reader are also still in love with each other, kind of an open ending

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! consider this my comeback of sorts- i was inspired after last week’s episode 🤭 and this just came to be! shoutout to @thegloryofliterature emme, my wifey— for helping me with the idea AND the title hehe and thank you to @cerisereids belle, for proofreading this for me, don’t know where i’d be without you, love! 😘 anyways, pls enjoy this (or not because it is angst— also angst written by me is always tugging at the heartstrings so SORRY) i love you all <33

Never ever did you think this day would happen so fast. You’d hoped that maybe it’d be in the far, far future. Where you were old and grey and that it’d be in his sleep. And hopefully, you’d be right behind him in that bracket— maybe within a few years. But never ever did you think that you’d be here for your own brother’s funeral.

Will was still so young, still needed to be there to raise his boys, to spend so many more years happy with his wife and his family. He was your older brother by a few years and getting that phone call nearly destroyed you when you got it.

You don’t even remember where you were, just that you answered JJ’s call and she’d told you right then and there. You almost didn’t believe her, but JJ would never ever lie about something like that. Especially regarding your brother. You’d almost passed out hearing the news, remembering how JJ once told you that she’d frozen when she saw her sister’s body in the bathroom. You felt as if you reacted very much the same way.

It was a rare thyroid aneurysm— he’d collapsed in the kitchen at home and died shortly afterwards. You’d known about his health issues, but you knew that he was in the clear. He was seeing an oncologist, he was doing the checkups. He was being careful.

And today was the day of the funeral— you’d tried your best to hold it together, for JJ and the boys. They really needed someone right now and your mother certainly wasn’t helping. Since finding out that Will had health issues and being angry at you and JJ for letting Will keep it from her— she was making things more complicated than they needed to be.

You honestly had more things to worry about than her— like your brother’s funeral, for starters. You had no time for her shenanigans and childish antics, you’d much rather focus on the boys and JJ.

It’s times like these where you wished Spencer was here. He was your ex-husband of eight years. You’d met him at JJ and Will’s wedding all those years ago and well, you two just hit it off. You understood his hours, you understood how his job was important and work always came first. And you understood, deciding your career was just as important as his— you’d followed your brother’s footsteps, as well as your late father’s.

Eventually, you two got married and you moved in with him and you guys were happy.

But then prison happened. He was arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. But he’d spent a long and painful three months and it nearly destroyed him. You were there every step of the way. Even after when he got back and went through those night terrors and staying up all hours of the night with him.

But luckily, you’d had good news for him to look forward to when he got back from there. You were pregnant— nearly four months along. You’d held on for so long for him, giving your all and trying to keep him satisfied but no matter how much he said he was happy with the outcome, you could tell in his eyes he was scared.

Your rough patch continued, but you both faked your ways through it. You would do anything to keep him here with you, to be happy with you. And eventually, you guys would be how you were before, right?

If only you didn’t have the miscarriage.

You were utterly devastated. How could you miss someone you never met? Just two days prior of the miscarriage, Spencer was beginning to come out of his shell, talking to the baby for hours that day.

And somehow, when you lost the baby— it made him so close yet so far from you. You were in bed for weeks afterward. And he left you alone for the most part, afraid to hurt you even more than he had already— from his perspective.

You kept trying after that, surprisingly— but his job was another thing getting in the way of your marriage. He was reinstated after the whole situation with the prison and was supposed to take 30 days off after every case and you had been happy to spend more time with him when you had found out but Spencer seemed to be less than thrilled at the news.

You were tired of the same patterns over and over. And then, he was kidnapped by a cult. And that seemed to have been your final straw. You’d gotten into a big argument with him, completely frustrated at the fact that you had found out hours after the fact and that no one had told you a single thing. But Spencer was confused. Why were you making such a big deal about this?

Years ago, you’d talked about this. Communication was key in your relationship and you recognized there was a lack of that as of that moment. And it was then, it seemed like you were looking in the eyes of a total stranger.

You’d gone to bed angry that night and when Spencer woke up that next morning, he woke up to a cold bed, the closet nearly empty and a note on the marble counter.

I’m sorry.

You’d left him the way his father had. The way Gideon had. And he blamed himself for that. This one was on him.

He tried reaching out to you after that. But your phone number had been completely been out of service. Spencer later found out that you had crashed at JJ and Will’s for a few weeks before moving back to New Orleans.

Since then, you and Spencer had not talked. Or seen each other in years. Of course, you’d sent him divorce papers and you’d both signed them, finalizing it and leaving it as it was.

You’d moved on, going back to your old job as a detective at the police station in New Orleans, had a few casual hookups every now and then— but no one ever compared to Spencer. You’d actually loved Spencer. You thought about calling him every now and then, coming close to doing so one Christmas before stopping yourself. He was your person, through and through.

You’d called your brother once in a while, hoping for some scrap of news about Spencer since he and JJ were best friends. But nothing ever came up. Until one day, you’d finally asked.

And that was the day you found out about Max.

His new girlfriend— someone he’d been seeing for just a few weeks. And now you wished you hadn’t asked. He moved on.

And why were you sad about it? This was what you wanted, right? How could he be open to another woman after you? After how he treated you? You’d hoped he licked his wounds clean and you hoped he was happy finally but you wish he’d done it for you. Why couldn’t he do it for you? His wife of eight years? You didn’t ask about him again after that.

Eventually, you missed the city and moved back to DC when your lease ran out. You’d gotten a small studio apartment, keeping to yourself like a creature of habit, not wanting anyone except for close family to know you were back home here.

It was easier, especially knowing Spencer wasn’t working at the BAU as much anymore. So he wasn’t around too much. JJ had mentioned a sabbatical he was taking. A tiny part of you wondered why. What he was doing. But you kept that to yourself.

You’d mostly spent your days off, spending time with your nephews and your brother while JJ was off being a badass. And you were closer to them than ever.

Which was why it was so hard when Will passed. It was sudden. You didn’t prepare for this. It was your father all over again when he died in Hurricane Katrina. As if that wasn’t hard on you already, you had to lose your brother, too.

And as much as your heart ached and how scared and angry you were, you had to keep it together. You couldn’t afford to break down, not here and certainly not now.

You were exposed to the empathy and pity on everyone’s faces, something you were getting used to in these last few days— as much as you hated it. Penelope was probably more of a wreck than you, Emily became a mother figure of sorts— more than your own mother was, at least. Dave was always there if you needed to talk, everyone supported your family in every way. Just not the one that mattered the most to you.

Last you heard, Emily had told him about your brother. And he’d sent flowers. But that was it.

Eventually, Tara had come into the church, telling you your mother was still refusing to come inside and that you were the only person who hadn’t tried to get her to come in and to give it a try. With a deep sigh, you prepared for your mother’s antics and hoped she wouldn’t make a big fuss over this but it was your mother. You knew her better than anyone. And right now, she was your only person in your family still alive.

You walked outside, walking towards her as she remained seated on the bench she parked herself at, chin held high and that smug look on her face. You always hated that look. You crossed your arms as you approached her and stopped in your tracks, looking at her and it was funny, because she was barely looking at you.

“They told me you were still out here,” You spoke, the breeze flowing through— the silence of the wind more louder than the silence with your mother. You were tired of this, fighting with her like you had your whole life. You just wanted this day to be over already and with her acting the way she did, wasn’t any help. Rolling your eyes and poking your tongue into the inside of your mouth, you sigh— “Mama, I don’t wanna fight with you today, will you just come into the church?”

Connie silently shook her head and honestly, you were getting fed up. “Mama, you are not the only person that lost somebody today. It hurts and I know it does but you not going in there, dishonors Will’s memory and you’re just being childish. Like you always are.”

“Now, you’re starting to sound like JJ there.” Connie finally speaks. “You have no idea what I am going through. You have no idea how hard this is. To lose your child.” Oh, you knew just as well as she did what it was like to lose a child. You never told your mother about your miscarriage. The only person you did tell was JJ, since she’d gone through the same thing and she was the only person that understood.

You bit your tongue, wanting to tell your mother how wrong she was for this, how childish she was being. But you didn’t want to yell outside of a church and you didn’t want anyone to hear so instead, you shook your head. “Well, when you’re ready to get your head out of your ass, you will come in there and be there for your son. Because you know just as well as anybody that Will would want you there. So, come in, don’t come in— I could give less of a shit.” You wave a hand dismissively at her, walking away before she can even get a word in.

Walking back towards the church, you’re at the entrance and you take a moment to get yourself together when you feel eyes on you. You’re not sure what compels you to turn around but you do anyways. And you’re not sure if maybe your eyes are deceiving you or maybe you’re having some kind of psychotic break due to the death of your brother. That would be a better explanation than seeing Spencer Reid standing right there.

For a moment, you wipe your eyes and blink because maybe there is a possibility you are seeing things. After a few blinks, nope — he’s real. And he’s just as shocked to see you standing right there. Maybe not shocked, I mean, Will was your brother. Or maybe a little stunned, seeing you right here. And so soon, before he can even enter the church.

You both stand and stare at each other in disbelief. Your heart is beating out of your chest, dropped down to your stomach, you’re frightened— like a child on the first day of school. Of all days, for him to show up. You felt like you were dreaming. You had to have been, right? This was all just one big dream or nightmare you were living in. It had to have been, right?

And suddenly, he’s walking closer to you and it feels less of a dream now. He still looks the same as he once did in the past. You felt like you’ve aged five years in five days— meanwhile, he still looks the same as he did when he turned thirty. He still wears that same dopey purple scarf, that’s been torn and gotten smaller and thinner since the last twenty years he’s used it. His hair is still crazy and you wonder if he has mismatched socks underneath the suit he’s currently wearing. (The answer will always be yes).

Your heart pounds in your chest, thumping so loudly, you can hear it. Because he’s here— he’s standing in front of you. So far, no words are exchanged between the pair of you. You stare at him, eyes grazing every inch of him. He’s taller than you remember. He’s built more… adult-like, funny enough. Even in his fourties’, he still walks like a tall child.

Your mind floods of memories of when you two were together. Your firsts — first kiss, first date, first time together— then your lasts. Last kiss, last time you spoke, the last time you shared the same bed. Guilt still riddles at you with the fact that you left him in the form of a note. The way his father once had, he was so hurt about it when he once told you. And then for you to do the same? You’d hate yourself if you were him. You wouldn’t hold it against him if he had bad blood with you.

You open your mouth finally— “A-Am I… Am I dreaming?” It’s silly, the way that that’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth seeing him. You wondered what your first words would be to each other if you were to see each other again. Would he tell you to fuck off? Would he ignore you and walk in the other direction?

Who were you kidding? Spencer had enough class to not do this the day of your brother’s funeral. The person you were the closest to besides him for a long, long time.

“No, you’re not.” Spencer tells you softly and you stare at him, vision blurring but you try and hide it from him. He was the only person you felt the most vulnerable with. And now, he was here— on one of the worst days of your life.

You brought him inside of the church, met with JJ, Michael and Henry as JJ was helping with Michael’s suit. Henry was the first to see his godfather, nudging his head along as he told his mom— “Told you he’d come.”

JJ looks at her son, not bothering to look in your direction as she asks— “Who?” Henry nudged his head again and this time, JJ turned and was met with Spencer — standing next to you. She was just as flabbergasted as you, eyes blinking like you’d done, too.

“Spence…” Spencer moved forward as he went to give JJ a heartwarming hug. “You came.” You walk towards them as Michael and Henry say their hellos to their godfather and you stand behind as they hug in a group. You find yourself, pulling back from tearing up once more.

Eventually, Spencer excuses himself to go and find his seat in one of the aisles. JJ keeps a close eye on you— knowing it was most likely hard for you to see him again. But you kept a brave face, she gave you the credit for that.

You walked arm in arm with her down that aisle— Henry on your side and Michael on hers. You continued to keep your brave face on. As much as you were dying inside.

You sat in front of the BAU team— Dave, Emily, Penelope and newly joined Spencer beside Penelope— Spencer sitting directly right behind you. You felt his stares the whole time as everyone shared their stories and moments celebrating Will. You couldn’t even focus as Penelope shared her story of how Will asked her to let him help her move into her apartment— that was how your brother was. Sweet as he was.

Soon enough, it was your turn. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you held your paper of what you wanted to say in your hands. You take a deep breath as you stand up at the pew— looking down at your brother’s casket before looking up towards your audience. You almost wished your mother was here. But you knew better.

Looking down at your paper, you clear your throat— praying your voice wouldn’t sound as hoarse as it has been the last few days due to crying. You look down at your paper and examine your writing. Did you even mean any of these words? Were these even your words? You take a sharp breath before deciding to fold up the paper and look towards everyone.

“I remember when Will and I were little,” You start to go off-script. You had no idea where you were going with this, but it certainly had to be better than what you wrote down. “Uh, we used to live near a park. He and I would go on the swings and he’d push me and I’d push him. And one day, I fell off the swings, as I would— and I scraped my knee pretty bad. And Will, being the caring older brother he was— helped patch up my knee and even kissed it better. I think that describes the type of person he was.”

You look down at your hands before shaking your head. “I am just… so… angry.” You turn to his casket as you continue to keep holding on for the sake of everyone watching you. Spencer stares up towards you. You look so different now, you were the same but you were so different at the same time. Your exterior was guarded, more so than before he even started dating you.

Part of him wondered if maybe he should’ve even shown up today. He debated it over and over in his head. He didn’t want to stress you even more out than how you were before. You just lost your brother, and he had lost you a long time ago. He didn’t want to tear up old wounds. But the other part of him knew he had to be there. For JJ. For the boys. And for you. No matter what happened in the past, no matter what you gone through— he still loved and cared for you deeply. And he’d always be there, no matter what.

“Will, you were the best brother I could ever have. I knew one day I’d outlive you but I didn’t think it’d be this soon. It shouldn’t have been this soon.” You blink a few tears away. It really shouldn’t have been this soon. “You still have boys to take care of. You still have me to take care of. How could you leave like this? You were supposed to still be here.” Your voice catches in your throat and you feel a presence behind you. “I hate you.” You shut your eyes. “But I love you… and I hope that… wherever you are… you’re not hurtin’ anymore.”

Finally, you turn but you don’t see the person you thought it would be. That person being Spencer. But instead, your mother— who has finally decided to come in here and be the parent you wanted her to be all along during this whole thing. She holds your hand, assuring to you that you are not alone in this. That she is here. And that the moral of the story is that you’ve both lost someone that was important in both of your lives.

During JJ’s speech, the eyes linger on you. His eyes. You were still keeping it together, what was that? Spencer had known you to be a very emotional person— in all the years that he’s known you, you were. Maybe after your breakup, you’d had no tears left to cry.

He kept his distance as you walked out into the cemetery, arm in arm with your mother— as they laid Will’s body to rest. Even then, you still had dry eyes.

You stayed there.

Even when your mother left.

Even after your nephews did.

Hell, even after Spencer walked JJ back to the car, you were still there. And he wondered if you were ever going to move.

Then, there was a moment where you thought you were alone. You stood in front of the grave, numb to all of the events from the last few days. This didn’t feel the same as losing your dad when he did in Hurricane Katrina. This didn’t feel the same as when your pet hamster, Wubzy, died when you were eight. This death… was the hardest one you were ever going to face in your life, it seemed. No, nothing compared to this.

Although it very much felt like you were alone, you weren’t. Not really.

“I thought you left.” You spoke out loud.

You waited for silence. He couldn’t have been waiting there, behind you.

“I didn’t.”

Spencer’s voice echoed through the breeze and you stood still as you felt him gaining closer behind you. And when you finally turned around, he was at least six inches away from you. You looked up at him and took a small sigh.

“Will’s dead.” You stated, like you were coming to terms with it. You tried to take a breath again. You didn’t want Spencer to see you break. But you’d remembered something. He was the one person who saw you break over and over again. He was always there. So, when you looked him in the eyes… truly and completely crushed at the fact that your brother was gone— you broke down.

The barrier between pain and suffering had finally broken you down. And all because of Spencer Reid. He’d wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly like he remembered you liked when you were upset. You’d always felt safe in his arms. You told him that the first time he held you. You sobbed into the lapels of his suit, bawling like no one was watching. And he let you. Like he knew you needed.

Spencer worried the emotional you was gone. But no, you were just being strong for everyone. Like you always had been. You’ve hardened since the last he saw you. But he always knew you put other people above yourself. And sometimes, you forgot— you were only human, too.

And then, he’d stayed with you. The whole time. You’d found a bench nearby and he was your shoulder to cry on. You stayed like that for a while. You had the reception to go to after this, but… they could wait. Right now, they could. You needed this moment to yourself. And frankly, Spencer thought so, too.

He rubbed your back, stayed silent until you were ready to talk. Listened while you tried to talk through your tears. Eventually, you calmed down. And using his shoulder didn’t seem appropriate anymore once you gained the knowledge that you were doing it in the first place.

So, after that, you just sat there in silence— and that was better than anything else. He didn’t say a word, you didn’t either. But you knew you had to say something. I mean, you were married to the guy for five years. You at least owed him some kind of explanation. You hadn’t talked to him in years.

“You didn’t have to… be here, you know.” You tell him, in all honesty. And you didn’t just mean the funeral, you also meant here and now. You didn’t deserve his kindness after everything you did. Completely going AWOL in your marriage, without another word.

Spencer opens his mouth and nods, “I know.” He stated. “But I wanted to be here. For you guys.”

“Then you should be with JJ,” You stood. “She and the boys need you more than I do. And they deserve it more than I do.” Spencer knew what you were talking about the way you left.

When he found that note on the kitchen table the day you left, of course, for some time— he was hurt. He was angry, how could you leave like that without another word? But after time (and therapy) — he understood why you left. Why you couldn’t bring yourself to do face to face. He wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be around at the time. Hell, he would’ve left himself, too after how he treated things with you. How lost he was, how scared he was and how often he took it out on you. You deserved better than that and at the time, he wasn’t it.

Spencer stood behind you, walking towards you, grabbing your hand and making you turn towards him. Eyes locked on one another and never leaving each other’s gazes. “I was never mad at you for leaving.” He admitted. Sure, at one point he was — but what was the point in holding grudges anymore?

You shook your head as the tears brimmed in your eyes again. “I would be,” You said. “I would be mad at me.”

Spencer’s hand moves from yours to the apple of your cheeks. He didn’t regret you. Not for a damn minute. And standing here, right in front of you— opened his eyes once more. He still loved you and he was sorry. Things didn’t work out the first time and maybe they’d never work again but he loved you. He knew that much.

Of course, he didn’t want you to know that. Not today, not this week— certainly not anytime soon until you were ready to hear him. But standing here… with you— brought back everything he washed away instead of dealing with it. He dealt with it by leaving his feelings alone. And now, all of a sudden— everything he knew brought him back to you. Could you have been the missing variable in his life again?

“Y/n,” Spencer looked you in the eyes. “I was going through something I couldn’t wrap my head around at the time. And you were on the receiving end of most of that. I dealt with things… but so did you. Me going to prison, the miscarriage.” You pause at this. It’d been a long time since you thought about the miscarriage. How things fell apart after that. “I wasn’t easy to deal with. I know.”

“I still left.” You argue. You didn’t deserve him treating you with kid gloves— too bad he didn’t agree. “It doesn’t matter now.” Spencer told.

You sniffle, looking up at him— remembering him as he once was. The person you counted on, the person you were married to and wanted a family with. The person you loved— possibly forever.

“I don’t deserve you,” You admit, staring into his eyes. “I don’t think I ever did.”

Spencer tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “You deserve every good thing in the world.” He tells. And he truly means it. He doesn’t want to open up those cans of worms so he seals the lid shut by wrapping his arm over yours so you can hold his arm. He always liked when you clinged to him in the past. And he was probably selfish to say that he still liked it now.

Spencer walked with you, your head resting on his shoulder as you made your way out of the cemetery, saying goodbye to your brother as well as saying goodbye to the pain, shame and guilt you’d had for years before finally talking to Spencer. Well, he mostly talked— you denied receiving anything from him because you felt as if you didn’t deserve it.

One day, maybe you’ll understand why he chose to forgive you. Maybe it was because of the day. Maybe one day, in the long run, he’d blame you. But for now, you could settle for being content— being in a good place with him. Like you yearned for over the years. You missed that. You missed him. And you missed how you two were.

And maybe one day, you’ll find your footing with him again. Maybe you two will get it right this time.

And if not? Well, you would just have to wait and see. And you were fine with waiting.

[wqnwoos]

⇢ pairing. choi seungcheol x reader ⇢ genre. situationship au, fluff ⇢ word count. approx. 1k ⇢ author’s note! this one is for an anon who requested magnets by niki as the inspiration!! i'd never heard this song before but i listened late last night and was struck with inspo.. so here u go! i also listened to seasons by wave to earth while writing.

You’re perched on the edge of Seungcheol’s windowsill, knees drawn to your chest, cheek pressed lightly against the cool glass. Outside, traffic hums in the distance, muffled by the gentle spatter of rain. The glow of the city casts ghostlike reflections onto the pane—streetlights bending into gold veins reflected across your skin.

Behind you, you can hear the soft shuffle of movement from the kitchen, where Seungcheol is making you tea. He doesn’t drink tea himself, but he keeps it in his cupboards for you, for late nights like this where you show up with rain in your hair and silence in your throat, and all he knows how to do is make warmth out of small things — boiling water, soft light, and the quiet way he tugs you out of your head.

You’ve been in your head a lot, recently. Thinking about yourself, thinking about Seungcheol. There’s something about the way you and he move; never quite touching, but always leaning in. A gravity between bodies that don’t need words to feel the pull. You orbit each other in silence, in glances, in the way his presence fills in the spaces you forget to. A closeness that hums even from across the room. 

You’ve known Seungcheol for two years now. Two years of almosts — almost too much laughter, almost too many shared glances, almost too many moments where the line between friends and something more was blurred. And yet, every time you felt like you were about to fall, you both stepped back, pretending the space between you was fine, even though you could feel the magnetism. He had always been there, waiting for you to make the first move. You had always been afraid of the leap.

You speak without turning around. “Do you think magnets ever get tired?”

His movements pause. You hear the faint clink of porcelain against wood.

“Tired?” he echoes.

You nod, still watching the world blur outside the window. “Of always pulling at something. Of never resting. Always attracting, never letting go.” You’re not really talking about magnets. You think he knows that.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. You finally turn to look at him, and find his brow gently furrowed, hands still cupped around the mug he’s made for you, steam curling upward like breath.

“Maybe,” he says at last, as he walks over and sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. He hands you the mug. “But I don’t think they mind, as long as the pull goes both ways.”

His fingers brush yours as you take it. That touch — brief, warm, intentional — echoes like a quiet bell in your chest. You wonder, not for the first time, how something so small can carry so much weight.

You tuck your legs under you, cradling the mug in your hands, flicking your eyes to the window, and then back to him. “And what if one of them stops?”

His gaze stays on you, searching. “Then the other has to decide,” he says softly, “whether to keep holding on.” Or let go.

The silence that stretches after that is not empty. It’s thick with the weight of all the things neither of you has ever dared to say out loud. The way your conversations always hover on the edge of something deeper, yet never quite cross the line. The way his home is always open to you, even after everyone else has left. The quiet pull that keeps you near, even when neither of you knows how to let go. 

The way you always come back, even when you probably shouldn’t.

You sip the tea. It’s sweet and slightly herbal, your favourite. The kind of remembering that’s quiet and constant.

“Do you think we missed our moment?” you ask, your voice small.

He turns fully to face you now, eyes are so gentle it breaks something loose inside you.

“No,” he says. “No, I don’t think we have.”

Your breath catches, and Seungcheol takes your hand. For the first time, he holds it like a promise.

His gaze drops for a second, then lifts back to yours. There’s no hesitation in it, only vulnerability. You look down at your interlaced fingers. The way his thumb moves in slow arcs over your skin. The way your whole body hums like a struck chord. 

It’s terrifying, how simple this could be.

When he kisses you, it’s gentle, at first, barely even there. But it builds, slowly, his hand cradling your cheek, and everything about the way he touches you is careful. Reverent. Like he’s waited his whole life for this.

When you pull away, your eyes stay closed for a second longer. When you open them, he’s already looking at you like you’ve answered a question he never knew how to ask.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. You’re not stepping back this time. “To pretending we’re just... this.”

Seungcheol smiles, squeezes your hand. “Okay,” he says, softly. “Then we won’t.”

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[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 23

˗ˏˋmatching threads ˎˊ˗

"You didn’t expect Jungkook’s birthday to end with soft talks about Mayer, thunderstorms and stupid craft projects. And yet, here you are."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9.5k

content: delayed gifts, hand brushing, subtle comfort, emotional hypervigilance, miscommunication, clashing attachment styles, slow understanding, quiet intimacy, unexpected softness, bittersweet memories, trauma-informed reactions, symbolic objects, real conversations, familial grief undertones, perceptive but clueless boys, warmth in small gestures, psychological contrast, vulnerability denial, casual closeness, accidental meaning, rain metaphors.

Kiki Nation’s official discussion thread for FMU 23

✧ author's note ✧

This chapter made me feel some type of way, and not in the thirst-posting way for once (shocking, I know). There’s a softness to it that snuck up on me. Like I sat down to write what I thought would be a moment of transition, and ended up face-planting into the kind of quiet, delicate intimacy that’s so often overlooked both in fiction and real life. So here I am, feeling dumb and raw and tender over two forks.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Chapter 21, specifically that hand-touch moment—how subtle it was, and how I never explicitly addressed it in the narration because I didn’t want to. That’s the thing with psychologically driven writing: you’re not meant to be spoon-fed emotional meaning. You’re supposed to notice the tiny things. The almosts. The unspoken. The instinctive kindness that isn’t necessarily romantic, but still manages to get under your skin. That’s what that subway touch was. Not Jungkook being in love. Not a declaration. Just him, in his purest, most unaware form—being soft. Gentle. Deeply perceptive in a way that hurts because it’s so unconscious.

And that’s what this whole chapter is circling around. It’s not about a confession. It’s not even about clarity. It’s about conflict—internal, relational, unintentional conflict between people who are shaped by opposite emotional mechanisms.

Jungkook isn’t emotionally open, but he acts open because he’s thoughtful. Reader is emotionally hyperaware, but she reacts closed-off, because she’s scared and guarded. He acts without thinking deeply about it. She thinks deeply and then doesn’t act. They miss each other again and again not because they don’t care, but because their blueprints don’t match. And yet—they try. Or maybe, they accidentally try. And isn’t that so real?

One of them touches without thinking. The other flinches while overthinking. One gives a gift like it’s nothing. The other interprets it like it’s everything. They’re both right. They’re both wrong. That tension? That’s the story.

This chapter doesn’t show love blooming. It shows understanding struggling to sprout in barren soil.

They have so much ahead of them, so many versions of themselves they haven’t grown into yet. This moment is not culmination—it’s foundation. It matters. It matters more than if they’d just fucked again. Because emotional timing? Matters. And this wasn’t the time for sex. It was the time for emotionally loaded shit I can’t name because you haven’t read the chapter yet, but is now haunting me forever.

Read slow. Read deep. Look for the invisible thread. That’s where the truth is.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Walking back into the karaoke room feels like entering a different dimension—one where rooftop confessions and ex-girlfriend confrontations don't exist.

The noise hits you first, a wall of sound that's almost physical in its intensity. Hobi is mid-Mariah, belting out a note that should probably be classified as a war crime, while Ryan and Seth egg him on with increasingly chaotic dance moves. Tessa's doubled over laughing on the couch next to Diana, both of them recording the spectacle on their phones. Yeji and Irya are engaged in what appears to be a heated debate with Jimin over whether Britney or Christina had the better 90s catalog. Yoongi watches it all from his corner seat, expression caught somewhere between amusement and exhaustion.

"Holy shit, he's alive!" Kevin shouts when Jungkook steps through the doorway. 

The room erupts in cheers and catcalls, like they're welcoming a returning champion rather than someone who disappeared for half an hour.

"Dude, we thought you fell in," David calls out, raising his drink in salute. "World's longest bathroom break."

"Nah, he was definitely sneaking in a Clash Royale marathon," Kevin argues, tossing an empty cup that Jungkook easily dodges. "Probably hiding in a stall like a true gamer."

"You wish your stats were as good as mine," Jungkook fires back, slipping effortlessly into the friendly banter like he wasn't just having some kind of existential crisis on the rooftop. 

It's impressive, really—the way he can flip that switch, become this version of himself that fits perfectly into the chaos around him.

While everyone's attention is focused on Jungkook's triumphant return, Taehyung makes a beeline for Yoongi and Hobi, who've gravitated toward each other in a corner of the room. 

You're not trying to eavesdrop, exactly, but you happen to be standing close enough to hear the urgent whisper:

"He was on the roof."

The effect is immediate. Both Yoongi and Hobi snap their heads toward Taehyung, their expressions shifting so quickly it's almost comical—except there's nothing funny about the naked fear that flashes across their faces.

"It wasn't like that!" Jungkook interrupts, appearing beside them with surprising speed. His voice is a harsh whisper-shout, barely audible over the music but intense enough to make all three of his friends freeze. "I just needed air. Seriously."

"Bro..." Yoongi's voice is low, the single syllable carrying more weight than it should.

"Jungkook, you know how that looks to us," Hobi says, softer but no less serious. 

"I know. I'm sorry," Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you're starting to recognize as his nervous tic. "But it wasn't... that. I swear. I just went there to think."

"After seeing her?" Taehyung presses, still tense.

"Yeah," Jungkook admits, "but it wasn't—look, can we not do this right now? It's fine. I'm fine."

There's clearly more to whatever ‘it’ is—something significant enough to make three grown men look like they've seen a ghost. 

But Jungkook's expression makes it clear the discussion is over, at least for now.

You should probably stop pretending to be fascinated by the karaoke song list and move away before they realize you're listening. 

But before you can, Jungkook abruptly changes the subject, his voice rising to a cheerful pitch that sounds slightly forced.

"Alright, alright!" He claps his hands together, turning to face the room. "So... birthday gifts for the birthday boy?"

The tension shatters as the crowd erupts in excited chatter. Seth whoops loudly, and someone (Ryan, you think) starts an off-key rendition of ‘For He's A Jolly Good Fellow’ that quickly derails into chaos. Jungkook's shoulders visibly relax as the attention shifts from whatever just happened to the much safer territory of presents.

One by one, people approach with gifts—some wrapped beautifully, others clearly hastily stuffed into whatever bag was available. 

Taehyung goes first, handing over a sleek black box tied with a simple red ribbon.

"Don't make it weird," he warns as Jungkook takes it.

Inside is what appears to be a ridiculously expensive camera lens. You don't know enough about photography to identify it, but based on the way Jungkook's eyes widen and his mouth forms a perfect ‘o,’ it's something significant.

"Dude," he breathes, lifting it carefully like it might shatter. "This is—holy shit, Tae."

"Yeah, well." Taehyung shrugs, but you catch the pleased smile he tries to hide. "You've been whining about needing a better wide-angle for your urban shots, so."

Jungkook looks genuinely moved, holding the lens like it's made of gold. "I can't believe you remembered."

"I always remember," Taehyung says simply, and the way he says it that makes you think he means more than just camera preferences.

Hobi goes next, presenting a sleek box containing what looks like high-end wireless headphones. 

“For all those late-night production sessions," he explains with a grin. "So we don't have to hear your trash music taste through the walls anymore."

"You love my music, asshole," Jungkook laughs, already testing them out.

"I love peace more," Hobi retorts, but he's beaming as Jungkook gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Yoongi's gift is less physical—a card containing what appears to be a voucher for studio time. 

“Booked you sixteen hours at Blueline," he says with characteristic understatement. "For that soundtrack project you mentioned."

Jungkook looks up from the card, something like disbelief crossing his face. "Dude, Blueline is impossible to get into. How did you—"

"I know people," Yoongi shrugs. "Just don't waste it making crap."

"I would never disrespect the temple," Jungkook promises solemnly, pressing the card to his heart with mock reverence.

The gift-giving continues, a parade of thoughtful items that speak to genuine friendship: rare vinyl records, vintage film books, an artisan coffee setup that makes Jungkook actually bounce with excitement. 

It's sweet, really—seeing him surrounded by people who clearly know him well, who've put thought into what he'd like.

And then it hits you.

Fuck.

The Mayer vinyl. Sitting on your dresser at home, still in its brown paper wrapping from that record store in Williamsburg. 

Because okay, first of all—who brings a fragile vinyl record to MOMA and then a karaoke bar? 

You simply had no way of bringing it without raising suspicions. 

And maybe asking Yoongi for help bringing it over would’ve made it look like you cared, so.

The gifts are winding down, and Jungkook is making his rounds, thanking everyone with what seems like genuine gratitude. He looks happier now, more relaxed—whatever happened with Mia and on the rooftop temporarily forgotten in the warmth of celebration.

You're contemplating whether you should make up some excuse about your gift when suddenly he's right there, appearing in your peripheral vision like he materialized out of thin air.

"So," he says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leans just a bit too close. "Where's my present, Pyx?"

The nickname rolls off his tongue, familiar enough now that you've stopped rolling your eyes every time he uses it. (Mostly.)

"At home," you admit, trying to sound casual and not like someone who completely failed at basic gift logistics.

"Oh?" 

His lips purse, fighting back what's clearly a smirk. 

The glint in his eye is positively dangerous. 

"At home?"

Your cheeks heat up against your will. 

“Not—I don't mean it like that," you stammer, realizing too late how your answer could be interpreted. "I mean I literally left it at the apartment. It wouldn't fit in my bag."

"Big gift, huh?" he murmurs, leaning even closer. His breath brushes your ear, warm and smelling faintly of vanilla. "I'm intrigued."

"It's just a thing," you say lamely. "Nothing special."

"I'd honestly be happy with the other interpretation, for the record," he continues like you haven't spoken, voice dropping to a register that should be illegal in public spaces. 

"In your dreams," you scoff, but it comes out weaker than intended.

"Every night," he confirms, that infuriating smirk spreading across his face now. "Detailed, technicolor dreams. Sometimes you even—"

"Boundaries, Rogue," you cut him off, pressing a finger against his lips. "We're in public."

"That didn't stop you earlier," he whispers, gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest second. "On the roof?"

"That was different."

"Different how?"

"We were alone then."

"We could be alone again," he suggests, voice casual but eyes anything but. "Plenty of dark corners in this building."

"You're incorrigible."

"You like it."

Before you can come up with a suitably cutting response, Ryan's voice cuts through the general noise of the room: "Yo, I'm gonna crash out! It's getting late!"

The announcement triggers a cascade of similar declarations. 

Suddenly people are gathering coats, exchanging final birthday wishes, making plans to meet up later in the week. The energy in the room shifts from celebration to conclusion, that particular lull that comes at the end of a good night.

As people begin filing out, Seth materializes beside you, a confident smile plastered across his face that probably works on most girls but just makes you want to step back a foot or three.

"So," he says, leaning in close enough that you can smell the tequila on his breath, "I was thinking I should get your number. You know, to hang out sometime."

"Uhhh," you stall, searching for a polite rejection. "No thanks."

His smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. 

“Come on, we had fun tonight, right? Just give me your number. I promise I'll only use it for emergencies." He winks, like this is some clever line that's going to change your mind.

"I said no thanks," you repeat, firmer this time.

"Don't be like that," he persists, stepping even closer. "Just your number. What's the big deal?"

You're about to tell him exactly what the big deal is when Jungkook appears at your side, his expression suddenly hard.

"Bro," he says, annoyance coloring his tone, "can't you see she ain't interested?"

Seth blinks, looking between you and Jungkook. "I'm just asking for her number, man. No harm in that."

"Except she already said no. Twice." Jungkook's tone is still light, but there's an edge to it now. "So maybe take the hint?"

For a moment, Seth looks like he might argue. Then he sighs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

"Fine, whatever. Your loss," he adds, with a final glance your way before merging back into the departing crowd.

"How is that your friend?" you ask once he's safely out of earshot, genuinely baffled that someone like Jungkook would hang out with such a persistent creep.

"He isn't, technically," Jungkook shrugs, watching Seth's retreating back with a slightly disgusted look. "He's Ryan's friend, who sometimes hangs out with Ryan, and so with us too. Definitely not my pick for the squad."

"Thank god for small mercies," you mutter, and he laughs, the tension from the Seth encounter dissipating as quickly as it arrived.

Jungkook steps back from you, that heated moment dissipating as he slips back into social host mode. You watch as he makes his rounds, thanking everyone for coming, accepting final hugs and handshakes. He's good at this—making each person feel individually appreciated, remembered. 

It's a side of him you are staring to recognize more and more often. 

When he reaches Tessa, you notice how his posture softens slightly. He says something that makes her laugh, tucking that perfect auburn hair behind her ear in a gesture that's both shy and flirtatious.

"You need a ride?" he asks her, and you barely manage to overhear. "I can call an Uber."

"No need," she smiles, gesturing toward Diana. "We're sharing a car. Diana lives just a few blocks from me."

"Good," he nods, looking genuinely relieved. "Text when you get home safe?"

It's sweet, the way he's concerned for her safety. Not what you'd expect from the guy who leaves his dirty dishes in the sink for days and thinks changing the toilet paper roll is optional. 

But then again, tonight has been full of surprises when it comes to Jungkook.

"Will do," Tessa promises, then hesitates before leaning in to give him a quick hug. "Happy birthday, Jungkook."

You watch them, something jittery settling in your chest. 

His lucky ass might actually score someone genuinely nice and put-together, who seems to actually like him beyond just his face and body. 

Good for him. 

Good for her, even, if she can't see that she's way out of his league.

Ten minutes later, the room has mostly cleared. Only your strange merged group remains—Yeji and Irya saying their goodbyes to Jimin by the door, while Taehyung, Hobi, Yoongi, Jungkook, and you linger in a loose circle near the couches.

"Subway?" Yoongi asks, addressing both you and Jungkook with his usual economy of words.

Jungkook nods, glancing at his phone. "Still running for another hour."

"I'll walk with you guys to the station," Taehyung offers, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"Nah, you're uptown. That's the opposite direction."

"I don't mind."

"I'm fine, Tae," Jungkook says firmly, and there's a weight to the words that seems to carry a conversation from earlier. "Really."

Taehyung doesn't look convinced, but after a moment of silent communication, he relents. "Text me when you get home."

"Yes, mom."

"I'm serious."

"I know," Jungkook's tone softens. "I will."

The farewells are quick after that—Hobi heading uptown with Taehyung, Jimin walking Yeji and Irya to their car, and the three of you—you, Jungkook, and Yoongi—making your way toward the subway station that will take you back to your shared apartment.

It feels like you've been gone for days rather than hours—like the person who left the apartment this morning for her first day at Barnes & Noble somehow isn't quite the same one heading home now.

But that's a thought for another time, when your head isn't fuzzy with tequila and your feet aren't aching from standing half the night.

For now, you just follow your roommates through the city streets toward the subway station, the quiet between you comfortable in a way it hasn't been before.

The subway car at this hour is practically abandoned—just a few night owls and the occasional service worker scattered across the seats like human tumbleweeds. 

Yoongi claims a seat by the door, immediately slipping his AirPods exactly like someone who's perfected the art of social avoidance. Within seconds, his head is tilted back against the subway wall, eyes closed. 

Either he's fallen asleep that quickly, or he's just really committed to pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Jungkook drops into the seat beside him, legs splayed wide in that uniquely male way that screams ‘my balls need their own zip code.’ You take the spot next to him, trying to claim whatever minimal space is left.

Like seriously? There are literally twenty empty seats.

You nudge your knee pointedly against his. "Do you mind?"

"Wha?" He glances down, genuinely confused.

"The manspreading, bro," you gesture at his legs. "You're taking up enough space for three people."

He grins, completely unashamed. "I need to air out the jewels."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You swat his arm, genuinely annoyed. "That's exactly the problem with guys like you. Public space isn't designed for your testicle ventilation system."

"Guys like me?" He raises an eyebrow, still smirking but at least looking slightly less smug.

"Yes. Guys who think their comfort is more important than the space of everyone around them." You're on a roll now, the combination of lingering tequila and genuine irritation fueling your feminist rant. "Women are literally conditioned to take up as little space as possible, to cross our legs, to fold ourselves into tiny spaces, while men just spread out like they own the world. It's literally a physical manifestation of patriarchal entitlement."

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something closer to actual consideration. 

He glances down at his legs, then at the way you've automatically tucked yours together to accommodate his sprawl.

"Shit, I sound like a TikTok right now, don't I?" you mutter.

"No, no," he says, actually shifting his legs together. "You're not wrong. I didn't really think about it that way."

Wait. What?

"You're just saying that because it's your birthday and you think you get a free pass," you say suspiciously.

"No, I actually get it," he says, looking strangely thoughtful. "My mom used to call me out for the same shit. Called it 'man space disease.' Said my dad had it too."

And now you don't know what to do with yourself. 

Because what the actual fuck? 

How are you supposed to maintain righteous irritation when he just... listens? Takes criticism? Brings up his mom in a way that makes him seem like an actual human person with a past and stuff?

Goddammit. Now you can't even properly be mad at him, which somehow makes you even more annoyed. 

"Anyway," you say, desperate to change the subject before you lose all moral high ground. "Happy birthday again or whatever."

"Thanks," he says, and then adds, "for everything. The museum was actually cool. Didn't know you had taste, Phee."

"I'm literally an English major."

"Yeah, but that just means you read boring-ass books from dead white guys."

"That's... not what English degrees are about," you sputter. "And I bet 90% of your film classes are just Scorsese and Tarantino circle jerks."

He laughs, a genuine sound that echoes in the empty subway car. "Fuck, you got me there. Though Tarantino is—"

"If you say 'ahead of his time,' I will push you onto the tracks at the next stop."

"I was gonna say overrated, actually. Everyone loses their mind over Pulp Fiction, but honestly? Mid."

You blink, genuinely surprised. "Okay, that's the most correct opinion you've ever had."

"I have tons of correct opinions. You just never ask me about them."

"Sure, like your opinion that coffee is better than tea?"

"Because it is!"

"That whole statement is a crime, is what it is."

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and leans back, conversation over because he’s clearly not arguing over this. 

So the subway rattles on, the rhythmic clacking of wheels against track filling the silence. 

Your thoughts drift to earlier tonight—to that moment on the first subway ride when his hand had brushed against yours. 

Just a whisper of contact, his pinky grazing yours on the metal bar.

Why did he do that? What was the deal with that?

The question nags at you, an itch you can't scratch. Not because it matters in any deep way—obviously it doesn't—but because puzzling out Jungkook's behavior is becoming something of a hobby. 

A frustrating, often pointless hobby, but still.

"Hey," you say before you can talk yourself out of it. "Question for you."

He turns toward you, eyebrows raised slightly. "Shoot."

"Earlier, on the subway..." You hesitate, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing it up. "You kind of touched my hand on the bar? What was that about?"

"Huh?" He looks genuinely confused for a moment, then recognition dawns. "Oh! That."

He says it so casually, like it wasn't something worth remembering. Which it isn't. Obviously.

"I just noticed you had a panic attack this morning," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "In my room."

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprise making your pulse quicken. "How did you—"

"I passed by and heard your breathing," he explains, shrugging like this is a completely normal thing to say. "But I didn't want to intrude. Since it's something very personal and knowing you..." 

He looks to the side as he gestures vaguely. 

"Well, I don't think you'd have appreciated me barging in, so I just went back to cooking my super pancakes."

You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

Who… Who the fuck is this dude? When did Jungkook develop this thoughtful, considerate side? Is he possessed? Should you be checking for pod people?

"So on the subway," he continues, oblivious to your internal crisis, "I dunno, I felt you had off vibes, and—"

"Again with the vibes?" You can't help but interject.

He laughs, the sound sharp and genuine. "Bro, you had this face like the sad hamster meme and I couldn't take it. That's why I brushed your hand. Reassurance, y'know?"

"The... sad hamster meme?" you repeat, incredulous.

He whips out his phone, types something, then shows you the screen: a round-faced hamster looking depressed as hell, its tiny eyes radiating existential despair.

"That's not—I don't look like that!" you protest.

"You literally did. One hundred percent emotional support hamster energy."

"I will actually murder you in your sleep."

His expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across his features.

"My mom—" 

He cuts himself off, suddenly looking down at his lap.

But somehow, he decides to continue.

"My mom used to do that for me, so I thought it might help. The hand thing. Not calling you a hamster," he clarifies quickly. "Just a small touch when I was stressed. Sorry if it was weird."

Oh.

"No, no, it wasn't weird," you say quickly. 

The image of a younger Jungkook, being comforted by his mother with small touches, is annoyingly humanizing. 

Couldn't he just stay a two-dimensional asshole? Would make life so much simpler.

"No?" He looks up, searching your face.

"...No." You clear your throat, trying to regain your footing. "It's kind of nice, actually. That you're this attentive." 

You clear your throat then; but it’s like the air is getting stuck in your throat at the sudden sincerity of this conversation.

So you can't help adding: "I guess. Could've apply it to the household, you know? Like maybe notice when the trash needs taking out?"

He snorts at that, the weird moment breaking; and you couldn’t be happier.

“One step at a time, Pyx. One step at a time."

"So your observational skills only work when it comes to me having panic attacks, not when the dishes need doing?" 

"I have selective observation abilities," he admits with a grin. "Like a very specific superpower."

"World's shittiest X-Man," you mutter. "'I'm Emotional Support Man. I can tell when you're sad but can't locate the broom.'"

He laughs, harder this time. "Fuck, that's actually my brand. Can I put that in my Instagram bio?"

"Only if you credit me."

"Deal."

The subway lurches around a corner, and you both sway with the movement. You catch Yoongi cracking one eye open, glancing at you both before apparently deciding you're not interesting enough to stay awake for and closing it again.

"So like, you must be psyched about the studio time from Yoongi," you say, genuinely curious about this part of Jungkook's life that you know almost nothing about.

"Dude, you have no idea. Blueline is like..." he gestures expansively, searching for the right words, "it's basically where half the top-charting albums from last year were produced. Their equipment is insane. Sixteen hours there is worth like, a month in a regular studio."

"And he just... got that for you? Just like that?"

"Yoongi knows people," Jungkook says, with a hint of pride. "He's lowkey connected as fuck in the music scene. Doesn't talk about it much, but he's got production credits on some tracks that went viral last year."

"Wait, seriously? Yoongi? Our Yoongi? The guy who speaks like four words a day?"

"That's his whole strategy," Jungkook whispers dramatically, leaning closer like he's sharing state secrets. "The less he says, the more people think he's some kind of genius."

"Is it working?" you ask, also whispering despite yourself.

He grins. "I mean, he got me sixteen hours at Blueline, so yeah, I'd say it's working pretty well."

"What are you gonna do there?"

"I'm scoring a short film by this director I know. Nothing major, just like a fifteen-minute thing, but I've been wanting to experiment with this sound for a while—like lo-fi beats but with some orchestral elements mixed in. Kind of a vibe Jonny Greenwood meets Nujabes thing, if that makes sense?"

It doesn't, really, but the way his eyes light up as he talks about it is surprisingly engaging. 

Cute.

Because that’s Jungkook when he talks about something he cares deeply about. He just… gestures as he explains, hands moving expressively, and his entire demeanor changes.

"That's actually really cool," you admit before you can stop yourself.

"Yeah?" He looks genuinely pleased by your approval, which is weird. Since when does he care what you think? "You should come by sometime. Check it out."

"I didn't know you were into all that," you say, genuinely curious now. "The music stuff, I mean. I knew about the film major, but..."

"I'm a man of many talents, Phee," he says with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Okay, and we're back to you being insufferable. That was a nice five-minute break."

He laughs, not at all offended. "Can't let you get too comfortable. Gotta keep you on your toes."

The subway announcement system announces your stop is next. 

Yoongi's eyes open immediately, like he has some kind of sixth sense for exactly when to wake up. He removes his AirPods, tucking them into his pocket as he stands.

"You coming?" he asks, directing the question to both of you but somehow making it sound like he couldn't care less either way.

"Yeah, yeah," Jungkook says, already standing. 

He offers you a hand up, the gesture casual but unexpected.

You hesitate for just a second before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand is warm, the calluses from guitar playing rough against your palm. And then he drops it as soon as you're standing, no lingering, no loaded moment. Just a simple courtesy.

But it’s the normal, everyday nature of the gesture that throws you. 

Like this is just what you do now—casual, friendly touches that mean nothing beyond basic human interaction.

The subway slows as it approaches your stop, and you grab the pole to steady yourself, pushing this strange new dynamic to the back of your mind to examine later. 

When you're alone. 

And preferably sober.

You've never heard Griffin meow that loudly outside of dinner time, and even then, it's not this fucking dramatic.

The elevator doors have barely slid open when the unholy feline screeching hits your ears—a sound that could only be described as a cat being simultaneously vacuumed and baptized against its will.

"What the fuck?" you mutter, already picking up your pace toward the apartment door.

Jungkook's reaction is instantaneous. One second he's trudging beside you, still talking about some obscure music producer, and the next he's bolting down the hallway like someone lit his ass on fire.

"Griffin!" His voice carries genuine panic as he fumbles with his keys, hands suddenly clumsy with urgency.

You follow right behind him, though your motivations are decidedly less noble. 

The building has a strict no-pets policy, and the last thing you need is to get evicted because Jungkook's furry contraband is having a meltdown at 1 AM.

"Jesus Christ, let me do it," you hiss, shoving at his hands. "You're gonna wake up the whole floor."

"I got it, I got it," he insists, still struggling with the lock as Griffin continues his banshee impression on the other side of the door.

"Clearly you don't got it," you argue, trying to wrestle the keys from his grip. "You're making it worse!"

"Can you just—will you just—give me a second—"

You're both so busy fighting over the keys that neither of you notices Yoongi until he's physically shoving both of you aside with surprisingly pointy elbows.

"Move," he grunts, extracting his own key and long since given up on expecting basic competence from either of you.

The lock clicks open, and the door swings wide just in time for an orange blur to come rocketing out into the hallway. 

Griffin shoots between your legs like he's auditioning for some Usain Bolt competition (but make it feline), though to no avail, because Jungkook's reflexes are impressively fast. 

Three quick strides and he's scooping the cat up, cradling him against his chest.

"Hey, hey, buddy, what's wrong?" he murmurs, immediately checking the cat for injuries. "You okay? What happened?"

Griffin, now safely ensconced in Jungkook's arms, has miraculously stopped his caterwauling and is instead purring loud enough to vibrate the hallway. 

The little shit.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, tell your cat to shut the fuck up," you hiss, glancing nervously toward neighboring doors. "You know the neighbors are gonna snitch if he keeps that up."

"No they won't," he says with the confidence of someone who's never faced consequences for anything in his life. "They all love me."

You blink. "You know all the neighbors?"

He just shrugs, already carrying Griffin back into the apartment like the entire dramatic episode never happened.

Yoongi, having completed his sole contribution to the crisis, is already disappearing into his bedroom, door clicking shut behind him with a finality that says ‘do not disturb under penalty of death.’

You stand awkwardly in the entryway, fidgeting with your keys, suddenly hyperaware that you're alone with Jungkook for the first time since... whatever that moment on the rooftop was.

He snorts, still cradling Griffin like a baby. 

"So where's my gift?"

Of course. Of course he couldn't just let it go. Had to make things weird and awkward because god forbid Jungkook let any interaction proceed without maximum discomfort.

You grunt noncommittally and trudge to your bedroom, pointedly closing the door behind you. 

There, sitting innocently on your dresser, is the crumpled paper bag from the flea market. 

Inside is the stupid vinyl record you'd impulsively bought for fifteen bucks because it had "John Mayer" on it and you vaguely remembered Jungkook had a vinyl wall with what looked like Mayer albums.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

Now, you're not so sure.

But it's not like you have any alternatives, and you did promise him a gift, so...

You grab the bag and head back out, careful not to make eye contact. You have no idea why you're suddenly nervous about this. It's just a vinyl. Probably one he already has. No big deal either way.

"Here," you say, thrusting the paper bag toward him.

He quirks an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by the plainness of your offering. 

What was he expecting? A fucking gift-wrapped Ferrari?

He sets Griffin down carefully on the armchair before taking the bag from you. The cat immediately curls into a perfect circle, clearly untroubled by whatever had sent him into hysterics five minutes ago.

Jungkook pulls the vinyl from the bag with deliberate slowness, like he's trying to extend the suspense. A small smile forms on his lips when he sees it's a record, but then—

His face contorts into an expression you can't begin to interpret. 

It's like watching someone cycle through all five stages of grief in under five seconds, ending on some emotion that looks like he might either laugh hysterically or have a stroke.

Your stomach drops. Fuck. You knew it. He already has it. Or worse, he hates this album. 

Great going, genius. You had one job.

"Nix," he starts, his voice strangled.

"It's fine," you interject quickly, already looking away and biting your lip. "I mean, if you already—"

"Phoenix."

Something in the way he says your nickname—your full nickname, not the shortened version—makes you reluctantly look back at him.

He's not... mad. Or disgusted. Or disappointed. 

If anything, he looks... stunned? 

His eyes are practically twinkling, like you just handed him the fucking Holy Grail instead of a dusty old record.

"Where the fuck..." he starts, then shakes his head slightly. "Where the fuck did you get this, Nix?"

You blink, caught off guard by his reaction.

"I—a girl has her secrets," you mumble, because no way in hell are you admitting you found it in a five-dollar bin at a flea market.

"This is Inside Wants Out," he says, staring at the record like it might vanish if he blinks.

"Yup. That's what it says," you confirm, pointing unnecessarily at the album title clearly printed on the cover.

Like, yeah. Thanks for confirming he can read. At least he’s not that stupid. 

"It's John Mayer, right...? I thought... I mean since your whole vinyl wall is mostly—"

"This is Inside Wants Out," he repeats, more emphatically this time, like you're not getting the significance.

You nod slowly. "Yeah... I heard you the first time."

"Do you know how hard it is to get this shit, Nix?" His eyes are still wide with disbelief. "This is a collector's item."

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh fuck.

You didn't mean to give him something with actual significance. You were just trying to not completely fail at basic gift-giving. But now he's looking at you like you just casually handed him a winning lottery ticket, and you have no idea how to respond.

"I mean... I knew you'd appreciate it," you lie smoothly, like you totally knew what you were doing. "You seem like the type to be into the rare stuff."

His eyes narrow slightly, like he's not entirely buying your sudden expertise in John Mayer collectibles, but he's too excited about the record to push it.

"It was his first EP," he explains, still handling the vinyl like it might explode. "Self-released in '99, before he got signed. There were only like a thousand copies ever pressed, and they never reissued it on vinyl."

"Oh," you say eloquently. "Cool."

"Cool?" 

He laughs, the sound both incredulous and delighted. 

"Nix, this thing goes for like three hundred dollars on eBay if you can even find one. How did you—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head again. "You know what, never mind. I don't even want to know. Just... thank you."

Three hundred dollars? 

You almost choke. The grimy old man at the flea market had sold it to you for fifteen bucks, and even then, you'd thought you were overpaying.

Holy shit. You accidentally gave Jungkook the perfect gift.

You're still processing this bizarre turn of events when he does something even more unexpected. He steps forward and hugs you—a quick, one-armed embrace that's over almost before it begins, but still manages to short-circuit your brain for a solid three seconds.

"Seriously," he says, already stepping back. "This is... thank you."

"I—yeah, of course," you manage, still off-balance from the sudden contact. "Happy birthday or whatever."

He grins, already carefully examining the record sleeve for any damage. 

"Or whatever," he echoes, but there's no mockery in it. 

Just warmth.

A warmth that makes something in your chest twist in a way you don't want to examine too closely.

Jungkook flips the vinyl over in his hands, tracing the track listing with his finger. 

"I started collecting his stuff in high school," he says, voice softer than usual. "Everyone gives him shit, you know? Like he's this basic white dude music or whatever."

"Isn't he, though?" You can't help asking, even as you drift closer to the couch instead of retreating to your room like you'd planned.

He looks up at you, expression caught between offense and amusement. "That's what everyone thinks. But his guitar work? Seriously underrated. The guy's technically insane."

You perch on the arm of the couch, watching as he continues examining the record. 

“So you're into him for the... technical aspects?"

"Partly." Jungkook shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "But honestly? His music just hits sometimes, you know? Like when you're driving at night with the windows down, or when you just need to chill and not think for a while."

"Didn't take you for the introspective type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Phee," he says, but it's not a challenge or a flirtation. Just a simple statement of fact.

"Like what?"

He looks surprised you asked, like he expected you to roll your eyes and walk away. 

After a moment's hesitation, he gestures toward his bedroom. 

“I've got every vinyl he's released. Started with Continuum when I was fifteen..." He trails off, then shakes his head slightly. "Anyway, been collecting ever since."

You’re not sure whether he wants you to ask, or doesn’t want to overshare. So to play it safe, you don’t dig.

Instead, you find yourself saying, "My dad's obsessed with him."

Now it's your turn to be surprised—by your own admission. Because you hadn't planned to share that.

Jungkook's eyebrows lift. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, suddenly interested in a loose thread on your sleeve. "Used to play his albums constantly during gardening weekends. My mom would pretend to hate it, but I'd catch her humming along when she thought no one was listening."

"Gardening weekends?"

"Mandatory family bonding," you explain, the memory both distant and vivid. "Every other Saturday in spring and summer. Dad would handle the heavy stuff, Mom did the flowers, and I was on weed duty."

"Weed duty," Jungkook repeats, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Like, you grew pot with your parents? Damn, Nix, I had you all wrong."

You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile too. "Garden weeds, dumbass. The actual nuisance plants."

"So what? You'd all be out there pulling weeds while John Mayer serenaded you from a boombox?"

"Something like that," you say, the mental image so accurate it catches you off guard. "How'd you know about the boombox?"

"Dads and boomboxes go together like peanut butter and jelly," he says with authority. "It's basic dad culture."

"Fair point." You hesitate, then add, "He had this super old one. Battery-operated, because the garden was too far from the house for an extension cord. The sound quality was garbage, but he refused to upgrade. Said it had 'character.'"

Jungkook smiles at that, a genuine one that reaches his eyes. "Sounds like my kind of guy."

"You'd hate each other," you say automatically, but then consider it. "Actually, no. You'd probably bond over guitar shit and expensive coffee, and it would be absolutely insufferable for everyone else."

"I'm great with parents," he protests. "They love me."

"That's because they don't have to live with you."

He gasps in offense. "What? Come on, living with me is the best experience ever.”

"So now ‘best experience ever’ is you eating my leftovers and folding your briefs on the entrance table?”

"And mind-blowing sex," he adds, because of course he does. "Don't forget that part."

"And we're done here," you announce, standing up from the couch arm. 

"Wait," he says, surprising you again. "What was your favorite song? From those gardening days, I mean."

You pause, considering whether to answer. It feels oddly personal, sharing music taste with Jungkook. More intimate somehow than the physical stuff you've done together.

But he's looking at you with genuine curiosity, still cradling the vinyl you gave him like it's something precious, and you find yourself responding before you can overthink it.

"'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,'" you admit, the memory rising unbidden. "Not off that album, obviously, but it was on Continuum."

“Really? I wouldn't have pegged you for that one."

"Well, I wasn't exactly vibing with the lyrics at age ten," you say, defensive without knowing why. "It just... reminds me of my mom."

"Your mom was into songs about dysfunctional relationships?"

"No, dumbass." 

You take a breath, weighing whether to elaborate. 

Fuck it. 

“There was this one time, we were gardening, and it started raining—like, suddenly pouring. Dad ran inside with the boombox, but Mom just... stayed out there. And I did too."

Jungkook's watching you intently now, the vinyl temporarily forgotten in his hands.

"That song was playing right before the rain started," you continue, eyes fixed on that loose thread again. "And when Dad got inside, he must have put the song on again inside the house, because we could hear it through the open windows. Mom just... started dancing. In the rain. And she pulled me in, and we were spinning around like idiots, getting completely soaked, while Dad watched from the porch and pretended to be embarrassed by us."

You risk a glance at Jungkook and find him smiling softly.

"What?" you demand.

"Nothing," he says, but his smile doesn't fade. "Just... that's a really good memory. I like that it wasn't some deep angsty reason. Just your mom being cool."

"She wasn't always," you say before you can stop yourself. "Cool, I mean. But she had her moments."

A comfortable silence falls between you, the kind you didn't think was possible with Jungkook. He's still looking at you with that soft expression, and you find yourself continuing without really meaning to.

“Anyway,” you say, desperate to lighten the sudden heaviness between you. “I like sad songs and thunderstorms. Shocking revelation about the English major, I know.”

His mouth curves into a smile, but it’s gentler than his usual smirk. 

“I know you like thunderstorms.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods, setting the vinyl aside with careful hands. “Remember the first time we hooked up in this apartment? There was a storm outside.”

“How do you remember that?”

He shrugs, casual, unbothered.

Like it doesn’t cost him anything at all to reveal he keeps details in mind or cares. 

“You were curled up in that bean bag by the window, watching the rain like it was telling you secrets. All broody and intense. Very on-brand.”

“I wasn’t broody,” you protest automatically.

“You were staring at a lightning storm. The only way you could’ve been broodier is if you were wearing fingerless gloves and listening to The Cure.”

You throw a decorative pillow at his head, which he catches easily. “Fuck off, I don’t even own fingerless gloves.”

“Yet,” he adds with a grin. “There’s still time, though. Hot Topic’s having a sale.”

You flip him off, but you’re smiling despite yourself.

“I just like storms, okay? They’re… honest.”

“Honest?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious.

You struggle to articulate something you’ve never had to put into words before. 

“Yeah, like… they don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are. They’re loud and chaotic and messy, and they don’t apologize for it.”

“Huh,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Never thought about it like that.”

“Plus,” you add, tone deliberately lighter, “they smell good.”

“Yeah I guess they do,” he agrees, and for some reason, this tiny point of connection feels significant.

“You smell like rain,” you say, the words slipping out before your brain can catch up with your mouth.

“Huh?” he looks at you, confusion replacing his easy smile.

“I mean,” you backtrack, suddenly feeling stupid, “you’re always saying I smell like vanilla and stuff. And you really like vanilla, right? With your vanilla extract flask or whatever. Well, you smell like rain. At least to me. I really like rain. That’s all.”

There’s a moment of silence, just long enough for you to start mentally calculating how quickly you could fake your own death and flee the country.

“I smell like rain,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly. “Just an observation. Like how Yoongi smells like coffee and disappointment.”

He laughs at that, breaking the weird tension. “That’s… oddly accurate.”

“I’m very accurate,” you say with mock seriousness. “My superpower.”

And… why exactly are you quoting him? That’s exactly what he said in the subway.

And you said it without thinking. 

“Well,” he says, not catching onto that or at least not making it about that; leaning back into the couch cushions, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad I don’t smell like disappointment. Rain is definitely the better option.”

“Don’t get too excited. I didn’t say you smell good,” you lie, because of course he smells good, the bastard. “Just like rain.”

“Uh-huh.” His smile is knowing, infuriating. “You literally just said you really like rain, though.”

“I changed my mind. Rain is overrated.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Griffin chooses that moment to stretch dramatically on the armchair, reminding you both of his presence. The cat yawns widely, showing tiny needle teeth, before resettling into an even tighter ball.

“Anyway,” you say, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, “your cat is still a menace, even if he has good timing.”

“The best timing,” Jungkook agrees, reaching over to scratch behind Griffin’s ears. “Though I still don’t know what set him off earlier.”

“Maybe he sensed a disturbance in the force.”

“Maybe he just missed me,” Jungkook suggests, and the sad thing is, he’s probably right. Griffin is ridiculously attached to him, like some kind of orange, furry shadow.

“Cats don’t miss people,” you argue, just to be contrary. “They’re cold-blooded killers who tolerate humans because we operate can openers.”

“Griffin misses me,” he insists, stroking the cat’s back. “Don’t you, buddy? Tell Phoenix how much you missed your dad.”

Griffin blinks slowly in response, which Jungkook apparently interprets as agreement. 

“See? He says he was devastated by my absence.”

“He says he’s plotting to kill us both in our sleep,” you counter.

“Nah, he only does that to people who don’t bring him treats. Speaking of which…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small packet of cat treats, shaking a few onto his palm.

Griffin is suddenly wide awake, lunging for the offering with surprising agility for a creature that was seemingly comatose two seconds ago.

“You carry cat treats in your pocket?” you ask, incredulous. “To a club? To a karaoke bar?”

“Always be prepared,” he says solemnly, as if quoting some ancient cat-owner wisdom. “Besides, Griffin can sense when I don’t have them.”

“Your relationship with this cat is genuinely concerning.”

“Says the person who talks to him when she thinks no one’s listening.” He smirks at your surprised expression. “Yeah, I’ve heard you. ‘Who’s a little murder machine? Is it you? Yes it is.’”

You feel your cheeks warm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You baby-talk my cat, Phoenix. Just admit it.”

“I do not baby-talk—”

Your phone chimes with a text notification, cutting off what would have undoubtedly been a brilliant denial. 

You move towards the entryway, where you'd left your purse on the table, and reach to look for your phone, when suddenly—

Oh. 

The DIY bracelets. Right.

You'd left them at the shop at first for that contribution project Ash had talked about, but then... something had pinched at you when Jungkook mentioned having one similar as a kid. 

How it reminded him of his mom.

And now that you're talking about mourning a mom that you still have alive, because the mom from your memories often differs from the one who exists now... it feels like the right moment. Like maybe these stupid friendship bracelets aren't just arts and crafts bullshit but something that might actually mean something.

Fuck, that's corny. You're being corny right now. This is what happens when you let your guard down for five seconds around Jungkook—suddenly you're having feelings and shit. Gross.

But your fingers are already closing around the bracelets. 

You're impulsive like that. Always have been. Jump first, think later. It's gotten you into trouble more times than you can count, but occasionally—very occasionally—it works out.

You slip them into your fist, hiding them behind your back as you walk slowly toward Jungkook. He's still standing there, watching you with that half-curious, half-amused expression that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and—

"Hmm? What's up, Phoenix?" he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly when he notices your hands hidden behind your back.

"Nothing," you say, too quickly.

His eyes narrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“What's that?" He takes a step closer, trying to peek around you. "You hiding something?"

"No," you lie, taking a step back. "Mind your business."

"You're being weird," he says, his smirk widening into a full-on grin. "What is it? A love letter? Secret diary? Embarrassing photos of you in middle school with braces?"

"I never had braces," you retort, still backing up as he advances. "And it's nothing, so back off."

"If it's nothing, why are you hiding it?" He lunges suddenly, trying to grab at your hands, but you twist away, nearly knocking over a lamp in the process.

"Jungkook, I swear to god—"

"Come on, just show me!" He's laughing now, the asshole, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "What's so secret that you can't—"

He makes another grab, and this time his fingers catch your wrist. You try to pull away, but he's stronger than you, the jerk, and before you can stop him, he's pried your fingers open.

The bracelets fall into his palm.

His laughter cuts off abruptly. 

He stares down at them, then back up at you, his expression shifting to something you can't quite read. 

His eyes go all soft and wide, like some anime character or something, and it makes your forsaken insides twist.

"How?" he asks, voice quieter than before. "I thought we left these at the shop."

You look to the side, feeling heat crawl up your neck. 

This is so fucking embarrassing. 

It's just bracelets. 

Stupid, childish bracelets that shouldn't mean anything.

"When I came back to get my phone, I..." You trail off, not sure how to explain without sounding like a complete sap. "I saw them and I just..."

You shut up, because what are you supposed to say? That you couldn't stand the thought of leaving them behind? That something about his face when he talked about his mom's bracelet made you want to give him this small piece of today?

He seems to understand anyway, nodding slowly as he looks down at the bracelets again. 

"Thanks," he says, and it's so genuine it makes you uncomfortable.

He holds them for a moment longer, then asks, "Can I?" gesturing toward your wrist.

You extend your arm automatically, then realize what he's doing as he fumbles with the clasp of the Phoenix bracelet.

"No, let me wear the Rogue one," you say quickly.

He pauses, brows furrowing. "But I am Rogue."

"Well, you said you didn't want to wear a bracelet calling you 'Rogue,'" you point out, "so... might as well wear the Rogue one myself and you wear the Phoenix one."

A slow smile spreads across his face, like what you've just said makes perfect sense instead of being the most backward logic ever. 

And with a soft, delicate breath he says:

“Deal."

His fingers brush against your skin as he fastens the Rogue bracelet around your wrist. You try not to react, but your pulse quickens traitorously beneath his fingertips.

When he's done, you take the Phoenix bracelet from him, gesturing for his wrist. He extends it without hesitation, and you're struck by how much larger his hand is than yours, how warm his skin feels beneath your fingers as you fumble with the clasp.

"There," you say, pulling away quickly once it's secured. "Now we're even."

"Even," he echoes, looking down at the bracelet on his wrist, the fiery beads catching the light. "I guess we are."

You stare at the bracelet on your wrist for a few seconds, the beads catching the dim light of your apartment living room. Your eyes flicker up to his wrist—he's doing the same thing, turning his arm slightly to inspect his newly acquired accessory like he's never seen a fucking bracelet before. 

His eyes catch yours, and you can't help asking, "You gonna wear it?"

He rotates his wrist, watching how the beads interact with the light. 

“Maybe." The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't know, does it fit my vibe?"

Is he serious right now? 

You deadpan him, staring straight into his eyes without blinking.

He can't help but snort, his shoulders shaking slightly. "That's a no, then?"

"Whatever," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "You don't need to wear it. It's a silly thing anyway." 

And it is. Just a stupid arts and crafts project you made while trying to keep him busy for his birthday party. 

No big deal if he tosses it in a drawer and forgets about it. Literally could not care less.

"Nah, it's cool," he says, examining it again. "Kind of tacky, but in a fun way."

He looks back at you when you stare in silence too long. 

"What about you?"

"Huh?" You blink, caught off-guard.

"Are you gonna wear yours?" He gestures toward your wrist with his chin.

"I don't know." You twist the beads around your wrist, acting like you're still deciding. "It's not like I want people to know I have friendship bracelet gay shit with you."

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Right, I had forgotten what I'm gonna say when people ask what 'PHOENIX' means."

Your eyes flicker back to him, side-eyeing him suspiciously. "What would you say?"

"Maybe I should tell them it's from my roommate," he says, tapping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Who rose from the ashes and all that. Like some kind of angry, book-obsessed firebird."

"Don't you dare talk about me like that!" You immediately shove at his shoulder, scowling. "Oh my god."

He sidesteps your attack, continuing, "—into this majestic creature who's deep down probably not plotting to murder me in my sleep—"

"I swear to god," you lunge at him again, "if you say that cringy shit about me to anyone—"

"—and who secretly loves making friendship bracelets—"

"I will end you," you threaten, trying to grab his arm while he deftly avoids your attempts. The audacity of this asshole. "I will literally smother you with a pillow."

"—and wearing them too!" He's full-on laughing now, dodging around the coffee table. "The bracelet represents how we've evolved from mortal enemies to... slightly less mortal enemies."

"That's it." You grab a throw pillow from the couch and hurl it at his head. "You're dead to me."

He catches the pillow easily, still grinning like an idiot. "Aw, come on, Nix. Embrace your phoenix identity. Like the bird, you too have emerged from—"

"If you say 'ashes' one more time," you threaten, grabbing another pillow, "I will personally ensure you become some."

"Violent," he comments, raising his eyebrows. "And after I accepted your little craft project."

"It's not a—" 

You start to protest, then stop yourself. 

What the hell would you call it?

"Whatever. It's just a bracelet."

"A bracelet of tolerance," he suggests, his eyes dancing with amusement. "At best."

"Exactly," you say, oddly annoyed that he's stolen your line. "A bracelet of 'you're still annoying as fuck but occasionally tolerable.'"

"A bracelet of 'we haven't killed each other yet, which is honestly impressive,'" he offers.

"A bracelet of 'the apartment lease says I can't legally push you off the balcony,'" you suggest.

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. "Cool. I'll take it."

"Don't make it weird," you mutter, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has taken. Why is he being almost... nice? "It's just a stupid bracelet I accidentally made while you were trying to avoid talking about your Instagram."

"Right," he nods, tapping the beads against the table. "Just like how you 'accidentally' bought me a super rare vinyl."

"Shut up."

"Never," he says, shifting Griffin to make room on the armchair. "So, this means you're warming up to me, huh? All it took was some karaoke and a rooftop heart-to-heart."

"I already told you we'll see," you remind him, rolling your eyes. "Don't push it, Rogue."

"Fine, fine," he holds up his hands in surrender. "Just saying, the evidence is mounting."

"What evidence?"

He starts counting off on his fingers. "One, you made me a bracelet. Two, you bought me a vinyl. Three, you didn't ditch me at my own birthday thing. Four, you haven't tried to poison my coffee in at least three days."

"That you know of," you counter, but you can feel the corner of your mouth twitching traitorously.

"See? You're not even denying it," he says, pointing at you triumphantly. "Face it, Phee. You tolerate me."

"The bare minimum bar for human interaction. Congratulations."

Griffin chooses that moment to let out a pathetically dramatic meow, clearly offended that he's no longer the center of attention.

"Someone's jealous," Jungkook immediately turns to scratch his cat under the chin. "Don't worry, G, you'll always be my number one roommate."

You roll your eyes. "Great, I've been demoted behind the cat."

"He doesn't leave wet teabags in the sink," Jungkook points out.

"He literally shits in a box in our bathroom."

"Yeah, but at least he covers it up."

"I'm not having this argument," you declare, standing up from the couch. It's late, you're tired, and this whole day has been weird enough already. "I'm going to bed."

"Night, Nix," he says, voice softer than his usual teasing tone.

"Night, Rogue," you reply, hesitating for just a moment too long before adding, "Happy birthday. Again."

He smiles—that same genuine smile from before. "Thanks. For everything."

"Don't get used to it," you warn, already backing toward your bedroom. "Tomorrow I go back to hating your guts."

"Looking forward to it," he calls after you, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You close your bedroom door a bit harder than necessary, but you're smiling as you do it. And if your fingers brush against the beads on your wrist as you change into your pajamas, well, that's nobody's business but yours.

It's just a bracelet. Whatever.

goal: 650 notes. can’t believe how quickly kiki nation got the goals back, you guys are amazing and unhinged. 😭❤️‍🩹

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[luveax]

Wet Dreamz

~~~~~

One Shot | Virgin!Pu$$yDrunk!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader | Smut 18+

It started off so innocent She had a vibe and a nigga started diggin' it I was a youngin, straight crushin', tryna play the shit cool But a nigga couldn't wait to get to school 'Cause when I seen 'em thighs on her And them hips on her and them lips on her Got me daydreaming, man, what I'm thinkin' how she rides on it, if she sits on it, if she licks on it Make it hard for me to stand up

Description: In your freshman year of college, you and Spencer hit off while working on a project together.

Warning(s): ...hunchin <3

~~~~~

Y'all had so much in common it was insane. Of course he was a genius but his brain was just magnificent. He of course has random knowledge of anything but the things he was genuinely into you also were. It was hard to complete the project with you two always taking breaks to listen to each other mini rant and fangirl over the same likes but you both finished 2 weeks early just so for the next 2 weeks you could spend it doing whatever you two wanted. It was the spark of a new and true friendship.

-

Wasn't nothin' like that Man, it wasn't nothin' like that first time She was in my math class Long hair, brown skin with a fat ass Sat beside me, used to laugh, had mad jokes The teacher always got mad so we passed notes

Both of y'all sat together every lecture. Never paying attention to the professor just in your own world joking and laughing. You'd been noticing Spencer's eyes lingering on you the entire day. Sorta staring just a second longer than he used to. You didn't mind because you loved the attention from him. You found him to be such a catch and you really wanted something more to become of y'all's relationship.

You snorted at a particular joke he made and heard the professor grunt while staring at your direction. You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you put your head down to hide your smile. You felt a nudge to your left and saw Spencer hand a note to you.

Hiding your chuckle at the childish gesture you opened it anyways.

'Don't worry about him he's old anyways and statistically not gonna be here much longer.' Spenders messy cursive spelt out. It took everything in you to to bust out laughing.

'I know right like this dude is too ancient to be scoffing at people. He's using up too much air he already has limited supply’ you wrote back causing Spencer to snicker with you.

‘Do you want to play the new board game you were talking about at my place this weekend’ he suddenly asked. It was random but yeah of course you did. You loved spending time with him.

‘Yeah,’ you replied. ‘Maybe we can do something else later’ you horrible hinted. You cringed at how stupid that sounded. What if he didn’t get the message. Mid spiral you looked over and saw Spencer blushing, oh? Maybe he did get it.

‘Yes I mean sure no problem’ he tried to play off his excitement. You both smiled and tuned into the lecture both thinking about the events that would take place Saturday.

-

Derek let out a booming laugh at what his friend just asked.

“Wait wait run it by me one more time” he said chuckling.

“Don’t make me repeat it.” Spencer begged.

“Nah nah if you want some advice you gotta speak up Spence.” Derek scolded.

Spencer sighed in irritation. “How do I make a girl cum? Okay?!? How do I properly have sex?”

“Oh?” Penelope said as she walked into Spencer’s apartment unannounced. She held up a bag of take out.

“I was just coming by with some dinner but I can definitely stay for this conversation. Who are you trying to make cum?” Pen asked.

Derek chimed in, “lil miss sweet thang he met in his college course”

“Awe the cute one who’s been taking up all your time recently” Pen gushed.

“Are y’all gonna help me or what” Spencer groaned in annoyance.

“Oh we’re gonna help you alright!” Derek and Pen got to work, schooling Spence on all the tips and tricks. Good thing Spencer has an eidetic memory because this conversation went on for hours.

-

You were actually freaking the fuck out. You were standing outside his door and thinking what was wrong with you? Why would you even suggest something like that. Oh. My. Fuck. You were damn near hyperventilating at that point. You and Spencer. Spencer and you. You and fucking Spencer. Ahhhh!

Spencer opened the door in the middle of your mini silent rant.

"Hi" You wheezed out startled.

"Hey.." Spence Replied

-

What. The. Absolute. Fuck. Happened. To. Spencer...

This wasn't the cute nerdy boy you've been crushing on since your very first project together. This was a beat of a man who've you've never met before. At the rate he was fuckin you, you would've thought this was light work to him.

The aches and bruises that lined your body was evidence enough that this was a machine. It wasn't the normal precise and put together Spence you knew. This was an entirely new person but you weren't complaining. Actually the sounds you were making were telling.

"Fuck Spence slow down" You whined out, your body shaking each time he trusted into your cunt.

"Can't mamas, you just feel so good." He mumbled into your neck, completely pussy drunk at the moment.

'Mamas'??? When did he start using that nickna- ohhhhh. You sent a silent Thank you to Derek now knowing your shy crush asked for advice.

You felt Spencer getting restless and grabbed his face to make eye contact with him. Face to face your breaths mixing with the smell of lust and tension the air.

He let out a frustrated groan and you suddenly felt yourself bend into a mating press. Your legs on his shoulders, knees to your chest.You whined and winched at the bruising grip he had on your thighs. You could feel him so deeply now.

"Fuck Spence I can feel you in my guts." You panted out. Barely able to catch your breath. You feel him mumble something incoherent without missing a beat.

"That's it, just feel me baby."

He was intoxicating. His hair was a mess sticking to his forehead and neck.

You couldn't care less though. you knew this night would be a good and a long one. You couldn't wait to see what other 'Research' He did.

~~~~~

Ngl got lazy at the end lmk if y'all want me to finish this one up. Bai loves.

[lovesuhng]

right time

angst, fluff, best friends to lovers / w.c: 3.3k / doyoung is reader's fiancé, a lot of flashbacks, kinda slow burn (?)

The church doors opened. Beside you, your father held your hand, moved to tears because his only daughter was about to get married. The wedding march began. But you… you couldn’t hear a thing. You looked stunning in your wedding dress, but at that moment, you weren’t moved by the fact that you were getting married. Your heart pounded in your chest when, from a distance, you saw your groomsman—and best friend—Johnny Suh. The man who truly held your heart. That’s when memories of your childhood with him rushed into your mind.

Johnny had laughed out loud when you tripped over your own bike and fell into the grass at the neighborhood park. “You really suck at this!” “And you suck at helping!” you pouted. Johnny came closer and held out his hand. You had grass in your hair, scraped knees, and you were whining about something while Johnny laughed at the whole situation. “Alright, I’ll teach you... but only if you promise that when we grow up, we’ll still be friends and ride bikes together.” “Of course, Johnny.”

As you took your first steps into the church, another memory flooded your heart. This time, you were teenagers, navigating all those sweet, confusing feelings that come with that age. That’s how Johnny made you feel: like a free and hopelessly in love teenager.

You were in Johnny’s backyard, wrapped in an old blanket, sitting side by side on a makeshift inflatable mattress. It was summer, but the night had brought a cold breeze. The sky was filled with stars, and you had been staring at them for a while. You called his name. “Do you know what I always think when I look up at the sky?” you asked, turning your face toward him. He simply replied with a “hm,” his eyes still on the vast sky. “That everything seems so far away and yet so close. Like some things are only beautiful from a distance.” He chuckled softly. “Deep thoughts, huh? Turning into a poet now?” You laughed too, even though you tried to sound serious. “I’m being serious.” “Okay. I was just thinking… do you think it’s possible to like someone so much and never be able to say it? Just keep admiring them from a distance, like seeing the stars in the sky?” You held your breath. The question felt like it came from a deeply honest place in Johnny. “I think so.” You answered slowly. “Sometimes we’re so scared of losing what we have that we’d rather keep it inside.” Johnny turned his face to you. His eyes sparkled more brightly than all those stars. “Even if the other person might feel the same?” You hesitated, but replied, “Even then.” “Have you ever felt that way? Like… about someone specific?” Johnny asked, almost without thinking, but he wanted to know. “Maybe. What about you?” “Maybe,” he said, echoing your response with a soft smile. “But that person is kind of blind.” “Or maybe just pretending not to see.” You both smiled, but sadly—like two people recognizing each other, yet unsure if you could take the next step. A comfortable silence settled between you. “If one day we fall in love with someone for real…” Johnny said, “Promise me you won’t forget me?” “You’re my best friend, Johnny,” you whispered, lightly touching his face. “How could I ever forget you?” He didn’t answer. He just reached out and gently interlaced his fingers with yours. And there you stayed, under a star-filled sky, two teenagers full of unspoken feelings, experiencing the kind of love they didn’t yet know how to name.

A sad smile crept onto your lips as you remembered that night. You swore everything would change that day, that you would finally give voice to the feelings in your hearts. But a few years later, Johnny introduced you to his first girlfriend—and your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

You were waiting for him at the usual café, sitting at your usual table with a partial view of the park and that retro decor you both loved to make fun of. Then came his message: “On my way. Don’t hate me, okay? I brought company.” You frowned. Johnny never brought anyone along to your meetups, so it felt off. When you saw him walk in, your smile faltered for a second and your stomach turned. Johnny was with a girl. She was beautiful—long hair, flawless skin, confident gaze. He was holding her hand. “This is Yerin,” Johnny said, nervously smiling. “My girlfriend.” Girlfriend. The word echoed in slow motion. “Oh…” you eventually managed to react, though your voice was quieter than you wanted. “Hi, Yerin. Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you!” she replied, overly friendly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” You did everything you could to keep a smile on your face. You laughed at their jokes, pretended to be interested when Johnny talked about how they met. But inside, everything screamed. You had remembered the night in the backyard. The touch of your interlaced fingers, the words between the lines. But apparently, none of that had meant the same to him. Maybe you had misunderstood everything. “You’re quiet today,” Johnny said when Yerin went to the bathroom. “Just a little tired, that’s all.” He looked at you for a few seconds too long. Like he knew that wasn’t all, but also didn’t want to ask. “Are you happy for me?” The question caught you off guard. “Of course I am,” you said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. Johnny smiled, relieved. “You know, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my best friend, right?” You never imagined how much that title—best friend—could hurt. When you got home, you cried silently.

From that day on, you decided to move on. You remained friends, but kept some distance because of Johnny’s relationship. It didn’t last long, but even so, you stopped hoping for anything beyond a strong friendship. At that moment in the church, your eyes met Doyoung’s—nervous, waiting for you at the altar—reminding you of the first time you introduced him to Johnny.

Same café, same nervous hands fidgeting with a menu you knew by heart. You looked more elegant than usual, something Johnny noticed right away. “You’re too dressed up just to have coffee with me.” The comment made you both laugh. You were about to answer when Doyoung appeared with his dark hair, pristine shirt, and kind smile. “Johnny, this is Doyoung… my boyfriend.” You said the word boyfriend almost in a whisper, like you were afraid to say it in front of him. Johnny raised an eyebrow, surprised that you were dating your coworker, but he quickly masked it with a polite smile. The conversation flowed well. Doyoung was polite, asked questions, laughed at Johnny’s jokes naturally. But there was something different in Johnny’s eyes. “Since when two have known each?” Doyoung asked. “Since forever” Johnny answered before you could. You laughed, trying to ease the tension in Johnny’s quick response. “He was the first boy who beat me at video games.” “And she was the first girl who called me an idiot for missing our first group project.” Johnny added, with that nostalgic gleam in his eyes. Doyoung smiled, seeming to understand that this friendship was older—and deeper—than he had imagined. “I’m glad he’s in your life.” “Me too,” you said, looking at Johnny, who smiled back. Doyoung insisted on paying and went to the counter. That gave Johnny the chance to lean closer and speak softly. “He’s a good guy. You seem happy.” “Yeah…” He nodded, biting his bottom lip lightly. “You deserve to be happy.” “You too.”

A tear fell as you remembered Johnny’s words. It was your wedding day. You should be happy, thinking about your groom—not reliving moments with your best friend. But even so, you remembered when you asked Johnny to be your best man.

“Johnny?” “Hm?” He was distracted. It was just another Friday. You were both in your living room, watching something on TV, laughing, saying silly things, making time feel lighter. But you were tense and Johnny could tell by the tone of your voice, by the way you nervously twisted your engagement ring around your finger. “I wanted to ask you something.” “Go ahead.” Johnny replied, smiling and turning to look at you. “Would you... be my best man?” Johnny froze for half a second, and you noticed. “Like… during the ceremony?” “Of course. Right there, next to Doyoung.” You gave a nervous laugh. “You’re my best friend, Johnny. It wouldn’t make sense to get married without you there. I need you for this.” He looked away for a moment, staring into nothing. “Of course…” Johnny said, sighing. “Of course I’ll do it.” You smiled, a little relieved by his answer. “Really? I thought you’d think it was weird…” “Well, I still think it’s weird that you’re getting married, but life’s been weird ever since you showed up with that ring on your finger,” Johnny admitted, giving a small smile to mask his feelings. “I don’t want this to change what we have.” "Nothing will change what we have. We’ll be friends forever. But I want you to promise me one thing.” Johnny looked into your eyes as if trying to memorize your face at that moment. You nodded for him to go on. “If at any point, you’re not sure about what you’re doing… tell me.” You stayed quiet. You tried to understand what Johnny meant by those words, but you only answered softly, “I promise.” Johnny just smiled, kissed your forehead quickly—just enough to make your heart race. “I’m gonna be a pretty best man,” he joked. “Prettier than me as a bride?” “Impossible.”

You looked at Johnny again, and you could swear he was about to cry—something that almost never happened. You questioned once more if you were doing the right thing, especially after the conversation you had with Johnny the night before.

It was already past midnight when you heard the doorbell. You were wearing one of Doyoung’s old T-shirts and sweatpants, getting ready for bed and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Johnny standing at your door, his hair slightly messy, carrying a subtle scent of whiskey. It was clear he had been drinking—but not too much. “I know, I know… it’s crazy to come here at this hour, the night before your wedding…” he said, leaning on your doorframe. “Did you drink?” you asked, arms crossed in a mix of worry and nervousness. “Just a little. Can I come in?” You stepped aside to let him in. The apartment was so familiar to him. He sat down on the couch, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. “Tomorrow’s not the best day to be hungover,” you said, handing him a glass of water. “After all, tomorrow’s my wedding and you’ll be up there.” Johnny drank the water, set the glass down somewhere nearby, and looked at you. The way he looked at you was so intense that you felt like he could see right through you. “Johnny, are you okay?” He took a while to answer. He ran his hands over his face, as if trying to sort through his feelings. “No.” You were startled by his honesty and immediately worried. “Johnny, what’s going on?” “You’re marrying an amazing guy tomorrow. He loves you. And I should be happy for you. I tried to be happy for you.” “But clearly, you’re not.” “I keep thinking…” he continued, his voice a bit shaky, his eyes fixed on his hands, fidgeting with the skin around his fingers, “if maybe… we let our feelings slip by. If at some point, just one word could have changed everything.” “You know it’s not that simple.” “But it could’ve been,” Johnny replied. “If I had told you I loved you that night in the backyard, when we were looking at the stars… I didn’t say it because I was a coward. I am a coward. I’m afraid of losing you.” Your eyes welled with tears. You completely understood what Johnny meant. Silence fell over the room for a long moment, until you spoke. “I tried to forget, Johnny. I tried to move on, especially when you introduced me to your girlfriends. I couldn’t wait forever.” By now, both of you were crying. Johnny, slightly drunk, was wiping your tears. “I know. I don’t blame you.” Johnny whispered. “And that’s why I’ll be there tomorrow.” You were surprised by the decision he had made. “You’re still going to be my best man?” “Of course I am,” Johnny said, looking you in the eyes with a faint smile. “Because even loving you, I never stopped being your best friend. I’ll always want to see you happy, even if it’s not with me.” The tears rolled silently down your cheeks again. Johnny gently held your hand, as if that gesture was the last thing he could offer. Then, before standing up and leaving, he said, “If you say ‘yes’ to him, I’ll accept it. But if you have even the slightest doubt… I’ll be there for you. Always.”

You had reached the altar. Your father kissed your forehead, then shook hands with Doyoung, who smiled at you—but you sensed something different in his eyes. “Hey…” he said softly. “Can you come with me for a second?” You were confused. That wasn’t the right time for the two of you to leave the altar. “Doyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, following him into a side room of the church, as the murmur of the guests filled the background. “I know everything’s ready and it’s kind of late to have this conversation, but I want to ask you something.” You nodded for him to continue. “You love Johnny, don’t you?” Your breath caught. Tears instantly filled your eyes. “Doyoung…” “You don’t have to answer,” Doyoung said with a half-sad smile. He took a deep breath and went on. “I felt it since the day you introduced us at that café. And today, I was sure of it. You looked at him the moment you walked into the church.” Silence. You couldn’t answer your fiancé. All you could do was cry. You tried to speak, but Doyoung gently interrupted “Hey… it’s okay.” He took your hands in his, and said as sincerely as anyone ever could: “You were someone really special in my life. I was so happy with you. But I couldn’t live with myself knowing you’d never be truly happy by my side. So, I’d rather let you go.” “You’re amazing, Doyoung,” you said through tears, hugging him tightly. “I know,” he smiled, trying to make a joke. He looked at you deeply one last time, taking a deep breath, holding back tears. “Well, I’m going to go tell everyone. Stay here a bit.” You stayed there for a while, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out how you’d explain everything to your family and thinking about how Doyoung was an incredible man for seeing the truth in you, even when you hadn’t said a single word. When you realized everyone had already left, you decided to leave the church too and go straight to the one place you always turned to when life felt confusing: your favorite café. You couldn’t help but smile at the looks people gave you as you walked in still wearing a wedding dress. But one particular look caught your attention. Johnny was sitting at the table you two always sat at when you came to that café — the same one where you had introduced Doyoung to him. You walked over naturally and sat across from him, still catching that look of admiration in his eyes. “You really are the most beautiful bride there ever was,” he said. All you could do was laugh at your best friend’s comment. “And you looked really handsome as the best man,” you replied. Johnny gave a small smile, going quiet for a moment but his eyes said so much. It was a silence filled with stories, memories, questions never asked and answers you both already knew. You leaned your elbows on the table and looked at him. “You knew I’d come here, didn’t you?” “Of course,” he said. “It’s your place. It’s our place.” You nodded slowly, biting your bottom lip. “It’s crazy to think I almost got married today.” “I know,” Johnny said softly, playing with the napkin on the table. “It’s even crazier to think that you’re here.” You sighed. “Here with you.” “I told you I’d be here if you had doubts.” He looked you in the eyes like it was the most certain thing in the world, like he had always known that, somehow, you’d end up there with him. You rested your head on your hand, watching him play with the napkin. “So now what? What should I do?” you asked, almost in a whisper, as if he held the answer. Then Johnny leaned in closer, elbows on the table too, eyes fixed on yours. “Now… you breathe. And then, when you’re ready… you tell me. No rush, no labels. Just you and me.” You smiled through teary eyes, feeling for the first time that, despite everything, you were doing the right thing.

Weeks went by filled with long talks, quiet meetups, and laughter, like the two of you were discovering each other all over again. Johnny was always there, patient and tender, as if he hadn’t already waited a lifetime to have you by his side. You were sitting together on the same park bench where you used to go as kids and early teens. Johnny was sneakily taking a photo of you — a habit he'd had ever since his mom gave him a camera for his seventeenth birthday. “You should be more subtle when you take pictures of me,” you said, one brow raised and a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Who says I’m taking pictures of you? I’m photographing the sunset. Not my fault you keep getting in the way.” You laughed at how shameless he was, then paused just to look at him. He was like that sunset in a city that never sleeps: impossible to ignore, quietly breathtaking. His smile was warm and real — the kind that calms the storms inside you with just a curve of his lips. And in that moment, in that smile, you knew it was time. “Johnny?” “Hm?” “I’m ready.” He furrowed his brows slightly, lowering the camera and turning to face you. “Ready for what?” You gently held his face, your thumb brushing his skin in a tender caress. “To be happy with you. I think we’ve waited long enough.” Johnny looked like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “Are you sure?” he whispered, already close enough that you could feel his breath. “I'm more than sure.” And you kissed him. It was a soft, deep kiss — full of all the feelings that had waited in silence for so long. When your tongues met, it felt like the most right thing you had ever done. Johnny held you gently, knowing you weren’t going anywhere, that this time you were his to keep. When you finally pulled apart, Johnny rested his forehead against yours, smiling against your lips. “Well, that was way better than holding wedding rings at the altar.” You laughed and replied, “And you were a very handsome best man.” “Just imagine how I’ll look when I’m your fiancé.” “Cocky” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face and tracing his eyebrows with your fingertip. “Thanks for waiting so long for me.” “I would’ve waited forever, because you make my life worthwhile.”

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ THE BOYS X CRASHOUT!READER

ᯓ★ reader has serious anger issues, lots of cursing, drinking irresponsibly, violence (not too graphic), reader goes by they/them (gender: New York), I love crashing out

When I say you're a crashout, you are.

How you even got to be apart of the boys in the first place was all because of Mallory.

She knew one way or another that Butcher's pride and ego would cause the team to die, and that nobody would be able to reach his level in order to stop him.

So that's where you come in.

Your mouth dirtier than the sewers of New York and your eyes sharper than any blade to ever be made.

You're literally a ticking bomb.

"You're not doing it right" Hughie said, sitting at the back seat of the van as you try to hot wire it.

It was one of those plans where things had gone completely sideways.

It ALSO happens to be the days where you're most over the edge.

"I don't know man..." You uttered.

"Maybe... maybe SOME BITCHASS M0THERFUCKER WOULD SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP WHINING LIKE A 2 YEAD OLD, WE'D BE OUT OF HERE BY NOW!! WOULDN'T THAT BE WONDERFUL??!?!" You shouted at him and you can see him sinking into his seat each time a word comes out of your mouth.

"R-Right..." He gulps.

Cue another hour of you trying to hot wire the thing.

..

You guys ended up calling an uber.

Anything triggers you, the way someone's breathing, smacking their lips, even the way their eyeballs move. It makes you wanna destroy anything you set your eyes on.

Everytime you're at the office, you're either complaining, shouting, kicking things over or all of the above.

It happens so frequently that the others started to bet what you'd do first and see who wins the cash.

"Oh shit, they're here...!" Frenchie pats Kimiko on the shoulder and they quickly went back to their places, acting as though they have been working the entire time.

Even though you were still walking up the stairs, your loud voice talking over the phone could be heard. The thing is you're not even shouting, that's just the volume and you just can't tone it down.

"Fuck you mean you can't go through with my order!" You raised your voice and the two that were secretly eavesdropping made eye contact with each other.

Clearly anticipating what you'll do next.

You stood by the open window and after a while of whatever it was the person was telling you over the phone. You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

The two shared a knowing look.

Oh boy here it comes...

"Okay fine, you can cancel the order. I don't really care" You sighed, almost too calmly and the two were confused, communicating with each other using facial expressions.

"But you know what I care about? WhoeVER THE FUCK APPROVED YOUR SHIT ASS BAKERY!! YOU CANT EVEN MAKE A CAKE ON TIME!! HA AH I MEAN YOU GOT A HIDDEN TALENT OR SOMETHING??!! NO NO, YOU DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP!! HOW ARE YOU, A SAD EXCUSE OF A HUMAN BEING WAS ABLE TO RUIN A CAKE?? EVEN THE KIDS ON THAT FUCK ASS TV SHOW COULD DO BETTER THAN YOU!! I—" You were gonna throw more insults until you stopped at the sound of them hanging up on you.

You stare at your phone for a moment before shouting words like 'fuck' and 'bitch' while at the same time grabbing the nearest vase of flowers and throwing it to the wall.

But that wasn't all, you then proceeded to grab a wooden chair and started smashing it on the flower until it's all completely ruined.

At the same the chair was broken, if the legs didn't break you would have went on.

You were busy catching your breath, the legs of the chair still in your hand and once you look up to see if anyone was watching.

Frenchie and Kimiko were quick to look away, pretending to be busy with the tasks given them.

"Fuck this, I'm getting drunk" You threw what's left of the chair and began walking away.

Once you were gone, Kimiko looked at Frenchie with a smirk, her hand signalling him to give over her bet money.

Here comes the good stuff.

Butcher hates you very dearly.

His accent just magically becomes thicker whenever he's angry.

His british versus your nyc is literally the fight of the century.

"We’re goin’ after that prick tomorrow as told. So if you lot wanna debate like a bunch of schoolgirls at a tea party, I’ll be at the armory loadin" He said, clearly sensing the doubt on everyone's face.

"Let me just be honest. Your plan sucks ass, and it's not the smooth firm ones but the hairy unshaved, shit stained cracks" You said and he looks at you, doing his typical head tilt.

"O yeah? Ya head full of piss couldn’t even plan a fookin’ picnic if a map was stuck to yur face. Now piss of' before I re'rrange ya fookin’ teeth"

"ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER!! REMEMBER YOUR FUCKING VOWELS!"

You both will never get along. That's why in every mission you're paired with not him.

Neither does MM but he has no say in it 🤷‍♂️

He's tried giving you therapy but you just end up getting mad and start hitting things.

"I don't know I'm just born this way" You said, back leaned against the chair. He nods.

"Well have you ever considered taking medication?" He suggested and it ticked you off.

"Medication?? You think I got some fucking mental illness??" He tenses up, realising he has said the wrong thing after making sure he was being careful with his words for the past few minutes.

He lifts both his hands up, as if trying to calm you down as he soothes you by saying

"Alright, that's on me, I was just—"

"NONONO YOU DON'T TALK TO ME IN THAT CALM VOICE. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK ARE?? CHRIS PRATT FROM JURASSIC WORLD?!?!" Without even realising, you were already reaching for his desk lamp and throwing it at him, which he manages to dodge in time.

If you happen to be a supe, this would be your superpower.

Bhad Bhabie got nothing on you.

Homelander's first impression of you was literally you insulting him while you were pinned down by him in a fight.

He still remembers it word for word.

Your insults so wild he forgot what he was even doing anymore.

He prays to never see you again because he does not want to hear more from you. Like how you called him a Facebook's dad wet dream and his suit a rejected Magic Mike costume.

Congratulations, you just gave him another insecurity to think about 😭😭

Regardless of whatever people think of you, you've proven to the team how you're a valuable asset by pretty much being the reason why 50% of the missions were executed well.

Turns out your dirty mouth came with a clean set of skills.

However you also happen to like to get your hands dirty.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Butcher asked as you regroup with everyone else.

Some fabric of your clothes torn and you're completely soaked in blood, but it's not yours so you just grunted at him.

"Doing your fucking job while you were busy getting a blow job by your boss"

Yes, you do have several stress toys which Kimiko got for you but you happen to have this ability to destroy all of them.

So what helps you? Music obviously. If its not that then it's one of your hobbies that feels therapeutic to you.

Obviously it'd be no surprise that a rage room would be one of them.

Except every room is a rage room for you 😞

Even though the boys are scared of you, they still let you stick around because to be fair, everyone's fcked up in the group.

[waynes-multiverse]

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

I may know the feeling... Weird phenomenon, really 😆🤷‍♀️

But you go, Abbie! Pound those chapters out!!! 💪👏👏👏

Love your choice of picking this up two years later and we get to see their actual wedding 🥹👰‍♀️🫶

I was so in trance with how everything and everyone just came together to support and celebrate them during this special day. Especially John's words stuck with me:

John nodded. “She had me wrapped around her little finger before I even knew what hit me. Still does.” His voice softened. “Women like that, they keep you on your toes. They challenge you, make you work for it. But, son, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Nowhere better to be.”

It's honestly true – at least for me here. I once asked my husband what he loves the most about me, and he answered, "You challenge me" 😂 Seems to be a thing for men lol

"You always were a handful," she teased, blinking rapidly as if to stop herself from full-on sobbing. "But damn if I ain’t proud of the woman you’ve become. How grateful I am to be your mother.” You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

This was also such a sweet and pure moment between Ellen and reader, especially considering how much she misses her birth mom and probably would want her there on such a day 🥺 But it's so good to see how they both have accepted each other as mother and daughter over the years. That's not always easy in their situation, and I love it so much 😭🫶

And I'm almost glad you cut out the vows after all of this because I would've bawled my fucking eyes out 😭😅

Gabe's speech was perfection – not subtle at all – but perfect in every way nonetheless 🤣👏

And my God, of course, Dean picked Ramble On as their wedding song. She might've made a mistake by letting him pick it alone 😂

He had done it under the stars in your father’s scrapyard, the place that had always been special to you as a kid, where you had felt closest to your mom. He had decorated it with fairy lights, roses, the whole nine yards, and when he dropped to one knee, looking at you like you hung the damn stars, you hadn’t even let him finish his speech before tackling him to the ground with your answer.

Love that we're getting a little glimpse of their proposal too 🥹 I wondered how and when he did it! Wouldn't've put it past him to lock it down a week into their relationship lmao

You’d always imagined a warm, beachy destination for your honeymoon—Hawaii, maybe the Florida Keys. Something close, something simple. But you never expected this. Your parents and Dean’s had banded together, insisting you take your first trip as husband and wife international. A wedding gift so extravagant it had left you both stunned, speechless even.

This is so sweet of them! Perfect wedding gift, honestly! And The Maldives are so damn pretty and romantic. They've been on my list forever 😍🏝️

Your lips twitched at the memory of the exact moment Dean had opened the gift, his expression shifting from excitement to sheer, unfiltered dread. Because the Maldives didn’t just mean a long flight. No, it also meant taking a seaplane to reach the private island resort.

Hahaha wait till he realizes he has to go back too 😂😂 And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Fuck, I forgot about the damn air horn lmao! Love that you brought this back!!!

And man, their honeymoon smut was everything you'd want and more. But it was so beautiful to see them finally be openly in love now ❤️‍🔥😍

Rummaging through your toiletry bag, you exhaled in relief when your fingers brushed against it. A pregnancy test. One Charlie had slipped in as a joke—a homage to her annual Twilight binge—thinking she was hilarious. And right now? You were thanking her ridiculous sense of humour.

Hahaha I can totally see Charlie doing this! That Twilight reference had me dead, tho 💀🤣

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Oh, you're gonna be fine, kids 😆🫶💕

YAY! Baby and a new spinoff series? Sign me tf up! 👀👏 Also, if you need some baby/pregnancy/parenting stories for inspo, I gladly help out. I shit you not – a lot of them have to do with poop. And worrying about everything 😂🤪

Abbie, seriously, this series was so wonderful! I love this whole goddamn trope so much and you absolutely nailed it! The angst, the smut, the fluff, the amounts of times I screamed and cried – it was perfectly paced and so emotionally investing, you kept me on my toes throughout. Well done! Can't wait to see those two return!!! 🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Chapter Ten (End)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Two years have passed since you and Dean finally lay everything out on the table, a lifetime of love and friendship, and it's about time it's made official.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings/tags: Smut (18+) Fluff!! Emotions are high in this one! and a surprise ending...👀

AN: Alright guys! We have officially reached the end of this series! It's been a ride and I'm so grateful for those who stuck around till the end and rode this journey with me! 🥹 It was my first time writing a full series and I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I have! 😭❤️ (gifs not mine, found on google)

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

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Series Masterlist

Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what had to be the hundredth time. The reflection staring back at him felt surreal—like he was looking at someone else. Someone settled. Someone whole.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. If someone had told him two years ago that this was where he’d end up—with you—he’d have called them crazy.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Sam stepped in, already looking dangerously glassy-eyed.

Dean smirked. “You gonna cry, Sammy?”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped forward, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just… proud of you, man. And happy for you. You deserve this.”

Dean swallowed. He hadn’t expected the weight of the moment to hit quite like this, but suddenly, it did. All those years—the two of you orbiting each other, pushing and pulling, too damn stubborn to admit what was obvious to everyone else. For so long, he’d been afraid to want this, to believe he could have it. But now?

He shook his head, smirking. “Jesus, if you start bawling, we’re gonna have to seat you in the back.”

Sam laughed, shoving him lightly before pulling him into a tight hug. Dean clapped his back, holding onto the moment longer than he’d admit.

Then, the door swung open again, and the rest of his friends poured in—Benny, Cas, Gabe—all wearing varying degrees of smug grins.

"Well, well, well," Gabe drawled. "Look at you, all cleaned up and looking respectable. Never thought I’d see the day."

Dean rolled his eyes, but Benny clapped him on the back. “You ready for this, brother?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

Then, the door opened one last time, and John Winchester stepped in.

The room quieted just slightly—not out of tension, but out of the weight that John always carried with him. His gaze swept over Dean, taking him in.

“How you doin’?” John asked.

Dean let out a breath as he smoothed his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his suit jacket. “Good. A little nervous, but… good.”

John nodded, stepping closer. His sharp hazel eyes softened as he studied his son, and after a beat, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

“You know,” John started, rubbing a hand through his thickening beard, there was more and more grey beginning to run through it now, “I knew she was the one the moment you brought her home.”

Dean huffed a little shocked. He never thought his father paid much attention to his relationships, unless Dean was asking for advise about something. John had always been the kind of father who seemed absent, out of the loop per se but, if you ever needed him, poof he was there.

“Yeah?”

John smirked. “Damn right. You trailed after that girl like a puppy since the moment you met her.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not true.” It was. But Dean wasn’t about to admit that, he had to keep some dignity at least.

John let out a low laugh, glancing toward Sam, who was already grinning. “Oh, it is. Everyone saw it—hell, you’d look for any excuse to be near her. You’d act like it wasn’t a big deal, but soon as she walked in a room, you lit up like a damn Christmas tree.” He chuckled along with the other men in the room, and then added,

“And if she so much as smiled at another boy?” He blew out a breath, like it was the damnest thing. “You’d sulk for hours.”

Benny let out a laugh, and Cas muttered a “it’s true” whilst Sam and Gabe outright cackled.

Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, let’s not turn this into roast-the-groom day.”

John’s smile lingered for a moment before he took a breath, his expression growing more serious. “You know, that’s how it was for me with your mom.”

Dean blinked, straightening slightly at the sudden shift in tone.

John nodded. “She had me wrapped around her little finger before I even knew what hit me. Still does.” His voice softened. “Women like that, they keep you on your toes. They challenge you, make you work for it. But, son, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Nowhere better to be.”

Dean swallowed hard, something thick settling in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad talk about his Mom like that—not in a way that was this raw, this honest.

John held his gaze. “You found something rare, Dean. Something worth everything.” He let out a quiet breath. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Dean felt his throat tighten, but before he could find the words to respond, John pulled him into a firm hug.

It caught Dean off guard for half a second, but then he exhaled, sinking into it. His dad wasn’t a man of easy affection—not by a long shot—but when he did something like this, it meant something.

And it warmed Dean straight through.

John clapped his back before stepping away, clearing his throat. “Now, let’s get you married.”

Meanwhile...

You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress, breathing in deeply as you stood in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you barely felt real.

The dress was perfect—elegant but effortlessly you. Every delicate detail, every soft fold of fabric. It was another thank you to Jo and her wizardry in dress picking.

Your fingers brushed over the locket resting against your collarbone—the one that had belonged to your mother, the one Dean had returned to you. It was your something old, something borrowed, and as you held it gently, your heart ached with the weight of her absence. But there was comfort in knowing that a part of her was with you today.

Behind you, the room buzzed with excitement as all the ladies in your life gathered.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed, eyes wide and a little watery as she took you in. 

Charlie joined her, the both of them clinging to each other like proud aunts. 

Jess, ever the romantic, clasped her hands together, beaming. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Mary stepped forward with a warm smile, adjusting your veil with careful hands. Her touch was gentle, but you didn’t miss the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

She lingered, taking you in with soft eyes. Mary had been like a third mother to you for as long as you could remember—always there with quiet wisdom, unwavering support, and a love that felt just as fierce as if you were her own.

“I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman,” she continued, blinking back tears. “And I’ve always known—always—that you were meant for my boy. No one else could love him the way you do.” A watery smile pulled at her lips. “And God knows, he needs someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest.

Mary cupped your cheek, her touch featherlight. “I’m so proud of you. And I know, without a doubt, that you and Dean are going to build something beautiful together.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, squeezing her hand. There was a nervous energy thrumming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the bad kind—it was the kind that came with knowing something life-changing was about to happen.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

Ellen and Bobby stepped inside, and the moment Ellen saw you, she gasped. Her expression softened as she reached for your hands.

"You look beautiful, baby." Her voice wavered just slightly, and when you saw the glisten in her eyes, it nearly broke you.

Ellen Harvelle never cried.

But today, she did.

"You always were a handful," she teased, blinking rapidly as if to stop herself from full-on sobbing. "But damn if I ain’t proud of the woman you’ve become. How grateful I am to be your mother.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart.” She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held.

Jess sniffled. "Damn it, you’re making me cry already!”

A collection of watery chuckles rippled through the room as you pulled back, watching Jess and the other women dab at their eyes. But when Bobby stepped forward, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

He looked at you, and for the first time in your life, you saw him struggle for words.

“Ah, kid…” Bobby murmured, voice thick as he took you in. “Your mom… she’d be so damn proud of ya.”

Your throat tightened instantly, tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that morning. You pointed at him warningly. “Nope. Don’t you do that. Do you know how long this took?” You gestured to your face in emphasis.

A chuckle rumbled from Bobby’s chest, but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. He stepped closer, squeezing your hand.

“I mean it. You’re gonna be the best thing that ever happened to that idjit. Not that he don’t already know it.”

A watery laugh bubbled from your lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bobby cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Now, uh… before we go, I just need to make sure you’re sure about this. ‘Cause once you marry into that family, there’s no gettin’ out."

“It’s true.” Mary added with a shrug and a chuckle.

You smirked. "Well, damn. And here I was thinking I could just return him if I changed my mind."

Bobby snorted as everyone else laughed. "You’re stuck with him, sweetheart." He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "But I gotta say… I don’t think he’d ever let you go, even if you tried."

Your heart clenched, warmth spreading through your chest, because you believed so too.

"You ready?"

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and then—

“More than ever.”

The first notes of Canon in D drifted through the air, soft yet powerful, carrying with them the weight of the moment. The murmur of the guests faded, the world narrowing to the centre aisle where one by one, your loved ones took their places.

Sam stood tall at Dean’s side, ever the loyal brother and best man, while your bridesmaids passed Dean with knowing grins. He barely registered them, too caught up in the pounding of his own heart, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, in the anticipation buzzing in his veins.

And then—

The doors at the end of the aisle opened.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

There you were.

The world fell away, dissolving into a blur of nothingness. His vision narrowed, locking onto you as you stepped forward, arm looped through Bobby’s. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating you like something out of a dream—his dream. And damn, if he didn’t feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

You were stunning, but more than that, you were you. The same girl who had been his best friend for more than a decade, who had driven him crazy and made him laugh harder than anyone. The same woman he had spent late nights with on the couch, teasing and pushing each other, pretending you weren’t falling long before either of you admitted it. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself, who had stood by him through every fight, every high, every low.

And now, here you were, walking toward him, about to be his forever.

His throat tightened. His chest ached with the sheer force of everything he felt. And it took him a second to realise—damn it, he was actually crying.

Bobby’s grip on your arm was steady, though Dean didn’t miss the way the older man’s fingers clenched just slightly, like he was holding on for one last moment. Bobby had been your rock, your father in every way that mattered, and today, he was giving you away.

When you reached the altar, Bobby turned to Dean, meeting his gaze with the kind of silent understanding only a father figure could give. His eyes softened, but there was steel beneath them—a warning, a promise.

"You take care of her, ya hear me?"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding with confidence as he told him, “always.”

Bobby gave your hand one last squeeze before placing it in Dean’s, stepping back with a small, gruff sniff.

The warmth of your touch sent a shiver up his spine, grounding him, steadying him.

You looked up at him as you stepped up to the alter, eyes shimmering, lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Hi.”

Dean let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking his head as he drank you in. “My god, you’re beautiful.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and overwhelming, and as you stared into his eyes. Those same green eyes that had been home for as long as you could remember. You knew, without a doubt, that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Every step that had led you here—every late-night conversation, every argument, every kiss, every stolen moment—had been leading to this.

To forever.

The reception was already in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything quieted when Gabe stood, a smirk already tugging at his lips as he raised his champagne flute.

"Alright, folks, settle in," he started, flashing a wink at you before glancing at Dean. "Now, I had a whole touching, sentimental speech planned—real tearjerker, would’ve had you all sobbing into your drinks—but then I thought… nah, let’s tell the truth instead."

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd, Dean shaking his head while you rolled your eyes fondly.

"This story? This epic love story? It didn’t start with a grand romantic gesture, or some movie-worthy meet-cute. Nope. It started… with a dream." Gabe let the words settle before arching a brow. "And not in the chase-your-dreams kinda way—though, to be fair, there was some chasing involved."

Laughter rippled through the room, Dean groaning as he dropped his head into his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know what I mean," Gabe continued smugly, clearly enjoying himself. "But let’s be real, this was always inevitable. It was clear as day these two were made for one another, the rest of us were just waiting for them to catch up. And when they finally did? Well, let’s just say… history was made. And, in some small way, I’d like to think I played a part in that. Y’know, a guiding hand. A little nudge. A subtle push toward the right direction."

Dean snorted. "Subtle, my ass."

Gabe ignored him, raising his glass higher. "So, here’s to them—two people who took their sweet time figuring it out, but who got it right in the end. To love, to laughter, and to the two luckiest people in the world."

The room filled with cheers and the clinking of glasses, and you turned to Dean, shaking your head.

"You still sure we shouldn’t have revoked his speech privileges?" you teased, despite the tears in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he’s an ass, but he’s our ass.” You hummed in agreement and allowed Dean to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

Gabe clinked his fork against his glass again, clearing his throat dramatically. "Alright, lovebirds, enough of the mushy stuff, before you make us all sick. Let’s get to the part we’ve been waiting for." He shot a wink your way before grinning at Dean.

"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!"

Another round of cheers erupted as Gabe lifted his glass in your direction, smirking. "Try not to step on her feet, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stood, but then grinned down at you, taking your hand and guiding you toward the dance floor. Your heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the sheer overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

Then, the unmistakable opening chords of Ramble On filled the space.

You blinked, then let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head as you glanced up at him. "Seriously?"

Dean smirked, pulling you in close. "What? You really thought I’d let our song be anything else?"

You melted into him as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting warm and steady on your waist. The world faded, leaving just the two of you swaying together as Plant’s voice crooned through the speakers.

It was perfect.

From childhood best friends to navigating the tangled mess of emotions that came with your so-called arrangement. The night you finally admitted the truth—that you had always loved him. And whats more, so had he. You’d both been naive idiots thinking you could be anything other than this.

A year later, Dean had proposed.

He had done it under the stars in your father’s scrapyard, the place that had always been special to you as a kid, where you had felt closest to your mom. He had decorated it with fairy lights, roses, the whole nine yards, and when he dropped to one knee, looking at you like you hung the damn stars, you hadn’t even let him finish his speech before tackling him to the ground with your answer.

And now, here you were.

Your matching wedding bands, new but already familiar, warm against your skin.

Your arms around him, your heart pressed to his, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Dean pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, swaying with you in time to the music, his voice low as he murmured, "Took us long enough, huh?"

You smiled, tightening your hold on him. "Yeah," you whispered. "But we got here."

The song carried on, and as the tempo picked up, you felt Dean shift against you. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You ready to really do this?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled back, a devilish grin spreading across his face just as the beat kicked in. With a playful tug, he spun you out, making you laugh in surprise, and when he pulled you back, he didn’t slow down.

The two of you let loose.

Gone was the slow, tender sway. Instead, Dean twirled you, moving with an effortless ease that made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You chuckled, shaking your head at the fact Ramble on was your first dance song, but damn if it wasn’t so him—so you.

When the lyrics hit, Dean pointed straight at you, his voice loud and clear as he sang along, "I'm goin' 'round the world, I gotta find my girl—"

You didn’t miss a beat. Grinning, you sang right back, "I've been this way ten years to the day—"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy crackling through the room like wildfire. One by one, your friends and family got swept up in it—feet tapping, hands clapping, laughter spilling from every corner.

Charlie and Jo grabbed each other, twirling dramatically before rocking out to the familiar riffs, their hair flying as they head-banged in sync. Sam was pulled in by Jess, who grinned up at him with that determined look he never could resist.

Even Bobby, usually content to watch from the sidelines, let out a gruff chuckle before grabbing Ellen’s hand, the two of them stepping onto the dance floor like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

And then there was Gabe—fully committing to the moment, arms flailing, air-guitaring like his life depended on it. The sheer ridiculousness had you dissolving into laughter as you twirled in Dean’s arms, breathless, giddy, caught up in the rush of it all.

Your friends and family surrounded you, the circle growing tighter as the song surged on. Twirling, jumping, shouting the lyrics like you were at the best damn concert of your lives. It was wild. Chaotic. Perfect.

And through it all, Dean never let go of you.

No matter how much he moved, how hard he laughed, how off-key he sang, his hand always found yours. Always drew you back to him. Like he was tethered to you, like you were the one thing in the world he’d never lose sight of.

By the time the song came to an end, you were breathless, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. The room blurred around you, a hum of joy and celebration, but all you could see was him.

Dean pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips as he panted slightly from the exertion. His green eyes, bright with mischief and something even deeper, locked onto yours.

“I love you, Mrs. Winchester.”

The way he said it—like he was savouring the words, letting them settle into his very bones—you knew he’d never tire of calling you that. And neither would you.

“And I love you, Mr Winchester.”

Dean’s smile was radiant, warmth and adoration shining in his gaze as he cupped your face, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so soft, so reverent, it stole what little breath you had left. In that moment, with the music fading and the world narrowing to just the two of you, your heart felt impossibly full. Your soul, finally, was whole.

3 weeks later.

The soft sound of waves gently lapping against the shore blended with the distant chirping of tropical birds as the golden morning light seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the plush California king-sized bed.

A gentle breeze drifted in from the open window, carrying the scent of salt and sun-kissed sand, ruffling the gauzy fabric ever so slightly. The silky sheets were cool against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Dean’s body beside you. With a contented sigh, you burrowed deeper, letting the warmth of the moment settle in your bones.

It had been a whirlwind since your wedding three weeks ago—an intoxicating rush of something long overdue. Of love, laughter and celebration with everyone who mattered most, all of which still echoed in your mind. 

Unfortunately, reality had hit fast afterward, with both of you needing to dive back into work almost immediately, your honeymoon put on hold until the vacation days finally kicked in. But now, you were here. Just you and Dean. Together. Alone in paradise.

And what a paradise it was.

Ten glorious, sun-drenched days in the Maldives, tucked away in your own private villa perched over the crystalline water. The white sand stretched like silk beneath your feet, the ocean a dazzling shade of turquoise that shimmered under the endless blue sky. Every morning felt like something out of a dream, like waking up inside a living postcard.

You’d always imagined a warm, beachy destination for your honeymoon—Hawaii, maybe the Florida Keys. Something close, something simple. But you never expected this. Your parents and Dean’s had banded together, insisting you take your first trip as husband and wife international. A wedding gift so extravagant it had left you both stunned, speechless even.

Of course, you knew why you and Dean had initially opted to keep things local.

Your lips twitched at the memory of the exact moment Dean had opened the gift, his expression shifting from excitement to sheer, unfiltered dread. Because the Maldives didn’t just mean a long flight. No, it also meant taking a seaplane to reach the private island resort.

Looking at him now, utterly at peace, snoring softly beside you, his upper body bronzed from days in the sun, freckles scattered across his golden skin like constellations, it was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who damn near lost his shit on both flights. The contrast was almost comical.

Gone was the stiff, panicked man who had sat ramrod straight in his seat, white-knuckling the armrests like his life depended on it. The man who had hissed “This is a terrible idea” every time the plane so much as dipped slightly. The same man who, when faced with turbulence, had squeezed your hand so hard you were genuinely worried about circulation loss. And when the seaplane landed on the water? He’d practically kissed the ground the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Your heart ached in the best way as you thought back on the past week—warm sand between your toes, the taste of tropical cocktails, the lingering press of Dean’s lips against your sun-drenched skin. Late nights filled with soft laughter and slow kisses, tangled sheets as you celebrated your marriage in the best way possible. 

It had taken you both a long time to get here, to this moment, but damn, were you happy.

Unable to resist, you swam through the sheets, moulding yourself against the familiar warmth of Dean’s body. Your fingers trailed across his chest, tracing over the scattered freckles like your own personal game of connect the dots, mapping out the skin you had come to know so intimately. 

Your touch was light, teasing, before finally settling over the hand resting on his stomach, now adorned with the simple silver wedding band that matched the ring on your own finger. A symbol of forever.

Dean stirred as the soft press of your lips ghosted along his shoulder, trailing kisses up the strong column of his neck. A deep breath shuddered through him, his muscles tensing before melting into your touch. He shifted fully onto his back, blinking his tired eyes open, only to be greeted by the most beautiful sight.

The soft glow of morning light behind you, your hair tousled, your eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief.

That damn smirk of yours.

His lips curled up at the edges, but before he could say anything, you leaned in, continuing your path of lazy, unhurried kisses along his jaw, your mouth warm and soft against his skin. His breath caught when your teeth grazed his pulse point, the sharp contrast sending a thrill straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut again at the feeling, his breath coming quicker. 

But then a thought, albeit fleeting, hit him. Why did this feel so familiar? 

However, his grip tightened instinctively on your waist, heat blooming low in his stomach as you suckled at his skin and he pulled you up, crushing his lips to yours in a slow, searing kiss.

Your tongue caressed his, your touch sending fire through his veins, and then your hand slid down his abdomen—fingertips just barely grazing the hard planes of his abdomen, slipping beneath the sheets with agonising slowness.

And that’s when it hit him. Just like Déjà vu.

The dream. 

This was exactly what he had pictured two years ago. The one thing that had shattered every illusion he had about what you were to him, the moment that had forced him to confront the truth—that he wanted you in ways he had refused to acknowledge before. That you were so much more than just his best friend.

It had led to The Arrangement. The realisation. The confession. Everything between then and now had stemmed from that dream.

And now, here you were. Not some figment of his imagination. You were real, you were his wife. 

And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Just you and your fingers curling around his hard length in a teasing grip, that had his breath stalling in his throat.

A dream literally come true. And damn, if this wasn’t a full circle moment. 

“Fuck.” Dean huffed, head falling back against the pillows as your touch grew more purposeful, the whole thing made more intense by this little realisation. You tugged him softly, playfully, the pads of your fingers stroking his heated skin with an almost lazy confidence, and Dean let out a long, shuddering exhale.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groaned, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “Feels so good, baby.” You hummed in response, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his throat, your pace never faltering as you worked him, watching the way he came undone beneath you.

Dean’s stomach tensed when you suddenly slid lower, a slow, teasing descent, your mischievous gaze locked onto his as you kissed your way down his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation as your lips trailed lower.

“Shit,” he rasped as you reached his lower abdomen, your teeth grazing over the sensitive dip of his hip. His cock twitched in your grip, thick and pulsing with need, and you smiled against his skin, amused at just how wrecked he already was.

“You okay there, handsome?” you teased, your voice warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the absolute sin in your eyes.

Dean let out a strangled chuckle, shaking his head. “You know what you’re doin’.” 

“Mm. Maybe.” Your fingers tightened around him, stroking him once, twice, before your tongue darted out to tease the tip, swiping across the leaking head in one slow, torturous lick.

Dean’s hips bucked on instinct, a wrecked groan spilling from his lips. “Fuck—”

And then, without warning, you took him into your mouth, warm and wet and perfect, and his whole world tilted.

“Shit—baby—” His hand fisted in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your tongue working him in a way that had his jaw clenching and his abs flexing beneath you.

You were relentless, sucking him down with slow, deliberate drags, your eyes locked onto his the entire time, like you wanted to watch him fall apart. And he was—fuck, he was unraveling at the seams, barely holding onto control. 

“You’re too good at this,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “So goddamn good. Fuck—gonna make me—”

But before he could lose himself completely, he forced himself to move, a growl ripping from his throat as he reached down and hauled you back up, capturing your mouth in a desperate, heated kiss.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and rough, still breathless. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart.”

And then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you, his lips trailing down your body, kissing, worshiping, taking his time to appreciate every inch of you.

His hands spread across your thighs, parting them, his breath hot against your skin as he settled between them. His mouth found your inner thigh first, teasing, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh just to hear the way your breath hitched.

“Dean,” you whimpered, your hips shifting beneath him.

He smirked, dragging his lips up, and up, until he was right where you needed him. “Relax, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, filled with promise. “Lemme take my time with you.”

And he did.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, savouring you, his hands gripping your hips as he pinned you down, determined to make you feel everything.

You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair, your back arching off the bed as he worked you open with his mouth—licking, sucking, teasing, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

“Dean—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with hunger, dark with raw need. “Let me hear you.”

And so you did.

You didn’t hold back.

You cried out as two thick fingers slid deep into your dripping cunt, curling just right—hitting that devastatingly perfect spot he had long since memorised, learned by heart just to ruin you over and over again. Your back arched, muscles clenching as he pumped them in and out, each stroke dragging a fresh moan from your lips.

His mouth came away from you, slick with your arousal, his focus now solely on his hand as he fucked you with his fingers, determined, relentless. His wrist flexed, his pace quickening, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your thighs trembled violently, your body caught between the unbearable pleasure and the overwhelming pressure coiling deep in your core, rising fast, too fast.

“I know, baby,” Dean groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you wide open as you writhed, instinctively trying to fight what you knew was coming. “Don’t run from it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The raw command in his voice shattered you.

With a strangled cry of his name, your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot, electric, tearing through every nerve in your body. Your release poured out of you, soaking his arm, drenching the sheets beneath you. The sheer force of it left you shaking, gasping, completely wrecked beneath him.

And Dean all but growled.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, dragging his fingers from your pulsing cunt, watching in fascination as your slick dripped down his wrist. He lifted them to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something darker, something purely possessive. “Every time… I swear, it just gets better.”

Heat flushed through you, but the shame that once crept in at moments like this was gone.

Dean had stripped it from you, erased it with every moan, every praise, every time he worshipped the way your body responded to him. He loved this. Loved dragging you over the edge so hard, so deep, that you couldn’t hold back. Loved watching you come apart, seeing the proof of how fucking good he made you feel.

And fuck, did he make you feel good.

You swallowed, watching as he smirked, his hand gliding up your trembling thigh, rubbing soothing circles as he took in the mess between your legs like the goddamn masterpiece it was.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, trailing his fingers through your slick folds, groaning at how sensitive you still were. His cock twitched from where it was trapped against the mattress. “And already dripping for more.”

You bit your lip, eyes half-lidded with need, your body still molten, still buzzing, but the hunger in his gaze sent another sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

“C’mere,” you murmured, crooking a finger at him, and Dean obeyed instantly, moving up your body with a predatory grace until he was caging you beneath him, his forearms bracketing either side of your head.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and messy. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, the way he devoured you without shame. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, tugging him closer, needing him now.

Dean chuckled against your lips, low and husky, cocky as ever, but fuck, he loved you like this—needy, impatient, desperate for him. He rolled his hips, his thick cock gliding through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick, teasing you both with the friction.

“Dean,” you whined, your nails biting into the firm muscles of his back.

He groaned, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “Goddamn, baby—”

You whimpered as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, your whole body arching, pulsing, silently pleading.

“Baby, please,” you breathed into his ear, your voice drenched in pure want.

And fuck—Dean couldn’t deny you anything when you begged like that.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he tilted his hips and pushed in, inch by glorious inch, stretching you open, filling you to the brim.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt in your tight, throbbing heat. His forearms trembled where they held him up, his jaw clenched as he fought for control, fought against the primal urge to pound into you, to take you the way he needed to.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped, your walls fluttering around him, nails dragging down his back, your body begging for more.

“Fuck me, baby,” you pleaded. “Please—”

And with that, he was gone.

All restraint shattered.

Dean fucked you, deep and unrelenting, hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that had you keening, moaning, gasping his name like a prayer. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, palming your breasts, fingers finding your throat, owning you.

He growled against your lips, biting at your bottom one as he pulled back, eyes dark, feral. “This what you needed, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t even form words, just nodded frantically, lost in him, in the overwhelming pleasure he wrung from your body with every deep, punishing thrust.

“Goddamn, you’re so good for me,” he groaned, voice wrecked, his pace growing erratic as he felt you tightening around him, pulling him deeper. “Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna soak my cock this time?”

You sobbed, your entire body trembling, on the edge of bliss so sharp it made you ache.

Dean reached between you, his fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

That was it.

That was fucking it.

Your climax crashed over you, stealing every last bit of breath from your lungs, and you screamed his name as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him like a vice, milking him for everything he had.

Dean groaned, long and deep, his hips stuttering, his body locking up as he spilled into you, filling you with everything he had, holding you tight, panting against your sweat-slicked skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together, bodies trembling, completely spent.

Dean finally let out a slow, satisfied breath, brushing damp hair from your forehead as he kissed you, slow and deep, nothing but pure devotion in the way his lips moved against yours. 

“God, I love you,” he murmured between kisses, voice hushed and reverent, as if the words themselves weren’t enough to contain the depth of what he felt.

Your heart fluttered, as it always did when he uttered those three words, and your arms around his neck tightened, holding him closer.

“I love you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. His green eyes softened as he leaned into your touch, letting out a contented sigh before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to your palm.

And then a quiet huff left his lips as he dropped his head onto your chest, the weight of him grounding you, comforting in a way you could never quite put into words. Without a second thought, your fingers drifted into his sweat-slicked hair, combing through the damp strands, soothing him as exhaustion slowly pulled you both under.

“I can’t believe this will be our last night here,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep.

You hummed in agreement, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. This place, this little bubble you’d created together, had felt like a dream—one you weren’t quite ready to wake up from.

“Maybe we should just move here,” you murmured playfully, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Quit our jobs and stay forever.”

Dean let out a lazy chuckle, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling him snuggle closer, his breathing deep and even. Within moments, sleep, once again, claimed you both. 

A couple of hours later, the sharp grumble of your stomachs had dragged you both from your unplanned nap. The two of you groggily peeled yourselves from the tangle of sheets, reluctantly leaving the comfort of your bed to shower and dress. 

The day passed in a slow, blissful haze—lounging on the terrace, nibbling on fresh fruit and pastries, talking about home, about work, about everything and nothing at all.

As the evening approached, you had one last dinner reservation at the resort’s restaurant. Dean opted for a quick dip in your private pool while you got ready, the sound of water rippling as you slipped into a white, flowy sundress, the light fabric brushing against your ankles. You left your hair down, the soft waves cascading naturally over your shoulders—just the way Dean liked it. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and you were ready.

“You look beautiful,” Dean’s voice was thick with appreciation as he appeared behind you in the mirror, his reflection stunning—his hair damp, torso bare and glistening with droplets.

You bit your lip, heat pooling in your stomach as he trailed his fingers over your exposed shoulder. Respectfully, he refrained from pulling you flush against him—knowing he’d soak your dress—but he still pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your skin.

Dean winked before stepping back, and with zero shame, dropped his shorts, giving you a perfect view of his delectable peach of an ass. He caught you staring as he looked over his shoulder, and with a cheeky grin gave his own firm cheek a light smack before stepping to the shower.

You were still giggling and shaking your head as you slipped on your sandals.

The restaurant was breathtaking—an open-air dining space set against the endless stretch of ocean, the sky painted in fiery hues of orange and pink as the sun melted into the horizon. Soft lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables adorned with crisp white linens and delicate floral arrangements.

The scent of salt and grilled seafood hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of waves rolling onto the shore and light spoken conversations from the other guests.

Dean pulled out your chair for you before settling into his own across from you, already reaching for the menu with a familiar furrow of his brows.

“You know, we’ve been here all week, and I still don’t know what half this stuff is.” He let out a huff, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The two of you had tried different restaurants around the island, and while the menus varied, the dishes always seemed to push him slightly outside his comfort zone.

You giggled, shaking your head before deciding to take pity on him. “How about the steak?” You leaned over, tapping the menu where the 8oz fillet with sautéed potatoes was listed. “It’s about as close to a burger and fries as you’re gonna get.”

Dean followed your finger, eyes scanning the description with renewed interest before nodding. “Alright, yeah. I can work with that.” He flagged down the waiter, ordering you both a beer along with his steak, while you opted for grilled salmon with fragrant coconut rice.

When the food arrived, Dean eyed his plate warily, poking at the steak as if it might bite back. Clearly not used to the meat un-minced and patty-like. He cut into it, taking a tentative bite, chewing slowly as he mulled over the flavours.

“Well?” you prompted, watching him closely, lips twitching.

Dean let out a low hum of consideration. “It’s… not bad.”

You let out a laugh. “That’s practically a glowing review from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “Hey, I like what I like.”

Still, he indulged in the experience, even letting you feed him bites from your own plate after some playful coaxing. He’d grumble about it, but the way his eyes flickered with enjoyment every time he took a bite of your dish didn’t go unnoticed.

The night carried on in soft conversation and easy laughter, the warm glow of the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. And through it all, his gaze never strayed far from you—watching, adoring, committing this last night to memory.

Back in your villa, the island's natural warmth was thick in your hut with the scent of salt and jasmine as you pushed open the patio doors. Behind you, a familiar melody drifted through the space—the soft, unmistakable chords of Your Song filling the air as Dean messed with the vinyl player. The resort seemed to be a big fan of Elton, you'd noticed.

You smiled at the song choice, turning just as he held out a hand, a boyish grin tugging at his lips.

“Dance with me?”

Your heart melted, and without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close. His hands settled at your waist, yours looping around his neck, and he swayed you both to the slow rhythm. His chin rested atop your head, his fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns along the small of your back.

The gentle hum of Elton John’s voice wrapped around you both, the moment steeped in quiet affection.

“I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words…” Dean sang along to the chorus, his voice soft and deep, trailing off as he smiled down at you.

“How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he finished, his gaze holding yours, warm and full of something that made your chest ache.

Just as you rose on your tiptoes, he wasted no time meeting you halfway, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deep. The warmth of his body, the press of his hands against you, the way he kissed you—it all built into something deeper, something more desperate.

But then—

A sharp pang shot through your stomach.

You froze, your breath hitching. Then, it twisted, turned, and a wave of nausea slammed into you so suddenly, you barely had time to shove Dean back before sprinting to the bathroom.

“Shit—sweetheart?”

Dean was at your side in an instant, gathering your hair as you lurched over the toilet, emptying your stomach. His warm hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice laced with concern.

“Do you think it was the food?” he asked, frowning.

You let out a weak breath, wiping your mouth. “Maybe,” you murmured, though doubt crept in. If it was the food, wouldn’t Dean be sick too? He had shared bites of your meal, after all. However, another wave of nausea hit you and had you hugging the toilet bowl once more. 

You spent the rest of the night curled on the cool tile floor, Dean refusing to leave your side. He wiped your clammy forehead, whispered reassurances, cradled you against him when you finally had nothing left to give.

By the time the early morning light filtered through the windows, you were drained, barely able to crawl into bed.

When you woke a few hours later, your body was still heavy with fatigue, your stomach uneasy, but you managed to push through, packing sluggishly as Dean went to check out.

You were in the bathroom, collecting your toiletries, when your gaze landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Your box of tampons.

Unopened.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in your chest as you stared at it. Slowly, you did the math in your head, counting back the days, trying to recall the last time you’d needed them.

Two weeks late.

Your stomach flipped—not from nausea this time, but from something far more terrifying.

No. No, it was impossible.

You were on the pill. You took it religiously.

But they aren’t always foolproof, your annoying voice of reason argued.

A sharp breath left you as you stared at the box, heart hammering in your chest. However, a thought hit you. You remembered finding it on your first night here. 

Rummaging through your toiletry bag, you exhaled in relief when your fingers brushed against it. A pregnancy test. One Charlie had slipped in as a joke—a homage to her annual Twilight binge—thinking she was hilarious. And right now? You were thanking her ridiculous sense of humour.

“Right. You’re just being irrational,” you whispered, trying to calm yourself. “You just ate something bad and your body rejected it. It’ll be negative and you’ll feel real stupid for freaking out over nothing.”

Your fingers fumbled with the packaging as you ripped it open, barely noticing the way your hands shook. Luckily, you needed to pee anyway, and with a deep, steadying breath, you settled onto the toilet, slipping the stick between your legs.

When Dean returned, the sight of your half-packed suitcase made his stomach tighten. You weren’t in the main room where he’d left you.

Had you gotten sick again?

The thought unsettled him. He’d spent the entire walk back hoping last night had been a fluke—that you wouldn’t suddenly take a turn for the worse, forcing him to figure out where the hell the nearest hospital was on this island.

You looked better this morning. Tired and a little pale, but no vomiting. No fever. That had been enough to ease his nerves—until now.

Then, he saw the bathroom door slightly ajar.

Quietly, he stepped forward, pushing it open. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head down, shoulders tense.

“Hey, is everything o—” His words died in his throat when his gaze landed on the object grasped tightly in your hands. A little white stick.

His heart spiked.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, eyes wide and alarmed, not easing his nerves at all. 

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

AN: Now... I have a confession. I had originally ended this at the wedding, but inspiration struck. And maybe stubbornness to finish up with these two. So the honeymoon was added and thus the premise to... *drum roll*... The Predicament. A sequel series that will follow Dean and the reader becoming parents. That's right! This isn't the last of this pair. 🤪 Also want thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this series! I hope you're all excited for another adventure with these two! 💙

Dean Winchester/Series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[keirareidss]

the road not taken - s.r

�� summary: you and Spencer argue about the meaning of a poem

pairing: spencer reid x mean!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI,smut, kind of OOC spencer,

wc: 1.3k

request here

It wasn't supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be sometimes sweet shared between the two of you. It was supposed to be a delicate moment, maybe a conversation or a light debate. Maybe a shared kiss or two I'd you disagreed with each other, as if to say 'agree to disagree' or 'i love you, but no'.

Spencer had brought home a poem that he read that day, showing it to you. He'd said that he found it really interesting and the meaning of it was appealing to him.

"The meaning of it?" You'd asked.

"Yeah. It's about a choice. The author is making an important choice and the poem is about the two possible outcomes depending on which choice he makes."

"Well... I guess that's one meaning of it."

"What are you talking about?"

"There are many meanings to the poem. Like, for example, it could be a celebration of nonconformity, how taking the less traveled path could lead to a greater reward in the end, or it could be a reflection of our own self-deception where, in reality, both path's lead to the same place but we choose the believe that we have a choice." You explained. Spencer shakes his head.

"The author only gave one meaning to it, he even uses the specific metaphor of a fork in the road when one has to make a decision." You could tell Spencer was getting a little argumentative and this is normally when you'd back off and let things simmer down but something, maybe the argument itself or just the mood you were in, made you keep arguing back.

"I don't think it's that simple. It's more than just the metaphorical meaning behind the words, it's about the emotional response you get from it. That's the beauty of it, is that it resonates with so many people because it can be interpreted in so many different ways depending on how it makes people feel." Spencer shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed but you cut him off before he can speak again. "No, you just don't get it Spencer, because you're basically a robot. You don't have the emotional capacity to understand something like this."

You don't realize what you've said until it's out of your mouth and you can see, from the look on Spencer's face, that he's hurt.

"I- I'm sorry." You said weakly. He shakes his head, looking down.

"No, it- it's fine."

"No, Spencer, it-"

"It's fine." He mumbled, standing from his spot on the chair and heading towards the bedroom. You call after him but you don't follow him. You know you made a mistake. Everyone always told you you were too mean to him. You thought he liked it, no, you knew he liked it. But that was when you were being endearingly mean. When you were giving him compliments veiled in degradation. But he didn't like this. This pure sting of wickedness.

You knew you had been wrong to snap at him like that. To take one of his worst insecurities and use it to fuel your argument. You shouldn't have said it and you didn't mean it. But you knew he needed space. When something got too upsetting or overwhelming for Spencer he retreated into the bedroom, pushing himself into the corner of the bed and curling up in a ball. You didn't know if he was overthinking or forcing his mind to go blank. You only knew to give him space for a while before addressing it. So that's what you did. You waited about half an hour before gently knocking on the bedroom door.

"Spencer? Spence, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Can I come in?" It was a few moments before you heard a reply.

"Okay." He called softly. You slowly opened the door, peering into the room. He was where you'd expected, curled up in the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Hey." You said gently, walking further into the room, letting the door close behind you, leaving the two of you in the dark room, only lit by the warm bedside lamp. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." You stepped closer, kneeling on the bed next to him.

"It's okay." Spencer said but there was a strain in his voice.

"Baby, it's not okay." You put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not. I didn't mean it. It's not true." Spencer sniffled, avoiding eye contact. "Look, I know I can be a little mean sometimes, trust me, but that was over the line."

"It's not that." He mumbles.

"Not what?"

"I don't mind when you get mean. I just... you're so smart." You scoffed.

"Honey, you're the one with the 187 IQ."

"No, I mean... you were right. Studies have shown that people with a higher IQ will often have a lower emotional quotient and-"

"Spencer, come on-"

"No, it's true! There are instances in which-"

"Spence, hey." You said firmly, cupping his face and forcing him to look in your eyes. "I was wrong. You're not a robot and you aren't emotionally unintelligent. Babe you cried at the life insurance commercial."

"It was created for that purpose! It's supposed to-" He tried to defend himself and you chuckled.

"Spencer, what I'm saying is that just because you're incredibly smart and brilliant, that doesn't mean you're any less emotionally capable than anyone else." He looks away, blushing.

"I think I like it better when you're being mean." He mumbles.

"Oh yeah?" You grinned. He blushed more, shifting in his seat. You tugged his legs down from where they were pulled up against his chest, laying them flat on the bed. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him as he awkwardly kept his arms by his sides. "You want mean? Then behave and you'll get it." You said, undoing his pants. He wanted back against the pillows, sucking in a breath when your hand found his hardening length.

He whimpered, his hips bucking up when your thumb circled his tip and you stopped your movements.

"I said behave, didn't I? I thought you were smart."

"I- I am. I'll behave." You picked up your movements again, stroking his length, using his precum as lube. He struggled to keep his body still, to let you do what you please with him, but he forced himself to. Every time he so much as twitched, you stopped and gave him a knowing look and he stilled again.

"Please please please." He chanted, begging for permission to release.

"Please what Spencer?"

"Please, I need to come. I- I need it." He whined, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I don't know, I think you can hold it for longer, can't you?" You mocked, tilting your head.

"I- I-"

"Or are you too desperate and needy that you can't control your own cock?"

"Ah- I'm- fuck." He cursed and you let out a laugh.

"Who knew you had such a dirty mouth?" You smirked. You continued pumping his cock with your fist and he whimpered, squirming under you as he got closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, I need to cum, I need to- please." He whined.

"Okay, you deserve it, baby, come for me." He moaned as he let go, white streaks spurting over your hand. He twitched and writhed under you until you took your hand away, licking up his release. His eyes were still closed as you laid down next to him, letting him curl into you. He wrapped his arms around your middle, burying his face in your neck. From the crying and the orgasm, he suddenly felt exhausted. You pressed a kiss to his head.

"Rest, Spencer." And he did, falling into a deep sleep with dreams filled with you.

The Road Not Taken

Taglist: @totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, @superbeaglewitch, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @redorquid

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay, In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

heyy, so hear me out- reader x void where reader is kinda depressed, and finds comfort in void (the literal embodiment of depression) and void also enjoys/finds comfort in the depressed. Reader’s head is in void’s lap and void is comforting them. (But not necessarily in a things get better kind of comfort, more like they’re both fucked up and live off of each others darkness, and that feels right in a way? Maybe?)

Okay STOP!!!! I already had this started in my drafts! How did you know???

Also, I've made a masterlist for Bob! I'll link it here <3 I'm in the process of making a masterlist for my masterlists.

Warnings: Talks of depression, the void himself should just be a warning. I think that's it? Let me know if there's something I missed.

************************************************************************

You always struggled with depression, it started when you were just a kid, and you'd think that it'd lighten up as the years went on, but honestly it seemed to just keep getting worse. There were bright days and dark days. There were highs but then the deepest of lows and you just couldn't handle it anymore. At least not today.

No one had seen you today. On your brighter days, you were up around nine, in the kitchen by nine-thirty, and making a pot of coffee for everyone to share. You would laugh at the ridiculous arguments the boys would start as breakfast was being prepared and you'd talk about the plans everyone had for their day.

You could hear the footsteps in the hall and the harsh whispers of your friends. They seemed frantic and you knew the reason over it was you. The voice in your head made you feel guilty for not speaking up, for not soothing the panic that the tower seemed to be in, but you couldn't find your voice. Every sound you tried to make made your throat tighten.

Void was wandering around the halls as he watched the rest of the team search. Confusion struck him, he never seen them like this before, as he looked at them, he noticed one was missing. Bob's favorite was missing...his favorite was missing. With a tilt of his head he walked past the team leaving them in their panic and he made his way to your room.

Reaching for the doorknob he is met with resistance. Why is the door locked? His jaw clenched before he forced the door open with his strength. He expected to see an empty room or see your figure jump from shock at him forcing his way in.

He's met with nothing. Just you in bed clenching onto one of your pillows with old cartoons playing on your TV. "Sweet one?" He speaks quieter than he planned. Clearing his throat, he walks into the room and sits on your bed without asking for permission. He knew he had permission, and if not...well why would he care?

Hearing his voice calling for you made your head peak out of the blanket burrito you were currently wrapped in. "Void?" You croaked confused, how did he get in? Instead of questioning him you just watched his movements. Watched how he seems to be looking into your soul, watched when his brow furrowed and his head tilted just slightly. You watched how he strategically moved his body to wrap around yours.

You allowed him to pick you up and move the two of you into a comfortable position for him. You rested your head in his lap while he leaned against your wall. And you melted as soon as you felt his hand move to rest on your head.

"What is racing in your mind my sweet one?" He asked in a husky tone, he waited for you to speak up on the issue...otherwise, he was prepared to take himself into the memories making your mind spin. A choked sound falls from your lips as you try to find your voice for the first time today. He sighs knowing it'll take a minute for you to find your voice so he starts to run his finger up and down your spine, waiting.

"I couldn't sleep last night, I-I just kept staring at the wall all night with this voice whispering in my head. Just constantly bringing up what I've down and how I am, they just don't shut up. I couldn't sleep the night before, or the one before that...it's all the same Void. I can't shake it this time and-and I don't know if I'll be able to this time. I feel lost, and alone, I feel cold and so angry, I'm always so angry and I don't even know why. I- I'm" you cut yourself off with a sigh "I'm just tired."

You took a deep breath before continuing your rant about everything that your mind has been telling you. His fingers never stopped moving up and down your skin as you ramble on about how you've been feeling, about the thoughts clawing at you constantly. Once you stop talking, once he feels your allowing your shoulders to fall, freeing them from the tension you've been holding, he spoke up.

"So?" He didn't say it as a question, more as a statement. "You think you're the only human out there who feels like this? Who doesn't sleep? Sweet one you need to understand, you're not that special." Your chest tightened hearing him speak in such a venomous tone, feeling you tighten up he shakes his head. "No, stop that." He laid his hand on your chest completely, "It's not a bad thing sweets; it is the truth, however. Look who you're speaking with. There isn't a single being out there who is good, but that's what's freeing. You have darkness in you, I am complete darkness, but we don't feel wrong together."

You stared up at him and he quickly noticed a light flickering behind your eyes again. You couldn't stop the laughter that began to fall from your lips. The Void felt...concern? Was that the new feeling he had? "Sweets?" He asked more cautiously. He broke you. He must've, they've finally lost their mind completely. Oh, Bob will be so mad that his favorite is crazy. The Void felt his own mind race with thoughts before calming down as he observed you taking a deep breath to calm yourself before resting your head back on his lap.

"Thank you V" Your whispers graced his ears making the entity smile crookedly. You were a mess but so was he.

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

I do have another draft of Bob helping the reader through a depression episode, let me know if you'd like me to finish and post it!

[razorblade180]

9 Days of Lancaster Day 3:

Just Good Friends

Yang:RUBY!!! *waving shampoo bottle* Where are you and why is my shampoo bottle lighter!? *opens door* How many times do I have to-

The culprit of the hair care crime stood in the middle of the room, her red hair freshly brushed and shining brilliantly as its texture became wavy. It wasn’t the only wavy thing on her. Ruby had ditched her normal clothes for a frilly pale pink skirt that stopped right above her knee. Her top was a was a matching white and pink long sleeve crop top.

Yang barely recognized her younger sister. She was wearing white flats with pink roses on the buckles! Ruby slowly picked up a strawberry hair clip that kept her bangs at bay. Whatever anger Yang had was taken over by cuteness aggression.

Yang:Well hello, Ms. Stawberry Shortcake.

Ruby:Shut up.

Yang:Absolutely not. Look at you! You’re so cuuuute! You lose a bet with Weiss.

Ruby:If I did, the consequences would be leader rights. I’m just spending the day with Jaune. Mall, movie, park.

Yang:Oh shit! You’re finally going on a date together! Congratulations! Don’t inhale your food.

Ruby:N-No. We’re just hanging out. As friends do.

Yang:Then…why are you all dolled up?

Ruby:So I can’t look cute cause I feel like it!? It’s a day off and the weather is nice!

Yang:…*squints*

Ruby:What!?

Yang:This is a lot of effort for you. He didn’t ask you out on a date?

Ruby:No. He wanted to hangout and I was more than happy to.

Weiss:*walks in* Did you murder your sister yet for- Polly Pocket!? What are you doing here!?

Ruby:…

Yang:She wanted to look cute today when she hung out with Jaune.

Ruby:Not what I said.

Yang:It kinda is.

Weiss:You want one of my handbags so you carry your things in?

Ruby:As long as it doesn’t have your family crest on it.

Weiss:Not everything I own is made by my company!

Ruby:You own Yang’s favorite shampoo.

Yang:No she d- oh hey. Look at that. It’s right next to the instructions.

Weiss hands Ruby a red handbag, complete with the standard utilities. Mirror, wallet, toiletries, etc.

Ruby:Thanks. I’m shocked it’s not in white.

Weiss:Red is literally my accent color. Anyways, why is Jaune getting the best I’ve ever seen you?

Ruby:I’m gonna stop coming out of my shell if all I get is an interrogation. I just wanted to look pretty.

Blake:*walks in*….

RWY:….

Blake:BRATZ

Ruby:You know what? At least you didn’t say Barbie.

Yang:She’s hanging out with Jaune all day.

Blake:That’s nice.

Ruby:Thank you.

Blake:Good luck. Rooting for ya.

Ruby:It’s not a date! Ugh! That’s it! I’m changing!

WBY:Nooo! You look cute!

knock knock knock

Jaune:Hello? It’s me, Jaune.

Yang:Coming~ try not to let your jaw hit the floor!

Ruby:I’m about to knock some jaws in a minute.

Yang opened the door excitedly to see Jaune’s reaction. She wasn’t expecting for the young man to be standing there in a short sleeved light blue polo. Tattered jeans were replaced with fresh black jeans. His messy hair seemed far calmer than normal and his converse were replaced with tennis shoes that matched a silver watch on his left wrist.

The three friends were speechless while he was busy looking at Ruby, who was looking at him.

Jaune:Wow. You look like spring.

Ruby:It is spring. *smiles* You clean up nicely yourself.

Jaune:Thanks. Ready to go?

Ruby:Yep! Don’t wait up you three!

She doesn’t hesitate to super speed her way over to Jaune, closing the door behind her as she left.

Weiss:Did we miss a payday!? Why are they dressed to impress!?

Yang:I don’t know! She seemed pretty serious about it not being a date.

Blake:Well, they are both leaders and spend a lot of time coordinating with each other. Maybe they’re testing the waters? Exercising their comfort level in a way that would be difficult otherwise.

Yang:Ruby could dress up around us all the time!

Blake:Yeah, but…when’s the last time she’s had a boy around she felt comfortable with? Better yet, I bet Jaune isn’t used to not feeling awkward around a girl.

Weiss:He’s been bold around me.

Yang:That’s over performing. You make him feel like a loser.

Weiss:No I don’t!

YB:….

Weiss:Do I!? That wasn’t my intention!

Blake:Pyrrha is teaching him and known for being amazing. Meanwhile Nora is…Nora. It’s kinda hard not to be intimidated. I think it’s safe to say Ruby might be the only person constantly around that is as every bit as a nerd as he is.

Yang:Now that you mention it, they really do go hand in hand. Man, now I feel bad for teasing. I can act like myself around just about anyone!

Weiss:We get it. You’re a pretty extrovert brimming with confidence.

Yang:Since when are you lacking social confidence?

Weiss:Never. I just hate people. They’re tiring and small talk is dull.

Blake:Agreed. Honestly, I appreciate Ruby’s personality. She’s forward, yet earnest and not too pushy. It’s cozy. Now she founds someone to be cozy with emotionally. Hehe, I’m a little jealous. *smiles*

Yang:Hmm, the more you know. To me she’s always been, well, Ruby. A cute little ball of dorkiness. Sure it didn’t gel with everyone but it never seemed to bug her either. At least she never told me. Though I guess if I looked at it another way, I’d be over the moon to have someone I could yap about motorcycles with that isn’t my dad. *grins* Good for her.

xxxxxx

Down in the courtyard, the two walk side by side as they head towards the gate. Ruby spares a quiet glance at Jaune before looking down at his swaying right hand. She makes a halfhearted attempt to get closer, just barely grazing his knuckles before retreating. The attempt wasn’t for nothing. A couple seconds later, Jaune’s hand pressed against hers in response. Ruby’s fingers curl up briefly before relaxing again. She presses back with equal force, finally taking the leap to slid her hand over to the other side and properly hold it. Jaune’s fingers close around her palm and sends a warm fuzzy feeling to her stomach.

Jaune:Is…this okay.

Ruby:Uh huh. Feels natural. I like it. Sorry if it’s a little clammy hehe.

Jaune:It feels just fine. *smiles* I can hold it all day.

Ruby:Cool.

She finally closes her fingers just like he did, letting their hands sway with their stride.

Ruby:So can I.

[paucubarsisimp]

HIIII <3 if ur open for requests, can i please ask for a lamine yamal x reader slowburn romance?

in which, y/n and lamine are the perfect pair for each other and it’s undeniable, but, he’s already in a relationship with alex for about 4 months and y/n’s moving on. but when lamine’s relationship ends with him presumably getting cheated on, lamine realises that the girl who’s really for him, is y/n ~

anyway, u can do whatever you want with the storyline luv, thank you byeee <33

the one

pairing: lamine yamal x reader

summary: in which lamine finds out that you are the one for him

warnings: angst, cheating

a/n: i hope you like it love <33 @looooochie

you’ve known lamine since you were kids. not just as a friend you see once in a while, but as someone who’s been a constant in your life — your neighbor, your childhood companion, the person whose laughter has been part of your soundtrack for as long as you can remember.

you remember the early days, when the two of you would run barefoot through the neighborhood streets, chasing after a worn-out football that barely held air anymore. you’d laugh so hard your sides hurt, and he’d flash that mischievous grin like nothing in the world could ever touch you.

he was the boy who taught you how to dribble and pass, who never let you feel less than capable even when you missed every shot, who cheered the loudest when you finally scored a goal during those endless summer afternoons.

there was a rhythm to your friendship — a kind of natural flow that didn’t need words to be understood. you knew his moods just by the way he walked, and he knew when you needed someone to sit beside you without saying anything.

everyone said you were perfect for each other. maybe it was just the way you fit together, like pieces of the same puzzle, or maybe it was because you grew up side by side, inseparable and constant.

but to you, it was just normal. nothing extraordinary, just… the way things were.

you never thought about what might be underneath the surface. you never asked if this was more than friendship. you didn’t have to.

until four months ago.

that’s when lamine started dating alex.

you met her once, briefly, and something about her felt different. she was polite, confident, and she made him smile in a way you hadn’t seen before. not in a bad way, but in a way that sent a quiet stab through your chest.

he told you about alex like it was a secret he was nervous to share, like he was afraid of what you might say or feel.

“i’m seeing someone,” he said, voice low and unsure.

you forced a smile and said, “that’s… good. i hope you’re happy.”

but inside, your heart clenched, tight and painful.

you tried to be okay with it. you really did.

you told yourself that you could still be his friend. that nothing had to change. that maybe this was just another chapter.

but slowly, imperceptibly, things began to shift.

the easy laughter you shared became forced. the late-night conversations dwindled to quick hellos. the messages that used to flood your phone were now sparse and cold.

you felt him slipping away, not in a dramatic way, but like the tide slowly pulling from the shore until there was nothing left but empty sand.

you didn’t want to lose him. but you didn’t know how to hold on without hurting yourself.

so you pulled away.

it wasn’t a choice you made in a moment, but a slow retreat. you stopped texting first. you stopped expecting his calls. you stopped being around him as much.

you buried yourself in other things — school, friends, even a few dates with people who couldn’t compare. but none of it filled the hole growing inside your chest.

you told yourself you were moving on.

but really, you were just surviving.

and then came that night.

the sky was dark and heavy, pouring rain like it was trying to wash away the whole world. you were curled up on your bed, staring out the window, when your phone buzzed with an unknown number.

you hesitated but didn’t answer.

then, almost immediately, the doorbell rang.

your heart slammed against your ribs as you opened the door.

there he was. lamine. soaked through to the skin, hair matted to his forehead, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, the weight of heartbreak crushing his shoulders.

“y/n…” his voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw.

you stepped aside wordlessly and let him in.

he collapsed onto your couch, pulling his knees close, his whole body trembling like he’d been holding back a storm.

the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

finally, he looked at you, eyes haunted.

“alex cheated on me.”

the words hit you harder than the rain against the windows.

“what?” you breathed, disbelief and pain swirling together.

“she’s been seeing someone else for weeks. behind my back.”

his voice broke, bitter and hollow.

“i didn’t see it coming. i thought… i thought she was different.”

you reached out, trembling, and placed your hand on his arm.

“i’m so sorry.”

he shook his head.

“there’s more.”

you waited.

“i didn’t tell you because i was scared.”

“scared?”

“yeah.” he swallowed hard. “scared that if i told you how i really feel about you… you’d push me away. that i’d lose you forever.”

your breath caught, chest tightening.

“lamine…”

his fingers brushed yours, warm and familiar, trembling slightly.

“i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you since we were kids. i just didn’t know how to say it, or if you felt the same.”

the tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring your vision.

“i always knew,” you whispered.

he smiled, a fragile, hopeful thing.

“maybe now it’s time to stop hiding.”

you squeezed his hand, heart pounding so loudly you thought he might hear it.

“yeah. maybe it is.”

you drape the blanket over his shoulders, the warmth like a fragile shield against the cold dampness clinging to his skin. he’s shaking slightly, the kind of trembling that comes not just from cold, but from something deeper, something raw and fractured.

you sit beside him quietly, careful not to break the fragile silence that hangs between you.

“you don’t have to say anything,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady like a gentle hand on his arm. “just breathe. i’m here.”

his eyes, red-rimmed and haunted, flicker to you, then back to some distant place you can’t reach. a shaky breath escapes him, almost like the air is too heavy to hold inside.

then, almost like he’s giving up the fight, he leans into you — his head resting on your shoulder, heavy and weighted with everything he’s been holding back.

it’s the same way he used to lean into you when you were kids, before the world got complicated and feelings became things to hide instead of share.

your fingers find his hair, brushing damp strands back from his forehead. your touch lingers, hesitant but full of the comfort you want to give him.

“you’re not alone,” you say softly. “i’m here.”

he stays like that for a long time, silent and still, the weight of his pain pressing down on you both.

memories flood your mind — the way you two used to sit on the curb after school, sharing secrets and dreams, the way he used to squeeze your hand when you were scared, the laughter that spilled so easily between you that it felt like it could heal anything.

you think about how close you always were, and how far you’ve drifted without even realizing it.

“how do you do it?” he asks finally, voice barely above a whisper. “how do you stay so strong?”

you laugh softly, but it’s tinged with sadness. “i’m not strong. not really. i just don’t let myself break in front of anyone.”

he chuckles, the sound rough and broken but genuine. “guess i thought you were invincible.”

“i’m not.” you admit, voice trembling. “but when you’re here… it’s easier to pretend.”

his fingers intertwine with yours, holding on like a lifeline in the dark.

“i want to be better,” he says. “for you. for me. for… us.”

your heart races, every nerve alive and electric. “us?”

he nods, cheeks flushing a soft pink. “maybe… maybe this could be more than friendship. if you want it.”

you search his face, looking for doubt, but find only honesty and hope shining in his eyes.

“i want that too,” you whisper.

he leans in slowly, as if the moment is too precious to rush.

his lips touch yours softly, a gentle question asked in the quiet of your room.

you respond without hesitation, your hands framing his face as the years of silence and longing pour through your kiss.

it’s not perfect — the way your breaths catch, the tremble in his hands — but it’s real.

he pulls you close, arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go.

and in that moment, the world outside disappears.

the next morning, you wake to the soft glow of dawn filtering through your curtains.

lamine is still asleep beside you, his breathing steady and peaceful, a far cry from the storm that brought him to your door last night.

you watch him for a long moment, heart full and aching all at once.

you reach out and brush a stray hair from his face, smiling softly.

“good morning,” you whisper.

he stirs, eyes fluttering open. when he sees you, his smile is sleepy but genuine, the kind that makes your heart flip.

“morning,” he murmurs.

you spend the day wrapped up in each other’s company — no grand gestures, no declarations, just the quiet comfort of being close.

you cook dinner together, laughing over spilled sauce and burnt edges. you share music and stories, rediscovering the little things that made you friends and now something more.

at one point, he pulls you close on the couch, resting his head against your shoulder.

“i’m scared,” he admits quietly.

you squeeze his hand gently. “me too.”

“but i want to try,” he says.

“me too,” you reply.

days turn into weeks, and the newness of your relationship settles into something deep and steady.

you talk about your fears — the fear of losing each other, the fear of being hurt again, the fear of what might come next.

he listens, really listens, and you realize how much you’ve missed that — being truly seen.

you share moments of pure joy, like when he surprises you with your favorite ice cream or when you both stay up late just talking about nothing.

sometimes it’s awkward, like when you accidentally call him your best friend in front of his teammates or when you trip over your words trying to say “i love you” for the first time.

but those moments only make it feel more real.

you fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, hearts beating in time, the quiet promise of forever whispering between you.

one rainy afternoon, not unlike the night he showed up at your door, you find yourselves sitting on your porch, watching the storm roll in.

he takes your hand in his, fingers lacing together like they were made to fit.

“i don’t want to lose you again,” he says softly.

“you won’t,” you promise.

he leans in and kisses you, the rain a soft drum around you.

“this is just the beginning,” he whispers.

and you know he’s right.

because some loves are worth the wait — worth every fear, every tear, every silent night.

and yours is one of them.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[carmensbrain]

30 years from home

Contains: Vampire! Bo Chow x Vampire! reader

Rating: E for every brain

Warnings: Spoilers for Sinners (the ending is changed A LOT), mentions of death and alcohol/substance use

Authors notes: I might make a second part to this but idk, i just wanted to write angst ngl

Word count: 1118

Fic starts below cut!

That summer night in 1932 was something you'd never forget… how could anyone forget a night like that?

It was the night the Juke Joint opened and it was full to the brim with passion and excitement, such feelings shared by you and your husband to their fullest extent. Maybe it was the fancy imported beer that you’d been sipping on or the fast pace of the night but you swore Bo had never looked better. 

It had been so long since you two had actually gone out together and enjoyed a carefree night, being busy with both the shop and your daughter after all. He had gotten all dressed up, hair gelled and clothes pressed for once, unlike how he looked at the shop when he was swamped with work, much like you were.

Sure, it was a bit suspicious to see the twins back in town after such a… loud exit, but the worry was drowned out by all the music. Bo spent most of the night playing cards, stealing glances at you through the curtains whenever you went to restock the beer, often allowing his opponents to get a win on him due to his distraction, but it didn’t matter to him.

Dancing with him later on into the night made everything fade away, the stress of the years of work and parenting washing away as he spun you around, almost as if you were completely weightless. It was perfect until a gunshot ripped through the air, then another, then about five more.

Everything changed from just that sound alone, the party stopped and everyone was ushered out, leaving you and your closest friends to see just what you were dealing with…

Vampires.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be forced to choose between your life and joining a cult of vampires, but there you were… the white man who had brought this chaos about the lot of you was watching as Bo attempted to either smooth-talk his way in or coax you out… You were all he ever wanted anyway.

In the end, he got you, your emotions getting the better of you as you clung onto him, feeling his fangs sink into your shoulder before everything went dark.

For 25 years, you thought he’d burned up in the sun, the morning Remmick and most of the other vampires did, the universal connection between all of you dying with the man. You bestowed the care of Lisa into the hands of a close friend, making her swear to keep your existence and condition a secret. You reasoned that it was for her sake so she could live a normal life, but deep down, you knew you couldn't watch her grow old while you stayed stuck in the day you died.

You vowed never to return to Mississippi, disguising yourself among nighttime crowds from Michigan to California and everything in between, but your emotions got the better of you once again, leading you right back to the Juke Joint.

You didn't expect it to still be standing, let alone running like nothing happened that night so long ago. It was just as lively as that night, young couples dancing around just like your friends did… just like you and Bo did… You were broken from your reminiscing when you heard a familiar voice call for you.

“Shit… (name) is that you?” The familiar vibrato of Smoke’s voice rang in your ears. He looked older, wiser, and more at peace with himself.

Unlike you.

He had finally settled down after he lost Stack, rebuilt his life with Annie, and had two kids. It felt selfish to meet his teenage children, knowing that Lisa was out there somewhere, thinking you were dead, and Smoke’s daughter was a haunting reminder of that. 

Annie showed you the memorial that the survivors of that night had created, a large shady tree that hid your skin from the sunlight stood by the river, surrounded by small stones with the names of each person lost that night. Your stone was placed right next to Bo’s, your fingers tracing over the painted letters, dust coating your skin when your hand returned to your side.

Annie was the one to convince you to stay, at least for a little while, so she could help you sort things out spiritually, which you weren’t entirely convinced that was her only intention. One promised week turned into five years, you took over the joint in the background for Smoke as he grew older… weaker.

You were packing up the bar just before the Juke Joint was to close the night your demons came back for you. It was dead in the joint, the only sounds being the clinking of cups being shelved and the soft sound of running water as you rinsed what felt like the millionth glass that hour. The sound of dress shoes hitting the floor echoed through the empty room.

“Bars closed, come back tomorrow,” you sighed, slinging the dishrag you’d been using over your shoulder as you looked up from the sink.

It felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest. He looked just like he did the day you’d lost him, the same pleading look in his eyes, the soft look he always gave you when you were alone in the quiet hours of the night. You’d spent so long coping with his death at the bottom of liquor bottles and the butts of ciggaretts, knowing that you’d mourn him longer than you were in eachothers lives and yet there he was.

“Darlin’...” His voice was a bit raspier than normal, his skin more pale. His presence felt ghostly, the chill running up your spine making you back away from the bar, your back hitting the shelf as hot tears stung your eyes.

“Darlin’ please..” He reaches out to grab your arm, his wedding ring still snugly fit around his finger.

You shook your head, unable to grasp the fact that he was real. He wasn’t just a shadow in your dreams or a voice in your mind… he was here. When you came back to your senses his arms were wrapped around you like you were a precious doll, which you were to him. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, tightly clutching him in fear he’d vanish again.

You should be mad at him, screaming, crying, throwing cups at him, doing anything, but you didn’t. He expected you to punch him or throw him out on the curb so the feeling of holding your body in his arms after so long made him cry, as much as he tried not to.

“I can explain everything..”