#Trigger warning: mentioning of car crash

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[s1rawb3rry]

the unscripted lines where the boyfriends lie

Synopsis: The city that never sleeps doesn’t quiet down for grief. Instead, it roared right through it: the restless noise of New York, the constant hum of cars, the rattling of subway trains, the sharp cry of sirens at midnight… Then, there was the quiet ache of returning to your childhood bedroom, only this time with the ghosts of “forever” and the wilted flowers from your late boyfriend’s funeral. While drowning, you’re desperately trying to convince your family — and yourself — that you’re okay.

And there he is. The last person you ever wanted to see, let alone share space with: your best friend’s older brother. Once a child star, currently a tarnished name hiding from the spotlight. When an accidental run-in leads to a viral photo, the lie begins — one of fake love, media pressure and careful smiles. All while grief and guilt simmers beneath the surface for both of you.

pairing: actor!enhypen jay x reader

Genres: actor AU, (childhood) enemies to lovers, best friend’s older brother, faking dating, slow SLOWWW burn, unsent emails

Warnings: grief and loss, mental health struggles, mentions of depression-like symptoms, relationship issues, therapy, y/n goes thru a lot ngl, causal alcohol consumption, jay is a sweet heart honestly, y/n is nicknamed a cry baby hehe, y/n has amazing parents, cheating (not between jay and y/n), v heavy on the angst but it has a lot of fluff i swear (50/50), contains smut (mdni), one scene and totally skippable, sub!jay bc that agenda needs some love, bratty!mean-ish!y/n, ice play hehe, begging (from jay), body worshipping

Word count: 19.7k

a/n: ahhh its hereee. i have been working on it since forever, i poured my heart in it. this was purely for me, but then i decided to share it with you. pls do take the warnings seriously, the last thing i want to do is to trigger someone. take care and enjoy <3

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @heekolazz @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun @yeokii @stercul1a @ikeulove @kikidoul @k1ttyjwon @sumzysworld @deluluscenarios @sofiafromvenus @fancypeacepersona @donttellmymomlol20 @fruitchill @xylatox @riribelle @yoonjnngluvshooney @cloudzzcoffee @sunzyc (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

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The flowers died on Monday.

My childhood room feels preserved, like a museum of someone I no longer am. There is still the same faded posters curling at the edges, a bookshelf sagging under the weight of my highschool yearbooks and forgotten trophies. But the room felt smaller now, as if grief had pressed in and squeezed all the oxygen out. 

In fact, the air in the whole house was heavy with silence, like a pause between my sobs. Only the distant hum of the city broke through like the occasional blare of a taxi horn, the faint screech of the subway far below, the rhythm of footsteps and conversations echoing off brick walls. All of it muffled behind the curtains I hadn’t drawn in days. Outside, New York was still pulsing and alive in its relentless way. But in here? It was like time had folded in on itself, as if the city had moved on without me.

The funeral flowers sat dead on my desk, browning around the edges with their heads bowing down. Like a slow, quiet collapse. I have yet to throw them out. It’s been a month since the crash, two since we ended it. But I don’t think there’s a timeline for mourning someone who lied to you, then betrayed you.

My parents have been moving gently around me ever since I came back home. They seem afraid that they might shatter me if they speak too loud, too abruptly, too soon. My mom hovers like I’m made of glass, always one room away, always watching. She’ll peek her head in with a too-bright smile and a plate of cut-up fruit, “thought you might be hungry, baby. You barely touched your lunch.” My dad knocks before walking past my door, even if it’s just to grab something from the hallway closet. “Just me,” he’ll say softly, my eyes never quite meeting his.

I don’t blame them, I don’t recognize myself either. Besides, nobody’s words could really reach me because what really haunts me wasn’t just the loss — it was his lies. The way he said his promises of ‘forever’ so easily like he truly meant it. The way I used to idiotically believe them.

Nyla showed up two days after I moved back. I didn’t even hear the doorbell, just found her standing in the hallway holding a paper bag of cookies we used to get all the time. A dear friend like her doesn't need an invitation anyways. We hadn’t really talked since college started, but when she heard I was back in the city, she dropped everything and came without questions. 

She visits almost every day now and just exists beside me — on the floor, on the bed, anywhere I’ve decided to fall apart that day. Sometimes she talks, but mostly she just stays. There are entire afternoons where we don’t say anything at all. I’d lie with my head in her lap, eyes closed, and she’ll run her fingers gently through my hair, over and over, until my chest starts to loosen. 

Sometimes she'd glance at me when I wasn’t looking, that quiet worry flickering in her eyes, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “Remember that time we built a blanket fort in your room?” she said softly.

I smiled faintly, nodding against her thigh. “Then we tried to watch that scary movie.”

“And you were so sure the monster was under the bed, you made me sleep at the foot of the fort.”

I chuckled quietly. “You still haven’t forgiven me for that.” A quiet minute passed. She brushed another section of my hair, careful and tender. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of her touch. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

-𓍙-

It had been days since I’d stepped outside. Maybe a week — I stopped counting a while ago. But that morning, I was dragging my feet into the kitchen like usual, sleep was still clinging to my bones, just trying to get a glass of water. My mother stopped me mid-step and pressed a scarf into my hands and kissed the top of my head like she used to when I had fevers. “Just for a little while,” she said. “A walk might help.”

So I went reluctantly, but not far. Just a few blocks, turns and intersections I used to know like the back of my hand. The city was loud and busy, just like the way it always was — people brushing past, noises echoing down the avenue. It all made me feel like a ghost, like I was haunting my own hometown.

But then, halfway across the block, I stopped cold when I saw a car at the corner. It’s the same model, same deep navy blue when caught in the light just right. Even the back tail light was chipped in the same place. For a second, everything inside me went still. My feet locked to the pavement. My lungs forgot how to work. It's as if I could see the ghost I thought I'd buried with him.

I knew. I fucking knew it wasn’t him… logic screamed it at me. But my body didn’t get the memo. My heart lurched like it wanted to chase after him anyway, like grief had overruled reasons. 

My stomach started turning in on itself, warning me about that sick, familiar ache opening up in my chest like a trapdoor. Tears welled up in my eyes in the middle of a crosswalk, breath shaky and uneven. After the car zoomed away, I took a deep breath, doing everything I could to keep walking like nothing had happened.

I ducked into the nearest café just to get away from it all. Just anywhere and not that sidewalk or that stupid car. I didn’t even look at the name above the door. The warm rush of espresso scent and quiet clatter of cups didn’t soothe me, but it gave me a place to land. 

The cafe was somewhat empty, so I was pushed to order before I could scan the menu properly. My throat scratched as I said the first thing my eyes landed on, “one cappuccino please.” I said, my voice came out hoarse. I hadn’t spoken much today… or yesterday. 

The barista asked for my name and then gave me a small nod, scribbling on a cup, “It’ll be a few.” I stepped to the side, shrinking into the corner near the pick-up counter to not make eye contact with anyone. My hands fiddled with the frayed edge of my coat sleeve. 

A playlist hummed low overhead, some soft indie tracks with plucky guitar and lyrics I couldn’t quite catch. I stared blankly at the napkin dispenser, not really seeing it. It all blurred together, background noise under the heavy weight on my chest. A familiar ache settled in my ribs, the kind that prickled just beneath the surface, reminding me of things I was trying not to think about.

The barista called something out — I didn’t catch what. Just heard a name. On autopilot, I stepped forward and grabbed the cup. I took a sip as I walked to the nearest empty table.

It tasted sharp. Bitter.

I froze mid-step, frowning down at the cup. That's not my order… I was too in my head to notice my mistake. I turned the cup slightly, and there it was, scrawled in black Sharpie ‘Jay’.

I turned slowly, eyes searching for the owner of the cup. A man stood a few feet away, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, fingers curled around another steaming coffee. 

“This isn’t mine,” I said softly, holding up the bland americano, “I think I grabbed your order.” I explained. He glanced at the cup I was holding and then at the one in his hand, “I think I’ve got your cappuccino,” he said with a small smile. 

As I was giving him his cup, I noticed it — a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge of his lid, the same shade I’d worn just that morning. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I blurted, cheeks flushing. My throat tightened, I wanted to blink away the tears gathering, but they stuck behind my eyelids. All the tears I’d been holding back all day spilled over again. Why can’t I control anything anymore?

He gave me a small, understanding smile. “Hey, it’s okay. I can just take off the lid, no worries.”

As our eyes met, I started to piece the puzzle together. The name lingered in my mind before it landed, I’d heard it before. And then, just as recognition dawned on his face, it clicked for me too. His eyes widened a little, “wait, Y/N?”

He wasn’t the kid I remembered — Nyla's smug, bossy older brother who always knew how to get under my skin. He’s much taller now, his shoulders are wider as well. The baseball cap couldn’t quite hide the way his jaw had hardened, how his smile now held a trace of weariness I hadn’t expected.

“Jay?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice gentle but familiar, eyes softening as he studied me. “Nyla told me you were back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I wiped at my cheeks, trying to stop the tears that just wouldn’t quit. “I’m sorry...”

He fumbled a bit, awkward but kind, pulling a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handing it to me. “Let’s get you seated down.” he said, guiding me with one hand while the other carried his coffee.

We sat down at a nearby table, the noise of the café fading into the background. It was strange sitting in front of him. Not quite strangers, but not quite close either. I never liked Jay growing up, always thought he was that smug brother of my best friend. Always teasing, always a little too confident, always barging in. But now, here he was, offering me a silent kind of comfort I hadn’t expected.

“I heard about the accident. I can’t imagine…” he said softly. “I’m really sorry about... everything.”

I nodded, staring down at the napkin in my lap and swallowing the lump in my throat, “thanks.” If it wasn't for the state I am in right now, I would've laughed. The familiarity of him, as annoying as he’d always been, felt so starkly different from the version I'm seeing right now. 

“I mean,” I sniffled, “you used to call me a ‘crybaby’ every time I teared up.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

“He lost his dad, Jay.”

“I was ten. I didn’t understand animal nuances yet.”

I glanced up at him then — and for a second, the weight in my chest eased just enough for a smile. “You’re still a little shit,” I muttered.

Jay raised his cup with a crooked grin, “but maybe a slightly more tolerable one?” I rolled my eyes, “debatable.”

He took a sip, then set his coffee down, expression softening again. “Nyla told me you were taking time off. Gap year, right?”

“Yeah.” I picked at the edge of the napkin. “Everything was just… falling apart. I needed to step back.” Jay nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was letting on. “For what it’s worth, that’s brave.”

I gave a tired laugh. “I think it’s avoidance dressed up as self-care.”

“Still counts,” he said, and there was no teasing in his voice that time. 

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the urge to shift the spotlight. “What about you?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be in LA right now?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, gave a half-smile, half-wince. “Yeah. Until my breakup got messy,” he said, not sounding angry, just tired. “Personal stuff turned public overnight. Her team got ahead of the narrative — painted me as this horrible guy before I even knew what was happening.”

“It is… a circus,” he admitted. “My team’s still cleaning it up. Brand deals are stalling. The studios are quiet. Every time I step outside, someone’s waiting with a camera. It’s exhausting.”

I tilted my head. “So you’re hiding in New York?”

“More or less. Management sent me here, thinking laying low will make the drama go away faster. But really, I just needed to get away.”

I watched him for a moment. He still looked polished, had that quiet kind of confidence that settled into a room instead of announcing itself. And yet, even with the ball cap, he looked weathered, tired shadows under his eyes. “You’re burned out.” I said, not a question, more like a statement.

He nodded. “Completely.”

“You always loved it, though. Acting.”

Jay smiled faintly. “Exactly, I love acting, not the fame.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I get that.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my phone started vibrating against the table. I glanced down, ‘Mom <3 - incoming call…’ stared back at me. I whispered a quick apology to Jay before picking up, “hey mom.”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Her voice was light, but hovering right on the edge of frazzled. “You’ve been gone for a while. I was about to file a missing person’s report.”

“I’m okay… just ran into someone.” 

There was a pause. “Who?”

“Jay,” I said, bracing myself. “Oh, Jay,” she said, all drawn out and knowing. “Let me talk to him.”

“What? No —”

“Y/N. Hand him the phone.”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear as Jay looked at me curiously. I gave him a tired half-smile and held the phone out toward him. “She wants to talk to you.”

He raised his brows before taking the phone, clearly amused, “Hi, Mrs. L/N. Yeah, it’s been a while... I missed you too. Yes, ma’am. No, I swear, she’s okay. Mm-hmm... Right. I will. I’ll walk her back myself. Cross my heart.” I watched him, stunned. Somehow, he still remembered how to talk to my mom like it was a reflex. A few more soft ‘mhmm’, and then he handed the phone back.

“She says I’m your emotional support celebrity now,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Come on. I’ll walk you.” He stood up just as I did, slinging his jacket over one arm. 

We stepped outside, into the crisp late-afternoon air. The wind tugged at my scarf and flushed my cheeks. The noise of the city was sharp after the muffled calm of the café. We didn’t talk much during the walk. Just a few short exchanges about street names and how the neighborhood had changed since we were kids. 

When we reached the corner near my block, I slowed down and paused. “Wait,” I said, patting my coat pocket to find my phone, “I don’t have your number anymore. All the ones I had are... unavailable or something.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said, rubbing his temple. “My manager nuked everything a while ago. Total reset. Here —” He held out his hand and I passed him my phone. He typed something in quickly like muscle memory, then handed it back, mumbling about saving my number as well.

I glanced down at the new name contact he added, ‘little shit’. I snorted at it, “classy.”

He chuckled, shoving his phone into his pockets. “Take care, alright?” he said, giving a small wave paired with a small smile before turning in the opposite direction. I watched him go until the crowd swallowed him up.

I just smiled and walked the rest of the way home with the wind tangling my hair, the city still buzzing around me. His contact sat in my phone, tucked between old contacts and forgotten numbers. It was like a strange echo of childhood now spun into something quieter, gentler.

By the time I got home, the sky was softening into dusk. I peeled off my scarf and slipped off my shoes. My mom stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot. The smell of garlic and onions blooming through the space. I shrugged off my coat and followed her in. The lights were warm, casting soft shadows against the tiled walls. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, quieter this time, “I made a chicken lemon orzo that you used to like. Thought you might want something warm.” She had already set a plate at my usual spot. I didn’t say anything, just sank into the chair and picked up my spoon. 

Across from me, she moved around the kitchen, humming a little under her breath as she stirred something on the stove. She didn’t comment on the fact that I cleaned the plate, making it my first full meal I’d eaten in days. But I'm sure she noticed.

-𓍙-

The soft but persistent buzz of my phone dragged me out of sleep before the sun even had a chance to climb. I groaned, half-buried beneath the covers and the army of teddy bears lay nestled in the sheets. One of my arms fumbling blindly across the nightstand until my fingers wrapped around my phone. I rolled over, still groggy, and blinked at the notification from Nyla that’s lighting up my lock screen.

“Dude. WHY are you on TMZ with Jay???” - "NyQuil", Delivered 1 min ago

My heart stuttered. I sat up too fast, the comforter tangling around my legs as I blinked at the screen. I opened Instagram still half-asleep, my thumb sluggish as it loaded.

There it was. The photo wasn’t even that sharp — one of those grainy, mid-zoom candids but it was unmistakably us. Both of us mid-laugh, his hand halfway to his coffee. Our heads tilted toward each other. We looked… intimate. Too intimate.

The caption was even worse, ‘Jay, the heartthrob ex-Disney star isn’t heartbroken for long after being spotted with a mystery girl — New Romance Already?’

The word ‘mystery girl’ stared at me like it knew something I didn’t. I kept scrolling, my thumb wouldn’t stop. More photos, all different angles. Some from the window, others from outside in different positions. 

my phone lit up again, ‘little shit - incoming call…’ I froze for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen, unsure. But then I remembered his face from yesterday, that soft concern. I huffed then answered, “hey,” I said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hey, you’re awake, good,” he replied, a little breathless like he’d been rehearsing it. “I’m outside.”

I frowned, “What?”

“Your place,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to text in case… I don’t know. You’re probably being spammed right now.”

I glanced down at the worn out T-shirt I was wearing and the fuzzy socks peeking out from under the blanket. “Jay, I’m literally in my pajamas.”

“That’s fine,” he said, a quiet laugh in his voice. “I’ve got tinted windows. You will stay mysterious.”

“How kind of you to protect my anonymity.” I said smiling, already getting up. I crossed paths with my mirror, my hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy.

“I try,” he said, and I could hear him grinning too. “Just come down, we need to talk...” I hesitated, the apartment was quiet around me. Then I sighed. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

Still in my pajamas — and my dignity hanging on by a thread — I grabbed a coat, shoved my feet into my sneakers to crept out the front door. The apartment was still, my parents still asleep behind their closed door. The hallway was dim as I made my way down the stairs.

Outside, his black car waited at the curb of our brownstone, sleek and dark with windows that really were tinted. I pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat, giving him a look. “I saw the photos,” I said quietly once the door clicked shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on the windshield. “So did my manager.” he said, both hands on the wheel, eyes flicking toward me for a beat. “They like it, wanting us to lean into it. The PR team thinks it’s good for me. That it softens the whole... disaster fire of my last relationship.”

I raised an eyebrow, groggy. “Come again?”

He let out a short, sheepish breath. “They think you’re a godsend, basically. They want to paint me as less of a dick and more of a guy who found something ‘real’ after everything.”

I blinked at him, stunned, the silence thickened for a beat. “So they want us to fake-date to fix your image.”

“I know how it sounds,” he said. “And I’m not trying to trap you into anything, I swear. It’s only temporary. We post a few things. Maybe one or two public appearances. No one gets hurt, and I look like less of an asshole.”

“Jay, i don't know…” I muttered, almost ready to shut it down entirely — until I thought of my parents. My mom’s voice in the kitchen, always a little too careful. Her soft smiles that never quite reached her eyes. My dad not knowing how to speak to me anymore. I hated that look in their eyes, like they were watching me drift away and had no way to stop it. They didn’t know what to do with my sadness. 

But if they thought I was fine, if they thought I had something, someone — maybe they’d stop hovering. Maybe they’d breathe easier. Maybe I could, too. This can buy me some time…

“Fine,” I said eventually, voice low. “But under one condition.” 

Jay straightened in his seat, surprised but hopeful. “Anything. Shoot.”

“You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ place,” I said. “As many times as they ask. Full performance. If we’re doing this, they gotta buy it too.”

He paused, then nodded, “okay. Deal.” He agreed. A crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “So... when’s the first command performance?”

“Tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Tonight tonight?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples — still grumpy from the lack of sleep, the early hour, and the sheer absurdity of all of this. “Yes, Jay. Tonight tonight. We tell them at dinner. I will tell my parents you and Nyla are coming.”

Jay leaned back against the seat, laughing softly. “Alright. On it,” Jay said. “See you tonight… babe.”

I grimaced. “Ew, never do that again. Wait until we’re in front of them.”

He chuckled as I opened the door and stepped out. “Drive safe, little shit.” 

The door shut with a soft click, and I stood on the curb for a moment, watching him pull away into the quiet street. The early morning light spilled across the pavement. Then a gust of wind curled around my ankles, slipping right through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, urging me to go back inside. 

-*-

I told my parents that Nyla and Jay were coming over for dinner, and to my surprise, mom didn’t blink — just nodded and immediately started flipping through her endless stack of cookbooks. She hummed thoughtfully, still skimming. “Might try that spiced lamb recipe. Or maybe something with those little potatoes your dad likes.” She muttered to herself, “does Jay still like lamb? He seems like a lamb person.” It had been years since he’d stepped foot in our house, and yet she still remembered.

I found dad in the living room, half-asleep in his recliner, and gave him the same heads-up. “Jay?” he asked, blinking. I reminded him that yes, that Jay — Nyla’s older brother, the one who grew up two houses down. “Right, right, the tall one.” he nodded, like the name was slowly stitching itself back together in his brain. 

I got ready — really got ready. I pulled on a soft sweater that was only for occasions, put some color on my cheeks, and spent a little extra time with the curling iron. If we were doing this, then I wasn’t about to show up looking like grief had chewed up and spat me out. I wanted to look like a version of myself again. 

The doorbell rang just as my mom was lighting candles she definitely only brought out for company. I opened the door to find Jay and Nyla standing there with a fresh bouquet of tulips and dessert. Nyla was the first to pull me into a hug, squeezing a little too tightly before grinning at my parents behind me.

“Hi,” Jay said, stepping in and bending down to hug me too. He leaned in close, too close, the scent of his cologne filled my senses. His breath brushed the edge of my ear, “You’re gonna make it real hard to keep this fake.” he murmured.

I slapped his arm, “behave.” I warned under my breath, but my stomach still did a little flip when he just smiled.

Inside, Jay greeted my dad like he’d never left, with a firm handshake and an easy smile. My dad clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Still doing that acting thing?” with a dry edge like he was talking about an old hobby.

“Trying to,” Jay chuckled. 

Dinner was warm, louder than I expected. A little chaotic in the way that made you feel alive again. Nyla teased Jay for getting seconds before anyone else had finished their first plate, and my mom beamed every time someone complimented her cooking. I smiled and laughed but underneath it all, my nerves were humming. I was jittery, bouncing my knee beneath the table so much my chair shook. A steady, unconscious rhythm I couldn’t stop. I kept trying to ground myself: the clink of silverware, the smell of lemon zest from the tart, the sound of my dad’s voice telling a story I already knew.

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

After a beat, my nerves quieted down. I put my hand over his, making him look at me. I stared long enough, signalling him it's time. His fingers curled through mine like he’d done it a thousand times before. I gave him one last sideways glance, and he nodded subtly. Go.

I cleared my throat. “So... there’s something we wanted to tell you.” The clinking of forks and knives stopped, all three heads turned toward us.

Jay squeezed my hand gently, then added, “Y/N and I are... seeing each other.”

Silence settled over the table. Just the kind that stretches for a moment, thick with realization. My mom’s eyes flicked to our joined hands, then to my face — scanning it like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. 

Then, when she caught the small, nervous smile tugging at my mouth, hers broke open in full bloom. Her breath hitched. “Oh my god,” she whispered, before letting out a bubbling laugh, equal parts joy and surprise. Tears welled up instantly as she pushed her chair back and rushed around the table. She threw her arms around Jay so suddenly he flinched, nearly dropping his fork. 

“I knew it,” she said through a grin, voice cracking at the edges. “I knew it! Since you were teenagers, I had a feeling. Didn’t I say it?” She turned to my dad, who was already rising to his feet with a slow, amused shake of his head.

Meanwhile, I turned toward Nyla, breath caught in my throat. Her face was unreadable at first, a tight-lipped mask that had me bracing for impact. But then her eyes softened and pulled a reluctant smile. “As long as you’re happy,” she said, voice quieter than usual as she pulled me into a hug. Then, low enough that only I could hear, “but if he messes with you, I will set him on fire.”

I snorted into her shoulder, the sound muffled by the soft fabric of her dress. “Noted,” I murmured, voice tinged with a laugh.

As dad was sitting back across the table, beer in hand, his tone casual but curious. “So,” he began, squinting slightly like he was piecing together a puzzle, “how did you two really get together?” The chatter fell away. Even Nyla paused with her fork mid-air, equally curious.

I felt Jay’s gaze before I looked up — and when I did, it was like a silent standoff. His brows lifted, I narrowed my eyes just slightly, gripping my fork like it might save me. We didn't really speak about this…

He caved first, thank god. “We’d been talking for a while, long distance.” Jay said easily, reaching for his water like he wasn’t lying through his teeth. “And then… I don’t know, it just sort of clicked. That coffee the other day made things official, I guess.”

I kept my eyes on my plate, focusing very intently on cutting my potatoes into the smallest pieces imaginable. My mom let out a delighted little gasp, dad nodded like it all made perfect sense now. Nyla, however, arched one very suspicious eyebrow but said nothing.

And just like that, the room was buzzing again — chairs pushed back, more wine poured with dessert, my mom already asking Jay if he remembered her cousin’s wedding in 2011. Nyla was halfway through teasing my dad about his questionable music taste, and someone turned on a playlist in the background. The house felt full, but in a way that made the walls seem softer, like they were finally breathing again.

Maybe that's all it took to have my parents be happy again.

-*-

It was way past midnight now, jackets were being shrugged back on. The goodbyes began, all the hugs and kisses from my mom and a firm clap on the shoulder from my dad. Nyla slung her bag over her shoulder, gave me a quick squeeze and a tired smile. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Jay, already stepping onto the porch with a quiet ‘Night, everyone’.

Jay lingered by the front door with me, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, smiling with his cheeks flushed with warmth. It's probably from the wine. My parents were still standing nearby, not quite eavesdropping, but not subtle either.

Then — as if remembering his final line in a scene — Jay leaned in, slow and easy, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was just long enough to draw a reaction from my parents, to confirm that they are seeing this. But before I could roll my eyes, Jay dipped a little closer, letting his lips brush just near the shell of my ear again. His voice was low and smooth, meant only for me.

“Gotta keep the illusion alive, right?” he murmured. “We were Oscar-worthy, if you ask me.”

I tried to hold my expression steady, but the heat creeping into my face gave me away. I shoved him lightly. “Now, go.” I whispered.

He only grinned, stepping back down the front steps with a wave. “Take care, babe.” he called, too loud on purpose. I rolled my eyes and clicked the door shut behind him.

I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of running water. My mom was already at the sink, hands moving through soap. I stood near her, rolling up my sleeves to help. She stepped beside me with the dish towel, humming happily under her breath. She passed me a plate to rinse, then bumped her shoulder against mine. “He’s so handsome in person,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

I snorted. “Mom, you’ve seen him before. Like… a dozen times.”

She waved her hand dismissively, smiling. “Yes, but not like this. Not as your boyfriend.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-horrified. “Okay, ew.”

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

I froze for a beat, heart thudding in that strange way it does when someone hits something a little too close. My hands stayed under the running water longer than they needed to, and I kept my eyes fixed on the sink so she wouldn’t see the sudden blur.

It sounds ridiculous, maybe even unfair, but sometimes it felt like the grieving version of me wasn’t enough for her. Like she needed proof I was healing, moving on, smiling. Like pain made her helpless, but pretending made her hopeful.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither. I just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. Me too.”

-𓍙-

A couple of weeks later, I was still home. Still tucked inside the same walls, the same rooms that had started to feel less like shelter and more like something closer to a waiting room. My phone stayed face-down more often than not.

When Nyla didn’t come by, I tried to keep busy. I told myself I was being productive — scrolling through job boards like something might magically spark, updating my resume, making lists I didn’t follow, reorganizing drawers that didn’t need it. I was mostly surviving in small bursts. Grief didn’t ask for permission. It came in waves: quiet one moment, crashing the next. Some days I could breathe through it. Other days, it knocked me flat, and I let it. 

I also started attending therapy — sessions that left me feeling like I’d rung my brain through a spin cycle, but somehow came out clearer. My mom had been the one to set up the first appointment, all careful smiles and ‘Just give it a try, baby’.

My therapist had the kind of voice that made you breathe slower without realizing it. She wore calming colors and always smelled faintly like peppermint tea. There was something steady about her, like she could sit in silence without rushing to fill it, like she knew how to hold space for messy feelings without flinching. 

One afternoon, after I’d stumbled through a ramble about not knowing what to do anymore, she paused. Then gently put down her glasses, “Maybe try writing him a letter. Just… to clear space up there.”

I frowned at her. “A letter?”

“Try it. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.”

I gave her a quiet nod, but never actually did it. A part of me even found it stupid, so I avoided it. But one noon, while I was hunched over my laptop and refreshing over and over my email inbox waiting for a response back for a job offer, something shifted.

Without thinking too hard, I opened a blank email and started typing. Fuck, might as well try.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I don’t really know why I’m writing this. You’re not going to read it.  It’s been months, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for you to call. Like you’d explain it all away, say it wasn’t what it looked like. You broke me in two separate ways: once when you lied, and again when you left. I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. I didn’t send it, just saved it in my drafts folder. It wasn't a letter, exactly. But it would do.

I shut my laptop and slid it to the side, then turned onto my side, phone in hand. My thumb began to scroll mindlessly, the blue light casting a dull glow over my face in the otherwise dim room. It had become a habit, background noise for the quiet. Tap, scroll, double tap, scroll, until I paused.

Jay posted again for the second time this week. 

It’s a blurry mirror pic in a café, our reflection barely visible, his arm around me, face turned slightly away. The one before was less ambiguous: Jay in his hoodie, and me walking ahead of him through a street, our hands barely visible but unmistakably linked. No tag, no name, no face.

I stared at the screen, unsure how I felt. It wasn’t that I hated the photos — honestly, they were romantic. We made sure of that. We planned each shot together, turning the city into our own clandestine photo studio, all while trying to stay under cover. We spent the whole day darting down side streets, changing tops in his car, then darting back out to chase the perfect light. Jay even had asked before he posted them. “You don’t have to say yes,” he’d said, his voice gentle. “I’ll take it down in a second if it’s too much.”

I had said yes, it was my end of the deal after all. But seeing the number of likes, comments, shares — in the hundred thousands — made it all seem surreal.

Then, a message dropped from the top. 

“Wanna go out tmr and help me lie to the internet again?” - "little shit", Delivered 3 min ago

“Apparently the photos we took aren't enough for my manager.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 min ago

“what more do they want?” - "me", Delivered 2 min ago

“They want us to step out together, but make it look effortless. Natural.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 mins ago

“Just trust me. I’ll pick you up around 4pm. I’ll take care of the rest.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

“Fine. Only if you’re coming for dinner afterwards.” - "me", Delivered 1 min ago

He didn’t miss a beat. 

“Deal.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

-*-

The moment I got his text that he was outside, I slipped into my coat and grabbed my purse from where it rested near the door. As I padded down the stairs, I paused briefly by the window, noticing the way the clouds were starting to hang heavy in the sky, casting a soft, grey hue over everything. I slid the heavy wooden door aside and stepped out into the brisk air, tugging my collar up against the bite of the breeze. A different car, though also tinned, was already there at the curb, its engine idling quietly.

As  I slid into the passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt into place, I mumbled a quick ‘hey’ in his direction. The rich leather beneath me was smooth, faintly infused with a mixture of pine and something a little spicy — his cologne, I guessed — a scent I hadn’t yet gotten used to, but found unexpectedly comforting.

Jay didn’t say much at first. His hands rested casually on the wheel as he shifted the car into drive and we began to ease away from the curb. After a moment, he glanced over, his profile glimmering faintly in the glow of a nearby storefront. “Manager picked the spot. Some café downtown.”

I nodded, tugging my coat tighter against me, as if it might ease the nervous energy swirling in my stomach, “alright.” I murmured. He kept his gaze on the road, but I could feel his awareness slowly turning toward me. “You seem tense.”

I let out a nervous scoff, not quite a laugh, trying to sound casual. “What makes you think that?”

“You're tearing your fingers apart, for one.” he said, eyes still on the road, briefly turning the wheel to the left. I forced myself to ease my grip, placing my hands flat in my lap instead. “I’m just worried I’m going to mess something up.”

He turned his head just a fraction, his voice was sincere, a calm thread weaving through the growing nervousness. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” His hand briefly left the wheel and came to rest on my knee — a warm pressure that made my pulse ease just a bit.

We slipped into the flow of morning rush hour. The city slowly came alive outside the window: storefronts opening their doors, people hurrying down the sidewalks, buses rumbling past. All while we fell into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the gentle purr of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal as we made our way forward.

We eventually turned down a side street and came to a stop in front of a somewhat busy bakery-café. The kind with a charming storefront, a riot of potted plants and a spotless glass facade. Large windows glimmered warmly against the chilly afternoon. The kind of place that guarantees plenty of eyes, plenty of buzz — exactly what his management wanted.

We exchanged a brief glance. We knew the game by now, how to put up that picture-perfect appearance for the world. “Ready?” he asked quietly, a softness creeping into his normally cool voice.

I just nodded as he hopped out first and walked around to my side to hold the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm as I stepped down, letting him guide me up the small step into the café’s bustling interior. The moment we fell into step together, I felt the rush of activity, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries glimmering under glass. I could feel the eyes turning in our direction, not in a judgmental way, but with pure, fleeting curiosity.

He led me toward a corner table by the window, handing me a heavy cardstock menu. I turned it over slowly. The names of the dishes were a sophisticated puzzle, ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, flavor combinations I hadn’t yet tasted. Where even am I?

I let out a nervous laugh, glancing up at him from across the small café table. Our knees were nearly touching, close enough to feel his warmth through the thick denim of his black jeans. “I have no clue what to get…” I whispered, reluctantly turning the page in search of something I recognized or something I was brave enough to try.

He smiled then leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on the table, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he studied the options alongside me. I could make out the rich, woody notes of his cologne in the small space between us. His finger paused, then tapped a spot on the menu. “Go for this one. It’s a honey latte.”

After a minute, he turned to the server and placed both our orders in a clear, decisive voice. The kind that meant he knew exactly what he wanted. The server nodded and slipped away, I was left noting the way his knuckles rested against the wooden surface, strong yet relaxed — a quiet confidence that made me feel… cared for?

Fucking focus, you’re being watched.

I stirred my overpriced latte slowly, letting the creamy design get ruined with the spoon that's clicking softly against the cup’s rim; as I listened to him ramble on about the pastries he fell in love with while filming some movie in France — his voice a comfortable soundtrack against the bustling café. “Did you know there’s a hotel in France that lets you sponsor a croissant?” he said casually, pausing to take a sip of his espresso. “I’m thinking we should sponsor a chocolate one together.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Yeah, dumbass, those ones are called pain au chocolat.”

He paused mid-swallow, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Wait, that’s what they’re called?”

“That’s, like… the literal name.”

He let out a short rich laugh and I couldn’t help but break into a laugh alongside him. The kind of chuckle that starts quietly and then spills out, freeing me.

Just then, the server appeared at our table with a small plate in his hands. On it rested a delicate dessert — a rich chocolate mousse drizzled with glossy chocolate and adorned with strawberries. “On the house, a little thank you for choosing us today,” they said with a genuine smile before stepping back into the flow of the café. 

“Score, free dessert from an expensive café,” I whispered under my breath, barely able to keep from giggling. 

He glanced toward the window, where a small cluster of paparazzi was already gathering, their camera lenses catching the light like tiny, hungry gremlins. Mischievous flashes in his eyes, “wait… I have an idea,” he said, voice low but full of playful confidence.

Leaning in just a little across the table, he scooped up a spoonful of the mousse. Without a word, he lifted it to my lips, creating a picture-perfect moment — the kind of romantic snapshot his manager would love to see plastered all over the tabloids. We’re posing without posing. I fought to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of it all bubbling up, but the warmth in the gesture melted some of my nerves.

The mousse was velvety and deep, making me let out a soft ‘Mmm’ savoring the flavor, giving him a quick smile, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?” he challenged, leaning forward to take a bite from the same spoon, his own expression softening as the taste hit him. His eyes widened just a bit, “Oh shit…”

Jay’s phone buzzed softly against the table, breaking the quiet bubble around us. He glanced down, fingers briefly scrolling through the message. I watched him, savoring the last bites of the mousse, the rich sweetness lingering on my tongue. He didn’t rush me, letting me enjoy the moment while his attention shifted to the screen.

After a beat, he looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a message from my manager,” he said. “ ‘The paparazzi photos are everywhere now. You did well. You can leave now.’ ” he read it out for me.

I just nodded, my fingers tightening around the strap of my purse. We stood up together, Jay reached for the bill, still calm, but I could sense the shift in the air, a subtle tension creeping in.

The moment we stepped outside, it hit us all at once. The paparazzi were waiting — like vultures circling a fresh story. Cameras flashed wildly, shouting voices ricocheting off the walls, turning the quiet afternoon into a chaotic storm. 

“Jay, how serious is she?”

I froze, heart pounding, caught in the middle of it all. The bright flashes felt like they were burning right through me, and the noise swallowed everything else. 

“Jay! Is this your rebound?”

It was like being a fish trapped inside a fishbowl. Voices overlapped, a dozen different questions and jeers, some sharp, some desperate for attention. 

“Do you want to say anything to your fans about this?”

Without missing a beat, Jay took control as if he’s been through this drill more times than he cared to count. His arm slid smoothly around the small of my back, the grip steady and reassuring. He leaned in close, his voice dropping low. “Don’t look at them. Just walk with me.”

He guided me forward, weaving through the swarm of houting voices and relentless camera flashes with practiced ease, moving as if the whole chaotic scene was just another routine. And maybe it was — for him.

Finally, we reached the curb where his car waited. its dark, tinted windows suddenly felt like a small blessing. Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us, instantly muffling the noise outside. The sudden quiet was almost dizzying. My shoulders remained tight, coiled with leftover adrenaline. I kept my mouth shut, the words lodged somewhere too tangled to say.

Jay glanced sideways at me, focused on the road ahead but still searching mine for a sign. His voice was hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the weight of the moment pressing into his tone.

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

-*-

That evening, our dining room hummed with life — laughter bubbling up, voices overlapping in easy conversation, the comforting clink of plates and glasses weaving through the air. Around the table, my parents’ warmth was undeniable, their smiles were genuine. But as I sat there, an invisible thread inside me began to unravel.

The chatter softened, melting into a distant murmur, like a radio playing faintly in another room. Words drifted past, slipping through the cracks of my attention without ever fully landing. Faces morphed into unreachable, indistinct shapes. The steady rhythm of their world kept beating, relentless and… indifferent. Like life was moving forward regardless if I’m grieving or not.

Normalcy felt cruel at that moment. For a flicker, I felt a sharp pulse of anger. Mad at the world, mad at myself for feeling disconnected, mad that things hadn’t stopped just for me. But the anger was tangled up with guilt. What right did I have to feel this way? What exactly was I mad about? 

My mom returned to the table, balancing a beautifully plated cake, her smile warm and effortless. “Can you grab some napkins, baby?” she asked softly, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. The touch pulled me back to the moment

I nodded and turned toward the cabinet, the low murmur of conversation trailing behind me. But as I walked away, my eyes caught a glimpse of Nyla subtly cornering Jay in the quiet hallway. Their voices were hushed, but the sharp edge beneath their words cut through the calm like a knife.

“I don’t know what this is…” Nyla’s voice was firm, skepticism woven through each syllable. “But don’t give her another lie to believe in.”

Jay didn’t argue. His silence spoke volumes. He simply nodded once, slow and deliberate, like a man accepting a hard truth. “I know,” he said softly, after a brief pause, “I won’t.”

I really hadn’t meant to overhear. I forced my gaze to stay on the cabinet, ignoring the charged silence that suddenly thickened the air around them. Every word slipped in my mind. Am I that fragile and weak in front of them?

-𓍙-

I balanced the paper bags against my hip as I turned the key in the lock. When the metal clicked, I nudged the door inward with my shoulder. Mom had insisted I get out for a bit — a chance for some fresh air, again — slipping me a sticky note filled with a list of things we needed. “Mom, I’m home. Got your stuff.”

“Thank you, baby.” Her voice was distracted as she began to unload the bags and put everything in its place.

I slipped down the hallway toward my room, eager for my safe haven. The moment I crossed the door frame, something felt… different. Something was missing. The spot by the window, where the funeral flowers had been slowly wilting in their glass vases, was completely empty. The vases were gone, the water drained, the last few dried petals tossed away.

Where the fuck were they?

“Mom… where are the flowers?” I said, keeping my voice even, or at least I tried. The words trembled just a bit as they slipped out, panic rising quietly in my chest.

She paused, a dish towel in her hand, mid-wipe of the dining table’s surface. “What flowers, baby?”

“The ones I came home with.”

"Ah…" She turned back casually. "They had a lot of bugs. I threw them out."

“Oh,” I pressed my fingertips to the bridge of my nose, “that… makes sense.” I forced out then took a shaky breath. Keep it together. 

However, it was stronger than me. When it fully hit me, I turned away, not trusting myself to keep it together much longer. My pulse was already racing, each breath a little shallower, a little tighter in my chest — the familiar start of a panic attack creeping up. 

Mom said nothing as I slipped past her, murmuring something about forgetting an item on the grocery list, a weak excuse I hoped she wouldn’t question. I stepped outside, letting the chilly air rush against my face, as if it might ease the pressure building within me.

It felt as if the last piece I had left of him had been quietly erased — gone without a trace. As if my mom had decided that it was time to clear it away, that I should be ‘moving on’ by now, that being in a relationship would just make the mourning stop. 

I turned down another side street, letting my feet carry me without direction. Just keep going forward. The world glimmered under a haze of gold from nearby storefronts and headlights, bouncing off puddles in shimmering rings. I hadn’t noticed it was pouring. 

I honestly couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? it all blended together in a cold, numbing haze. I stayed there, hunched on the bench as the rain fell harshly, soaking through my clothes, down to my skin — until I was chilled to the bone.

The world around me seemed distant, a watercolor painting smeared by the water. The colors blurring, edges fading, as if I was slowly fading alongside it. Everything felt heavy — my limbs, my mind, even my own pulse. 

Then, all at once, it felt as if the rain had been turned off. I blinked up, confused as drops still dripped from my lashes, only to find Jay. His grip on his umbrella was steady above me, creating a small tent from the downpour. He let a shaky breath escape, a mixture of relief and worry. “I was worried sick about you.”

Silence fell as I tried to process the fact that he’d come looking for me. Before I could say anything, he slipped out of his jacket — the rich, heavy fabric still holding his own heat — and draped it carefully over my shoulders. 

He paused, then said quietly, “C’mon… let’s get you somewhere warm.”

“Don’t take me home.” The words fell from my lips, desperate. I held his gaze, those brown eyes seemed to see straight through me. After a moment, he nodded, “I won’t.” he said, a vow I felt more than I heard. 

Together, we slipped into his car. The thunderous rain began to ease, fading into a gentle patter against the rooftop of his car as we drove away — the world outside is a blur of glistening city lights, bouncing off rain-soaked streets. I drew my knees up, pressed close to warmth, letting the silence wrap me up.

-*-

He turned the key in the lock and clicked the door open, pausing briefly to let me step inside first. The moment I entered, I felt a rush of warmth and the scent of his cologne enclose around me immediately. He flipped on a small side lamp near the door, casting a soft glow across the apartment. 

“I keep this place separate from everything else,” he said, tugging off his damp shoes. “So the paparazzi can’t find out where my family lives… or reach them.”

I let my gaze wander around his space. It was undeniably a place he called his own — spotless but lived-in, a little sparse, with a few taped up cardboard boxes stacked quietly in the corners, as if he hadn’t quite gotten around to unpacking them yet. The furniture was minimal, the color palette calm and neutral.

He led me further in, guiding me toward his sofa. I hesitated, I was soaked, dripping rainwater everywhere. but he nodded, murmuring a ‘It’s fine., really’.

“I’m going to get the shower ready for you, before you catch a cold.” he said, before holding out his phone toward me, the screen already unlocked. “Call your mom… let her know you’re safe. She’s probably worried.” His voice was gentle — not a command, but an understanding, a way to ease a growing knot I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

I nodded reluctantly, taking the phone from his hand. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, his silhouette briefly backlit by the glow from the restroom.

The phone barely rang before my mom picked up. “Jay? Did you find her?” There was a softness in her voice and a nervous energy I recognized.

“Mom, it’s me,” I said, trying to steady my words. “I’m okay. I’m at Jay’s place.”

She exhaled a breath I could almost hear over the line. “Thank God. I was so worried… I called Jay earlier, asked if you were with him, and he said no...”

As I listened, I caught Jay passing by, carrying a stack of clean towels, he looked so composed. “But as soon as I said it's been a couple hours you haven't been home, he told me he was going to find you.” Mom continued, her voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of that unspoken trust settle in me. Jay had been out there, searching for me in the pouring rain — for who knows how long — without ever mentioning a word to me.

“I’m okay, Mom. Just… needed some air. Jay’s been helping.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound reassuring.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I promised softly, letting the words ease some of the weight that had been sitting heavy on my chest. We exchanged our goodbyes and let the call disconnected.

I hopped into the steamy shower — though quickly, just enough to chase away the lingering chilly feeling. When I turned off the faucet and stepped back out into the misty restroom, I found a neatly folded stack of clean clothes waiting for me — they’re his, for sure, a couple sizes too large.

I padded quietly down the hallway, tugging at the cuffs of his sweater. The hardwood floors whispered under my feet, a softness that seemed to ease me forward. I turned a corner and paused in the doorway. I found him sitting out on his balcony with a glass of wine resting in his hand, the rich garnet liquid beaming a ruby color in the glow of the city’s neon. His silhouette was a lone shape against the riot of lights outside — a man separate, even in a world so full.

I slid open the balcony door, making a rush of cool night air slip in. He turned at the sound with a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You know… those look a whole lot better on you than they ever did on me.”

I let out a soft giggle and crossed the small distance between us, sinking down into the seat beside him. “Thank you… for everything,” I said, letting the words hang. “And I’m sorry… for everything as well.”

He nodded quietly, “don’t mention it.” he murmured as he filled a second glass, handing it to me. The wine was a rich garnet against crystal. I turned it slowly in my grip, letting its warmth seep into my fingertips. He kept his gaze forward, toward the city’s chaos.

“Remember that time you cried in the broom closet because Nyla and you fought?” he said softly, “and I stood outside, trying to get you to come out?”

I scoffed, the nostalgic memories tugging at me. “I think I stayed in there for… hours.”

He turned his glass slowly in his hands, eyebrows lifting in amusement as he added, “the more i think about it the more ‘cry baby’ feels very appropriate for you.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully, in that weird comfort of familiarity, “Haha,” I said, my voice dry. He tilted his head back and let out a full, easy laugh. “You’ve always hated me, anyways.”

“That’s not true.” I turned toward him, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “Not hate. Just… irritation. Childish irritation.”

He pressed his glass to his lips, smiling. “I’ll take that.”

I fell into silence, letting the moment settle — the city glowed through the balcony railings, a mosaic of golds, blues, reds. I turned slightly, letting my gaze linger on him. There was a soft, raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. His shoulders are weighed down and his jaw is set. It's as if he’s holding himself together and refusing to break down.

“What’s on your mind?” I whispered.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

He pressed his lips together, then let them ease. “But I’m afraid to let someone close again.” His knuckles tightened faintly on his wine glass. “I’m afraid I’ll be used again.”

I let his words sink in for me, “It’s about her, isn’t it?” I asked quietly. His grip slowly relaxed, “yeah.”

“What really happened between you two?”

He stopped to choose his next words carefully. “She… turned everything we had into a commodity, basically.” His jaw tightened as he remembered. “She leaked photos. Then started spreading lies about… about us. Our sex life. Our relationship. It changed my image in front of everyone.” He then exhaled through his nose. “All the controversy, I think that’s exactly what she wanted. All the new eyes on her, it's a way into Hollywood.”

“That’s a lot to carry, especially now with your management.” I said, sympathizing. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“You're not the one who should be apologizing.” He sneered. He tilts his glass over his lips, draining the last sip before slowly turns to face me, his expression softer. “And what really happened between you two?”

I took a deep breath. “I… found him cheating.” I confessed, sharing my own truth as well. He kept his eyes on me, patient. “That’s when I cut everyone off. I was… embarrassed, so I kept it to myself.” I added quietly.

“And then… he died a month later.” I faltered, “I felt even more ashamed… ashamed that I was grieving someone who chose someone else. I felt… stupid for crying over him. Grief’s weird like that, It doesn’t care if someone deserved to be missed or not.” I turned to watch a drop of rain trail down the glass of the balcony railing. “Some days, I think I’m not really grieving him… but the life I thought I was going to have with him. The future I believed was mine.”

I pressed my fingertips to the base of the glass, “I think all the shame, the guilt of putting my parents through this mess, that's what made me say yes to this fake dating in the first place.”

He fell mute, allowing the city’s pulse to rise, before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

I let out a chuckle. “You're not the one who should be apologizing.”

He huffed a laugh at the irony that both of us were stranded in the wreckage of culpability, humiliation and torment. My eyes fell to my almost empty glass, “besides my therapist, you’re the only person I’ve told about the cheating.”

He nodded as an affirmation. “I’ll keep it between us,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

The silence that followed felt dense and weighty, so profound that every thump of my own heart seemed to echo loudly in the stillness. He's the first to cut through it, “what were you supposed to be doing this year?”

I pressed my knees to my chest and exhaled. “Grad school in Chicago. We… were supposed to move in together. We found this little apartment...” I said, thinking about that small, cute place made me smile. “I deferred the week after the funeral.”

He nodded understandingly, humming as a response. “What about you? When do you think you will go back to L.A.?” I asked. 

He smirked faintly. “Only when I want to make things even messier.” His voice was light, but I recognized the honest fibre underneath. “I’m not really in a rush to go back… the movie’s filming is not starting till next summer anyway.”

I offered a soft hum as a reply just like he did, “I will be first in line to see it.” I said, tilting my glass towards him like a cheers. He laughed and said a ‘thank you’ under his breath as he refilled his glass before settling back down.

From where I sat, I was able to study him — the strong curve of his jaw, where his sideburns sat, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. It was the same face I’d known since childhood, but now it carried a strength that only time could carve. The boy I once teased and the boy once teased me was gone, replaced by an admirable grown man. 

I let myself slowly lean in, resting my forehead against his shoulder. I drew up my knees even closer to my chest, tugging his sweater farther down over me. He shifted just a bit just until his warmth pressed against me. 

Time seemed to slow, a moment stretched into another. He whispered, barely audible, “What is this mess we’re in?” I laughed as I turned just a little, without lifting my head. “You tell me.”

I must have drifted off while resting against him. One moment I was staring out the window, feeling the rhythm of the car and his heartbeat beside me, and the next… everything felt weightless. 

I remember how gentle he was with me as he slipped his arms underneath, lifting me with a careful grace, a reverence I hadn’t expected. I kept my eyes closed — not fully asleep, not fully conscious — just trusting him to carry me. I felt the shift of light as we passed through the hallway, then the softness of the mattress that's welcoming me. The tug of a heavy blanket placed over me with kind hands. 

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

-𓍙-

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Other days, the words come in a rush of either fury or sorrow. They come out as confessions I hadn’t meant to make, like a vulnerable string I hadn’t noticed was frayed. I would talk about him — sometimes about very mundane things he did, other times about fucked up things he did. It would be about little habits I hadn’t noticed until I said them aloud, but also  about his choices that still gnawed away at me. It was as if by turning them over in my mind, piece by piece, I was slowly untangling the knot he left in me.

It was all a process of putting the pieces back together. If he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I will find it.

My therapist says that I'm making some kind of progress, naming the ghosts instead of letting them haunt me. Some days I feel that disarray in my own skin. This heartbreak feels a bit like someone opened me up, reorganized everything, and then forgot to put me back together. 

Regardless, I keep showing up. I let the stillness and words alike do their healing work. In a very sluggish manner, to be fair, until I can learn how to carry it without letting it consume me.

-*-

I looked out through the small kitchen windowpane. The rain came down hard, turning the world outside into a watercolor of silver, navy and grey. Droplets raced down the glass in wild rivulets, blurring the city’s edges. There was no way Jay could leave now, not without practically swimming his way back to his car.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm of clearing the dishes from the dining table by him stacking them neatly and me rinsing them in the sink. Up until my mom put her foot down, “the roads are awful. You’re not driving in this mess.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving toward the linen cabinet in the hallway. Her fingers sifted through the fabric until she pulled out a pair of my dad’s old pajamas, soft but well-worn. He tried to argue, stuttering something about not wanting to bother us, that he could just drive slowly. But she overruled him in about three seconds flat, pressing the neatly folded set into his hands, eyes steady leaving no room for arguing. 

Afterwards, long after everyone else had retreated to their rooms, I slipped out of the closet dressed in my own pajamas. The storm’s roar seeped through the windows, alive and restless. I found Jay standing by the window in my room, a dark silhouette carved against the angry sky, watching the rain rage on.

He was supposed to share this bed with me. It's a formality, a part of the fake dating we’d agreed upon. But now, the reality made my stomach knot. I wondered if he felt the same nervous rush as I did, or if he saw it as something less, something purely convenient. 

I pressed my fingertips against my arm, to calm the nervous energy blooming just beneath my skin. He didn’t turn when I approached the bed or when I pulled the covers back. His voice was low. “I’ll sneak out once it stops.”

I just nodded, letting that be my answer. As he settled in on his side of the mattress, I reached over and turned off my side lamp, dimming the room from its amber glow. The thunder outside rumbled quietly in the distance, the rain steady against the window.

When we shared my old queen-sized bed, the mattress felt smaller than I remembered, crowded by the weight of both of us. We lay there, barely an inch between our knees, the space tight enough to make every breath, every subtle movement feel magnified.

I was acutely aware of his warmth, his low exhales, the rise and fall of his chest — all of it was a reminder that I was not alone. I haven't laid in bed with someone else in so long… the panic forced me to stay still.

Some time passed, as I lay there staring at my furniture. Sleep remained elusive, not a wink of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, memories tugged me back toward wakefulness. Finally, with a small breath, I turned over beneath the covers, letting myself face him in the dimly glowing room.

“Jay?” I whispered into the dark room.

“Mhm?” he responded, not opening his eyes as he lay flat on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

“You know, you used to call me ‘Cry Baby’… but remember when I used to call you ‘Star Boy’?” I asked, playfulness creeping into my voice.

He let out a dramatic groan, but a smile was unmistakable on his lips. “goodness, no… don’t remind me.”

I chuckled, “you went so red in the face every single time I said it.” I paused to let myself smile at the memory. “It was honestly kind of cute.”

He sighs before turning to face me as well. “I hoped you’d forgotten that by now.”

As I laughed, he couldn't help but chuckle in return. As I felt my eyelids grow heavy, the world slowly blurring at the edges, I whispered into the softness between us, “Can you… stay the night?” I finally was able to ask him. 

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then his voice came. “Yeah… I’ll stay.”

At those words, something in me unfurled peacefully. I let my eyes close, trusting that I was not alone, that when I opened them in the morning, he’d still be there.

-*-

My eyes fluttered open as the storm had faded into a soft, far away swirl. The only sound now that I can hear is Jay’s breathing, slow and even beside me. He really stayed even after the storm passed. At some point in the night, my head had come to rest against his chest, his arm draped casually — yet protectively  — around my shoulders. I didn't even feel a rush of timidity or embarrassment from being this close, from letting myself linger in his warmth. 

Instead, I noticed something I hadn’t before — a faint scar near his jawline, a small mark I hadn’t recognized until now. I wondered if it was from that bike accident he had as a kid, the one where Nyla and I cleaned him up and tended his scrapes while he fought back tears, insisting he was ‘too tough’ to cry in front of us. It was strange how different he looked in sleep. He looked softer. Yet, a faint crease lingered between his brows, as if some worries were woven into him, even at rest.

Without notice, a strange ache stirred in my chest. Not because of Jay, but it was that same old ache. It was that familiar ache I kept trying to bury.

I turned slightly and reached for my phone on my nightstand, the glow lighting up the dim room. It's only 3 a.m. Why am I even up? My fingers went to my email account, straight to the drafts folder. There sat the old unsend email for him, catching dust. I inhaled deeply and started a new email. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) Everyone keeps asking if I’ve ‘found closure’. As if it’s a drawer that's neatly closed, waiting for me. But it’s not.  Even when you're dead I'm too tired to explain myself to you. Your death froze betrayal in time. Anyways, hope hell is warm enough for you.

It started as borrowed words from therapy, words that had been circling in my mind. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into something less measured. They might be a little harsh and a little messy, but fuck it — they’re the truest reflection of what I’m feeling in this moment. I tucked that email alongside the other unsent one before locking the screen and slipping my phone underneath my pillow. 

As I nestled beside Jay, he stirred faintly in his sleep, unconsciously drawing me a little closer. He became my sanctuary. I’m still so afraid to let anyone close, afraid that opening up means I’m putting myself back in the path that has the kind of hurt I’m still healing from. Though I let him, I let his presence ease me back into rest. I think it’s because my mind and body are so weary from constantly putting up a fight, from bracing for the worst. 

𓍙

Time slipped by without me really noticing with our deal remaining in place. Yet, somewhere along the way… something shifted. We fell into an ease I hadn’t expected. I found myself looking forward to seeing him, looking forward to dinners with him, looking forward to when we step out and put on a performance for the paparazzi. The space we occupied side by side was growing less intimidating.

Currently, we’re in a hotel suite high above Manhattan, the city bustling far below us. Today is media junket day for Jay’s new film — the one he’s been cast in, the role that feels destined to be his big break. The room is a rush of activity: journalists setting up their equipment, publicists darting back and forth, and assistants smoothing every last detail.

His team insisted he show up with me by his side, to continue the role of the ‘supportive girlfriend’ for the interview. His management made their expectations for me clear: sit there, be pretty, smile, and nod — say as little as possible, let Jay take the lead. 

Meanwhile, Jay seemed quietly relieved I was there. His shoulders would relax ever so slightly whenever his eyes met mine during the chaos of getting glammed, I would mouth to him ‘it will be okay’. He seemed on edge all day long.

We settled into the plush velvet chairs placed side by side, directly across from a perky interviewer already poised with her microphone. The bright lights glared down from their rigs, turning the space into something that felt less like a hotel suite and more like a stage — a set designed for every expression, every word to be captured by the cameras.

After a few questions about the film, the interviewer shifted gears, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “So, the fans are absolutely obsessed with you two. Your relationship has everyone talking.”

I was kind of surprised, honestly, I barely registered the comment at first. Over the past month, I had been deliberately distancing myself from social media, scrolling past headlines and posts without really looking, shielding myself from the flood of opinions and judgments that felt both invasive and overwhelming. 

Jay gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something a little tight, a little forced about it. “Yeah, she’s one of the most incredible people I know.”

The interviewer leaned in with a warm grin. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Forever, kind of. She’s my sister’s best friend.” Jay’s answer came easily, almost automatic. The interviewer’s face softened as she said, “aw, full circle moment!” 

But Jay barely heard her, his mind seemed elsewhere. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, betraying the calm he tried to project.

“Cut!” The director’s sharp voice cut through the room, stopping the interviewer from asking another question. “Hold up, something’s off — the lighting's all wrong.” He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “We’re pausing for now. Take five.”

Jay and I exchanged a glance and nodded silently, the cameras slowly winding down as crew members began passing around the equipment with practiced efficiency. The air felt thick, buzzing like static. 

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, his publicist leaned in to us, voice low but eager, “that last answer was solid. Let’s keep leaning into that nostalgic romance angle. Maybe we can do a little shoot where she—”

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

I placed a calming hand on his arm, “Jay, it's okay… I don't mind.” I whispered to him, trying to ease the tension. 

His publicist pressed their lips together, offended, as their eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Cool off. I'm trying to help.”

If eyes could shoot out venom, Jay's eyes would have already done so. His jaw tightened as he rose, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the hallway outside the hotel room. I fell into steps just a few paces behind, not hesitating to leave the filming crew behind. 

He stood by the window at the end of the hallway, staring out into the city with his fingers raked through his hair in pure agitation. He let out a shaky breath once I was closer to him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” I said, gently reaching for his hand.

We fell into silence together, our gazes dropping down to the bustling scene below. A small crowd of fans had started to gather on the sidewalk, eager just for a glimpse of him. A few paparazzi lingered a little farther back, their camera lenses glinting, poised to capture whatever might unfold.

He turned his head slightly, then whispered, “wanna leave?” A mischievous spark glimmered in his eyes with a smile.

I blinked in confusion. “What? Right now?” He didn’t stop to explain himself, instead, he tugged a baseball cap down over his now messy hair and then slipped his sunglasses up onto my face, tilting them just a bit. The world immediately grew a few shades darker.

“Yeah, come on. I know a way out.” He said. The moment he saw me smile — wild and impulsive — he reached forward and laced his fingers through mine. His grip was firm, a rush of warmth and jitteriness energy that made my pulse accelerate.

He turned back down the corridor and began weaving through hallways, past a storage room with its half-open metal gate, a service entrance that glowed faintly under a solitary emergency light, until we slipped out a side door into a small, sheltered alleyway outside. 

He tugged me forward gently, steering us into the streets that are in the opposite direction of the paparazzi. “As much as I love your idea of running away,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, a playful edge threading through the nerves fluttering inside me, “me doing that interview with you is kind of… a key part of our deal.”

His grip on my hand tightened as we matched pace, walking side by side. “Right now, I don’t care about the deal,” he murmured, pulling his cap lower over his face like a shield. “I just want to be with you — out here, away from all the cameras.” His eyes fixed on the path ahead.

I matched his stride as a gentle warmth rose to my cheeks. “Okay,” I breathed softly, “what do you want to do?”

He glanced back at me, that familiar troublesome gleam lighting up his face — the same boyish spark he’d carried since we were kids. “I want to play tourist.”

“Tourist?” I echoed, laughter bubbling up at the idea. “In our own city?”

He chuckled, nodding with a grin. “Come on, humor me.”

While walking beside him with the city’s heartbeat surged around us, I realized how natural this felt now — as if we had been doing this forever, regardless if there were cameras or not. We turned a corner, letting ourselves be carried by the rush of the city — the hum of honking horns blended with the chatter of hurried pedestrians weaving through the sidewalks, their laughter and conversations mixing into an urban symphony. 

Then, suddenly, a tempting aroma of street food drifted through the air, it was the unmistakable scent of our pizzeria. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about this place,” I said, glancing up at Jay’s face just in time to see his own expression brighten in recognition, the smell tugged at long-forgotten memories..

We pressed against the wooden door and slipped inside, and a rush of warmth enveloped us. The old pizzeria hadn’t changed a bit — the red-checkered tablecloths, the well-worn counter, the snapshots of smiling regulars adorning the walls. It was like a time capsule preserving a moment we hadn’t yet grown out of.

Behind the counter, the owner looked up, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Ah, my two favorite troublemakers. I’ve been waiting for you to show up again.”

Jay chuckled, nodding toward me, “all that’s missing is Nyla.” The owner laughed as he nodded, turning his attention to me. “Your mom would flip if she knew you were still sneaking in here after all these years.”

I shrugged, giggling. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Your pizza’s worth it.”

He slid two paper plates across the counter, each with generously big slices. “On the house today. Consider it a reward for your continued bad behavior.”

“Oh, you’re an angel on earth.” Jay sighed with pure happiness. As we picked up our slices, a chorus of camera shutters clicked from somewhere down the block. “Paparazzi!” I whispered, tugging at Jay’s sleeve.

As his eyes widened in alarm, he gripped onto my hand with a quick ‘goodbye’ to the owner before turning us to the bustling sidewalk. 

We darted forward, weaving through the growing crowd, our shoulders bumping against strangers as we slipped through the chaos. 

“It’s Jay! Over there!”

Our nervous laughter fell from our lips, a rush of adrenaline adding a wild, giddy feeling to every step. The paparazzi pressed forward behind us as a swarm of camera flashes and raised voices, each one competing for that elusive shot of Jay. 

“Jay! Look this way! Jay, over here!” 

The flock continued to rise, punctuated by the aggressive clicking of shutter mechanisms.

“Smile for us, Jay! Just a quick picture!”

I kept my grip tight on his hand while he raised a hand to hail a cab. Just as the yellow taxi glided up to the curb, we slipped inside together, shutting the door close behind us. 

 “I think we lost them.” Jay said, falling back against the seat, exhaling a shaky breath as the cab drove forward.

I turned toward him, a smile tugging at my lips as I nod to the driver. “Where to, tourist?”

*

When he said he wanted to play the role of a tourist, he wasn't kidding. We hopped across crosswalks, darting from corner to corner. We slipped into a comic-book store in the East Village, laughing over the collectible figurines, and tasted all the snacks in different delis. We hopped into another cab just for the ride, then hopped back out to take photos by a rooftop garden.

As the clock edged closer to midnight, he insisted on taking a cab with me all the way to my parents’ brownstone — like letting me go alone just wasn’t an option.

“Oh yeah?” I teased, giggling as he hopped out first and turned back, offering me his hand with that reassuring glow.

He tightened his grip just enough as I stepped down onto the pavement. “Yes! You were terrifying.”

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling at my lips. “Terrifying? When I was... what, eleven?”

The cab drove away, leaving us standing close under the soft amber of the porch light. We were still laughing, caught in that warm, quiet bubble where everything and everyone else — the city, the noise, the world — felt miles away, irrelevant. The gentle light cast delicate shadows across the stoop, a silent invitation to linger just a second longer.

For a moment, the small space between us fell into silence. He cupped my face, his thumb tracing delicate circles over my cheek. “I’ve been a coward about this for way too long.” he said, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper with honesty. 

My heart skipped a beat, suddenly vulnerable and exposed beneath his words. “For how long?” I whispered back. His thumb drifted to my lips, brushing over them softly, as if memorizing their shape.

A nervous, almost shy laugh escaped him, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Since we were kids...”

I gave a small, teasing smile. “Mmm, maybe I was scary as a kid.”

His grin softened, leaning down slowly, every inch electric. He was electrictic. The kiss deepened — urgent, tender, and completely consuming. His warm hands pulled me closer, while my fingers tangled in his hair, holding on like I never wanted to let go.

When we reluctantly drew apart, he paused for a minute, resting his forehead against mine. “I'm going to get murdered by my manager tomorrow.” he smiled, eyes closed as if he's trying to savor the moment, savor me.

I let out a breathless laugh, trying to mask how weak my knees feel beneath me. “Worth it?”

He chuckles, and without missing a beat, he pressed a brief peck on my lips. “Ask me again the next time I see you.”

-𓍙-

Two months slipped by in a whirlwind of dinners, interviews, and moments either hidden beneath flashing cameras or hidden behind closed doors. What had started as a carefully choreographed arrangement where two people were playing a part… slowly began to unravel all the walls we had built. Every touch began to feel less and less manufactured, less rehearsed.

He would message me, or even call, when he was supposed to be in meetings or sitting through yet another interview. I’d be stretched out in bed, pillows propped up behind me, the glow of my phone casting a warm pool of light across the mattress.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… working?” I asked one night, giggling as I pressed the phone tighter against my ear. 

He let out a dramatic sigh on the other end, and I could picture him tilting his head back, closing his eyes in feigned agony. “Work can wait. You’re way more interesting.”

“Mhm,” I hummed back to him, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“Maybe.” His voice dipped, growing softer. “I just can’t help myself.” He confessed. God, he sounded so desperate in that moment — so eager to please — it was honestly kind of adorable.

I felt that flutter in my chest, the same one I used to get when I was a teenager crushing hard on someone. It had been so long since I’d felt that way, like my insides buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of parting ways, we’d grab wine and food from a corner spot and hide away in his place. 

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of turning our separate ways, we’d grab a bottle of wine from the corner spot down the block and escape back to Jay’s place. There, with the city’s humming quietly outside his windows, we’d kick off our shoes and sink into the pillows on his sofa.

Tonight was one of those nights, but the air hung humid enough to cling to skin and weigh down every breath and movement. As soon as we stepped in, Jay peeled off his suit jacket, letting it slide down his arms and drop over the back of a nearby armchair. His crisp white shirt followed, a few upper buttons slowly undone until a sliver of his collarbone appeared.

I fell back against the sofa with a heavy exhale, tugging at the hem of my short dress in a useless attempt to cool down. The fabric clung to my thighs.

He turned back toward me, a glass in his hand. The cubes of ice clinked quietly against the rim as he crossed the room to bring it to me. I pressed it to my lips — freezing drops of water a much-needed contrast to the warmth that filled me. 

The questions he answered today while I was sitting beside him kept replaying in my mind — especially the ones about his ex-girlfriend. It made me curious in a way…

“Jay?” I said quietly.

“Yes, love?”

“Was she your first girlfriend?” I asked, taking a sip of the water.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion about the sudden question. 

So this makes me his second girlfriend ever… “Wait, so you've never been with another woman besides her?” I pressed, turning the ice in my glass before putting one on my tongue.

I swirled one of the ice cubes in my mouth, watching him trying to form an answer. “What? Like — not exactly —” He faltered under my gaze, coloring red faintly. He was flustered, as if I'm accusing him that's he's inexperienced. 

Not that I'm very experienced either, he just looked too irresistible not to pick on. His perfect, neat hair was a mess now, a few locks falling forward, adding to his disarray. God, he looked so delicious. I inched forward, closing the distance between us, a mischievous spark rushed through me.

With the ice still resting in my mouth, I went closer to him and pressed a freezing kiss to the side of his neck. He jumped briefly at the cold sensation, then fell back against the cushions. “Don’t tease…” he whispered — a warning that fell powerless against his own growing temptation. 

I paused just long enough to appreciate the tremble in his voice before slowly kissing his neck again, “I just can’t resist.” I whispered against his skin. Honestly, it was fun pressing his button.

Gently, I drew the ice from my lips and let its chilled surface trail up his arm. “What are you doing?” he whispered, his breath shaky, close against my own. 

I smiled, curling my fingers on his waist band, “I was counting down the minutes to get you alone.”

That was completely true — all through the event, while I nodded and smiled and made small talk, I couldn’t keep my mind from straying back to him. The way his suit sat perfectly over his shoulders, the softness in his gaze when our eyes met across the room. Every moment made it that much harder to wait. 

I shifted to straddling him, until I was sitting directly across his lap. It was like a rush of warmth meeting warmth. He kissed me with an urgency I haven't seen before. I felt his knuckles brush against my inner thighs as he fumbled with his zipper, tugging it down just a little, the metal clinking. While the hem of my dress began to gather up around my hips, the fabric creeped higher and higher until it bunched softly at my waist.

I palmed his bulge from beneath his boxer, throbbing and needy. “Please, hurry.” he whispered with equally needy eyes, his temple sweating.

“Easy, boy.” I giggled as I slowly started lowering myself down until his entire cock slid inside, granting me a groan from him. "ngh… shit," I gasp at the stretch, his hands resting on my thighs as I roll my hips along his cock.

His eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pretty whine when I started moving up and down, my hips meeting his pelvic as if it was made just for him. I was relish­ing the way he struggled to form words, to make his desires known. 

“Come on, star boy, what do you want?” I teased, knowing he can't form many words, let alone sentences. The way his normally composed demeanor fell away under my touch, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, uninhibited need.

As my movement continued, he looked completely pussy-drunk, a mess just for me. “Hmm? Words, baby. I need words from you." I encouraged quietly, guiding his face back to mine while resting my other hand flat against his rapidly beating heart. His grip tightened on my thighs.

“Fuck— you, i want you.” he finally choked out, sounding so vulnerable. His hands roam upwards, touching me as if I'm everything he asked God for. 

“Good, good,” I praised, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Cum for me, baby, cum.” I urged. I could tell he's so close, I could read him as a book. The pace of my hips quickened, Jay's thrusts following close after. 

His hips stutter with his release after feeling that tightening around his length. With his own fluid mixed with mine, my body fell forward, face buried in his neck while coming down from my own high. He takes a few slow breaths before kissing my shoulder. 

“You're mean,” he chuckled, rubbing circles into my back. I turned my head just enough to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Mean?” I whispered. “Who, me?”

He let out a soft laugh, giving my ass a playful tap. Then he slid his arms underneath me, lifting me up effortlessly against him. I held on tighter, locking my arms around him as he carried me toward the shower.

-𓍙-

The first time he knocked, I didn’t move. Not even a breath.

I just laid there, curled under my sheets, watching the shadows on the wall shift with the hours. My phone had long since died, no battery left, somewhere in the mess on my floor. However, the notification still blinded my brain. That one fucking headline with so many comments under it, all paired by DMs I couldn’t unread.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

The words burned like fresh ink behind my eyelids. They knew. They all knew, now.

About the accident, about him cheating. They thought I’d planned it, like I’d lured him into some twisted karma. That I let him die with that secret like it was something I’d authored.

The only person I had ever told the truth to was Jay. So when the knock came again — I didn’t even flinch. “Baby,” his voice was muffled through the wood of my door. “Please open the door.”

I stared at the crack between the door and the floor, I could see his shadow. “I swear it wasn’t me.” he pleaded, shaking the door handle. My throat clenched with my jaw. I could hear it in his voice — the confusion, the panic — but I couldn’t let myself believe him. Not when the betrayal felt like a bruise I hadn’t even started pressing on.

Just when I believe someone, they lie to me. I feel like I'm back at step one.

He came every day since the publication of that article. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes late at night — always with flowers. I’d hear the knock at the front door, followed by my mom’s clueless murmuring, then he’d try at my bedroom door.

“I don’t care if you scream at me,” he said on the fourth day. “Just let me see your face. Please.”

I didn’t, I never did. I stayed cocooned in my silence, wearing the same clothes in the same shame and rage. It was easier that way anyways, anger made a good blanket when grief got too sharp.

There was no pressure or interrogations with my parents — just a patient presence. When I left my room, rarely as it is, I’d always find Jay’s flowers waiting for me at the doorstep of my room, they started to pile up. I never dared to open the letters that came with them. 

My parents would leave a lamp turned on in the hallway so I didn’t have to walk through the dark. Their love wasn’t loud, but it was showing up, again and again.

One night, maybe an hour after Jay gave up and left, I finally drifted out into the living room. I didn’t even know why, I wasn’t really looking for anything. I just found my dad sitting on the couch, his glasses were slightly askew, pretending to read on his book. 

When his eyes met mine, he didn’t say anything but I saw the worry in them. Just gave me a small nod and gently patted the spot beside him, like he’d been saving it all along.

I didn’t hesitate. My body sank down, folding into the couch as I tucked myself beside him and let my head rest in his lap. His hand came to rest on my shoulder — a steady weight, familiar. The kind of touch that reminded you of being little again, when the world felt too big and your parents made it smaller just by being near.

For a while, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of his soft breathing and the occasional creak of the apartment. Then he asked, soft and even, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I swallowed, my throat dry from not speaking in days. “I didn’t want to add to your worry.” My voice cracked before the words made it out. “I figured... if I acted okay, maybe I’d start to feel okay.”

By the seventh day, my world had shrunk down to the sound of him pacing the hallway, sometimes whispering my name, other times just sitting against the door. I could feel his presence like a stormcloud on the other side — heavy, persistent, full of noise he wouldn’t let fall.

Then, on the eighth day, it wasn’t Jay’s voice I heard, it was Nyla’s instead. “It’s me, babe,” she said gently, her knuckles tapping. “Its just me. Can I come in?”

I stayed still on the bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling where the paint had started to peel. Something in me almost reached for the knob, but I couldn’t do it. Not even for her.

“He’s outside,” she added after a long pause. From her voice she sounded exhausted and worried, I could only imagine how she looked. “He’s not eating, not sleeping. He looks awful.” I closed my eyes, an ache ripped through my heart.

“You know he wouldn’t do that to you. You know that.” My lips stayed sealed as my hands gripped the sheets like they could keep me from slipping further into guilt.

It wasn’t fair, what I was doing to her wasn't fair. Deep down, I knew Nyla had nothing to do with any of this. And still, a part of me wanted to push her away too. Like if I didn’t let anyone in, none of it could hurt me more than it already had.

She waited for exactly seven minutes, my eyes never leaving the clock near my bed, counting. Then I heard the soft sigh of her retreat, footsteps padded with disappointment as she left me behind. The guilt hit me as I heard her voice crack as she spoke with my mom.

Later on that eighth night, once the house had gone still and the muffled sound of my parents’ voices faded into quiet, I finally moved. I pushed the blanket off my legs and sat up slowly, my muscles ached from the stillness. 

My laptop sat untouched on my desk, a thin layer of dust smudged across the surface. I hadn’t opened it in so long. The screen flickered awake like it was just as surprised to see me. I sat there for a long time, facing a blank email draft, fingers hovering over the keys, unsure of what I wanted to say anymore. My hands shook a little as I typed.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) You hurt me when you were alive and when you are dead. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if I hate you more for leaving me, or for what you did before you left or what you did after you left.  I wish I could scream at you. You never said sorry. Not once. And now you never will.

I closed the laptop with a soft click and leaned back in my chair, the quiet humming back to fill the space I’d carved open. My eyes drifted to the ceiling again, but I wasn’t really looking at anything. Just letting the stillness soak in. The words I’d written still echoed faintly

Somewhere beyond the walls of my room, beyond the cold of my chest, I knew Jay was still out there somewhere — waiting.

-*-

The office was quiet, filled with that soft kind of tranquility that makes you feel like you have to whisper, even when no one’s told you to. I glanced at the windows, where the late morning light spilled in, brushing against the edge of the bookshelf. I sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under me, picking absentmindedly at the edge of my tissue.

I didn’t even want to come here, but my mom had made the appointment after the fourth day I hadn’t left my room. Across from me, my therapist waited patiently, letting the quiet settle until I was ready. I squeezed the tissue tighter.

“I feel like everyone just lies to me,” I finally said, the words falling out more like a sigh than a statement. 

She Just nodded once, “Did you hear him out?”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she got to the core of it. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with how obvious the answer was.

“No,” I admitted.

“And why do you think that is?”

I let the silence stretch again, eyes dropping to the floor. “Because I am scared,” I whispered. “Because if it was him, then that would make it worse. That he said he’d protect my promise, and then didn’t. I don’t want to hear the wrong answer.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady. “And what if it wasn’t him?”

The question sat in the air like a challenge — or maybe like a lifeline of hope. “I don’t know,” I said after a while. “If it wasn’t him… then I shut him out for nothing. I hurt him, for nothing.” My voice cracked around the last part.

The therapist didn’t say anything for a moment, she just nodded again. “Sometimes we protect ourselves by assuming the worst. It feels safer, more predictable.”

“Maybe it’s time to ask the question,” she added gently. “Even if the answer might hurt. You’ve already been hurting. Don’t you want to know what’s true?”

And I did. God, I did. I just wasn’t sure if I still deserved the truth.

-*-

When I got home, the apartment felt heavier than it had earlier that morning. Like it somehow knew the truth that I was finally ready to face after I’d been running from it. I dropped my purse by the door and sank onto the couch, in front of my laptop where it sat on the coffee table.

I lingered for a moment, heart somewhere in my throat. And then, finally, I reached out and let it open.

The screen blinked awake again. After a couple clicks, I found those tabs that I opened exactly where I’d left them — the articles, tweets, videos. The ones refused to look at again, but now I clicked through them again, letting the headlines scream at me all over again.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

a new one for me: ‘Was It All A Setup? Internet Reacts To Shocking New Details About Y/N’s Past’ 

And another: ‘Insider Spills: Y/N’s Relationship Timeline Doesn’t Add Up’

Most of them didn’t list a source, just ‘an anonymous insider’ or ‘a close acquaintance’. Just empty words… pussies. I felt the frustration grow as I found nothing.

I almost closed it all again, feeling stupid for even trying. Until one article, messier than the others, less polished, clearly rushed in its eagerness to be first — listed an actual name.

My heart stopped. I stared at it, thinking I imagined it. But no, there it was, plain as day.

A name I hadn’t seen in months, but one I’d never forgotten. The same name I saw pop up on my boyfriend’s phone the night everything started to unravel. The name I hadn’t wanted to believe was real back then. The girl who answered when I called, smug and breathless. The one who laughed when I said his name.

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

She was the one who told them. She sold the story — for a bit of attention, for a bit of money, for a bit of fame, for a bit of something — now that people care about who I am dating. 

I leaned back slowly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. It wasn’t Jay. It was never him.

I covered my face with both hands, trying to will back the tears that burned at the edges of my eyes. I’d pushed him away. I’d hurt him — doubted him — when he kept his word to me all along.

The cab ride felt endless. I couldn’t sit still, legs bouncing, fingers gripping the edge of my coat like it was the only thing tethering me to the seat. The city passed by in a blur, lights streaking through the windows like memories I didn’t want to keep replaying. By the time we pulled up in front of his apartment complex, my heart was ready to shoot out my chest. 

I paid the driver with shaky hands and stepped out. The street was quiet, just the faint hum of traffic in the distance. My boots echoed softly in the stairwell as I climbed to his floor.

The hallway to his apartment felt longer than I remembered. Every step forward was like peeling off another layer of the anger I had wrapped around myself like old skin. My fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again. My heart thudded in that slow, aching way, like it was trying to wake up from being numb.

I hesitated for a moment outside his door. My hand hovered over the wood. Part of me wanted to turn around and call a cab again — go home, crawl under the covers, pretend I hadn’t cracked myself open just by coming here. 

I knocked.

I am the one open to knock on his door now.

And when it opened, he looked... different, in a way that wrapped around my heart and squeezed. His shirt hung off him, too loose like he hadn’t noticed it didn’t fit right. His hair was messy, the result of too many restless nights. And his eyes were tired, ringed with shadows like sleep hadn’t touched him in days.

But the moment our eyes met, like tension unraveling all at once, a string that was pulled too tight finally snapping free. I saw it, his whole face melted in relief.

One step from him is all it took and I was in his arms.

He caught me, his hands wrapped around me like he couldn’t believe I came back, like he didn’t trust the world not to take me again. I buried my face into the curve of his shoulder, gripping his shirt, breathing him in — the faint, comforting scent of his soap mixed with his cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice already breaking as I clung to him.

He didn’t answer right away, just kissed me. My forehead, my cheeks, my lips. Each one desperate, forgiving. His hands trembled just a little. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed against my skin.

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain —” I said, the words thick with guilt.

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling back just enough to look at me again. His hands gently cupping my face, thumbs brushing beneath my eye like he was checking for sadness in them. 

“You’re here now,” he said simply. “That’s enough for me.”

-𓍙-

Two weeks after Jay’s team shut down on the leak — firing off cease-and-desist letters, building walls of legalese tall enough to suffocate the tabloids — things started to settle. The headlines that once screamed my name like a crime scene began to fade from front pages to sidebars. 

The chaos didn’t disappear entirely, not overnight. But the noise dulled into background white noise. Enough that I could finally walk out the front door without feeling like I was stepping into a battlefield.

In fact, Jay made sure of it. If he wasn’t glued to my side, he made damn sure I didn’t leave home without at least three security guards. “Non-negotiable,” he’d said once, pressing a kiss to my temple before leaving me with a guard who looked more like a presidential escort. I wanted to argue, saying it was too much. But I could see his face was edged with protectiveness and guilt. Maybe love, too. So I didn’t fight him.

Still, I hadn’t said a word publicly. No carefully crafted post, no interview or side-of-the-mouth denial. I knew people were waiting, watching every paparazzi photo for signs of a breakdown or a statement hidden in an outfit or something stupid. But I gave them nothing.

They don’t deserve my grief. They’re not entitled to the softness I’ve barely learned how to hold for myself. Paraphrased by my therapist. 

Let them speculate. Let them move on. I already am. Maybe Not gracefully, maybe. But forward is still forward — one cautious step at a time.

-*-

It was late. 

The kind of late where your place falls into a deep peace which the city that never sleeps wouldn't know. Jay had finally coaxed me into bed, whispering gentle things against my temple, brushing his fingers through my hair until my breathing evened out. I didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the warmth of him and the lightness of his sheets.

But something stirred me.

I woke to the absence of him beside me. The space next to me was cold, the sheets already flattened like he’d been gone a while. A faint light spilled in from the hallway, and I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I heard him, his voice low but urgent, whispering then rising. “When I say no, it means no. Are you even listening?”

I crept toward the light, bare feet quiet against the hardwood. I could see him in the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, hair messy like he’d raked his hand through it too many times. His back was to me, one hand braced against the counter, shoulders tight with frustration.

“I don’t care,” he snapped under his breath. “You don’t get to profit off her anymore. I’m serious, drop it.”

He paused, breathing hard. “I mean it. If this keeps going, we’re done.”

I stood there frozen, something heavy swelling in my chest. It wasn’t just the way he defended me, it was the fury behind it. The care he had for me, that he’d burn bridges just to keep the world from touching me.

 “Is everything okay?” I finally asked once the phone call ended, my voice barely above a whisper.

He flinched at the sound, just a twitch, before turning around to face me. When his eyes found mine, his jaw unclenched, the sharp lines of his face softened, and his posture loosened like a knot finally coming undone. 

“Did I wake you, love?” he said gently, voice was like velvet.

I shook my head, stepping toward him. “Just miss you,” I murmured as I wrapped my arms around him, my cheek pressing to his chest. His arms immediately came around me in return, grounding. He tucked me against him like I belonged there.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just breathed into my hair. I glanced over his shoulder, past the soft glow of the stove light, and saw the flowers he had gotten me two days ago — peonies and cream-colored roses in a wide glass vase, still slightly fresh, still trying to hold on. 

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

-*-

That morning, sunlight stretched across the hardwood floors, delicate bands, like even the sun itself was treading softly. The curtains fluttered gently with the breeze, casting shifting shadows along the bed where Jay still slept beside me. His arm was slung carelessly over the side, fingers twitching slightly in a dream. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt safe. 

I watched him for a moment — not out of worry, but out of gratitude.

I slipped out of bed quietly, easing my weight off the mattress. The floor was cool under my feet. I padded through the apartment, past the hallway lined with jackets, the shoes we kept tripping over, and into the hushed kitchen, which felt like a different world from last night. 

I moved slowly. I filled the kettle, listening to the water run, then reached into the fridge for milk and a carton of eggs, going through the motions I’d adopted like second nature since I started sleeping here. 

The kettle clicked as it began to heat, but my attention was already drifting elsewhere… to the laptop on the kitchen island. Still tucked away in the corner, right where I had left it. My hand moved before I could think too much about it. I opened it.

Not to scroll, or to click through headlines or notifications, but rather to open the folder I’d been avoiding for weeks: my email drafts.

They stared back at me, all the unsent emails I had written to him. My ex, my liar. They were raw, unedited. Each one was a different timestamp. Some were just one bitter sentence, typed in a rage I didn’t know what to do with. Others were pages long of me spiraling, when sleep was impossible and silence was too loud. They bled through each other to make a mess of mourning and anger.

I re-read a few. Not all thought, I didn’t have the strength for all. I didn’t delete them either, I couldn’t, something about the weight of them didn’t allow me to.

But they didn’t cling to my chest like they used to anymore. My fingers moved over the trackpad, slowly opening a new, blank draft. The cursor blinked at me, expectant, patient. Like it already knew this was long overdue.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I’m not okay yet, but I will be. So I’ll do the one thing you never did, I’ll choose the truth. I’m not writing to say I forgive you. I’m writing to say I’m letting you go. Consider this my last email. Sincerely, Fuck you.

I stared at the words for what felt like forever. With a breath that came deeper than I expected, I closed the laptop slowly.  was laying something to rest. Gone.

I closed the laptop slowly, the finality of it washing over me like a quiet wave, gone.

My gaze drifted then, settling on the corner of the island where the vase sat. the peonies and roses Jay had brought me three days ago now. Dull of life just last night, now wilting. The petals drooped, a few scattered.

But I didn’t feel sad at the sight, because I knew he’d bring more. I wouldn’t even have to ask.

[ds-angel1]

can you do a hitman! rafe x reader fic where reader hires hitman! rafe to kill her cheating husband— and she finds out that rafe doesn’t seem too bad himself ;)

a/n: um so... I didn´t read the request well enough and didn´t see the cheating... so so sorry!! I´m gonna keep it the way I have it, cause it´s not that integral to the plot. I hope this isn´t too far off from what you wanted and sorry that it´s taken me so long, such a cool request!!!!

cw: murder/hiring a hitman, brief mention of abuse, mention of shooting and drowning, unprotected sex

wc: ~ 1.5k

The parking lot was a wasteland of cracked asphalt and flickering streetlights, each drip of water from a leaky gutter slicing through the silence like a metronome of dread.

Your footsteps echoed, uncertain and slow, each one louder than you'd like. Fingers twitched at your sides, restless and cold, while your mind spiraled, thoughts crashing into each other with no room to breathe, let alone think clearly.

Time stretched. Minutes passed like hours, every second a drumbeat in your chest. Then finally, movement. A figure emerged from the shadows.

A man. Jeans, hoodie, buzzcut, and a scowl etched so deep it looked permanent. His eyes swept the lot in quick, practiced scans before settling on you. He stopped just out of reach.

“Um… are you… the guy?” you asked, the words fumbling out, awkward and thin. You didn’t know his name, only what he was supposed to do.

“Yeah. You Mrs. Walton?”

The name stung, triggering something deep in your skull. You clenched your jaw. Not for much longer, you reminded yourself. Soon, it would be gone, scrubbed from your life like blood from tile.

“Yes,” you murmured.

He studied you, eyes dark and unreadable. “You got anything on you I should know about?”

You shook your head. “What… like a recorder? No.”

“Good.” His tone was flat, but the warning behind it landed hard. “If this gets out, there’s people who’ll handle it. Even if I’m inside.”

You nodded, stiff.

“You’re gonna buy a new phone. Cheap, burner. Text me when and where. Got it?” He held out a slip of paper, a scrawl of numbers barely legible in the dim light. “Half the money now, half when it’s done. I’ll text you the location for the other half the day before.”

Your fingers closed around the paper, knuckles pertruding with tension. Your brain burned the details into your memory, this wasn’t a mistake you could afford.

This was murder. You were paying to have your husband killed.

It sounded monstrous when you thought of it like that. But you’d run the math a hundred times. A divorce meant ruin, he’d bury you in court, leave you penniless, maybe even dead. You knew the connections he had. You’d seen the bruises. Felt them. This wasn’t just escape. It was survival.

You looked him in the eyes, steadied your breath, and nodded. “Okay.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, he turned and disappeared into the night, swallowed by the same darkness he came from.

And you stood there, hand tight around the number, knowing there was no turning back now.

Just a few days later, the call came.

“Mrs. Walton? I’m terribly sorry to inform you—your husband was shot while driving to work this morning. The impact caused him to lose control of the vehicle… he drove off a bridge. Rescue teams are still recovering the car from the river, but… we’re confident he didn’t survive. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

It took them nearly two days to drag his overpriced luxury car out of the water, along with what was left of him. His bloated hands, that smug face already softening with rot. The bullet, once perfectly placed over his heart, had nearly dissolved in the water, just like the man himself, dissolving into memory, into myth, into nothing.

Then came the wave: condolences, hushed voices, solemn faces, the funeral. You cried on cue. Hugged on cue. Played the grieving widow like you’d been born for it. You should’ve won something for that performance, an Oscar, at least.

Six days after the hit, the text finally arrived.

A location. Coordinates in the kind of place GPS signals go to die—the edge of the worst part of town, where the streetlights didn’t bother working and the air smelled like rust and regret.

You showed up on time. Summer, yet the sun dipped early, casting the trailer in long shadows. It looked like it had been pieced together from scraps and curses. Through the grimy window, you spotted him, same buzzcut, same scowl, hand lazily resting on his chin as he watched you approach.

By the time you reached the door, he was already there, holding it open with that same unreadable expression. Wordless. You stepped inside.

“You got my money?” His voice was gravel in the cold, stale air.

“Yeah.” You reached into your purse, pulling out a plastic bag stuffed with bills—his money, technically. Now yours.

He took it without ceremony, fingers rummaging through it, counting. “You stay while I go through this,” he muttered.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The silence was sharp. Tension hung like a fog as he flipped through stacks, licking his finger, counting aloud under his breath.

“Did… did you plan that?” you finally asked, breaking the quiet. “The river, I mean. To like... get rid of evidence?”

A low hum escaped him. A yes, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.

You let another beat pass before speaking again, quieter now. “Is this... your place?”

“Friend’s,” he answered, clipped and uninterested.

You frowned, letting out a small huff and turning your gaze to the peeling walls. His eyes flicked up at the sound.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you said, folding your arms. “Just think you could be a little less rude. You know, considering.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely incredulous. “Yeah? I kill people for a living. You expect rainbows and compliments?”

You met his stare. “Wouldn’t kill you to be a little more polite to your clientele.”

Your words were met by a roll of his eyes before he stood slowly, nearing you threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Ya want me to be nice to you, darlin´?”

You don’t know how it happened, the moments between those few words and now, were a blur.

You were sat on the cluttered counter of the trailer sink, arching your back off of the wallpaper-ridden walls as the man holding your thighs to your chest was pumping in and out of you unapologetically rough and hard.

His eyes, illuminated only by a tiny lamp in the corner, were strictly focused on the sight of his length being engulfed by your soppy cunt.

You let out whine after whimper and moan after exclaim, muttering about his size and how damn good it felt over the lude squelching sounds and the rattling of the trailer. The tip of his mind-screwing cock hit a spot inside you your dead husband could never reach, making you come like you never have as he emptied his seed inside your warm, inviting womb.

Silence settled in, thick and charged, as the two of you caught your breath. His thumbs traced slow, almost tender circles on your bare hips, an unspoken lullaby after the storm. Then, with a quiet groan, he pulled out. A soft, slick sound followed, and a warm rush of your mingled release slipped from you, trailing down your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, low and almost reverent as if the word alone could ground him.

He crouched down, redressing you with surprising care, slipping your panties back up, smoothing your skirt into place. His hands lingered at your waist as he guided you upright, placing you gently on trembling legs.

“You don’t tell anyone about this,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath. His gaze lingered on your face, drinking in the wreckage of your expression, flushed cheeks, mascara streaked in messy rivers, eyes wide with something between shock and surrender. The dim light tried to swallow it all, but it couldn’t. He saw everything.

He reached up, his fingers rough but delicate as they wiped away the smudges beneath your eyes.

“Okay…” you whispered, the word ghosting past your lips. Your mind hadn’t caught up yet, still lost somewhere between shame and euphoria, disbelief and craving.

He nodded once, sharp and unreadable, before turning to the bag. Without finsishing counting, he began gathering the stacks of money, trusting it was all there. Somehow, that trust felt heavier than anything he’d said aloud.

You watched him in silence, your heart thudding like it was trying to break out of your chest.

“Can I… will I see you again?” you asked, your voice barely steady enough to make it out of your dry throat.

He didn’t look up. Not until his bag was zipped shut with all the money you paid him for killing your husband buried deep inside. Just like his cum was buried deep inside you.

“Keep the phone,” he said, tone flat, but something in it twisted, subtle and raw.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat.

He walked to the door, hand gripping the bag so tightly that his tanned knuckles turned pale. You stepped forward, words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Wait… what´s... what’s your name?”

He paused in the doorway, half in shadow. Then, turning his head slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you.

“Rafe. My name is Rafe.”

[willowed-wisp]

the wedding of simon riley [ ghost ]

WARNINGs: mentions of abusive injuries, abusive domestic behaviour

Being in the SAS was a lonely practice, well, that’s how Simon Riley saw it. Though, his existence was one of violence and he didn’t want his family being dragged into another volatile situation or any other innocent soul.

That’s why he was alone, that’s why he didn’t date anyone and that wasn’t going to change. Until it did…

A shout, “He’s got my bag!” And he started running after the vandal, catching him quickly and with precision. Face mask up as was his hood. Racing steps behind him… and there you were, your hands scraped and tights ripped at the knees. “Thank you so much…” Your eyes sparkled almost at him, curious what your saviour’s face looked like.

He simply handed you the bag- you noticed gloves… not paying much attention, “It’s nothin’…” Gruff and unbending, you could tell then that he was a hard ass as he turned his back to you.

“Lemme get you a coffee or something?” The stranger’s head shook, walking away. His eyes a stark contrast when your hand wrapped his tattooed wrist. Almost as if it were a trigger point and you removed it as soon as you had touched him. “You didn’t have to get the bag… please let me get you a coffee, a tea… a vodka?” A teeny tiny smile beneath the mask.

That’s how you ended up in a tea shop, in completed silence. Was he trying to scare you off? Maybe but you happened to be very persuasive and chatty. His worst nightmare.

Finding out his name was Simon, and he was in the military. And he didn’t do well in social situations, or at least with you. Speaking enough to realise he didn’t have many acquaintances let alone friends. Probably of his own doing…

Taken aback when he asked to walk you home- to avoid anymore attempted muggings. Not normal for you to let someone do that but he didn’t have to return the bag. “This is me…” Pointing to the house, “Thank you for all your help, Si-,” Then your red door opened, revealing the familiar figure.

“You were gone longer than you said…” The tone was wasn’t one of worry or concern, Simon knew that feeling in his gut. But it was your life, and he was probably wrong. So he waved it off. “Who’s this, babe? He bothering you?” That instinct in Simon flaring more. Especially the crazed look in his eyes.

Until he looked to you; bubbly and extroverted while on your own, now a husk. Silent and woven inwards. That sparkle dimmed. “I got mugged… he got my purse back for me…” You couldn’t even reach Simon’s eye line. While fists clenched at your partner’s sides.

“She’s helpless, mate. I always clear up her messes, thanks,” Simon had never despised being patted on the shoulder as much as he did in that moment. But what had him more on edge was how he never noticed bruises on your wrists, and how forcibly your boyfriend held you around the shoulders and was leading you up the stone walkway to the normal house.

Hearing a shout and then a slap when that door closed. Simon had a choice… leave and pretend like you never existed… or what he did next.

Not bothering to knock, finding you on the floor- tears streaking down the face you held. Before gunning for your partner, a perfectly taken frame photo crashing to the wooden boards as his large frame smashed your partner into the wall. “I’ve met men like you before… you are going to pack a bag and leave Y/N alone…” That was until a small hand held Simon’s shoulder, his eyes softened.

“Dave, just leave… go to Chris’… just go…” You didn’t know if you’d had the strength to do that, but having a military man beside you made it easy as he held your partner against a wall. Then Simon dropped him, shattered glass at his palms. “I will call the police, David… I’ll deliver your shit to your mums.” Time slowed for you while moving too fast and David was gone. His car unblocked your driveway with music blaring down the street.

Managing to lock the door- letting out a sigh… Feeling drained, “Thank you…” Is all you mustered, before collapsing into a flood of tears. Trying to splutter out an apology, but this relative stranger just stroked your hair letting you lean against him. Thoughts racing, never finding a moments peace in four years of being with him. But able to find a speck of hope in a man you had only met about four hours ago… “You can go, you’ve done more than enough good deeds for the day…”

Standing up from the sofa, heading through to the kitchen. The kettle clicked, Simon was impressed you didn’t pick yourself on the vodka you’d offered him earlier in the day. Instead he found you, elbows finding balance on the countertop.

You asked him to the stay in the house- maybe trauma clouded your judgement. You slept in the guest bedroom, not capable of blocking out the atrocities that occurred in your own. With a stranger downstairs.

When you woke up, the glass had been clean up and the smell of breakfast wafted. Mask still covering his nose and lips. “I thought you’d have left. You didn’t have to cook, bless your heart…”

Something knocked Simon from his daydream. The only face he wanted to see on the daily right in front of him. Forgetting where he was for a split second, his hands holding your tiny ones in comparison. “Simon Riley, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Part of him focused that his Captain was officiating his wedding, while all of him focused on you. The woman he hadn’t left, the person who had remained loyal to him when he came home bloodied and dirty.

Every second of each mission, he wished he could have you in his arms. Even when you weren’t his to hold. Fearing that you’d have forgotten about him in two months, only for you to turn up at his apartment with some chocolate and a ‘welcome home’ card.

Each and every time he returned back in British soil.

You didn’t complain about the terrors he shouted at in his nightmares- holding him when the muttering started and pulling him awake. Never judging him for the pills he swallowed to balance him out again. Simon looked down on himself while you only ever looked up to him.

No attempt to lift the mask until he did it himself. You’d been friends after that first incident for two years until you made the move. And six months after you were stood at the alter in front of not even ten people.

The people he felt comfortable with: his squad members, his mum, his brother and sister in law… whatever family you were close with enough to know what laid under that mask; a cheeky grin whenever he taunted you or… did other things to you…

There would be no announcement in the local newsletter on marriages and funeral directories, no posts on social media. But you knew that when met him… nothing high-key.

With all that in mind, you looking angelic… just wanting to kiss you… “I do.” And before Price could speak, his lips were on yours. Cheering from your nearest and dearest. His hands held your growing stomach, holding his future.

“I love you,” Foreheads together, smiling while you knew Johnny was taking cheeky snaps of you two. “Mrs Riley…”

————

masterlist

[jungwnies]

double trouble | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi räikkönen x fem!reader, twin sons (oc) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : when kimi räikkönen and his ex unexpectedly reunite after their mischievous twin boys swap places at summer camp, old tensions resurface—along with feelings that never truly faded.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy, family, second chance romance ୨ৎ : tws : no major trigger warnings, but mild mentions of divorce, co-parenting, and family separation. ୨ৎ : word count : 572

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was very fun to do another version of the parent trap! feel free to read the daniel ricciardo one too! <3

kimi räikkönen wasn’t a man who got easily rattled. years of racing had trained him to stay calm under pressure, make split-second decisions, and anticipate every possible outcome.

but this?

this was something he never saw coming.

standing at the doorway of his home in switzerland, nestled in the quiet countryside, kimi squinted at the small boy in front of him—his son, supposedly. except something was off.

leo had been away at summer camp. the same summer camp his twin brother, nico, had also been attending. it had seemed like the perfect way for them to enjoy time outdoors, make new friends, and not come back acting suspicious.

and yet, here he was.

smirking.

leo never smirked.

kimi narrowed his eyes. “why are you acting weird?”

the boy quickly straightened up. “me? i’m not acting weird.”

kimi just stared at him.

the kid didn’t fidget under his gaze, which was another sign that this was not leo.

“you’re not leo.”

the boy—who was absolutely nico—blinked up at him innocently. “what? that’s crazy. i am leo.”

kimi let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. “right. and i’m the prime minister of finland.”

nico grinned. “nice to meet you, mr. prime minister.”

kimi sighed deeply.

which meant that if nico was standing here, leo was with you.

and that meant, for the first time in a long time, kimi would have to see you again.

meanwhile, in zürich…

you had barely stepped into your apartment when you heard a crash from the living room.

you rushed in, finding your son—or at least, who you thought was your son—standing over a shattered picture frame, looking way too guilty.

“leo!” you gasped. “what happened?”

the boy hesitated. “uh… accident?”

you frowned, suspicion creeping in. leo was clumsy, yes, but he was never this hesitant around you.

and then, when he carefully picked up the broken frame, you froze.

leo didn’t care about things like that.

your eyes narrowed.

“you’re not leo.”

the boy froze completely.

“…what?”

you crossed your arms. “you’re nico, aren’t you?”

silence.

then, like the little troublemaker he was, he grinned.

“would you believe me if i said no?”

you exhaled sharply.

which meant…

“oh my god,” you muttered. “leo is with kimi.”

and just like that, your day had taken a very unexpected turn.

the drive to baar, where kimi lived, was silent except for the occasional questions from leo about what was going to happen.

truthfully? you didn’t know.

you hadn’t spoken to kimi beyond the necessary co-parenting logistics. the breakup had been clean, no big dramatic fights, just the slow unraveling of a relationship that neither of you had the energy to fix back then.

but now, standing in his driveway, watching him lean against his car, arms crossed, gaze unreadable, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time.

nervousness.

kimi’s eyes flickered between you and leo, his expression unreadable. “we should’ve known they’d try something like this.”

you sighed, a small, reluctant smile breaking through. “yeah. smart little idiots.”

leo and nico, standing between you, exchanged grins, proud of their work.

mission success.

kimi glanced at them, then back at you. “so. what do we do now?”

you hesitated for a moment before finally saying, “i guess… we talk.”

his eyes held yours, and for the first time in years, you wondered….

was this really the end of your story? or just the start of another chapter?

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[joelsbloodyhands]

Enjoy the Silence

SUMMARY: You come home from work and find yourself having sensory overload from everything. Joel comes home and takes care of you.

WARNINGS: no outbreak, no mention of Ellie 😭, established relationship with Joel, soft!Joel, descriptions of loud noises, reader gets big sad and unable to manage themselves, needs Joel for comfort, an overuse of terms of endearment (baby, sweetheart, honey), Joel is here to help with everything, sensory overload of touch, sounds, sensitive smell. Just absolute fluff (I need it so bad rn) 🤧 no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns used, reader has hair long enough to tie up, reader has no visible disabilities. Reader loves Sarah. WE LOVE SARAH 🥺 but she’s unintentionally overwhelming us, sorry Babygirl 😭

Dividers by @nicodefresas 🎀

A/N: As I’m writing this, I’m currently having the worst sensory overload episode 😔 also I don’t think I should need to specify but everyone has different triggers and symptoms when dealing with overstimulation. A lot of this is based on my own personal experiences.

You don’t have the foggiest clue where it triggered from.

You just know that one minute you were grinding away at work, then you were driving home in the rain becoming all too aware of the blaring lights of other cars bothering your eyes more than they usually did.

If you could’ve worn sunglasses without crashing in the evening darkness, you would have. The sudden outburst of a car horn had you gripping the steering wheel tighter causing you to subconsciously flex your fingers, becoming all too aware of the rough leather of the steering wheel against your dry hands.

Dry hands. My lips are dry too.

You lick your lips.

My mouth tastes weird.

You’re becoming all too aware of your teeth grinding against each other.

Just tired, yeah…that’s all. Just tired. Long day at work. I’ll be fine once I get home.

So you keep driving.

Sarah was home when you got back. Her voice shaking you awake as soon as you passed the threshold of the house while she spoke to you about her day.

You look forward to these moments usually.

Coming back to Sarah and Joel.

Gossiping about the joys of working and all the drama of high school that you definitely don’t miss but enjoy hearing when Sarah gives you her best dramatic retelling of events.

Though as she followed you through the corridor to the kitchen, your ears rang.

Is she talking louder than normal?

You open the refrigerator, a sudden overwhelming scent of Thai green curry catching your senses and not in a good way.

But it’s your favourite?

Joel made it yesterday, putting the leftovers into three Tupperware boxes to eat for dinner today. The pounding of the washing machine and dryer causes you to close the refrigerator uneasily, your eyes glancing to it. Sarah’s voice joining the chorus of sounds echoing off the kitchen walls.

You don’t feel hungry all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” Sarah voice breaks through and you come to realise you must have been staring at her for an awful long time, your eyes wide.

You nod and Sarah frowns ever so slightly.

“So what do you think?”

Your mind goes blank.

You didn’t even hear anything she said except yes you did but it was so loud, you didn’t take any of it in.

“About what?” You find yourself murmuring, your own voice startling you.

It sounds unfamiliar to you for some reason.

You’re worried you’ve upset her while Sarah takes a minute before a smile breaks out on her lips and she’s laughing and prodding you on the arm playfully. Your eyes drift there instinctively, her laughter making you wince.

You don’t laugh in return.

“Long day at work, huh?” She giggles and rolls her eyes before telling you she needs to go study and that you should eat dinner.

She leaves you then, your body standing in the same position in front of the refrigerator where she left you. The sound of her feet hitting against the staircase filling your head, the floorboards creaking harshly. You exhale a heavy breath.

As you stand there, eyes turning distastefully towards the washing machine and dryer singing their tune far too loud, your skin starts to itch. You tug at the sleeves of your work shirt, unbuckle the belt at your waist, the feeling too tight against your hips. You pull the hair tie from your wrist and put your hair up into a bun, the tickle of the hairs against the back of your neck bothering you.

You know what’s happening.

You’re just trying to refuse to accept that it is, hoping that for once you can just ignore it and go about the rest of your evening like you originally planned.

You just want to hear Joel’s voice, cuddle into him on the couch, eat your curry and go to bed.

Except when you hear the front door open and his voice is carrying through to the kitchen, you retract into yourself, carrying your feet away from the overwhelming sounds of mundane tasks and to the staircase. You want nothing more than to sit on the floor of your bedroom with your legs crossed and the lights off.

So you skip up the stairs, albeit with dramatic wide steps, trying not to trigger the creakiest of the floorboards. When you get to yours and Joel’s bedroom, flooded with darkness, you shut the door and allow yourself to crumble.

Ah you can’t take this. You need your shirt.

Where is it?!

You’re frantic, the tears falling down your cheeks as you continue to feel itchy in your work shirt, longing for the wide airy comfort t-shirt you keep for this very reason.

“Hey,” a whisper sounds behind you and you turn abruptly, eyes wide to see Joel stood, his eyes on you intently as he holds your oversized shirt by the shoulders in both hands.

Lost in all your distress, you hadn’t even heard him come in.

You realise you’re crying then.

“Joel, I-“

He watches you harshly rub at your face.

He knows you hate to be touched at times like this.

It feels like nails on a chalkboard but he ever so gently, puts two fingers to the wrist of your hand practically clawing at your face and you drop it immediately, your eyes meeting his again, pained and bloodshot.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you cry, “I’m just-“ you flail your arms in frustration, the intense sound of your sobs making your eyes twitch.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, moving towards you and taking the hem of your shirt in his fingers, careful not to graze any more skin as he starts to lift it from your body.

“You don’t need to apologise, baby,” he keeps whispering, “let’s get you more comfortable, hm?”

Joel knew all too well about your episodes.

In fact, it’s partly the reason of how he met you at Tommy’s house when you attended a barbecue and got overwhelmed by the music and sounds of neighbours, talking and getting louder the more drunk they got.

Joel had planned to leave early but was surprised when he found you curled in the bottom of a dark closet when he was retrieving his coat.

He froze when he saw you, your watery eyes lifting up at him, your arms wrapped around your knees pulled up against your chest.

Your cheeks had flushed dangerously, embarrassed about being found in this predicament but all Joel saw was a young woman clearly upset so he bent down to your level, his head turning this way and that scoping the corridor to make sure no one was around and asked you what was wrong and if he could help in any way.

You had shook your head so fast, the room span but Joel didn’t back away so easily.

Truth be told, you’d caught his attention all night and Tommy had nudged and smirked at him for noticing his eyes on you, encouraging him to go talk to you but he never did.

He couldn’t find a reason to.

Well, what more of a reason did he need than finding you sat with your back against a coat closet in his brothers house?

You had stood up so shakily that Joel found himself wanting to take you in his arms just to offer you some support to stand but you backed away when his hands instinctively held out to grab you if you fell.

He retracted them just as quick.

You told him you were fine and thanked him, saying you just needed to call an Uber and go home. You made the excuse that you’d had too much to drink and your head was spinning.

Dizzy and nauseous, you just needed somewhere dark to sit.

With the daunting thought in mind of having to sit in a stuffy taxi with a voice trying to make polite conversation with you, you didn’t catch Joel’s offer until you met his eyes again and he realised your blank expression, his back straightening and voice softening with a smile.

“If you need a dark closet, I got one at my place across the street if you need it?”

Somehow you laughed and even though your own voice hurt your ears, you found yourself saying, “if you’d said that to anyone else, you’d sound like a murderer,” and all it took was Joel’s pretty smile to take him up on his offer.

Except rather than a dark closet, he simply closed the curtains in his living room, offered you some chamomile tea, a blanket and sat in silence with you on the couch. And though your voices were silent, your mind was loud, finding it completely baffling that a man you just met and barely knew was being so incredibly sweet as to offer you a safe space. No questions asked.

Then he’d asked you out on a date and you were absolutely dumbfounded.

Later in your relationship, you had admitted what had happened and while he understood what it meant to feel overwhelmed (god did he feel it sometimes), sensory overload was a completely new term for him.

You explained as best you could, your cheeks the same shade of red he had seen when he found you in the closet. Joel took it upon himself when he was awake lying next to you, tangled up asleep in his bedsheets, to take his phone from his bedside and spend a good hour reading about what sensory overload was and how it can be eased.

You couldn’t believe your luck of finding this man. You practically thank that damn closet for it’s existence in Tommy’s house every time you visit.

So now you’re back in that predicament again and Joel is pulling back the covers from the bed, folding it up at the end knowing you just want a nice cool mattress to lay against.

Your heart twists at his care, tears falling from your eyes like rain, except Joel is the sun as warm and inviting as can be even when you want nothing more than to be left alone.

“Okay, honey,” he now whispers, knowing it’s easier to talk to you that way. His heart aches at the sight of you as he turns to face you, slowly walking so that his footsteps don’t make too much noise along the wooden floorboards.

“You wanna lie down? I’ll get you something to eat.”

“I don’t think I can eat, Joel,” you reply, your voice shaky as you lay down on the bed. Joel kneeling beside it, his palms flat on the mattress beside you while you lay on your side looking up at him.

“Usually liquids are best, right? Soup? Or I could make you a smoothie? And a cup of tea? Do you want your noise cancelling earphones, baby?” Your eyes are tearing again at his words and Joel’s face crumples at your glistening cheeks.

“It’s okay, honey,” he cooes, hand rubbing the mattress, pretending it’s your back.

“I feel bad,” you cry.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” Joel shushes you, knowing all too well where this is leading and disallowing you to talk badly about yourself.

“But Sarah, she…she was trying to tell me about something and I couldn’t even concentrate on what she was saying-“

“Baby, you know Sarah understands,” Joel leans in closer, his breath on your face as he reassures you of your racing thoughts.

“She told me as soon as I came in that she thought you were having an episode. She knows, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen, your crying stopping momentarily.

“Really?” You ask, your throat dry.

Joel nods, a small smile on his lips, “And she gets it, baby. She doesn’t judge. We’ve talked about it before. Just to make sure she always knew you might have a moment every now and again so if you need space, it doesn’t have anything to do with our relationship or the one you have with her. She loves you, honey and she knows you love her. Okay?”

You nod and Joel’s smile grows, glad to have consoled you.

“Now,” he starts again, “I’ll go get you what you need and you stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

You nod again, “thank you, Joel.”

Joel has to stifle his chuckle only a little, “how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’m your partner. It’s important that I take care of you. You do it for us plenty.”

You smile a little and it makes Joel swoon, happy to finally see your lips turn up, your dimples gracing the edges.

True to his word, he disappears but not before scoping the wardrobe and retrieving your earphones. You put them in and try to close your eyes and relax when he leaves. Trying to will your body to loosen up, your muscles to relax rather than freeze rigidly with every sensation. The mattress is cool, your long shirt light and airy and Joel left a cold glass of water with a straw on the bedside for when your mouth was feeling too dry.

He was one in a million and you smiled knowing you won the lottery when he found you that day in the wardrobe and then you became the richest person on the planet when you met Sarah and the connection you had to both of them grew stronger until he eventually asked you to move in.

Five years later and here you were. A family.

The best family you could’ve asked for.

“Hey baby,” you lift your head to see Joel wandering in, taking out one of your buds as he places a shaker bottle he normally uses for his protein shakes on the bedside full of a pink smoothie, joined by a cup of camomile and a bowl of your favourite soup.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile and Joel turns his head giving you a wink, seeing you that you seem to be gradually returning back to your normal self.

And luckily you are feeling a little more comfy now.

The sounds of the evening chores going on downstairs are becoming less aggravating.

You don’t feel like you need to tear your skin off your body. In fact you’re almost longing for a bath, feeling a little sweaty from being worked up so bad earlier.

“Joel?” You sit up, Joel turning to see the way your oversized shirt rides up over your underwear, his face flushing at the sight.

“You need something, baby?” He’s got that flirty smile on his face, the one that tells you he sees something he likes but you’re still not completely past your overwhelming senses.

If anything, you’re now bothered by the smell of sweat emitting from your body.

“You know how you love me so much?” You start and Joel’s eyes crease, his smile growing into a full grin.

He hums in response, awaiting your command.

“Pretty please could you run me a bath? You always make it feel so good.”

Joel kneels at the bottom of the bed, his flirty smirk returning at your words, his hands splaying out over the mattress, smoothing over it as you inch a bit closer to him.

“Is that right, sweetheart? You want a nice warm bath with all your rose petals and bubble bath? Is that what you need, baby?”

You nod with a pout, overplaying it a bit, watching his tongue poke into his cheek amused by your behaviour.

“If that’s what you need, I can do that for you but first I need you to eat some of your soup and drink some of your smoothie. Can you do that for me?”

You nod with a dimpled smile and as much as he longs to reach out and graze your knee with his fingertips, he reframes from doing so, continuing to respect your boundaries while you might still be working through your hypersensitivity.

True to his word, Joel ran the bathtub at just the right temperature, sprinkling rose scented petals and dropping a floral scented bath bomb into it. He’d even gone as far as to light some candles, set a fresh cup of tea on the side and stolen some chocolates from the last Halloween run you’d had with Sarah.

If you thought your lover couldn’t get any sweeter, he’d helped you out of your clothes and respectfully kept his hands away from you until you prompted him with a small smile to offer his hand and help you climb into the tub.

Joel left you to check on Sarah while you laid back, your senses mellowing out and coming back down from the heightened agitation you were experiencing earlier. Now finally you felt like a weight had been lifted. Your skin felt less itchy.

“So pretty…”

Your cheeks redden when Joel walks into the misty bathroom, stopping in his tracks at the doorframe and overlooking your soft skin peppered with fluffy soap.

“Have you washed your hair, honey?”

You shake your head, your smile slipping momentarily.

You would have done it if the room wasn’t a little cold. You were doing what you could to stay buried under the hot water, still feeling slightly sensitive to the temperature of the room. The aspect of lifting your bare wet arms out of the water to massage your scalp made you feel uneasy. You weren’t completely out of this episode yet and even if you were, the twinkle in Joel’s eyes told you he’d still offer up his services.

You watch him with bated breath as he kneels beside the tub, pushing up the sleeves of his favourite green plaid shirt, your eyes following the hardened muscles of his forearms up to his biceps peeking out under the flannel.

Though Joel may have a soft tummy, his arms were a statement to his hard work running a construction company with his brother, Tommy.

You rather adored your man being soft and a little hard around the edges.

“Want me to help you, sweetheart?” His voice captures you again, your eyes on his soft brown orbs.

You nod wordlessly, suddenly longing for his large hands and gentle fingers to work their way through your locks and massage your scalp deliciously.

You anticipate Joel’s touch anxiously when he leans over and reaches for your cherry scented shampoo, squeezing the red shiny liquid over his thick hands and lathering it together.

He offers you a smile, his head tilting in request to proceed in touching you. You nod and he moves behind you, his fingers sinking up into your hair from the back. You fight to suppress a shiver tickling up your spine when Joel works the product through your scalp, massaging and coating the ends of your hair with soft strokes.

It constantly amazed you how Joel’s strong hands that spent most the day throwing around heavy parts, growing calloused from checking wooden palettes during the day, could become so delicate and gentle when touching you.

You smiled to yourself, dropping your chin to your wet chest with a satisfied sigh.

Joel made sure not to massage too hard or tug harshly at your hair. He didn’t want to make you retreat back into your shell by triggering your hypersensitivity again.

He could see just from how your shoulders were gradually easing back down to normal level below your chin that your overstimulation was dissipating as the time passed.

He bites his inner gum when he hears a slight moan leave your lips at his movements.

“That feel okay?”

You hum in response, a short nod of your head.

“Good,” Joel whispers, even daring to lean forward, your damp soapy strands sticking to his cheek when he presses a slow soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“I love you.”

Your words caress the relaxed atmosphere.

Joel smiles.

Joel wanting nothing more than to strip back and join you, holding you against his chest under the warmth of the water but he continues to hold back.

Instead he greets your quiet intimacy with a whisper.

“I love you too, baby.”

You open your eyes to a light breeze, birds singing and a smoky cup of coffee on your bedside in your favourite mug.

You lay on your side for a good few minutes, blinking away sleep, your hands cradled under your cheek and buried against the pillow.

You don’t remember falling asleep but when you feel a shuffle behind you, large warm hands slipping under your nightshirt and tugging you against his bare body, the memories start flooding back.

You were so relaxed in the bathtub that it made you sleepy. So sleepy in fact that Joel leaned over the tub after emptying it, bundled you up in a fluffy towel and lifted you into his arms.

Your cheeks warm when you vaguely remember the slight groan of protest on Joel’s lips as his aching back retaliated but with you squashed nicely against his chest, Joel couldn’t complain.

He laid you down in your bed carefully and dried you as gently as he could before tucking you in.

You remember being alone in your half-asleep state that you heard the familiar murmur of father-daughter voices, the click of the door and padded footsteps before the mattress dipped.

A kiss pressed against your forehead and all went dark.

Now the world was brighter than ever before, the sounds of the birds and cars passing by doing nothing to disturb your hearing. Your bones no longer stiffening at the natural sounds of life.

More importantly, the sensation of your lovers thumbs brushing your naked hips was very much welcomed. So much so you groaned happily, rolling over to face those perfect brown eyes and plush lips quirked up into a tired smile.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

You lean forward, meeting Joel half way and kissing him softly. You let your hands slip under his arms, cuddling into him while shuffling just below his chin.

Joel presses a lingering kiss against your head.

Distantly, you can hear Sarah’s record player and you sigh happily as the music carries through your home.

All I ever wanted…

All I ever needed is here…

In my arms…

You squeeze Joel tighter.

[lieslab]

Dead-man-walking

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: Memories of a violent past whirl through your brain, forcing your boyfriend to figure out the root cause of your mental breakdown.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 5.5k

Domestic abuse, depression, and anxiety resources

Trigger warning: Post-traumatic-stress-disorder, physical abuse, manipulative parents, tornadoes and physical descriptions of mass destruction, mentions of razor blades, anxiety, a brief moment of self-harm with nails, and anxiety around people.

A/N: This was supposed to be a comfort/hurt and that is in here, but after I started rereading it, I realized this is pure angst. Sometimes the past feels like standing in the middle of a tornado, hence the drabble name. Requestee, I believe you said you liked having your heart torn apart and stitched back together, so this one's for you <3

_ _ _

Rocks sat in the pockets of your jeans and sweaters. They weighed you down daily, but you tried to ignore them. They weren’t really rocks, but rather secrets. Heavy secrets that kept you pinned down to earth. Your heart fought against gravity and just when you thought you were making progress, the past ricocheted with bitter vengeance. 

You walked through the JYP building with a pep in your step. A handcrafted lunch sat in your hands. You spent hours cutting out shapes and rearranging the bento box to enamor Seungmin. You liked working with your hands. Even when you didn’t speak your admiration for your boyfriend out loud, you wanted it to be known in other ways. 

Early this morning, before he started his schedule, he informed the receptionist of the time you’d arrive at the building. Granted access and permission, you’d be able to walk through the building and up to the specific room where Seungmin would be awaiting your arrival. 

You put on one of your nicer outfits. Before you walked in, you studied your reflection in the car’s mirrors. Rearview and sun visor, you made sure your hair looked presentable. Not a single piece would be out of place. No fallen eyelashes, or a bit of eye crust that you didn’t catch earlier. 

With a final deep breath and a second glance in the mirror, you headed inside. Through security, you greeted the receptionist and headed to where you were supposed to arrive. Every now and then, you glanced back at your phone, rereading the directions and making sure you were walking in the right direction. 

If you needed assistance, you could have asked someone, or called Seungmin to lead you in the right direction. You’d rather figure it out yourself. Seungmin spent so much time memorizing these halls, he could walk them with his eyes closed. You were determined to walk the same path as him. 

On the home stretch in the right direction, you turned off your phone and slipped it into your pocket. You held your head higher, readjusted your grip on the lunchbox in your hand and then- 

You yelped as a flash of paleness moved out of the corner of your eye. You stumbled forward, nearly hitting the ground. The lunchbox tipped, but before you could greet the ground, the back of your shirt was grabbed, and you were yanked back onto your feet. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! You were so quiet, I didn’t even see you there.” 

You spun around with wide eyes to find Felix’s warm eyes checking you over. He called your name softly and reached out to gently grab your wrist. “Hey, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t really paying attention and didn’t even see you, despite you being right there in front of me.” 

And in that moment, a rock became a boulder. You stared at Felix, not looking at him, but rather through him. An embarrassed smile and a handful of freckles tried to apologize, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Standing to the right side of the hall, your past came back in full force. 

The mid-2000s came back like a tidal wave. Crashing over you and destroying the sturdy life you built. You remembered everything all at once. The aggression highlighting your mother’s face as she grabbed your shoulder. The dead eyes of your father when he grabbed the side of your shirt and jerked you forward. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Your body went tense and your lungs caved in. Dominoes toppled over and crushed your heart. You couldn’t breathe, let alone think. You curled your fingers tighter into the lunchbox’s fabric, trying to find comfort in the middle of the past’s suffocating smoke. 

Your brain sparked and ignited. Neurons screamed for help, but nothing ever came of it. There’d be nobody to snuff out the fire. There were no flames; just ash-covered memories and the heavy scent of burning. Your brain curled inward and crisped beneath the flames, but those flames extinguished a few years prior, shortly after you left home. 

All that remained in your head were past memories. You tried to fill up with new memories, but they didn’t come quick enough. The good things weren’t heavy enough to seal up the tomb of the past. Shadows snuck in and the monsters of the past made themselves at home. 

You blinked. It only lasted a few seconds, your blankness between Felix’s concern. He stared at you with worry far more prominent. His hands rested on your shoulders and when you realized it, you jerked away, as if you had been burnt. 

“What did you say?” You asked. 

“I asked if you were okay. I apologized and you just…” He trailed off, wondering if you felt unwell. “You shut down. Are you feeling feverish?” 

“Um-” Your head shook and you sighed. “No, I’m okay. Sorry, I got distracted.” You forced a smile, a brave face, despite the horrors of the past. “I’m trying to find Seungmin.” 

“I can take you to him.” 

“I don’t wanna distract you, if you’re-” 

“No worries, come on.” He gave you a final look of worry and walked down the hall. 

You sucked in a deep breath and followed behind him. 

Your past still carved deep. 

~ ~ ~ 

You couldn’t accept your past. Trying to stomach everything that occurred, it felt like trying to swallow razor blades. You tried, but the blades lodged in your throat. Metal edges cut deep and you couldn’t, you just couldn’t. 

What kind of parents are monsters like that? They martyred your soul. You were alive and breathing, but you lacked something most people had. Safety and security, you’d always doubt if you really had it. People with supportive parents, it’s all different. 

You were born with stars in your eyes and lungs full of moondust. Two eyes to see, all four working limbs, and a brain that craved too much. Too much attention and support. Too needy. Too much. 

You were just a kid. You needed that extra coddling and attention. You deserved to have that support. The kind of parents that put their problems aside and listened to yours. Wiped crocodile tears from your eyes and listened to you at the drop of a hat. 

You came out wrong, you thought. Maybe it was the shared features of your parents, or maybe you didn’t adopt the right personality. Every personality you tried to copy, it felt wrong. You wore each like a new pair of clothes, but the pant legs were too big and the arm holes felt too tight in the armpits. No matter which one you picked, it never felt right. You were never who you wanted to be. When you tried to do what felt right, their attitudes grew worse. 

On the other hand, the universe was better because Seungmin was in it. Blessed with dark eyes and a brain equipped to seek out information he didn’t know. You hesitated to ask questions, but he never had problems with it. 

If something was wrong with his part in a song, he’d bring it up to Chan, or whoever was in charge of recording that day. When he went to a restaurant and didn’t know what something consisted of on the menu, he’d ask the waiter. When he asked, he always found out the answer. 

You were different. You hesitated to ask new things. Anxiety brewed in your gut. You stayed timid and unsure, afraid you’d bother someone if you questioned something. You tensed up at little pieces of body language, always hyper-vigilant and reading everything. Alarm bells went off and you couldn’t help it. 

Your parents left you fractured and you struggled to figure out how to become whole again. You didn’t know how to tell someone. How do you admit that? How do you tell someone you’re full of unstitched flaws and in desperate need of security? You looked for role models everywhere. It wasn’t easy to admit you had problems. You hesitated, too afraid someone would use those hurts against you. 

Seungmin wouldn’t and you knew that, but you didn’t bring it up. Felix dropped you off in the correct room and pushed open the door to expose Seungmin’s frame slouched back on the couch. A phone sat in his hand. You thanked Felix and then you weren’t sure what happened. 

You weren’t focused on what was going on around you. You didn’t focus on the panda bodies you made with rice. You used seaweed to make a tiny face and add the darkened details. Using cookie cutters, fresh vegetables turned into small flower shapes. 

The mostly peeled tangerine, you marked the remaining peel with a little sharpie; two eyes and a smiling face. You wanted him to be reminded that even the non-existent tangerine snail rooted for him. Maybe he called it cute, the words turned murky. 

You remember sitting across from him on the leather couch. He talked about something, probably his day. You listened, humming softly and nodding. The words didn’t really pluck the strings of your brain. You should have listened, but the incident with Felix was too fresh. It was only an accident, so why did it feel like a scab had been ripped from your open wound lingering from the past? 

Why did life have to be so difficult? More importantly, how would you find the courage to recover? How do people recover from such brutal things? Childhood felt like a prison sentence. 

Why did it all have to be so hard? ~ ~ ~ 

A few days later, you entered the dance room where Seungmin was supposed to be, but he wasn’t. Upon seeing Minho and Jeongin, you paused and stepped back out. Your foot scraped along the floor, catching their attention with a loud squeak. 

Jeongin called your name with a smile and waved you in. “Come hang out! Seungmin should be back soon. You can give us a break from dancing, anyway.” 

“We’re only still dancing because you can’t get the moves right.” Minho glanced over and glared at the younger boy. 

“It’s not my fault you’re making it so hard!” 

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “This dance is so easy, I bet they could pick it up pretty quick. Today, you’re dancing with two left feet and that’s your own fault.” 

“Hey!” 

“Where is Seungmin?” You stepped back into the practice room and interrupted, not wanting the guys to start arguing. “He said he’d be here.” 

Jeongin swatted Minho’s attempted pinch to his side away. “Changbin called him into the studio. Chan is out sick and apparently, Changbin wants a few more takes, just in case Chan doesn’t like the recording he has. He should be back at any time.” 

Minho glanced over his shoulder. “Come on in while you wait. Maybe if I slow down and teach you this dance, maybe Innie will finally get it.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re a shit teacher today, hyung.” 

Your eyes widened and Minho scowled. “Your scrawny ass is going to regret that. Get in formation right now. I outta-” 

Jeongin mocked him and stuck out his tongue. Minho’s nostrils flared and he mumbled something beneath his breath. The two were used to bickering and picking on one another, but it still made you anxious. 

You tugged off your bag, placing it with theirs on the outstretched couch in the distance. “So what are the moves?” 

Minho started to move, showing you the range of moves. “This is the part that Jeongin keeps messing up.” 

“You don’t have to use my government-given name.” 

“I’m gonna put my government-given foot up your-” He paused, glancing at you in the mirror. “Well anyway, it’s bah, bah, bah.” He curved his arms back and shifted them around in three quick motions. “Left, right, out.” 

“I keep getting the left and right confused. It’s left, right, out, left, right, out, but then it changes directions,” Jeongin explained. “The beat is pretty fast and I keep getting my arms mixed up. Plus, we’re supposed to add footwork and ugh.” 

“We’re slicing and dicing for this move.” 

As Minho continued to explain, you followed along. You moved your arms slowly, trying to capture the right moves. “Left, right, out?” 

“Yeah! You got it! Just like that!” Minho watched your moves a few times, praising you when he could. 

When Seungmin came back a few minutes later, Minho was wrapping it up. With the music and in the mirror, he glanced back at you two. His body moved through the melody with ease. “There you go, you’ve got it! Start with the left foot!” He called over the music. 

Seungmin’s face softened as he watched you. His heart naturally quickened its beat and he smiled. When the three of you finished, he started to approach you. “Hey, I didn’t know you could dance.” 

Before he could reach you, Jeongin rushed from behind you and squeezed you in a tight hug, causing you to gasp. Your face grew pale and the dam holding back your past cracked. Spider-web cracks expanded through the cement and memories burst.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Jeongin squeezed you tighter, causing you to panic more. “If you wouldn’t have came to help me, I don’t think I ever would have-” 

Your elbow slammed into his windpipe hard. He gasped, reaching up to grab his adam’s apple. Both Seungmin and Minho’s eyes went wide. Minho rushed over to you, trying to make sure you were okay. You dropped your head and ran past Seungmin. 

Tears brimmed behind your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. All you could think about was the past. The way your parents treated you. They treated you like a dog. Screaming and beating. Grabbing and tugging, like you weren’t their child, but a criminal instead. 

Phantom limbs of an angry father gripped you tight. The shrieks of your mother melted your heart. They rushed behind you, chasing you down the empty halls of the company building. You couldn’t breathe and tears cascaded down your cheeks. 

Years later, you still couldn’t escape all the hurt. 

~ ~ ~ 

Back in the dance practice room, Felix entered with a frown. He paused when he saw the state of the room. Seungmin stood frozen in his spot with eyes full of concern. Minho gently patted Jeongin’s back, but tears clouded Jeongin’s eyes. 

“What’s going on? Innie, are you okay? What happened? Seungmin, I seen your-” 

“Yeah, they just slammed their elbow into his windpipe.” 

A small squeak fell out from Jeongin’s lips. He coughed and ducked his head, trying to wipe away the tears. “Did I-I do something wrong? I just-” 

“No, I don’t know where that came from.” Minho glanced over at Seungmin. “Are they okay? They were just fine until Jeongin hugged them.” 

“Wait,” Felix frowned, “what happened?” 

“I just hugged them and they elbowed me so hard. I didn’t think I was hurting them. I know I squeezed tight, but I was excited. I didn’t mean-” His voice cut out and he cleared his throat, “-to harm them.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“More shocked than anything.” 

Minho glanced over to Felix. “Didn’t you say you ran into them the other day and it was weird?” 

He slowly nodded, unsure if he should expand on the topic, or not. “Yeah, they kinda went blank. Their face paled and they totally shut down for a few seconds.” 

“That’s what just happened here. Seungmin, are you sure they’re okay?” Minho looked over at him, expecting a response. 

“I don’t know. I mean, they’ve been okay with me. I don’t know why they would have done that to Innie. They’re not-” His head shook. “I don’t think they meant to do it on purpose.” 

“Go check and make sure they’re okay. Felix and I will take care of Jeongin. Innie, where’s your water?” 

“In my duffle bag,” he mumbled. He gestured in the opposite direction, causing Felix to hurry over to find his water bottle. 

Minho gently patted Jeongin’s back, but he watched Seungmin’s disappearing outline. Wherever you were, hopefully you were okay. It wasn’t like you to hurt Seungmin. 

It wasn’t like you to hurt anyone, especially not the guy Seungmin treated like a little brother. 

~ ~ ~ 

In the bathroom, your brain roared. Cold rain downpoured and you couldn’t turn it off. You gripped the edge of the automatic sink with shaky hands. Your bottom lip trembled and tears streamed silently down your cheeks. 

The sobs threatened to give, but you learned to handle these moments with grace. You tightened your grip on the sink harder and squeezed your eyes shut. A bottom lip trembled and you struggled to breathe. You spent childhood littered with words that shot flaming arrows into your heart. 

“I barely even touched you! You’re so dramatic!” 

“Why are you crying? Come here and I’ll give you something to really cry about.” 

The past sank teeth into your jugular. Your arms shook and your heart rotted in your chest. In the bathroom mirror, your body burst into flames. You felt every lick. Every nerve remembered the pain. Each neuron buzzed with a memory. Lightning burst through your veins and the past ripped through muscle. 

Your lungs refused to expand. Outside the bathroom door, Seungmin called your name. He knocked, desperate for a response, but you didn’t reply. Your parents stole your voice years ago. 

They dubbed you dramatic. They said it never happened. If it did, it wasn’t a big deal. You were remembering it wrong. 

What if you never remembered it right? What if your brain made it up? What if this was something your brain created out of dreams and you were secretly trying to discredit your parents? They were your parents, right? What kind of parents hurt their kids? 

What kind of parent grips their kid and leaves behind bruises? 

Who screams at a kid until they’ve collapsed onto the ground, curled up in a ball, shrieking and begging the monster to stop? 

What kind of monster unveils sharp teeth and spits saliva? Hiding behind the face of a parent and causing them to lash out an arm, digging their nails into your shoulder? Gripping their hand into your side and injuring you because their anger is out of control? 

Kids are so pathetic when you’re angry. When nothing goes your way and you believe the world hates you. A child becomes a burden. An obstacle in your path to greatness. Anger mixes with resentment and paints something ugly. 

Monsters weren’t hidden in your closet, they were banging on your bedroom door. They stood in the kitchen, slamming pans around, and shoving cupboard doors shut because you asked for dinner. They screamed at you when you did something wrong. Not because you did something wrong, but because this was bigger than them. 

This trauma was bigger than you. Your skin couldn’t hold it in. You screamed at the top of your lungs in that bathroom. The world kept turning, but Seungmin’s world stopped. His heart shattered. His body moved before he could stop it. 

That was your scream. Your hurt. You were injured and he had to stop it. He grabbed the bathroom door knob and shoved it open. He couldn’t move again. Your scream came from the depths of your soul. It wasn’t just you screaming, it was the child who didn’t get to be a proper kid. 

Robbed of childhood and all things good, your inner child wailed. The starving terrified toddler who asked for food when a parent was in a bad mood, it shrieked in terror. The teenage you that had to figure out things on your own, your own resentment bubbled and brewed, it cried out, so desperate to be heard. 

In an act of pure panic, your fingers found your eyes and dug. You tried to pluck the memories from your brainstem. Everything funneled into a violent tornado. The good and bad collided, hot and cold met; a spout grew and began to grow legs. 

There are tornadoes dubbed ‘dead-man-walking tornadoes.’ Multiple vortexes funnel down and grant the illusion of the tornado walking with two legs. A tribe of Native Americans named them years ago. 

They’re known for their sheer power, causing violence,  and mass destruction. They say if you see one around you, death is coming to you. There is very little you can do. Those that seek shelter still might fall victim, they’re that powerful. 

Humans are delimbed, tossed through the green and graying skies like rag dolls. Screams of mercy will not save you. The winds are so strong, the hides are pulled from animals. They are one of mother nature’s most terrifying creations.     

They dismantle towns, kill families, and destroy farms. There is no mercy. Prayers cannot save you. Nothing can save you if you see a walking giant approaching you in the form of a tornado. 

The memories in your own brain spun out of control. Lights flickered and the foundation your legs provided shook. The sirens in your head blared. Outstretched hands ripped your arms from your eyes, causing you to scream louder. 

Winds roared and the building creaked. Your body swayed, trying to escape the horror of the past, but it was no use. Hands grabbed your wrists tight, preventing you from scraping out the memories. 

You jerked, but you couldn’t get your arms away. A sob busted through your throat. A leg kicked and a yelp sounded. You hit the floor with a loud clatter. 

You shoved yourself backwards until you hit the wall. You curled up, ready for a hand to strike you. You expected limbs to hit your own and the burst of air brushing your skin beforehand. You tensed up and braced for the awaiting sting. 

When you opened your eyes, you found Seungmin standing with a face full of terror. His hands stretched down toward you, but he didn’t move from his spot. He hesitated, unsure if you’d be okay with his touch, or not. 

“Seungmin?” You weakly croaked. Tears slipped down your splotchy red cheeks. A lump lodged in the center of your throat. 

“What’s going on?” He whispered, afraid he’d startle you. “Why did you kick me?” 

“Where are we?” 

“Huh? We’re in the bathroom at the JYP building. Don’t you remember? You elbowed Innie in the neck and took off. What’s going on with you? You screamed, started to cry, attempted to gouge out your own eyes, and then kicked me when I tried to stop you.” 

“S-Seungmin,” you weakly uttered. Your eyes squeezed shut and another sob fell out.  

He cautiously slid down onto his knees. The dirty tile floor didn’t bother him. Not when you curled up before him. With your teary eyes and sniffles, you looked so broken. You looked like something he’d never seen before. 

Sure, there were times you were quiet and kept to yourself, but you were never like this. You didn’t act like this around him. You never laid a hand upon him, or anyone else. This wasn’t like you. 

“You’ve gotta talk to me,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong, if you don’t talk to me. This isn’t like you, baby. What’s wrong?” 

The soft words built up another sob. Your face scrunched up and you cried. You didn’t mean to harm anyone. You didn’t mean to turn into such a defensive little thing, but what else could you do? 

A broken child, forced to build up a wall. A teenager, unsure of who to trust. A backhand felt more like a friend, than a person ever would. At least, you knew what to expect from the backhand. The sharp sting, the catch of a wedding ring, and all things unholy. 

Where did that leave you as an adult? No parents to turn to. Never a proper support system. Even your own boyfriend, when he grew angry about something, you turned weary. Anxiety bubbled, you tensed with a held breath, and you waited. 

“Please talk to me.” 

“I’m scared,” you finally uttered. “I’m so scared. Please don’t hate me, I’m sorry. He grabbed me and I panicked.” 

“What?” 

“Innie. I didn’t mean to hit him, I swear. He grabbed me and I couldn’t breathe, so I-I just-” 

“It was just an accident.” 

Your bottom lip trembled. 

“Nobody is mad at you, I promise.” 

You couldn’t stop the tears. They continued to slide down your cheeks and free fell down your face. You sniffled, but it didn’t help. You reach up, trying to wipe away the tears, but you couldn’t stop them from falling. 

“Just talk to me. There’s gotta be far more than that. What’s wrong? You can tell me.” 

Your head shook. 

“Did something happen between Jeongin and Minho? If they did something…” He trailed off when you shook your head again. 

“I’m the problem. I’m always the problem.” 

“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not a problem. You’ve never been a problem.” 

“Not for you, but soon you’ll find out I am. I’m always a problem. My parents were right. They’ve always been right.” Your voice came out shrill and you didn’t know how to stop it. Everything bubbled up and the pus-filled abscess of hurt finally burst.  

“I’m so miserable and afraid,” you continued. “I’m always afraid and I can’t stop it. I always think people are going to get violent. I always wait for the hits and the harsh touches. The grabs and the pinches, I don’t know how to stop.” 

He took in your words, repeating them in his head. His eyes narrowed and then his face fell. “Your parents did what? What do you mean? Did they-” 

“Always.” You tried to suck in a breath through tears. “I’m always waiting for them to appear and strike again. They’re in my dreams and they’re still so angry. No matter what I do, it will never be enough. I don’t know how to be good enough, Seungmin. I’m not even good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. Don’t say that. You’re more than enough for me. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.” He moved closer, but he stopped when he saw you tense up. “I won’t come closer, but I mean every word I say.” 

“You know how I feel about liars, unless I’m the one lying about something stupid. No matter how angry I am, I’d never hit you. That’s not who I am and it’s not who I ever will be.” 

“It’s not enough. Words are never enough. I can’t trust people like I pretend to. It’s all a facade, it’s a lie.” 

His face fell, but he tried to hide it. “I’m not going to push you to talk about things if you’re not ready to talk, but I want you to know I trust you. I trust you and I love you. The guys and I would never hurt you, not on purpose.” 

“I-I know, but I’m still terrified. My parents always come back. I can’t escape the past. I-I try to make new memories and remind myself it’s over, b-but it-” You cut off, shoving a hand over your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut and you tried to bury the sob that threatened to escape. 

“Please let me hold you. I’m not going to hurt you, let me prove that to you. I can’t stand seeing you in so much internal torment and not being able to do anything about it.” 

Your wet clumpy lashes reopened. You sniffled and Seungmin slowly moved closer. “It’s just me and you know me. Easy, I’m not going to hurt you. If I were to hurt you, I’d already have bitten you by now. Don’t freak out, it’s just me, your loyal idiot.” 

A weak chuckle fell from your lips. He crawled closer, pushing his back against the wall beside you. “See? I told you I don’t bite. Can I hold you, or do you want me to stay here? I feel better being close to you.” 

It took you a few moments, but you finally shifted. You moved closer and crawled further into his lap. You straddled one leg over his and slowly sank onto his legs. He cautiously grabbed your waist, helping steady you. 

You sniffled, reaching up to wipe your tears, but he beat you to it. “There you go,” he whispered. His fingers slipped beneath your eyes. “That’s it, you’re doing good.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“Showing you that I’m a wreck.” 

“I think I’d be a wreck if I went through what you went through. It’s okay to be a wreck. Trauma is hard. Hell, you don’t think I don’t have nightmares about the survival show? That was years ago and sometimes, I still have dreams that Minho and Felix didn’t debut with us. It’s horrible and terrible.” 

“Is that why you don’t like JYP?” 

“I don’t like JYP because he’s bad at singing, but you can’t tell him I said that. I don’t know how he’s going on tour and now he’s preaching. Have you heard a JYP sermon? He’s just yapping, dude. I can do that, too. Give me a bible and a pulpit.” 

You tried not to laugh, but failed. He reached out, gently cupping your cheeks. “You can laugh all you want, but it’s true. He’s such an idiot and I don’t know how so many people love him. He’s what my nightmares are made of.” 

“I feel like you should be yelling at me for breaking down.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. How are your eyes? That’s what I’m concerned about. You can see me, right?” 

You nodded, letting your eyes find his. Your nose scrunched in another sniffle. “They’re a little itchy, but I think it’s from crying.” 

“As long as you can see my beautiful face.” 

“You’re silly.” 

“Damn right and don’t forget it. Now about whatever happened here today, you don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I love you and I don’t want to hurt you, but I think-” 

“I should talk to someone?” You mumbled. 

“Yes and for good reason. I don’t like knowing you’re struggling, but also, I’m a little offended that you think I’d hit you. Why would I hit you? That’s what Changbin is for.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I think you just wanna be manhandled, sometimes.” 

“And what about it? God forbid a man has hobbies. I’m not the only one. Have you seen Felix? He’s like ‘oh, let me massage you, Changbin!’ He only wants to touch his muscles! At least, I’m sneaky about my desires.” 

“But you’re dating me.” 

“Are you implying we should have a threesome with Changbin?” 

“Excuse me?” 

His hands raised above his head. “Hey, you implied it.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

“You pretty much did. I was talking about Changbin’s muscles and you brought up dating you. If you want a piece of him, all you gotta do is ask. Changbin loves having people gush over his muscles. He’d probably do it with a grin.” 

“You are such a brat.” 

“I prefer the term dog and sometimes when I see Changbin, I feel like I’m in heat. It depends on the day, really.” 

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled. Your arms crossed over your chest and you sighed. You knew he was teasing you, but you started to feel exhausted. 

He leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s okay because you love me regardless. Anyway, if you’re done kink shaming me, we should get off this disgusting floor. You have snot drying on your face and I can feel toilet germs crawling up my arms.” 

“Kink shaming?” You sputtered with bright red cheeks. You jerked up quickly and stepped away. Mortified, you shook your head. 

Seungmin got up after you, trying not to laugh. You were no longer crying and the weight of the past disappeared from your shoulders, for now. It felt easier now that you had someone you opened up to. You hurried to the sink, trying to wash your hands. After the two of you finished getting clean, you needed to apologize to Jeongin. 

Even when you were embarrassed and blushing, you were adorable. Seungmin found your eyes in the mirror. Your cheeks grew darker and you focused on washing off the germs. As long as you weren’t still crying and tearing up, Seungmin felt he was doing something right. 

“So should we go back to the others, or hunt down Changbin and see if he wants to tag along for tomorrow’s date night?”

“Seungmin!” 

“So that’s a no on having an open relationship? Fine. I was just asking, but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” 

“Yeah, probably feeling up Changbin.” 

“Now you’re talking my lingo, babe.”

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[pileofboneswrites]

THINGS ARE DIFFERENT.

SUMMARY — this year brought a world of horrors for you. a car accident just weeks before your first day of sophomore year leaves you with no memory of the last year of your life. six months later, things have settled for you; you've got perfect grades, you're a cheerleader and your boyfriend is the quarterback. life is great, perfect even, until a certain raven-haired boy comes crashing into your life, causing chaos and triggering some of your memories to come back.

PAIRING — sweet pea x fem!andrews!reader | reggie mantle x fem!andrews! reader

WORD COUNT — 9.6k

WARNINGS — shitty friends, mentions of a car accident, cheating (caught in the act), lying, angst, fighting, swearing, i think that's it???? (let me know if i missed anything!!!!)

A/N — the plot of riverdale is kind of muddled in this fic; hiram logde's plans are apart of it somewhat, but jason is still alive. no mention of "yn" everyone mostly refers to her as andrews, reg refers to reader as "sunshine" a few times, and fred refers to her as kiddo, also the absolute SHITSHOW i went through to post this, oh my god, tumblr formatting is FUCKED (i usually write everything in my notes app or on wattpad bc i have lost so many partially done fics to shitty service). like i get WHY, but AHHHHHHHH (that's me screaming at the top of my lungs,,, 24 hour loop edition), not proof read

MASTERLIST | RIVERDALE

YOU.

"ronnie needs our support on this," your twin brother archie explains, he's leaning against the door frame of your bedroom.

your back is to him, and you're trying to get ready to head out for school. your homework, laptop and other things sit spewed around your room. utter chaos from your midnight homework session. you straighten yourself, finally meeting his eyes.

"yeah, and? veronica is your girlfriend, not mine archie." you reply, leaning down to shove your laptop into your school bag.

"please?" he pleads, and you roll your eyes.

veronica lodge's dad is no good for riverdale, you can feel it. every move he makes seems to rattle one of archie's friends, or cause a disturbance within the town. since hiram rolled in it seems like one half of riverdale is always up in arms. first jughead when the serpents trashed the drive-in, and the northsiders because of the southsiders joining the now only school in riverdale.

"arch, i don't have the same kind of love from my friends you do. i step on their toes over this, i'm going to be an outcast." you reply, zipping up your bag.

"you can always hang with us," archie sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "i know that betty misses you a lot, same with jughead."

"then why haven't they reached out?" you snap, sick of the conversation at hand.

archie always gets your hopes up, then plans fall through or they "unintentionally" leave you out. so, you're done. they know that you don't remember anything from the last year; the good, the bad or the petty. you're done trying to change things when with every effort you're shot down. you want normalcy. you want your friends back, but if they're not going to tell you what's going on, or make an effort, then why should you?

"just think about it, okay?" archie says, and you shake my head.

you throw my bag over your shoulder and push past him. you pause in the hallway, guilt creeping up on you, but ultimately decide not to worry about it. archie's been babying you, coddling you even since the accident. which to an extent you can understand it; you could have died. at the same time you feel like you never have a moment to yourself. archie's always lurking. you jog down the stairs, patting vegas as you slip out the front door onto the footpath.

the weather is hazy, it's damp out, fog lining the streets obscuring vision twenty feet head. you thank the powers that be for you remember a jacket. you pull your hood up as you walk towards the sidewalk, but you catch sight of your boyfriend's car parked on the street.

"morning princess," reggie calls through the open passenger window.

"morning reg," you reply pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger seat.

"did you hear about southside high closing?" he prompts after you give him a quick peck on the lips. "means all the trash is going to be clogging the halls of riverdale high,"

"yeah, arch filled me in this morning. you'd think after all the drama surrounding archie and the serpents he'd be less than excited about them transferring in." you sigh, tossing your bag into the backseat.

"he's on their side?" reggie asks, mouth twisting in disgust.

"guess so," you shrug, pulling on your seatbelt as reggie pulls away from the curb.

"but you're not?"

"i'm indifferent," you reply. "i don't care one way or the other,"

"cheryl's going to hate it," he says, and you shrug again.

the drive is relatively short, and silent. when you and reggie aren't making out, it's usually pretty quiet. you're together on the principle of "it makes sense". that's quite literally how he phrased it when he asked you out. and to an extent he's right. it makes sense for a football player to be dating a cheerleader. it makes sense. that being said, your relationship is entirely physical and for show. you're more along the lines of friends with benefits than an actual relationship. he only calls you when there's a party, or he's horny. romantic, you know. reggie grabs your backpack, and you climb out of the car.

"morning!" betty shouts, climbing out of her mom's car.

"hey," you reply, watching as she b-lines towards you.

"you friends with cooper again?" reggie whispers, leaning against the passenger side door.

"no, her friends want my support about the southside," you whisper back, plastering on a fake smile.

"good morning," mrs. cooper says as she drives past.

"good morning mrs. cooper!" you reply cheerily, she smiles and waves before turning out onto the street.

"hey, can we talk for a minute?" betty asks, stopping a few feet away.

she looks like she always does. blonde hair pulled up in a tight ponytail, makeup pretty minimal and natural, and her signature grey crown sweatshirt.

"sure," you say, and reggie leans down to plant a kiss on your lips, as you grab your backpack from him. "see you in homeroom."

he just smirks at you, as you turn away. you feel his eyes on your back until the two of you slip inside of the school. you feel slightly more at ease without reggie by your side. you follow betty to the room dedicated to the blue and gold (your school newspaper). betty drops into her seat at her desk, and you drop your bag on the table and plop down in the chair on the otherside of her desk. you sit, crossing your arms over your chest.

"whats do you want?" you ask, your question coming out ruder than you'd intended.

"i uh, i wanted to touch base." she says, averting eye conact.

"touch base? we haven't spoken since before my accident, betty. what do you really want?" you snap, becoming both annoyed and upset that she didn't actually mean it.

you could have played dumb, you could have gossiped, you could have gave her a life update. but you spend so much time being fake with your 'friends' that you can't handle any more superficial small talk that neither of you will remember. she looks taken a back by your brashness, and you feel a twinge of guilt. just a twinge.

"i—" she starts, but you cut her off as you forcfully shove your chair back, causing an awful screeching sound as it drags across the tile floor.

"look, cooper, if you need something, be straight with me and don't get my hopes up to use me for information." you grab your backpack and trudge into the hallway crashing straight into someone sending you flying back.

you grunt, bracing for the impact but instead you feel two hands on my arms steadying me. you peak your eyes open, and see a tall guy with dark hair and a leather jacket.

"oh shit, i'm sorry," you mutter slipping past him as you rush up the stairs.

you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, like someone's watching you. you turn your head as you head up, and see the guy who caught you staring in your direction. he looks pissed, and you wonder for a brief moment if that anger is directed at you. you feel someone poke you in the shoulder and you turn your head to look at them. you jump in shock at how close she is.

"you good?" cheryl asks, the usual distaste in her voice, one eyebrow raised in question.

"yeah, fine," you reply walking in step with her, glancing down the stairs, to see a brown and pink haired girl pulling him away.

"—and i don't know why she wants this so bad—" cheryl's voice drifts off into backgroung noise, something that tends to happen more and more frequently.

that guy looked weirdly familiar. you swear you've seen his face before but you can't seem to place it. which is also happening more, and more frequently to you. you know it's going to bug the hell out of you.

"—and i said—" cheryl continues, as you head towards english.

"andrews!" you feel two arms wrap around your middle, and you're yanked backwards and lifted up.

"ahhhhhh!" you shout, startled by the sudden movement and contact, your kneejerk reaction is to raise your elbow and throw it into the first piece of flesh you connect with.

"andr- shit!" a familiar voice yells, as you free fall to the ground, landing on your ass hard. "what the hell, dude!?"

you lift my head and see cheryl's twin brother jason leaning over, clutching his stomach in pain. you clap your hand over your mouth in a mix of embarrassment. he glances down at you, rubbing the tender area, mouthing 'what the fuck' over and over.

"shit! jason, i'm so sorry—" you say, quickly standing up, he waves you away so he can take a second.

"what has you so jumpy this morning?" cheryl asks, crossing her arms and raising both her eye brows at me.

"no clue," you reply truthfully.

"too much caffeine likely," jason says, standing up right and throwing his arms cross both mine and cheryl's shoulders to guide us to class.

"how many cups a day are you drinking?"

"two," you reply, no hesitation.

you haven't been sleeping much lately, or at all really. you weren't sure what was worse; the lack of sleep, or the fact that when you do manage to fall alseep all you seem to dream of is the four agonizing hours you were trapped in your car after the accident.

"four with extra espresso." jason chirps, and you mock elbow him and he flinches, dropping his arm from your shoulder to shield himself. "not cool dude,"

"aw, prwincess," you mutter tapping his cheek with your hand.

you duck under his arms at a weak attempt to catch you, and slide into class dropping into your usual seat beside ethel muggs. mrs. leroy has all the desks grouped in twos. she likes to assign a lot of partner assignments and classwork, so you ended up with desk pairs.

"good morning," ethel says brightly, and you smile at her.

"good morning ethel, how was your weekend?"

"it was good, how was yours?"

"it was okay," you reply and shrug as mrs. leroy, our english teacher waddles into the room.

she drops her bag beside her desk and takes off her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair before standing at the front of the room and clearing her throat.

"alright guys, we have a bunch of new students joining us. i'm sure you heard about the students from southside high tranfering in, and we're going to be very welcoming. as such, i've decided to change up your desk partners to kick off our next project." she says, and everyone groans. "hey! who knows, maybe you'll meet your new best friend!"

you drop your head down on the desk as she continues to speak.

"i call your pairs and you'll move to the assigned set of desk pairs, every up."

everyone obeys, clearing to the back, front and sides of the room as she spends the next fifteen minutes reseating you.

"mr. blossom and ms. topaz, these desks please." jason nudges your foot as he passes.

"she's pretty," he mouths and you roll your eyes, a shit eating grin on his face.

"mr. sweet pea, and ms. andrews."

"sweet pea, what kind of name is that?" cheryl snickers, rolling her eyes.

you step forward, dropping into the closest desk to you, ducking your head to look into your backpack for my notebook and pencil. you drop them onto the desk, and look ahead to the board.

"uh, excuse me—?" you turn my head, and see the guy who caught me in the hallway.

"yeah?"

he's cute. messy—but like the intentional kind of messy—dark hair, with curls over his forehead, and dark eyes. there's a hint of ink poking out over the collar of his leather jacket, you catch sight of a snake's head.

"can i— uh— can i borrow a pencil or pen?" he asks, and you nod, turning to dig into you backpack for one.

you feel his eyes on you, watching your every move as you dig. you pull out the first pen you find and hand it over. he reaches out, grabbing hold of it, and your fingers briefly touch. a shiver immediately shoots down my spine, and you drop your hand. you get a flash of a memory, it's difficult to piece together what you're remembering. you see a flash of a half empty vodka bottle, a leather jacket, and a tattoo gun. you gather your things, and jump out of your seat rushing to the bathroom, you hastily shove your notebook away and drop your bag upon entering the bathroom. you drop to your knees in front of the first toilet you find, and empty the contents of your stomach. you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean back against the stall dividers, trying to catch your breath.

it was like for a brief moment you was there. you could hear the tattoo gun buzzing, you could feel the scratch against your skin and you could taste the vodka. you stand up, and walk over to the mirror. maybe you're losing your mind. you would notice a tattoo, wouldn't you? if you didn't know to look for one, maybe you wouldn't... you lift your hoodie a little, and catch sight of one of the snake's heads poking out from under the underwire of your bra.

"holy shit," you breath, pulling your hoodie back down.

you lean down, and turn on the water slashing it onto your face. you stare hard at yourself in the mirror. how could you not see something like that? why didn't anyone tell you? you were told that you grew apart from your friends, but by the looks of things you had a whole other set that no one knew about, or at the very least didn't want you to go back to. the bell rings, signaling the end of first period, and you stand there staring at yourself in the mirror. the door opens slightly, and the brown and pick haired girl sticks her head in and sees you.

"hey, are you okay?" she asks, opening the door fully to come in.

"uh, yeah, i think so." you reply, and she nods, not pushing the topic any further, which you appreciate.

checking in on you is a small act of kindness that not even my so-called 'best friend' cheryl could give. you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and pull it out, turning away from the sink to lean on it. think of the devil, a text from cheryl.

you don't reply, you just sigh, and shove your phone back into your pocket. you look up and catch the girl's reflection staring at you.

"uh, sorry." she says and you shake your head, mustering a small smile.

"it's okay, i'm—," you say, sticking out your hand to her.

"actually, we've met bef—" she cuts you off, but is cut off by the bell ringing.

then there's a loud bang on the door, and it opens slightly.

"topaz! we need to talk," it's sweet pea.

she throws you a sympathetic smile and heads out to the hallway. you there for another few minutes, fully aware of the fact that you're missing chemistry before you pull your phone back out, and call your dad. i can't handle this, i'm incredibly overwhelmed. all of this is too much. i know toni? i'm a southside serpent?

"hey kiddo, what's up?" he asks, answering on the first ring, it's his coffee break. "aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"i am," you reply, your voice shaking, immediately giving away how you're feeling. "i just— dad—"

"sweetheart?" he prompts.

fred andrews, a saint walking, ever understanding. you're incredibly blessed to have him for a dad. you force yourself to take a shaky breath, you're on the verge of tears and your eyes burn.

"can i have a day? i just— i'm so overwhelmed. can i go home?" you ask, the dam breaking, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"yeah, kiddo, i'll come get you and sign you out for the day, okay?" he says, and you whisper okay. "hang tight, i'll be there soon."

"thanks dad," you say, and hang up.

you stare at your reflection, your eyes are puffy and you look like hell. your hair is a mess, but you really don't have the energy to fix it. you grab a couple paper towels from the dispenser and wipe your face. you grab your backpack and head down to the office. you drop into one of the chairs across from mrs. bell's desk to wait.

"oh, hi," she says, exiting mr. weatherbee's office holding a folder. "how can i help you dear?"

"i'm not feeling well, my dad's coming to pick me up." you reply, forcing a small smile.

"oh i'm sorry to hear that dear, i hope you feel better," she gives you a sympathetic look as she plops down at her desk.

you're used to the look; the sad eyes with a small forced smile, you'd recived it a lot since the accident. there were no fatalities thankfully, but it drastically changed your life. at least you have to assume it did, you'd lost a year's worth of memories and it only took you a severe concussion and a couple weeks of physical therapy.

"good morning, dorris," comes your dad's voice, he steps into the office and mrs. bell smiles at him.

"well hello, fred." she says, a faint smile on her lips.

everyone on this side of town loves your dad. fred andrews is the kind of guy who will drop everything if you're in a bind, whether you're a friend or not. he signs you out on the sign out clipboard and turns to you.

"ready to go?" he asks, and you nod, standing up.

he slings an arm around your shoulders, and you wrap an arm around his middle as you walk. he doesn't ask you any questions, but you're sure when you get home he's going to have some.

SWEETPEA.

"she acts like she's never met us before," fangs says, sitting down beside sweet pea on the steps leading up to the bleachers.

they need privacy to talk about what's happening, this was the closest thing sweet pea could find. especially with all the gawking, stares and judgemental looks they'd been receiving since showing up to their new school this morning.

"i know, she didn't even say "hi" or anything. it's the least she could have done given everything," sweet pea grumbles, watching as toni walks towards them.

"she doesn't remember us," toni says, coming to a stop in front of them. "she literally doesn't remember us. like at all, she introduced herself to me in the bathroom,"

"what the hell?" fangs mutters, "maybe it's an elaborate plan to keep her summer in the snakes den a secret?"

"that is the dumbest thing i have ever heard," toni says crossing her arms over her chest. "you heard how she was talking before she ghosted us, she was over it all, the cliques, school, all of it."

"she said we were her family," sweet pea mumbles, "and then she disappeared. maybe it was all a lie,"

"jesus christ, or maybe, something bad happened to her, and she actually doesn't remember us." toni replies, the annoyance in her voice prominent. "and if she didn't remember us, then how would she know to contact us?"

"i sent her over a hundred texts since she disappeared, none of them have even been opened."

"case and point," toni says, rolling her eyes. "look, sit and stew in your misery, or confront her. i don't know about you guys, but i plan on getting my friend back."

with that toni turns on her heel, and heads back towards the school. fangs sighs, and stands up, brushing the dust off his ass as he turns to stand where toni had just been.

"maybe she's right," he says, looking down at sweet pea. "we know elly, she wouldn't just up and ghost us like this unless something happened. i want our friend back, and i'm with toni on trying by any means necessary to get her back,"

fangs studies sweet pea's face, looking for any indication that he's heard anything he said. after a moment, fangs sighs again, and turns to follow toni back into the school. sweet pea sits there on the bleachers, he watches as his friends grow smaller and smaller the further they get. he groans, and throws his head back. he's frustrated. he hasn't heard a damn thing from you in months, and then he sees you at his new school and suddenly his whole world collapses. he sighs, and pulls his cellphone out of the pocket of his leather jacket. he opens up his texts, and pulls up your messages.

you never showed up, you never called, you just disappeared. well, apparently you hadn't, but for sweet pea you did. other than toni and fangs he had no other friends in common at the time. no way of getting a hold of you when his calls all suddenly hit you voicemail. now here you are, back in his life, but so far from his reach. he had hoped a million times over the last six months that he'd find out what happened, that he'd get some kind of explanation or closure. something. anything.

but when his eyes landed on you, it was like all the anger towards you, and the situation melted away. for a second, it was like you were never gone. then that daydream snapped, and you were rushing away. not an ounce of recognition in your eyes. it hurt. his phone vibrates in his hand, and it brings him back. back to the bleachers, back to the harsh reality that you might have no clue who he is, back to the anger that swirls in his head, back to how much he loves you, and how much his heart hurts because you might no remember any of it.

he looks down at the screen, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as the bell rings again.

YOU.

"alright, so, what's up?" he asks, as you drop onto the couch.

vegas jumps up beside you, and drops his head into your lap. you run your fingers through his soft fur and try to figure out a way to start this conversation.

"what was i like over the summer?" you ask, looking up at him.

he's standing by the front door, leaning against the archway leading into the living room. he's got his arms crossed and he's watching you silently.

"you were like you are now," he shrugs, "you didn't spend much time home, at first you were busy with cheryl and then you got a job."

"a job?" you ask, that's new information. "where?"

"the twilight drive-in," he replies, "you made some new friends with your co-workers, or so you said. you and archie were barely home over the summer,"

there's a few moments of silence as you digest this new information.

"dad?"

"yeah kiddo?"

"where was i going? why was i in that car?"

"truthfully, i don't know. archie said the two of you had gotten in a pretty heated fight, and you'd stormed out. a few hours later i got a call from sheriff keller,"

you nod, and sigh, leaning forward. you rest your elbows on your knees, and rub your eyes.

"i had a memory come back," you say after a minute, you don't look up at him. "it was weird though, it was really intense. it was like i was inside the memory."

"do you know what triggered it?"

"no," you lie, until you figure out what's going on with you, you plan to keep sweet pea and toni out of things. "it just hit me in the middle of english, and i had to get out of the room. i went to the bathroom and i puked."

"you puked?"

"yeah, nausea hit me seconds after the memory."

"well, at least you're making progress. the doctor said it could take a while,"

you nod, finally looking up at him. he checks his watch, and comes into the livingroom.

"you take it easy okay? don't strain yourself," he kisses your forehead and heads back to the front door. "i love you,"

"love you too dad," you murmur, watching him leave.

when you can no longer hear the rumble of his truck, you decide to head up to your room. until the accident you'd kept a near meticulous set of diaries, if you can find the one you was working on, maybe it can shed some light on what's going on.

it's weird, you're you, living in your body, but up until six months ago you were a completely different person. it's like living inside a stranger. you step into your room, it's a mess. clothes litter the floor, spilling from your closet, empty take away coffee cups, empty mugs from downstairs and energy drink cans litter the top of your dresser and desk. you go to the hall closet across from your room and grab a garbage bag and head back in. might as well clean up.

a few hours later you stand in the center of your now clean room. all your clean clothes have been re-folded or hung up, all the dirty clothes are in the wash and there's not a single thing out of place. except for—you squint, dropping to your knees in front of your bed, leaning down to pull two cardboard boxes from underneath. one is marked MY NOTEBOOKS, DON'T TOUCH (THAT MEANS YOU ARCH) in all caps—obviously your diaries, but the other has no label. you take off the lid and audibly gasp at the contents. sitting on top is a leather jacket with the southside serpents logo on the back, under the jacket is a dark green journal, a white handled switchblade, your old cellphone and a set of keys.

the screen on the phone is shattered, pretty near unusable by most people's standards. no one knew where your phone was after the crash. you'd just written it off as lost... finding it here, in this box changes things. you put it on the charger, and sit cross legged on the floor. maybe it'll be able to turn it on, if not you could to take it to a repair shop. you pick up the jacket, and check all the pockets. inside the left pocket is a half crumpled note, you pull it out and flatten it. it's definitely not your writing. it has one sentence, and it crushes you.

i love you too - sweet pea

you drop your hand holding the paper into your lap. that just makes everything even worse. does he know that you lost your memories? does he know about the accident? does toni? do they think you're pretending? were you on your way to see him when you crashed?

"fuck," you whisper, pulling your knees up to your chest.

you wanted the truth, and you got it, well part of it. how do you process all of this? how do you fix this? god, you just want to scream. throw things. have a little bit of a meltdown. it won't fix anything, but it might make you feel better. you rest your forehead on the edge of your bed and sit there on the floor, the jacket half hanging out of the box.

"hey?" comes archie's voice from the hallway, i jump at the sound. "hey- are you okay?"

you kick the box under your bed and glance up to see archie. he stops at the threshold, looking intently at you. you hear more sets of feet coming up the steps.

"i—"

you want to lie, you want to tell him you're fine. say everything's a-ok. but it's not. it's really not. and then betty, jughead and veronica come up behind archie and the damn breaks. you start violently, and uncontrollably sobbing into my arms. how did you wake up a year and a half older with such resentment for your three best friends? how did your life fall apart so quickly?

"hey, sh, sh, you're okay, everything's okay," archie says dropping to his knees to envelope you in a hug.

the other drop down on the floor with you. veronica and betty rub your back soothingly. you need to apologize, but you can't stop crying. maybe that's just as well, still a meltdown, just a different kind you suppose.

"i'm sorry!" you cry, frantically wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater.

you dislike crying in front of people, and you know most people don't like having someone cry in front of them. you try and steady your breathing.

"hey, you don't have to apologize," veronica says. "we've all kind of been terrible friends since your accident,"

"that's why we're here," betty adds, patting your shoulder comfortingly.

"that's why they're here," jughead says, and betty swats at him and misses. "hey! let me finish woman! i was going to say, i've been a great friend. we had lots of fun working at the drive-in together,"

"jug..." betty says softly, using that same tone people often use when they're tip-toing around things that might hurt you. she shakes her head slightly, "she doesn't—"

"hey! don't talk about me like i'm not here!" you say loudly, all three of them turn to look at you. "i'm not fragile, you don't have to choose your words carefully around me, i have amnesia not brain damage."

"you're right," veronica says, staring each of them down until they nod. "we all need to stop treating you like glass,"

you quickly stand, your back to them for a minute. you take a deep breath, and turn around.

"arch, what were we fighting about when i left?" you ask, and he looks at you for a moment before swallowing, hard.

"you felt abandoned," he says, his eyes falling to the black rug they're sitting on. "you were upset because we were going on our annual nyc trip, but i'd also promised ronnie i'd help her with something in the morning, and i wanted to push the trip back by two, three hours. and you got really upset and exploded on me—it was entirely justified on your end—there was a lot of things you wanted to do together over the summer and i either canceled or forgot. i was a shitty brother."

"no, arch, you weren't. i'm sure i was just being drama—" you start, but archie raises his hand and you stop.

"no, i was being selfish. i made you a promise, and i broke it. i'm sorry," archie says, standing up and pulling you into a tight hug. "i'm sorry, i really am."

"and we're sorry," jughead says, as archie lets you go. "we thought that giving you some space would be a good thing, but we all got a little caught up in our own shit."

"i understand that, however, i've been alone pretty much for six months." you reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

"you've had cheryl, and jason, and reggie—you seemed like you were pretty happy..." betty says, and you shrug, looking away from her. 

"cheryl is nice— but all we talk about is her. jason's fun to hang with but we have nothing in common other than reggie and cheryl. and reggie.." you sigh, staring out your window over their heads. "reggie made sense."

"he made sense?" veronica asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"picking reggie made sense, and don't get me wrong i do like reggie, he's a great guy—a good listener, great at solving problems, fun to hang out with and all—but there's no connection." you sigh, you briefly contemplate telling them about the jacket, about your supposed summer with the serpents, but decide against it for now.

"are you going to break up with him?" archie asks, and you shrug in reply.

"i probably should," you sigh again, why does all of this have to be so damn hard? "did he ask about me when i disappeared this morning?"

"yeah, i told him you weren't feeling well. dad text me about you being home," archie says, and you nod.

"well, i say we grab dinner at pops tonight like old times," veronica says when the silence goes on a beat too long.

"honestly, i would love that, but i have to tie up some lose ends first. i'll meet you guys there at," you pause, walking over to your old phone, tapping the screen, relief shoots through you when it lights up, "say, 6?"

"sounds good," betty says, and they all stand up.

you unplug your phone, pocketing it as jughead, archie and veronica file out, heading back downstairs, but betty lingers.

"you okay, cooper?" you ask, teasingly.

she turns towards you sharply, hands clasped behind her back, "this morning, i— i really was trying to touch base with you. i know that the whole southside thing kind of has half the school losing it, but you told archie no, and i wasn't going to push it. he mentioned that you were upset about the group not reconnecting with you after everything, and i just wanted to see how you were— are."

"i owe you an apology for how i acted, i was frustrated with arch, not that that's an excuse, but i just kind of snapped. i'm really sorry, i shouldn't have taken that out on you betty,"

"your anger is justified, we should have been by you every step of the way—"

"you were busy, things happen. i missed you guys, sure, but this entire thing has been insane. i woke up six months ago with no memories from the last year. and to be fair, it's not like i made much of an effort with you guys."

"well, we're all okay now. and, you could never truly get rid of us,"

you let out a short laugh, throwing your arm over her shoulder, leading her out into the hallway.

"and you couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you say, and betty grins at you, her arm circling your back as you descend the stairs.

you're standing outside the mantle's house, trying to decide if now is really the best time to be doing this, but your rationality wins out and you move towards the door before you lose your nerve. you raise your hand to knock, but the door flies open and you're met face to face with mrs. mantle. 

"hi dear, are you okay?" she asks, a warm smile on her face. 

"yes. ma'am, i just..." you were not prepared for his mom to open the door. 

that was actually the worse possible thing that could have happened. mrs. mantle has always been such a kind, and wonderful person towards you. you almost wonder if she's the reason you'd let things between you and reggie continue as long as they have. 

"sorry, is reggie home?" you ask, and she nods, stepping out of the way to let you in.

"he's upstairs doing homework, are you staying for supper?" 

the longer you speak to her the more you're dreading following through with this. she's such a nice lady, and you're not entirely sure how reggie's going to handle this. you really don't want to lose her. 

you force yourself to shake your head, "no ma'am, i just have to talk to reggie and then i have dinner plans with my brother," 

she nods again, and you slip your shoes off, and head upstairs. 

you've been here so many times that you don't even have to think about where you're going. as such, this leaves time for you to panic and try to talk yourself out of it. you're not sure why. reggie had been a crush of yours for a long time, from middle school to freshman year at least. when you woke up without your memories from the last year, you'd still felt that way about him. you'd been excited when he initially asked you out. mind you that excitement fizzled rather quickly, realizing what the arrangement meant for your relationship.

you were disappointed, sure, but you weren't blindsided by any means. reggie had always given you the kind of vibe that he wasn't interested in settling down just yet. so, when you push his partially closed door open and find him with his tongue down the throat of a different cheerleader, you're not entirely shocked. the girl notices you first, she's younger than you and reggie by at least a year, and she squeals, pulling away from him. he doesn't notice you at first, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion before he follows her eyeline. they both look like deer, and you're the headlights.

"uh, h-hey..." reggie musters, sitting down beside the girl, "i think you should probably go,"

"y-yeah, g-go...." she says, jumping up and flying out of the room.

you stare at him, unsure of how to continue. sure, he'd made this infinitely easier on you, but at the same time you still find yourself hurting a bit.

"i'm sorry," he says, dropping his head into his hands.

"despite our "arrangement", reg," you use air quotes, "i thought you respected me more than this,"

"i do!" his voice comes out loud, then softer, "i do."

the silence that follows is deafening, and feels like it stretches for hours. he doesn't look at you the whole time, his eyes trained on the ground.

"well, you've made this decision a whole lot easier for me. i'm breaking up with you, reg." you sigh, "i don't hate you; i'm not mad at you; i am a bit disappointed, but i think we were kind of doomed from the start. maybe in a couple months we can try to be friends, just friends. if you're down with that..."

he raises his head, guilt written clear across his features, but he nods, "i'm sorry, sunshine. i really, really am."

"i know reg," you say, leaning down to give his hand a squeeze. "so am i,"

you turn to leave, hesitanting in the doorway.

"reg?"

"yeah?"

you turn to look at him, "see you around,"

4:50pm. you have about an hour and ten minutes before you have to meet archie and the others. you plop down on your bed, and flip your diary open. there are only eight entries.

entry 1: may 16th

i can't do this anymore. faking everything. it's driving me fucking insane. betty, ronnie, and archie are always flaking on me. internship this. summer job that. charity this. sorry i forgot that. jug is the only one who hasn't consistently left me hanging, and we're not even all that close. that being said, out of all of them, i'm starting to change my tune on that. he's even offered to talk to his manager about possibly getting me a summer job at the twilight. which would be killer, i'm there for most of the showings anyway. at least i'll get paid for doing something i already enjoy. then at least i'll have something going on. i'm honestly not ok with them constantly rescheduling things but for whatever reason i just sit there and take it. i need to start putting myself first, and find some friends that put in just as much effort as i do. i wonder if the three of them will even notice if i stop putting in the effort.

entry 2: may 19th

guess who has a new job!!! me!!!!!!!! i'm so excited, i don't think i've been this happy about something in a long time. i start tomorrow night, and jug's already introduced me to some of his coworkers. i'll be working in concession. we're even allowed to sit outside and watch the movie when we're between customers. i'm so looking forward to having this. betty, ronnie and i were supposed to go shopping today but they both just texted to cancel. go figure.

entry 3: may 20th

first day was a success! my new coworkers are so nice, i even made quick friends with a girl named toni. she's got pink highlights in her hair which really suit her. i also overheard that she's a southside serpent. mind you she doesn't really seem like the kind of people i’ve been told are in that motorcycle gang. then again, you're not supposed to believe everything you hear.

okay!! it's later now, and toni asked me if i wanted to hang out with her and her friends at the quarry tomorrow!! that's the first time in a really long time someone’s asked me to do something with them! i, of course said yes! i’m so excited!!

just got back from the quarry, i had so much fun. more fun than i’ve had all year! toni is so much fun to be around, she has the best energy, and it's just so refreshing to be around someone who actually wants to do things and live in the moment. the last time i hung out with ronnie and betty they were both glued to their cellphones, undoubtedly texting jug and archie. i also met her two best friends sweet pea and fangs, who are also super cool. they were really nice, and welcoming. i was pretty nervous, because i’d seen the two of them at the drive-in with fp a bunch of times, so i knew they were serpents, but they were both so nice! i’m really starting to wonder if the serpents are as “bad” and as much of a problem as other northsiders insist they are.

entry 4: june 21st

oh god, it’s been a month since my last entry. i have so much to write about… i honestly don't know where to start. i’ve been hanging out with toni, sweet pea and fangs pretty consistently since that day they invited me to the quarry. i’ve stopped chasing archie and his friends to hang out, and i was right in my guess that they wouldn't notice if i stopped trying. i haven't received a single text from any of them. i mean, i have from archie, but he’s my brother so that doesn't really count in my opinion. and i guess jug too, but we're coworkers and he was the only non-flake before anyway. either way, it’s been so nice having toni, fangs and sweet pea reaching out to make plans with me and when i reach out to them they actually follow through. we all have a lot in common; we enjoy a lot of the same music and tv shows.

toni is a god with her camera, i don't think i’ve seen more beautiful photography, and she takes the BEST candids. she’s taken so many pictures of us, she’s going to get me some physical copies for my scrapbook.

fangs can get you ANYTHING. he’s such a smooth talker that people just end up giving him things. he even got us into a sold out _ show. i’m really not sure how he managed, but we got escorted by security to the barricade.

i was supposed to go with betty, archie and ronnie, but i decided to flake on them for a change. that did get me a few texts from each of them, and i didn't answer them. i just turned off my phone and enjoyed the show. it was amazing!!!!!! i had an absolute blast.

i’ve also been spending more time with sweet pea… alone… (obviously, with toni & fangs too) he’s nothing like i thought he’d be when we met. here i go again judging a book by its cover, shame on me. but he’s so sweet, it took a bit to get him to open up to me, toni says he’s just protective, which i both completely agree and understand. with friends as cool as those two, i don't blame him. he goes out of his way for everyone; holding the door for old ladies, standing in the middle of a busy street so kids can cross. he seems so scary and mean, but that's just his defence. we've been getting a really close, and every time he asks me to hangout i get butterflies.

we're hanging out tonight too, i’m going to pick him up in twenty minutes and we're going to the quarry. i’m sitting in a booth at pop’s waiting for our food. i really like him, and i enjoy spending time with him. toni said she’s never seen him so happy, and that she thinks he likes me. i really hope he does, because i like him. i might even tell him as much tonight… that might be a bit too much, actually. i don't know. oh, pop’s calling my order, i’ll update you later!

just got back from the quarry, and oh. my. god. sweet pea kissed me! i was all nervous, and i decided i was going to tell him how i felt and before i got the words out, he leaned over and just did it! i’ve had a few kisses before, some good, some not so much, but this one? it was the BEST i’ve ever had. that thing you read about in fanfics or novels about fireworks or butterflies, it's REAL. he asked me out on a date too, and i’m literally so excited. i called toni before i added this update and she squealed. she was right, he does like me. mine and sweet pea’s date is wednesday night, we're going to watch a movieat the drive-in and then in the morning we're all going camping at sweetwater river.

my phone is ringing… it’s archie? weird, he usually texts me. i’m going to answer him, i’ll be right back.

just got off the phone with arch. mom is coming down from chicago for the weekend, and we were supposed to go together to pick her up, now he’s backed out on me and i have to go alone. what could be more important than picking mom up from the airport?! especially considering we rarely see her. whatever, i guess it’ll give us time to talk.

entry 5: june 30th

just dropped mom back off at the airport. this visit was so fucked. i picked her up, we had a lovely conversation, and then she asked me where arch was and i had to lie to her. he said he was going to call her and let her know, but apparently he didn't. then, he didn’t show up for family dinner, which he was also supposed to help me cook (spoiler: he DIDN’T). when mom and dad asked where he was, i was like a dear caught in headlights. i have no fucking clue!! i called him, and BAM! voicemail. mom calls him and woah, he picks up first ring. he lies, and gets away with it. arch was gone all weekend which screwed up my itinerary. i mean, seeing mom was the highlight, obviously, but archie and i planned all this stuff and we didn't get to do any of it. not to mention, archie had promised he’s take mom to the airport because he was gone all weekend, and then he didn't show! again! i had plans with toni, and i had to apologize and cancel on her (which isn't fair to her or me (but fuck us i guess??)) anyway, i’m banking on archie cancelling our yearly trip to nyc with everything going on. i’d lay money on it now.

entry 6: july 1st

i’m so mad right now. archie saw me and sweet pea coming out of pop’s with lunch, and got in sweets face. he has NO RIGHT. especially considering how much he's left me hanging lately. i will admit, i did something i shouldn't have, but he said something he definitely shouldn't have (that i shant repeat here (just know it's vile)) and i then punched him. sweets then threw me over his shoulder and carried me to my car. i bruised the crap out of my hand, archie’s got a hard face i guess. toni and fangs tried to lighten the mood when we got back but i couldn't help myself. sweet pea and i ended up leaving early, and we just drove around for a while. when i finally did calm down, he thanked me for standing up for him. why wouldn't i?? archie has no right to treat any of my friends like that, let alone my maybe boyfriend (we haven't really labelled it yet). and archie’s one to talk about people’s “priorities” and who they “really” are, seeing as toni, sweet pea and fangs have done nothing but be great friends and have been there for me all summer and he (MY! TWIN! BROTHER!) couldn’t even see his mother while she was down from chicago. i haven't seen archie since our altercation at pop’s and i’m more than okay with that.

entry 7: august 15th

sweet pea and i got into a fight. it’s nothing major, and i know he’s just looking out for me, but somethings aren’t really any of his business. namely, things involving my family. i was telling him about mine and archie’s annual trip to nyc, and how this will be the first year that it’s just the two of us. mom and dad usually go with us, and it’s the highlight of our summer. i’ve been really looking forward to it, and that i’m hoping this will help mend the tear we’ve both been helping create in our relationship. i’m not going to entirely blame arch because i’ve definitely not helped… especially when i punched him in the face in july. he’s finally speaking to me again. it took a couple of weeks and awkwardly dodging each other but we’re at least talking again. which is progress i guess. we haven’t talked about it either. he just walked into my room last tuesday and started telling about this video he saw, and then everything was fine again. we’ve always been like that, but what archie said really isn’t ok, and what i did really isn’t ok either. i plan to bring it up on our trip. anyway, back to sweets, he’s worried i’m going to get super hyped up about this trip and then archie’s going to yank the carpet from under my feet (kind of like he’s been doing all summer, but i digress). we leave in two days, and so far everything seems to be going well. i should apologize to sweets before we leave though, cause i did kind of snap at him… adding that to the to-do list.

entry 8: august 17th

fuck archie. FUCK. HIM. sweets was right. FUCK EVERYTHING. GODDAMN NORTHSIDERS. 

that was it, the last entry. you wrote that the night of your accident. that's why you were in your car. that's where you were headed. you close the diary, and smack it off your forehead. you close your eyes, and then let out a scream of frustration. you throw the book across your room, and pull your old phone from your pocket. you sift through your text threads, you'd sent more outgoing messages to betty, veronica and archie then they'd sent back to you for months before your accident. turns out they weren't  just shitty friends afterwards. 

you pause for a moment, your finger hovering over fp jones' contact. why would you have jughead's dad's number? up until hiram started causing a stir in town, jughead hadn't even been living with his dad so you never would've needed to contact him. you click it and a bunch of text messages load in. 

things were falling into place for you. they were shitty friends before. you were going to need new ones regardless, that's how you ended up in friendship purgatory at riverdale high. cheryl just isn't your cup of tea, and you're still not sure how you feel about reggie after everything you witnessed this afternoon. one thing you do know; you owe some people an explanation. you close out of the messages, and go to your gallery. the first picture that you see is one of you, toni, sweet pea and fangs, your faces all pressed together cheek to cheek, smiling widely. you smile, and then suddenly it's like a damn breaks and a years worth of memories come flooding in. you drop the phone, and rush downstairs, grabbing your keys from the bowl by the front door. 

"you guys are terrible fucking friends," you say, not really caring to control the level of your voice as you stomp towards your brother and his friends. "not you jug, you're fine, i'm talking about these three."

archie, veronica and betty share confused looks then look up at you. you tower over their table, anger coursing through you. you stare the three of them down quietly, eyes darting from one to the other, to the other.

"uh, didn't we already go over that?" veronica asks, her tone light and joking. 

"not really," you say, "i got my memories back, and you guys were fucking terrible. what did i do to deserve being cancelled on, and forgotten about so easily by you three? especially you arch, you're my brother. my twin. you of everyone are supposed to have my back!"

betty and veronica's eyes drop to their laps, and archie freezes, his eyes wide. 

 "while i appreciate your apology from before archie, with all the facts, i don't accept. what you did was fucking shitty, and i never would have done that to you. never. as for you two, if you don't like me, or just don't like hanging out with me, or just don't want to be my friend, stop making plans with me. i'm done being treated like that, and if any of you want to make things right, actually make things right, you'll be able to find me with my real friends; toni, sweet pea and fangs. who, unlike you three, actually like spending time with me. and for the record, are really good people, and deserve to be treated with respect." you turn on your heels to leave, and then pause at the last booth, whipping back around, "also, fuck you guys."

you pray that you're right about this. you never hung out with them during school, so you weren't sure if they were going to be at the quarry tonight. the weather's still nice, so you're hoping that you're right. you turn onto the familiar dirt road, and catch sight of their bikes in the distance of your headlights. relief washes over you as you get closer, you see three figures walking towards you and you pull in beside the bikes, like you had so many times before. you turn the car off, and jump out. 

"fucking hell, andrews! you scared the shit out of us!" you hear fangs yell, a bark of laughter leaving him. 

"guys--" you say, walking closer to them, your heart beating hard against your ribs. 

you almost wonder if it's going to beat right out of your chest, you're  so nervous, but you're so happy to see them. you missed them. 

"told you she knew who we were." sweet pea sneers, cutting you off. "what schools out so you can be friends with us again?"

"what? no--" you start but he cuts you off again. 

"where were you? why are you back now?" he bites out, and toni smacks him. 

"shut up and let her talk." toni says, nodding at you. "go,"

"i got into a car accident on august 17th. i have no idea how, or what happened, but i was trapped in that car for four hours, and spent two days in a coma. then when i woke up, i couldn't remember anything that happened over the last year. i now remember everything, and am really, really sorry for unintentionally ghosting you guys for six months." you pause to take a breath, and gage their reactions, "i know how this all sounds, but i promise i'm telling the truth,"

toni smirks, stepping forward to throw her arms around you, "i'm glad you're back, i fucking missed you."

you hug her tightly, "i missed you guys way more,"

"i bet you did," she laughs, letting you go, and stepping back.

you hug her tightly, "i missed you guys way more,"

"i bet you did," she laughs, letting you go, and stepping back.

she turns to look at fangs, and sweet pea and holds her hand out, “c’mon boys, cough it up.”

begrudgingly, they both pull five dollars out of their pockets and drop it into her hand. fangs then moves past her, and scoops you into a bone crushing hug.

“missed you,” he whispers, then lets you go.

“missed you too,” you smile, and the pair of them slowly slink back to the fire they’d been sitting around, giving you and sweet pea space.

sweet pea stares at you, dark eyes unreadable, his posture tense. it takes you back to how he was when you met for the first time. closed off, on guard, and analytical. you want to reach out for him, wrap yourself around him and never let go. you’re not sure he’s ready for that, so you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket. your fingers catching the slip of paper he’d given you months ago, curling around it, you put it out and his eyes close briefly.

“i understand if you need space,” you say carefully, unfolding the small scrap. “but if you ever actually meant this, you have to know that i never would have left you hanging like that intentionally.”

he takes the note from you, his eyes leaving yours to look at it. he stays quiet for what feels like an eternity.

“i know.” he finally speaks, eyes still on the note. “deep down, i knew you wouldn't have left. not when you socked your brother for me. i was just so mad… at myself for what i said to you last, at you, for not following through on your text… then seeing you at school– it didn't make sense. instead of really thinking about it, like toni did, i just–” his eyes meet yours again, “i don't know, i let my fears take hold, i guess.”

"i--"

"JUST KISS ALREADY; YOU LOVE HER, HE LOVES YOU, THE END-"

"FANGS, SHUT UP!" toni yells, the sound of her smacking him and him asking her to stop follows.

you and sweet pea share a glance, and then both break out in giggles. when the giggles subside, you step closer to him, your hand landing on his shoulder.

"i love you, sweets, and if you need time—"

"i've had enough time, what i need now, is you." he says before pulling you against him, and kissing you.

he pulls back briefly, letting you catch your breath, "i love you too,"

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙no saving u | LS2˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: logan sargeant x piastri!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, break up, brother's best friend/childhood friends to lovers

warnings: trigger warning many max verstappen mentions unfortunately /j

summary: in which they are pulled together following a particularly messy crash during the last race of the season and an even messier break up

a/n: i got this plot as a request and i love it ahhh i linked the request below!!! hope u guys enjoy i lowkey luv writing logan fanfic especially when max loses something 😆

request!!!: max is getting too cocky and dangerous on the track and he knows you disagree with his antics which causes tension between you, he continues his dangerous streak even though he’s just had the pit lane rules changed for abu dhabi and ends up crashing into logan during fp2, you’ve had enough of max putting himself and others in danger whilst he’s on an ego trip and rush to check on logan after he’s been taken safely from his car and end up going to the hospital with him (you’re childhood friends because he did karting and f3 with your brother), you leave max that night and end up spending more time with logan as he recovers, the summer is spent exploring your new relationship and you go public when you’re spotted in his paddock in 2024, max is humiliated beaten by the worst driver on the grid in his opinion, he’s finally humbled, you could also maybe have logan doing better as he’s had an opportunity to be involved with the cars development, and he even gets a couple podiums in his sophomore year :)

my masterlist

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 47,038 others

yourusername life lately:)

view all 2,012 comments

maxverstappen1 the true artwork is you!

oscarpiastri cringeee

danielricciardo he's trying

yourusername max verstappen most bullied f1 driver on the grid

logansargeant assuming we will see you in the williams garage in abu dhabi

maxverstappen1 no!

alex_albon it's our turn

oscarpiastri nope it's our turn

yourusername shame it's none of you lot's turn. you will see me in mercedes perhaps

lewishamilton i always win

georgerussell63 😊

user1 y/n x f1 2023 grid interactions are my absolute favourite

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted stories

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 10,384 others

maxverstappen1 wont you swing by?

yourusername yes of course hehe i will come see you before free practice 🧡

alex_albon u didnt cheat but ur still a traitor

yourusername 🐱

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, and 12,321 others

maxverstappen1 you are ignoring me

yourusername i just dont want to talk right now

maxverstappen1 why? you didnt even see if i was okay

yourusername i knew you were okay

yourusername im just very upset and angry it wouldn't be productive to see you right now

maxverstappen1 you are not coming back to the hotel?

yourusername no so dont wait up, i'll see you tomorrow

maxverstappen1 okay i am sorry y/n

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 64,734 others

yourusername im only welcome in one garage now

view all 3,294 comments

logansargeant this is literally false information

lilymhe she knows where she should be

landonorris im so lucky i get to see y/n before every race now

oscarpiastri you literally told her she stinks like 5 min ago

yourusername oh great thanks maybe im not welcome anywhere

mclaren we love you y/n

liked by yourusername

mercedesamgf1 you know where to find us y/n

liked by yourusername

user11 the caption...... is this a break up confirmation bc she isnt welcome at rb garage anymore

user12 i love how all the teams fight over her lol

f1wagupdates

liked by yourusername, user10, and 13,384 others

f1wagupdates we are gathered here today to mourn the alleged death of f1 couple max verstappen and our favourite aussie y/n piastri. please leave your respects below 🙏 we are celebrating with some of our favourite maxy/n moments!

tagged: yourusername, maxverstappen1

view all 3,283 comments

user13 wag death 🙏

liked by yourusername

user14 one of my favourite couples😢

user15 dont cry coz it's over.....

user16 this has rattled me

user17 the caption CELEBRATING? Hahahah

f1wagupdates whoops freudian slip

user18 😭 i will never know peace

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, and 8,743 others

carmenmmundt dodged a bullet 100%

yourusername then why does it feel like i got hit anyway 😐

carmenmmundt you are so strong y/n/n

yourusername somehow it's worse because he would have me back if i asked lol

carmenmmundt omg he has no idea what he lost .. you are going to be thriving whilst he is flopping by next season i promise

yourusername i hope ur right 😀

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 24,924 others

logansargeant vacation time 🏝️

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

view all 4,283 comments

yourusername vacay vacay

oscarpiastri baecay baecay

yourusername ur so weird

oscarpiastri noo hahahh ..

user19 "baecay" what does that mean 🤔

user20 not oscar shipping his best friend & sister together 💀

user21 love seeing y/n hanging out with everyone now instead of being hidden away in max's dungeon

yourusername DUNGEON i just shrieked

user22 😀😀😀 im fine

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 284,929 others

danielricciardo woohoo woohoo woohoo

tagged: yourusername, lilymhe, landonorris, alex_albon, oscarpiastri

view all 13,294 comments

user23 omg more y/n x grid content

yourusername yoohoo

danielricciardo hi y/n

yourusername hey 😄

lilymhe my fav ppl

landonorris should we all give up our seats and hang out 24/7 instead

alex_albon no

danielricciardo no

oscarpiastri no

yourusername yea yay!

lilymhe yes wahoo

user24 i wish i was their friend

user25 max verstappen found dead

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 454,183 others

charles_leclerc what we've been up to

view all 17,064 comments

user26 y/n & charles taking a flight together🥹

user27 omg she is everywhere loll

yourusername exposing my weird airline meal

charles_leclerc still dont know what it was

oscarpiastri lol flying with y/n/n is an experience

user28 who is y/n dating im confused ??

user29 no one her & max just broke up but she's oscar's sister so she's always been friends with a lot of the grid

alexandrasaintmleux i can't believe u saw y/n without me

yourusername 😭 i miss you

alexandrasaintmleux get on a plane now

yourusername i genuinely will

charles_leclerc dont steal my gf

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, and 14,204 others

lilymhe oh hello

yourusername 👀

carmenmmundt excuse meee mrs

yourusername perhaps you were right

carmenmmundt not surprised

logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, and 27,924 others

logansargeant ...where should we go next?

view all 4,193 comments

user33 looks like y/n .. anyone else?

user34 that is deffo y/n

user35 why would we assume y/n is dating logan everyone has been posting them hanging out with her lately

danielricciardo go to japan

liked by logansargeant

user36 aww daniel giving travel advice

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 18,204 others

yourusername new favourite place

tagged: logansargeant

view all 6,283 comments

user37 omg not them going to japan because daniel told them to

user38 i rly think logan & y/n are an item

user39 aww she is having so much fun since the breakup

danielricciardo did not expect u guys to actually go where i said

yourusername we were feeling crazyy & impulsive

oscarpiastri come home im bored

yourusername make some friends

oscarpiastri why make friends when i have u

user40 lol i love their sibling relationship

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 4,294 others

carmenmmundt omg this is giving hard launch

yourusername 😭 this is special circumstances

logansargeant couldn't have done it without you

twitter ->

instagram—

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, carmenmmundt, and 17,294 others

yourusername bahrain bahrain p.s he was tired after getting p3

tagged: logansargeant

view all 7,294 comments

oscarpiastri just got the strongest urge to bully you for this post

yourusername u hate to see a girl win!! ur a misogynist or something

landonorris u didnt win anything y/n

logansargeant she won my heart actually

oscarpiastri omg.... lose my number.

yourusername lose ur seat!!! ur a b word

user44 not them arguing over literally nothing

mclaren we're on your side, y/n

yourusername i will always be a mclaren girl!

user45 lol y/n x grid interactions own my heart

user46 i love her relationship with mclaren in general

twitter ->

whatsapp ->

instagram ->

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 32,294 others

logansargeant me and my gf in murica

tagged: yourusername

view all 11,284 comments

yourusername 🦅

oscarpiastri you hate america

yourusername no need to mention that rn

logansargeant ???

lilymhe never been so happy

liked by yourusername, logansargeant

carmenmmundt i told you so, y/n

yourusername you did :)

logansargeant dont know what you told her but thanks 👍

user48 AHHHH i love y/n

logansargeant you and me both

yourusername WHAT?

oscarpiastri that's my sister bro

user48 omg what did i start

alex_albon oh shit

logansargeant urmmmm

yourusername i love you too 😜

carmenmmundt 🥰🥰

THE END 🤍

[forsaken-headcanons]

Welcome to the Forsaken Headcanons!

[CURRENT INBOX ASK COUNT: 218]

Feel free to submit any headcanons you have about the in-game characters here. I dont have to agree with them for them to be valid. Here are a few rules, though:

No homo/trans/xeno/etc- phobic posts here. This game has canonically nonbinary and genderfluid characters. This is also a safe space.

1.5. It is okay to headcanon that a character is homo/trans/xeno/etc- phobic, but please don't use any slurs.

No 18+ headcanons (yes, that includes all your kinks). I don't want to hear it. Keep that to yourself.

All headcanons with heavy content (such as descriptive gore, suicide or self harm, etc) must contain a trigger warning in the beginning of the post.

If someone submits a headcanon that varies from your own, don't harass them. Do not harass me either, because I will be adding my own opinions to yours sometimes.

4.5. It is okay to have a debate over a headcanon or simply disagree with it. Just be respectful.

Don't badmouth the devs or mention any in-fandom drama. I don't care about it. I don't want to hear it. If you have beef with someone, that's not my problem.

Don't start hate campaigns towards select ships (or shipping in general) just because it's something you personally dislike. I don't tolerate ship wars.

No fun polices.

>All ships are allowed and welcome except for obvious proshipping (e. c. c00lkidd/007n7).

>Gender/orientation/otherkin/etc headcanons are allowed and welcome.

>OC interactions with canon characters are allowed and welcome.

>AUs are allowed and welcome.

Please check the anon list in this post before claiming an anon tag.

This is run by a team of mods:

>Mod Leet, the original mod. I ran this blog on my own up until 23/04/2025. I write in normal text and don't have a mod tag. I oversee this blog and make sure everything is going smoothly.

>mod c00lkidd. To learn more about them, click this link.

>Mod Missletsky. To learn more about them, click this link.

>Mod Taph. To learn more about them, click this link.

>Mod Ferland. To learn more about them, click this link.

>Mod Two Time. To learn more about them, click this link.

>Mod Matt. They are no longer active, but click here.

Anon list, ship poll list & event list under the cut.

Anon list

Grasshopper anon

??? anon

<> anon

Azure anon

Tel anon

Ink anon

Subspace anon

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🪶 anon

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Glitched anon

🍔 anon

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🎉 noob anon

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Anon™️

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Bloxy cola anon

🎐 anon

🪣 anon

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Guest 666 anon

C00l anon

☀️ anon

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Anon^4

:] anon

🌈 anon

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🐳 anon

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Cupcake anon

🪻 anon

1x1x1x1 number 1 fan anon

🐈 anon

Anon with extra pepperoni

Twice anon

🖥️ anon

Margay anon

Forsakanon

Lime anon

🧪🦠 infected anon

⛑️🍗 anon

VSE anon

C0dde anon

📺 anon

🗯💥 anon

🧃 anon

🎲🃏★ anon

🎲 anon

4 anon

Dry bones anon

YLSA anon

Glomglom anon

Smiling anon

🪽 anon

👁 anon

tt:3 anon

🌀🎀 anon

Ocean anon

🍎🍋 anon

🎧💚 anon

Catnon

🐁 anon

☄️ anon

Paradox anon

☼ anon

🍄‍🟫 anon

⭐️ anon

🌻🧟‍♂️ anon

Suzy anon

Lemonade (🍋🥤) anon

🐆 anon

🪁 anon

Lentils anon

Guest catholic guilt anon

🐾🐈 anon

2d anon

Ghostfire anon

Lalala anon

Tired anon

Teddanon

Nature anon

🔭🎼 anon

:3 anon

Purple anon

☢️💣 anon

Skin eating anon

👁️ anon 2

🔥 anon

🌸🍎 anon

🔨⚔️ anon

🐁🎉 anon

✨⛈️ anon

Chaos anon

🧨 anon

🐾 anon 2

Pianist anon

Car crash anon

Hat obsession anon

Random anon

Art1st anon

☀️🌙 anon

ITrapped anon

🏹⚔️ anons (system)

❌ anon (🏹⚔️ system)

🪬 anon (🏹⚔️ system)

🦜💫 anon

🎠 anon

🧙‍♀️🕙 anon

Shelletsky anon

The battery ever anon

Zeniths anons

⚡️ anon

🔪🥩 anon

-_- anon

Aubergine anon

Agent anon

⏰ anon

Pom anon

Leaf anon

🍫🐈 anon

Headache canyon anon

👁✍ anon

Honk anon

Fireworks anon

💥anon💥

🦌 anon

☣️💀 anon

Goldenspawns anon

🦖‼️ anon

🔌🪽 anon

Beepeep anon

Two Time fan anon

Pie Hiker anon

Kazlen anon

🎼🔭 anon

🍦 anon

Flipnote anon

🍕💖 anon

Quarter anon

🎉🐾 anon

Tropifish anon

🥭🦈 anon

🍯🐝 anon

🪷 anon

Tophat anon

Satellite anon

LN anon

Astrological anon

💜💚 anon

Bluududs teeth anon

❄️🍎 anon

Star anon

🌊🫧 anon

🔵🪿 anon

🪙🪙🪙 anon

🐙 anon

Luckyhacker anon

Seasons anon

:3c anon

1x1x1x1 anon

💥🦐 anon

pi-non

☝️🤓 anon

⭐️❔ anon

Crack HCs anon

Cheese trap anon

Loveshot Dusekkar anon

Skidbiiid anon

Bat Furry anon

Creative name anon

Mask anon

Starlit anon

Worldbuilding anon

Guiding anon

🌙🦴 anon

🐟 anon

Fish anon

Disability headcanoner anon

Burger7n7 anon

Panon

Yourself anon

🫂 anon

☀️🌺 anon

Weirdcore anon

Lotus🪷 anon

💥🍕 anon

Hybrid anon

🍋⭐🍎 anon

Sillywilly anon

Charlatan_fan anon

C3LI0S anon

🏳️‍🌈☀️anon

🪼 anon

corvid enthusiast anon

🧇 anon

1x1 BPD anon

⭐ART1ST AN0N

02 Anon

🎣❄️ anon

Sand anon

🌀 anon

✨ anon

🌧🤍 anon

🚪💥 anon

Spoon microwaver anon

🎂pest anon

💣⭐️ anon

Translator anon

Random Damn Anon

🪨 anon

❓🐈 anon

🖤🪽 anon

last anon standing

🟦🎸 weezer anon

🤑🤑🤑 anon

here anon

evil writer anon

joedohn anon

🧯anon

🐱🍀anon

Eyenon

penguin anon

🌱🪼 anon

TDOR fan anon

⭐️❕anon

🐐🐍 anon

✨️ anon

silly👑 anon

🟥🆒 anon

🥀anon

🦭 anon

the ravio anon

dusekkar's flame anon

here anon

lalala anon

worldbuilding anon

vanilla anon

🦋 anon

🧪 anon

Metal Queer anon

calico anon

cybertrooper forsaken

🪻🪽 anon

space invader anon

strange green bug anon

🍞anon

∅ anon

"don't feel like being in anon" anon

dez anon

[] anon

Mafia Bug anon

Comic anon

Awfully Hyperfixated Anon

Sparrow anon

ocd 007n7 truther anon

Moth Two Time

🍗🍔🍕🎰 Anon

cutthroat anon

anklebiter anon

bluu anon

Elliot number 1 simp anon

bird anon

aurora borealis anon

👑🥀 anon

😁👍 anon

🎾👁 anon

🟩🟪🟫 anon

fear anon

🍔👾 anon

pr3ty anon

🐸🌵 anon

gryffin anon

oak anon

strange green bug anon

evil whimsy anon

epic the musical anon

🦴🍣 anon

20 anon

🍿 anon (added late, apologies!)

popcorn anon

🧸🪆 anon

Fruiticious anon

🥭🦈 Anon

🎰 anon

birdcage anon

bsod anon

⚡️ anon

:) anon

clockwise anon

vkei anon

🫒 anon

subspace jam anon

spreadseedgrowth anon

buttons:D anon

oaktree anon

ahab anon

VoidStar anon

not obsessed with chance anon

💋 anon

Parasite anon

warm eggs anon

👾 anon

Fat rabbit anon

Ivory Periastron anon

honey beeswax anon

ruff anon

BetrayedSailor anon

Ghost Spawn Anon

🍀🍋 anon

The Anonymous Pianist 🎹

gnarpian🛸 anon

🍚🍳🦐 anon

noob anon

familial paycheck anon

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train jammer anon

oddball anon

🅰️non =)

🦟 anon

bluukidd anon

🍍👑 anon

Spider enthusiast anon

potato anon?

persistent anon

🎣🐟 anon

🍮🩷 anon

fe1 guide gangirl anon

jason anon

the blue train anon

🌊🪙 anon

r4tt anon

?curious anon

I’ll get a name soon Anon

🎉🎊🎂 anon

🧀🧙🔮 anon

🎭☀ anon

🪲🌿🗡️ anon

petrichor shark anon

listhouette anon ^_^

anon 4 salut🎆🎆🎆🎆

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[urautismdiagnosis-wistie]

any and all octonauts headcannons, go

sorry for taking a while to respond 😭

🐧Peso had a nervous habit of plucking his feathers, its gotten alot better than it used to be but it still happens occasionally

🐕Dashi enjoys listening to alot of different kinds of music, but she especially likes indie rock like mitski and some kinds of alternative pop too. She also likes to listen to those "pov your boyfriend crashed the car" ASMR videos to go to sleep unironically

🐇Tweak really hates the US government.

Speaking of tweak, in my au Marsh's family actually actively helped alot of cuban refugees who made it to Florida. It left a very big impact on him through all his years and it carried on over to tweak.

Also continuing with ranger marsh in my au, he actually dodged the draft for the Vietnam War in the 70s because he literally (well he didn't have the nerve to do it so he asked his wife to) shot himself in the foot so he wouldn't be required to go 💀. He did consider like. Running off into the wilderness to dodge the draft for a while 💀🙏 he was a very young adult back then and was trying his best ok

🦦Shellington has licked non living and living things "for science". Peso does NOT approve.

🐻‍❄️the capn has a snack stash in his room that he keeps secret. They're literally traditional treats and foods from his mom and he's a major comfort midnight snacker

🥕Tunip and the vegimals are kids in my au, but as tunip specifically gets older he realizes how much all the adults in his lives are kinda internal disasters 💀🙏 he feels like he's the only one with a braincell sometimes 😭

🐻‍❄️The capn has essentially a cooling vest and cooling bands (for his upper arms and legs) he wears in the day. The help to regulate his temperature since (despite cutting and thinning his fur) he still overheats with his natural blubber. He has a few sets that he literally deep freezes every night and swaps out. One set can last for around a week and the vests do have an emergency electrical cooling system. Peso has the same thing but just the vest.

🐙professor inkling once met calico jack decades ago...

🐧peso is an auditorial stimmer. Stuff the the xylophone, clicking his beak, and different little noises he makes are thr main way he stims.

🦦shellington once tried to make "ultra coffee" by mixing coffee with energy drinks and them "added chemical compounds to reduce the risk of heart failure" to make the "best energizing drink without any of the drawbacks so he could finish his 4 different projects by the end of the week!!!" In college. Anyways you'll never guess who ended up in the ER

🐧Whenever peso gets really anxious he feels nauseous.

🐧(Trigger warning abusive parent mention and violence with shattered glass) peso has a nasty jagged scar on his back. He won't ever tell anyone where or when its from but... between us it came after a huge breaking point where he stood up to his dad... and then we he turned around to leave and walk away... let's just say pesos dad had surprisingly good aim.... his mom helped pick out the glass shards. Pesos dad wasnt.. usually physically violent like that so it shocked even him. Usually he was more.. screaming, and shaming, and yelling, and gaslighting, and demanding. Regardless, peso never forgot that night.

🥕The vegimals usually sleep in 2s or 3s in different locations. Sometimes they'll sleep in the "nest" (general area the vegimals hang out in in the library) , shellingtons bed, or even the garden to look out into the ocean <3 they find it all quite comfortable, its rare but occasionally other octonauts have ended up with a surprise vegimal in their bed or even themselves dragged by one to the garden to rest with them. The latter is usually a result of the vegimals noticing an octonaut is particularly stressed. They also bring said octonauts their favorite snack. Tweak is a favorite to drag into the garden when she overworks herself.

🐈Kwazii doesn't trust most people despite his friendly and open nature. Or rather, he specifically doesn't trust most landlubbers....

🐻‍❄️Barnacles feels conflicted about being sro ace although he doesn't yet realize that he's aro ace or know that it exists. I can elaborate if someone is interested.

🐕When dashi first joined the octonauts she felt like she was making ALOT of social mistakes! Especially with kwazii 😔 it wasn't that he wasn't friendly or anything, but she couldn't shake the feeling maybe he didn't like her? Not to mention the only other girl on the octopod was constantly holed away in the depths of the ship and she may have insulted the otter guy and his??? Extremly little and young fish children?? He seemed very stressed out, but he DID have like... 8 little kids.

Continuation:

Anyways dashi ended up getting really overwhelmed and ended up hiding in the library. Inkling found her and she offered to help him with his reorganization afyer making some excuse why she wasn't at the weekly group dinner.

and he agreed only to disappear a minute later. 10 minutes of silently and confused sorting later, he reappeared with a small stack of books and pamphlets in a bag and told her he "had some spare copies she should keep" and that he didn't need anymore help with organizing before he (politely) essentially kicked her out of the library.

The books were guides on different species behaviours and body language <3 inkling had already done this with at least 3 different octonauts already (peso barnacles and shellington) 😭😭😭🙏

19. 🐧Peso LOVES lemon flavored candies :>

20. 🐇Tweak eats raw mint as a habit she picked up from her college years.

21. Tweak randomly has the urge to bite and destroy the wires in her gups and machinery. She is very silently concerned about this but actually its just Rabbit Instinct saying "YO YOU CANT LEAVE BRAMBLES AND VINES AROUND, YOULL GET CAUGHT IN THEM U GOTTA CUT THEM!!!" Marsh isn't as strong though and may have bitten radio wires and gotten poisoned. Just another reason he doesn't understand modern doohickies cuz he listened to his instincts and look what that got him, a broken radio!

Hope yall enjoyed the headcanons and au lore!

[kuruptt]

BILLY HARGROVE X READER

You’re mine, you know that. Pt.4

Click here to read Pt.1 - Pt.2 and Pt.3 first !!!

**SUMMARY - Billy is haunted by last nights events, so you decide to go over to his place and help him clean up this mess in an attempt to clear his mind, until Neil shows up and tries to sabotage your relationship, you seek comfort at Eddie’s, but soon, Billy arrives.

Angry Billy, Upset Billy, Comforting Billy. Happy ending.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mentions of Billy’s abusive father. Heavy swearing, kissing and anger outbursts. Slight violence. Possessive nature.

WORD COUNT - 8k !!!

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY !!!

I do not own the rights to the following characters, all characters created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.

I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.

Requests open !!!!! :)

—————————————————————————————-

The morning sun was a golden intruder through the gap in the curtains. You stirred, consciousness returning in a hazy wave, the lingering sense of safety you always felt when sleeping beside Billy.

The dramatic events of the previous evening had clearly taken their toll, pulling you into a deeper sleep than usual.

You stretched long, a soft smile playing on your lips, before rolling over, your hand instinctively reaching for the warmth that should have been there. Instead, your fingers met the cool, empty space where Billy had been, the imprint of his body still molded into the mattress like a ghostly reminder of his presence.

A slight frown creased your brow as you fully woke. He must be downstairs, you thought, he was probably waiting for you.

Your father, as usual, would have already left for work before the crack of dawn, leaving the house quiet and still. A quick glance at the clock confirmed your suspicions.

You'd overslept by a good few hours.

As you sat up, pulling the tangled sheets around you, you remembered Max. She had retrieved her skateboard from the trunk of Billy's car earlier that morning and slipped out of the house about an hour before you woke, a flimsy excuse about needing to “study" hanging in the air. You knew she was lying to Billy, she’d skated off to meet Lucas Sinclair. A familiar feeling of guilt tugged at your conscience but you soon brushed your focus to your missing boyfriend.

Driven by a sudden urgency, you threw the covers off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool air sending a shiver up your spine. You quickly searched the house for Billy, your bare feet padding against the soft carpeted floors as you shifted from room to room. A quick glance in the kitchen, the living room and even the small, cluttered pantry held nothing. The silence of the house seemed to amplify your growing unease.

After a few short moments, the realization that he was nowhere inside washed over you, leaving you with a blank, unsettling feeling. A wave of concern crashed over you, your mind struggling to make sense of his absence after the fright of the events from the night before.

You rushed to the nearest window, peering out with a growing sense of unease, half expecting to see his car missing from the driveway. To your surprise, his Camaro was still parked there, still and gleaming under the shimmer of the morning sun.

And then you spotted him.

Billy was sitting in the driver's seat, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on something unseen. Relief washed over you, quickly followed by a renewed sense of concern.

What was he doing out there, alone in the car?

You hurried back up the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest, searching for a blanket to ward off the morning chill.

After rummaging through the closet, you finally found a soft, familiar throw. Wrapping it tightly around yourself like a comforting cape like shield. You made your way back down the stairs, out of the front door and onto the cold pavement beneath you, the shock of the ground against your bare feet stealing your breath for a short few heartbeats.

You walked cautiously towards Billy's car, the blanket cocooning you in its warmth and with a gentle tug, you opened the passenger side door and slid inside, settling into the seat beside him.

The sudden sound didn't trigger a flinch, nor did it draw his gaze. Lost in a world of his own, a world he desperately wanted to be in right now, Billy remained motionless, his eyes were fixed onto his lap , obsessively spinning the lighter with his fingertips.

“Billy…” (Y/N) asked, voice soft with concern, tilting her head to try and catch his eye. “What’s wrong?” She questioned with care.

Billy didn’t move, his eyes still wide , the lighter a blur as he continuously spun it.

“Hey.” (Y/N) said, hand covering his, stilling the frantic motion of the lighter.

Billy blinked rapidly , as if he was waking from a dream and swiped at the tears that had gathered in the corners of his big blue eyes.

“Hey sweetheart.” He managed, his voice a little shaky.

“Whatcha doin out here, huh? You wanna come inside? Get something to eat?” (Y/N) questioned, anything to get him out of his spiral of overthinking.

You reached for his hand and the chill was startling, your warm skin against his that felt like ice.

“Jesus, Billy! How long have you been sat here?” (Y/N) asked glancing around wondering if he’d been sat out here for hours.

“Not long, what time is it?” Billy inquired.

“It’s almost twelve p.m.” (Y/N) told Billy.

The leather of his brown jacket creaked as he lowered his head, loose curls escaping his mullet and dropping effortlessly onto his forehead.

“Shit.” He mumbled into the stiff collar.

“Well… how long were you out here?” (Y/N) repeated with curiosity.

“Since like, six a.m, I think.” He said hesitantly. “I couldn’t sleep. Your father came out though, when he was leaving for work, asked me to make sure my car was off his driveway by the time he got back.” He chuckled softly.

“Billy you’ve been sat here for almost six hours, what is wrong with you, you’re freezing.” (Y/N) added, her brow slighting furrowing.

You reached for the blanket, intending to pull it away from you and over Billy, but Billy's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrists.

The contact was soft, almost hesitant, yet firm enough to stop you.

“Don't.” He murmured, his voice rough around the edges.

"You need it more than I do." He added.

His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before retreating his hand to his lap, disappearing from the folds of the blanket.

He slumped further into the worn leather seat, his gaze fixed on something beyond the glistening windshield of his Camaro. A deep exhale rattled through him, fogging the window for a brief moment.

“You wanna head back to your place and clean up together? Distract you from whatever’s spinning in that crazy mind of yours?” (Y/N) asked softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she threaded her fingers through his mullet, gently massaging his scalp.

He leaned into her touch, a slight sigh escaping his lips, a clear sign of the comfort it brought him.

"Yeah, sure, alright. But if he comes home-"

You stopped Billy mid sentence.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll leave through the window.” (Y/N) sighed, rolling her eyes playfully.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, a familiar gesture of frustration and started the engine, the rumble vibrating through the car, he turned to you, slowly flicking his head back towards the the window of the drivers side door. A silent invitation, a signal for you to come over and kiss him.

Without a second thought, you straddled his lap, your legs settling on either side of him in the cramped front seat of his Camaro.

The worn fabric from his blue denim jeans pressed against your thighs. You cupped his cheek with one hand, feeling the faint stubble beneath your fingertips, the other hand gently found its place at the nape of his neck, fiddling through the strands of his hair.

His head tilted back against the headrest, his heavy blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, flickered down to your lips. A moment of hesitation hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

The scent of his familiar cologne filled your senses.

You closed the distance, your lips meeting his and latching on. The kiss was soft, gentle and filled with pure love.

“Everything will be okay.” (Y/N) reassured. “Stop thinking about it, I don’t hate you, okay. I love you, you are not your father, it was an accident, we’re okay, I promise.” (Y/N) added trying to bring him a sense of relief.

Billy nodded his head , his hands still pressed against your thighs.

“I love you too, I’ll go check if he’s home while you get ready and then I’ll come back to get you.” He whispered.

You pressed a lingering, warm kiss to Billy’s head, the scent of his hair filling your nostrils.

“See you in 10.” (Y/N) blurted out in a hurried tone, already halfway out the door.

You scrambled out of Billy’s side of the car and made a beeline for your house, the blanket you’d brought along flapping behind you like a makeshift cape. The front door loomed closer and upon arrival you fumbled with the handle and let yourself inside after watching Billy reverse out of your driveway. disappearing up the street.

The sound of his engine faded into the distance, leaving a sudden quiet in its wake.

——————————————————————————-

After rummaging through your closet for something to wear, you finally settled on an outfit.

You'd already completed your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face and carelessly shoving your hair into a messy bun, the hairstyle that had become your go, to.

After all, you were only going over to Billy’s, so there was no need to make any extra effort.

You exited your bedroom wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans complimented with a black leather belt, a white off the shoulder t-shirt that you’d tucked into the hem of your jeans just enough to give it a casual look and your white Converse shoes that Billy had slipped off the night before, leaving them neatly beside your bedroom door.

You grabbed Billy’s denim jacket, something you never left the house without, just in case it got chilly, though you doubted you’d need it.

A few more moments passed until you heard the unmistakable roar of your boyfriend’s Camaro pulling up out front.

You quickly ran to the kitchen, poured yourself a cup of water and took a quick gulp before darting to the door.

When you opened it, Billy was standing right there, both hands mysteriously hidden behind his back.

"Hey pretty girl.” He grinned, chewing his gum on the right side of his mouth, it slowly peeking through his perfectly shaped teeth.

"Uh- hiiii.” (Y/N) responded with a chuckle and a questioning tone.

Billy revealed his hands from behind his back and with one hand, presented a small bouquet of white roses he'd carefully chosen out for you, knowing you preferred them over the red ones. His other hand offered a teddy bear with 'I love you' stitched across a soft, red heart that sat in its stuffed paws.

“Here, these are for you. I'm no good at this shit but I uh- I thought it might cheer you up.” He said, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Your face lit up with genuine happiness.

“Oh my god, Billy, who are you?" (Y/N) joked while giving him a playful nudge. "What have you done with my boyfriend?" (Y/N) questioned with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Take it, go on, before I change my mind.” He chuckled, trying to mask his nervousness.

He didn't usually do things like this, with his dad often calling him ‘faggot’ or a ‘pussy’ for showing any sign of emotion or empathy.

But he was trying his best to show you how sorry he was and how much he cared, hoping these small gestures would express what words often failed to.

You took the gifts from Billy and thanked him after placing a soft kiss to his cheek and set the gifts at the foot of the stairs, you’d left them there to await your return home.

Before standing and turning back around to face Billy , he let out a loud, wolf whistle that echoed through the doorway of your home.

You pivoted , a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Finally checking out my ass more than your own?” (Y/N) chuckled.

Causing laughter to bubble up from the both of you.

“Come on, get in.” He said, gesturing towards the car with a wide spread grin.

——————————————————————————

The drive to your boyfriends house was short, but the silence felt heavy.

Billy pulled up, parking the car against the sidewalk and killed the engine. An obvious tension hung in the air, thick enough to taste. You both stared through the window of the car and Billy broke the silence.

"Listen.” He said, his voice low and serious.

“If he comes home, and anything goes sideways in there, you get out. You hear me? No excuses. I mean it." His eyes locked onto you, pleading for you to understand the weight of his words.

"Dave.” You blurted out, the name a sudden, unexpected thought.

"What?" Billy questioned, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Dave. That's what I'm going to call him. The teddy bear you got me." (Y/N) said, managing a small smile.

"Jesus.” Billy chuckled, a nervous sound. "Get out.”he demanded, squeezing your thigh before opening his door.

Hand in hand, you walked up the cracked concrete steps to the front door. The paint looked fresh and the porch was clean.

Billy often referred to it as a dollhouse. ‘Pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside.’

He was right.

Inside the house was extremely quiet. Neil wasn't home and neither was Maxine.

A frown creased Billy's forehead. His mind raced, wondering where she could be, the worry washing over his eyes. He knew she had lied to him about her plans of doing homework and he clenched his jaw at the thought of her with Lucas.

You squeezed his hand, offering silent reassurance.

"She's fine, Billy.” (Y/N) insisted gently. "Let her be a teenager.” You finished.

You both turned to his bedroom door and stepped inside. It was a disaster zone. Clothes were thrown everywhere, glass scattered, his bed flipped along with pretty much everything else in there, nothing was where it should be. And to finish off the rooms new look, the hole in the wall, a reminder to last night's anger, was still a prominent feature.

"Well shit.” Billy said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, shit.” You replied playfully, mimicking his tone.

Billy cocked his head to look at you, a look of déjà vu washing over him. He remembered him saying the same thing back at the diner the day his world spun upside down, a lifetime ago it seemed. He knew you were mocking him.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, he was almost proud at you for reflecting his own sarcasm back at him, he taught you well. He loved watching you turn into a mini version of himself.

But despite everything, you always had a way of making him laugh.

——————————————————————————-

It had taken you both two long hours to fully blitz his bedroom and now, as you surveyed the aftermath, it was hard to believe anything had truly happened at all.

The room looked almost untouched, apart from the obvious absence of the tall mirror that once stood proudly against the wall and the old crumpled poster now hastily taped over the hole beside the door. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, certain that Billy would escape his father’s wrath this time.

As Billy finished reattaching his closet door, you carefully scraped the last shards of glass into the dustpan, the sound of crunching glass echoing in the quiet room. With a final flick of your wrist, you discarded the remains into the trash can, the clatter of the shards marking the end of your chaotic project.

“Done.” (Y/N) declared, a sense of accomplishment fizzing within her.

Billy, blissfully unaware of the impending storm, thanked you and headed out to discard of the trash.

Outside, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across Neil’s truck, that sat sinisterly parked in front of the house. Billy was oblivious , he walked straight past and didn’t notice at all.

You didn’t have long to celebrate your small victory before the sound of the front door creaked open and reached your ears.

Neil and Susan walked in with laughter spilling from their lips. They passed Billy’s room and you caught Neil’s eye, an unsettling chill ran down your spine as you shifted yourself to stand straight. He took a few steps back with his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“And you are?” Neil asked, his voice low and intimidating, the atmosphere shifting around you.

“Uh-hi, Neil, I’m, um… I’m Billy’s girlfriend.” (Y/N) stammered, her voice shaky as she tried to muster confidence.

“And where is Billy?” He questioned, his tone leaving no room for avoidance.

“He’ll be back in a second, he’s just taking out the trash.” (Y/N) replied, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hmmm.” Neil grunted, his expression unreadable as he moved closer, invading your personal space.

The air thickened with tension as he leaned in, whispering a jumbled mix of words in a deep, menacing voice.

“You know… you’re not the only whore he brings around here, right?” Neil hissed, the accusation hanging heavily between you.

“Neil!” Susan interrupted, her tone a desperate plea for him to stop, casting you an apologetic smile that did little to ease the weight of the situation.

But Neil’s focus remained on you, his gaze piercing through yours as he cocked his head slightly, a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What, she oughta know who she’s dating, right? My son doesn’t love you, you’re just another toy to him and you’re not going to turn him into an even bigger pussy than he already is, do you understand me?” Neil demanded, the venom in his words cutting deep.

In that moment, the world outside faded away and all that remained was the silence of the room and the weight of Neil's gaze.

Your mouth opened, but the words caught in your throat like a tangled fishing line. Your mind was a racing, the thoughts crashing against each other.

You desperately wanted to believe in Billy, in the love you shared, in the promise that he would never betray you. But the insidious whispers of doubt, planted by others, now bloomed into full blown paranoia. Everyone had warned you about Billy, about his reputation, his wandering eye. You always ignored it, but now, doubt clung to your mind like a persistent shadow.

Neil chuckled, a sound as grating as nails on a chalkboard and peered over your shoulder with a predatory glint in his eyes, before turning his gaze back to you, a smug expression plastered across his face.

"Bedside table, first drawer. Take a look for yourself if you don't believe me." His words were like a poisoned dart, lodging themselves deep within your heart, confirming your worst fears.

A familiar voice, warm and comforting, cut through the tension as Billy peeked through the doorway.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

His father turned to face him, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing, son. Just saying hello to your sweet little girlfriend over here." He chuckled, the sound hollow and insincere, before walking away, Billy following him with his eyes, confusion obvious on his face.

"You okay?" Billy asked, stepping fully into the room, his gaze searching yours.

"Yeah, fine.” (Y/N) replied, the word sharp and clipped.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second.” He said, offering a reassuring smile before disappearing down the hallway.

Billy knew something wasn't right. His father, who usually made no secret of his disapproval of Billy having girls at the house, had been uncharacteristically welcoming. A whirl of unease spiralled in his stomach.

While Billy was gone, the words Neil had spoken repeated in your mind like a never ending loop.

You didn't want to snoop through Billy's things, to betray his trust by invading his privacy. But the need to know, to ease the rising tide of panic, was overwhelming.

Driven by a desperate need for answers, you rushed to the bedside table and yanked open the drawer. And there, nestled amongst old, crumpled cigarette packs, lay a vibrant selection of scrunchies in colors and patterns that were scarily unfamiliar. They did not, belong to you.

Shock washed over your face, leaving you cold and numb. A knot formed in your stomach, twisting and tightening with each passing second. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. You slammed the drawer shut as you heard Billy’s footsteps slowly approaching.

Billy came back into the room, oblivious to the fear brewing within you and you rushed past him, desperate to escape.

"Hey, where you going? I'm about to take you home.” He shouted down the hallway, his voice coated with confusion.

"I'm good, I’m uh- i’m gonna walk. I feel a little sick, I could do with the fresh air anyway.” (Y/N) said, turning to face him, her hand gripping the doorframe as if it were a lifeline.

"Okay, wellll, I'll walk you home then.” He stated, taking a step towards you.

"No! I- uh- I'm fine. I want to go by myself, have my own space, you know?" (Y/N) replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Billy's face clouded with concern. He knew you'd been helping him all day and he didn't want to pressure you into doing something you didn't want to do. Not after you'd been so good to him.

"Okay, well be safe. Call me when you get home.” He insisted, his eyes filled with worry.

"Yeah.” (Y/N) said, offering a weak smile before turning and leaving his house, closing the door behind her.

Your stomach kept twisting and turning, a nauseating reminder of the betrayal you felt. You didn't know what to do or where to go. You didn't want to go home, or anywhere else. Everywhere and everything reminded you of Billy, of the life you thought you had. In a moment of desperation, you decided to go to an old friend's place.

Eddie Munson.

Eddie had been your best friend for quite some time, Billy had never met him, but he knew of him and disapproved of the friendship, claiming that Eddie's life revolved around trouble and illegal activities. He had asked you, pleaded with you, not to be around him. But now, with your world crumbling around you, Eddie was the only person you could think of turning to since Steve was no longer an option.

——————————————————————————-

The walk to Eddie's had been brutal, leaving your legs screaming and hair drenched from the rain that entered unexpectedly through Hawkins.

Your skin glistened with a thousand tiny rain drops , each one reflecting the dull, grey sky above. The rain was heavy and harsh, almost sharp against your skin. You desperately hoped Eddie would be home and finally, after 45 minutes of walking, his trailer appeared ahead.

It wasn't much, just a weathered box on wheels. Mud caked the siding and a scattering of beer cans littered the small yard along with Wayne’s worn out deck chair that sat on the tiny porch.

You gathered the last of your strength , climbing the rickety steps and knocked.

"Coming!" Eddie's voice screeched from inside.

The door swung open with a bang and Eddie filled the doorway. His dark, deep, brown eyes softened as he took you in, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

“(Y/N)! What brings you all the way out here?" He asked.

You started to sob uncontrollably.

“Billy, he- I-“ (Y/N) choked , each breath a ragged gasp.

“Billy cheated on me.” (Y/N) cried.

“No.” Eddie said In disbelief.

“God, I’m so sorry, here , come in I’ll get you something do drink- uh , I have a couple friends over but they won’t bother you, they’re cool dudes. I promise.” He said scanning you with concern. “And I’ll get you a fricken blanket or something too jeez. Did you walk here?” He asked.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) sniffled.

“Jesus, come inside.” Eddie insisted.

——————————————————————————-

Billy’s pov -

Billy had been chain smoking for the past eight hours, the silence of the unringing phone grating on his nerves.

Growing Impatient, he dialled your number, only to dial it again when it went unanswered.

He sat on the edge of his bed, leg bouncing nervously, drawing a long drag from his cigarette.

Should he give you the space you'd asked for, even though he couldn't understand why? Or should he rush over, driven by the fear that you weren't safe?

The memory of what happened at the mall, when he hadn't been there to protect you, gnawed at him.

He exhaled sharply, a decision hardening his features and shot to his feet, rushing down the hallway to the front door and slamming it with an unreasonable force behind him.

Billy opened the door to his Camaro, slamming himself down into the leather seat, his gaze snagged on the denim jacket of his you'd left behind. His mind racing with unwanted thoughts. Were you cold? Were you even safe? Were you caught up in the rain? Were you alone?

He grew angrier with himself for leaving it as long as he did, he knew he should’ve checked on you sooner but he tried to do what you’d asked of him, to let you walk alone and give you the space you needed. The thought’s sent jolts of fear through his body and with that, he roared the engine to life and sped towards your house.

When he arrived, the porch light cast a long shadow, a tide of warmth pulled through his chest at the thought of seeing you. He darted out of the car and rushed up to the front door, the worn wooden planks groaning softly under his boots, each creak increasing his anxiety.

He knew that if you wasn’t home, it would be your father who answered, a fact that always sparked a flare of frustration within him. They didn’t always see eye to eye , but they both had one thing in common, they both loved you and wanted to keep you safe.

So… he knocked. almost hesitantly, a soft tap against the glass.

The door was wrenched open with surprising force, revealing your father, Hopper standing there before him, a silhouette framed by the dim interior light.

“What can I do for ya, Hargrove?” Your father asked, his voice deep and laced with suspicion.

A cigarette dangled loosely from the corner of his lips, smoke curling lazily around the roughness of his moustache, the orange glow momentarily illuminating the deep lines etched by years of hard living.

“Uh-hi Hop, is uh-is (Y/N) home?” Billy asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to appear casual, but his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird.

“Nope, thought she was with you.” Hop stated, his eyebrows drawing together in a thunderous expression.

“Right, yeah, sorry, I uh-I just remembered she went over to Nancy’s house to um-to grab some of her things, right, yeah.” Billy stammered with a nervous laugh, the lie feeling like a harsh weight in his stomach.

He tried to meet Hop’s eyes but found himself looking at the worn collar of his half buttoned maroon shirt instead.

“Sorry for bothering you, have a good night.” Billy said, already backing away, not wanting (Y/N) to get in trouble for wandering the streets alone, if that’s what she was even doing.

Your father shot a deathly glare into the back of your boyfriend’s head, but trusted his words as he closed the door. The second it shut, Billy pivoted sharply, a caged animal finally unleashed.

He darted for his Camaro, the vibrant blue glistened under the streetlights. He launched himself inside and turned the key to fire up the engine and within seconds, he’d left your street and raced to a new location.

Billy drove recklessly around Hawkins, the wipers struggling to keep their pace with the down pour.

He screeched to a halt outside Nancy’s Wheelers house, the rain plastering the curls of his mullet to his forehead as he pounded on the door, his knuckles raw. Empty. You weren’t there.

He sped off again, the Camaro a dark blur against the night, to Robin’s, the same frantic energy driving him and the same crushing disappointment awaiting him. You weren’t there either.

He knocked from door to door at every possible house you could have gone to, his desperation growing with each unsuccessful attempt. He even stooped to the point of asking Steve Harrington. But again, as he expected, you weren’t there.

Billy sat for a moment inside the comfort of his own car , the rain having soaked him completely, he was out of options , with no idea where to go, where you were or what to do. Panic had settled in and taken a hold completely at this point, until a thought ignited in his mind, one he’d never entertained before.

Eddie Munson.

Billy got back out of the Camaro that now sat in a pool of rain, rushed back up to Steve’s front door and knocked for the final time, this time more aggressively.

"Hargrove, weren’t you uh- weren’t you just here? I already told you man, she’s not with me.” Steve said, with a familiar annoyance in his voice.

“I know, Harrington, could you just shut the hell up for a second, god.” Billy snapped, rubbing his hand down his face, trying to clear the rain and the frustration that clouded his vision. "Eddie Munson, you heard of him?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure… I know him, actually. Why? You gonna beat his ass to?" Steve huffed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Where does he live?" Billy demanded, his voice tight with a burning rage.

"Why would I tell you-“

Billy stopped his sentence.

"Damn it, Harrington! Just tell me where he lives. (Y/N) hasn’t been home all day and if you care at all for her, even just a little bit, you’ll tell me where he lives. Now.” Billy pleaded, his front of anger cracking, revealing the raw fear beneath.

Steve sighed, the fight draining out of him. He gave in, not for Billy, but for you.

“He lives on the outskirts, like… I mean right on the outskirts of Hawkins… Forest Hill’s Trailer park. You’ll know which one is his when you see it, she’ll be there man, I promise, if she can’t come to me he’s the person that’s always next on the list." Steve answered.

Billy nodded, giving him a silent thank you and rushed back to his car.

He fired up the engine and sped towards the trailer park, a longer ride than he expected.

The rain hammered against the windshield as Billy muttered to himself, harsh words of disbelief and denial.

“A fucking trailer park… A trailer park, is she fucking serious? I swear to fucking god (Y/N). What the fuck. You know better than that, to not be around fucking filth and dirt." He whispered in low raspy whisper.

Billy, a man known for his harsh judgments, despised the trailer park. It was something he deemed utterly disgusting.

He finally arrived at Forest Hill’s Trailer Park, the scene illuminated by the sharp glare of his headlights. Rows of battered trailers stood in silence. He took in the view, his lip curling in disgust as he glanced around , finally spotting Eddie’s trailer, a paint peeling, porch drooping mess.

“Fucking Munson.” He spat, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

——————————————————————————-

(Y/N’s) pov -

Hours melted away as you, Eddie and Eddie’s friends immersed yourselves in horror flicks. He eagerly introduced you to his collection of music tapes, filling the trailer with heavy metal that vibrated through the entire park. You were shocked that no one complained, everyone here was so laid back.

Eddie piled you with blankets, offered an endless amount of drinks and handed you stacks of towels for your hair, unsure how many a girl might need.

He was doing everything he could to distract you from the pain you were feeling. Your face was puffy, eyes bloodshot and red raw, hair still damp from the rain and despite the blankets, you were still freezing.

Surprisingly, Eddie managed to keep you laughing, but the laughter died quickly as the roar of Billy’s Camaro ripped through the trailer park, headlights cutting through the windows and blinding both of your visions.

“What, the fuck.” (Y/N) whispered.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, not aware of who was outside.

“Billy, he’s here. I don’t know how but he’s here, that’s him-“

Eddie cut your words short.

“That’s him! God, way to make an entrance man.” Eddie joked nervously, his friends laughing at his comment.

“I’m not ready to talk to him yet, Eddie. I don’t know how he found out where you lived, but please don’t tell him I’m here, please make him go away.” (Y/N) begged.

“Okay, okay.” Eddie huffed, standing up to leave the trailer and you behind with it.

You scrambled to the corner of Eddie’s sofa, landing next to a familiar face, Tommy H. What was -he- doing here?! You pushed the question aside and decided to just roll with it. Tommy clearly kept this side of his life hidden from Billy, probably afraid of being labelled a freak.

Billy took a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright in the darkness of the night as he stepped out of his car.

The air was thick with the smell of the damp earth beneath him and sludges of dirt that was left from the recent storm, spread evenly across the trailer park.

He spotted Eddie heading his way, a lanky figure emerging from the shadowed doorway of the trailer. Billy smirked, resting a hand on the car roof.

“Can I help you?” Eddie asked, his voice confirming his identity, that slightly higher pitch and off key American accent you'd mentioned more than once, which didn't quite belong in Hawkins.

Billy chuckled, a nasty sound that echoed through the trailer park.

“So… You're the infamous Eddie Munson my girlfriend always talks about.” He sneered, laughing as he said it, a puff of smoke escaping with his words.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, what can I do for ya, man? Need help finding the right trailer?”Eddie shot back, his eyes narrowed.

Billy slotted his cigarette between his lips, the movement sharp and deliberate. He shrugged off his brown leather jacket, the worn leather creaking as he discarded it to the ground behind him. He stepped forward, boots sinking in the mud beneath him and Eddie met him halfway, closing the distance between them until they were standing toe to toe, the air crackling with unspoken threat.

Eddie looked up to the man that towered him and you watched from a careful distance through the window.

“I’m looking for my girlfriend, little birdy told me she was here.” He revealed.

“Yeah uhh, I don’t know who you’re talking about man, must’ve got the wrong trailer.” Eddie replied, not knowing what to say.

“You sure? She’s small, long haired, bit of a bitch.” He joked, trying to rile Eddie up into admitting you were inside.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry man.” Eddie said trying to sound convincing.

Billy nodded as he took another long drag on his cigarette before pulling it out sharply.

“You know, I don’t know this-“ Billy pauses, kissing his teeth with his tongue.

“This whole situation Munson it’s… it’s giving me the heebie jeebies.” Billy stated through a deep exhale of smoke.

“Why’s that man.” Eddie sighed, clearly annoyed.

Billy takes a final pull on his cigarette, blowing it towards eddies face.

“My girlfriend goes missing, all day. And then I find her with you, in your trailer… And you lie to me about it.” Billy said, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“God were you dropped to much as a child or what.” Eddie joked, a sadistic laugh escaping Billy’s mouth as he flicked his tongue across the fullness of his lower lip at a rapid pace, his irritation towards his comment extremely obvious.

“I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said man, she’s not here.” Eddie added, trying to play it cool.

Billy sighed and pointed his cigarette towards the window of eddies trailer.

“Then who is that.” Billy questioned, his tone sharp.

Eddies head snapped back and he quickly realised you weren’t as hidden as you both thought. Billy knew you was in there the moment he laid eyes on the trailer.

“Oh, shit.” Eddie sighed. “Listen-“ He started, but didn’t get to finish.

Billy shoved Eddie to the ground.

“Next time plant your feet.” He demands, delivering a painful blow to Eddie’s stomach with the boot on his foot.

You glanced over to the door of the trailer when you heard Billy’s heavy footsteps approaching.

The door slammed open, the sudden noise jolting everyone inside. Billy's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the sight of Tommy H sitting extremely close to you.

"Well, well, well. Tommy Hagan. What a surprise." Billy spat out in a sinister tone.

Tommy immediately stood up, but Billy was quicker, rushing to stand directly in front of him, blocking any chance of escape.

Panic surged through you as you scrambled to your feet. The situation was spiraling out of control faster than you could process.

As if on cue, Eddie's friends began to file out of the trailer, sensing the tension in the air. Soon, it was just the three of you inside, with Eddie still sprawled on the ground outside, oblivious to the escalating conflict.

"It's not what it looks like, man.” Tommy stammered, desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

"Yeah, sure looked pretty fucking cozy to me.” Billy stated, his eyes burning with anger.

In one swift motion, he pinned Tommy against the flimsy aluminium wall of Eddie's trailer.

“If you go near her again I will break every bone in your god damn body, do you understand?” Billy demanded.

“Yeah man. I won’t, I swear.” Tommy choked in fear.

Billy let go, tossing Tommy to the side. Tommy scrambled up and bolted out of the trailer. Eddie appeared right after him, clutching his side and wincing.

"You okay, (Y/N)?" Eddie gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“Yeah, Eddie, I'm... I'm okay." (Y/N) managed, though her voice trembled slightly.

Billy turned to Eddie, a harsh laugh escaping him as he watched Eddie struggle to catch his breath.

“Seen as though (Y/N) won't listen to me, maybe you will. Stay away from her. STAY, AWAY FROM HER!" Billy's voice was a loud, menacing growl.

Eddie, despite his pain, smirked and huffed.

“You bet." He said, having no intention of following Billy's order.

"Let's go, now." Billy said, turning his intense gaze on you. He held out his hand, palm up, a silent command.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to regain some composure. You found a slither of courage, enough to say...

“No.”

“What?" Billy questioned, a mix of confusion and disbelief on his face at your unexpected outburst.

"I said, no." (Y/N) stated, her voice trembling slightly but holding a newfound firmness.

"What the fuck has gotten into you, huh? Do you know how worried I've been, how long I've looked for you, who I had to fucking go to?" He asked, his voice rising with each word.

"I don't care. Just leave. I'm staying at Eddie's tonight." (Y/N) declared, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"No, you're not. Out, now.” Billy said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Billy, FUCK OFF! Please, for the love of God!” (Y/N) exclaimed, the plea laced with a desperate frustration.

“Hey!" Billy's voice rose, his hands shooting out to grip your upper arms, not painfully, but firmly, holding you in place.

“Easy.” He said, his eyes narrowing slightly, trying to control your anger and calm you down.

“Or, what.” (Y/N) mocked.

“Watch it.” He said, his voice low and raspy.

You shoved at his chest with all of your strength, not that it moved him much, but the gesture conveyed your feelings and Billy seemed to understand, releasing his hold, a confused expression taking over his features.

"(Y/N), what the fuck is going on with you?" He asked, his voice laced with concern and a hint of frustration.

“You! You're what's going on! Did you think I wouldn't fucking find out, Billy? Huh?" (Y/N) demanded, her voice louder, echoing in the confined space.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Billy countered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why don’t you tell me?” (Y/N) questioned with a hint of sarcasm.

“Because I don’t know.” Billy answered, growing more frustrated by the second.

"Your father... He told me everything.” (Y/N) revealed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

A flicker of understanding flashed in Billy's eyes and he realized that Neil had been injecting your brain with bullshit and lies. He should have trusted his instincts when his father hadn't caused a riot over you being in the house in the first place.

“And what exactly, did he tell you (Y/N)?” He asked, his jaw tightening and his words measured.

"He said that I'm not the only whor-“ (Y/N) choked out, voice cracking and tears welling up in her eyes. "That I’m not the only whore you bring around.” She sobbed.

"(Y/N), I spend all my time with you. How can you believe this shit? This is-“ He tried to continue but you cut him off.

"And then he told me to check your drawer if I didn't believe him, that I'd see the truth for myself.” (Y/N) confessed, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face.

"You went through my shit?” Billy asked, his voice barely a whisper, a mixture of hurt and disbelief in his eyes.

"Yes, God, yes, Billy, I went through your shit and saw the fucking collection of hair ties you keep stored from God knows who!” (Y/N) cried out, her voice thick with emotion.

Billy paused, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"They're my mother's.” He said, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

"Wh-what?" (Y/N) stammered, her anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a surge of confusion.

"They're my mom's, (Y/N)! They, are my mom's!" He repeated, his voice rising with emotion.

"And I don't care that you went through my shit, do what you want I don’t care, I have nothing to hide. But you could have at least told me what was going on before you stormed out of the house and disappeared for fucking hours.” He added, his voice laced with pain.

"Billy, I..." You started, reaching out to him, but he stopped you with a raised hand.

"It doesn't matter. This is my father's fault.” He huffs, dragging his sweaty palms down his face as he catches his breath.

“Here's what we're going to do. You're going to gather whatever you brought here and you're going to get in my car and we, are going to go home and forget this ever happened. Is that problem?" He asked, his eyes searching yours.

"No, I'm sorry, Billy. I'm so sorry.” You pleaded, your voice filled with remorse.

"What I just say, huh? It's not your fault. Just forget about it. Grab your things. Let's go.” He urged, his voice softer now, filled with a desperate need to fix things.

"My shoes are wet." You sniffled, holding up the soaked, white, converse shoes you’d trekked to Eddie’s trailer in.

You clutched them tight in your hands and without a word, Billy bent down and scooped you up into his arms, cradling you like a baby.

"Is that everything? Nothing else you need?" He questioned.

"No.” You responded softly, burying your face in his neck.

Billy's boot connected with the trailer door, sending it crashing outward. He spun around, slamming it shut as you tried to say,

"Thank you, Eddi-“ Your words were swallowed by the resounding slam. Billy, his jaw tight, moved away with you cradled in his arms. Relief washed over him, finding you unharmed and okay, but a simmering anger still bubbled at the thought of other guys being near you.

You felt a sharp stab of guilt, remembering your earlier doubts and a swell of sadness that pulled behind your eyelids.

"A fucking trailer park." He spat, the words laced with sarcasm and disgust.

"Shut up, it's nice.” you said, a playful challenge in your voice.

Billy shot you a look that screamed ‘you’re crazy’ then gently settled you into the passenger seat of his car. He reached into the back, retrieving your favorite blanket and draped it over you with a tenderness that masked his earlier aggression.

He shut the door with a soft click and rounded the hood, opening his door and sliding in beside you. The car filled with the sharp exhale of his breath. He turned to you, his head cocked slightly, eyes glued to yours.

"Don't ever pull that shit again, you hear me? 'Cause next time I'll make sure he can't walk. Same goes for the rest of the freaks that were in there with ya.” He threatened, the words a low rumble.

The engine roared to life and Billy raced out of the trailer park, the gravel and dirt spitting behind the tyres.

He drove you straight home, where he'd end up staying, again. It was becoming a routine, a comfortable habit neither of you seemed to mind. Billy might as well have moved in, he spent more time at your place than he did his own.

Your father, the chief of Hawkins police, had been called in for another late shift , one of the many perks of his position, or so he sarcastically claimed.

Billy carried you up the stairs, still cradled in his arms, his grip surprisingly gentle.

"You are not getting into bed with me like that, the smell of Munson's filthy trailer is still stuck to your skin. You're getting in the shower.” He declared, a playful mockery in his voice.

“Come on, it's not that bad.” You giggled, though you knew the stench of Eddie's trailer was, in fact, quite potent, a smell that clung to everything in its path. You buried your face in Billy's neck, playfully trying to transfer the smell.

After a few more teasing comments, Billy turned on the shower for you. The bathroom filled with the sound of rushing water and the air grew thick with steam. You stepped inside, the warm water rolling down your back, washing away the grime and the lingering scent of Eddie's trailer, along with the tension of the evening.

You jumped, startled by the sudden feeling of a presence behind you. Billy had gotten in to join you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, intending to help you wash your hair, in which he did.

After a few more passing moments, he whirled you around, him now under the shower head and you replacing his position, the curls of his mullet flattening against his face as the water rushed over him.

"I love you, okay?" He said, his voice soft.

One hand was firmly around your back, grounding you, while the other cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing softly against it in a comforting rhythm.

"I'd never do anything to hurt you, or upset you and I definitely would NOT, cheat on you. You're the only person I want, I promise. No one else even interests me, just you. I love you… And only you, you got that?" Billy asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

"Okay, I got it, I love you too, Billy.” (Y/N) replied softly, her heart swelling with affection.

He spat water at you from his mouth playfully, breaking the intensity of the moment and you pushed his face back. He lifted you with one arm over his shoulder with surprising ease, his laughter echoing in the small space as he did it.

Stepping out of the shower with you still dangling from his shoulder, he slipped you off and placed you gently on your feet, wrapping a soft towel around you and cuddling you into his chest after he did it. The warmth of his body excited you, a comforting shield against the cool air.

Billy placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, a silent promise of comfort and affection, before pinching your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a love so profound it made your heart ache in the best way possible.

He had missed you all day, every moment feeling more and more empty without you by his side, he was so happy to have you back in his arms, exactly where you belonged. Not a single thought went through his mind before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss grew hungrier, needier in fact. You allowed his tongue to enter your mouth and he flicked it against yours , latching back onto your lips after he’d done it. A few more seconds passed and he finally broke free, leaving a darker blush of pink swelling on your lips.

"You ready to go to sleep?" He asked, breaking the silence and smiling down at you.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” (Y/N) answered softly, leaning into his embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms. The earlier anxieties of the day seemed to melt away, replaced by the simple joy of just being with him.

He kissed the tip of your nose gently and shook his head in disbelief, not understanding how he got so lucky with you.

“God, I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too, Billy.” You whispered back, hands trailing from his abs to his chest, knowing exactly, what you were instigating.

“Bed, now.” He demanded.

Anyone for a part 5??? :)

Click here to read Pt.1 - Pt.2 and Pt.3

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[honeyslibrary]

Ghost of You | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); DEATH, grief, mention of car crash, marriage, fluff, edited once.

Summary; A piece based on the song Ghost of You, by 5 Seconds of Summer. I would recommend listening to that while reading to enhance the experience.

Word Count; 4.6k

Author's note; I did cry writing this. This is a lot. I was listening to the song last night, and just started writing. The flow might be a little weird since I did not write this in order, I wrote bits and pieces and then combined it. Also, I couldn't decide between you or she point of view (if there's any mistakes regarding that, please ignore it lol). I ended up going with you, but now I kind of wish I went with she, but it's fine, because I cannot go back and read this again as it is lowkey triggering for me ! Anyways, hope you enjoy it and it makes you cry 😁 -Honey

The house was too quiet again.

It always was now.

The hum of the fridge, the distant creak of settling floorboards—none of it filled the space like your voice used to. No footsteps padding through the kitchen in socks that didn’t match. No soft laughter echoing from the other room. Just Quinn, standing in the dim glow of the stove light, his keys still in his hand, his heart still stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

He hadn’t turned on the main lights when he got in. He never did when he got home late. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to wake anyone, but there was no one to wake anymore. Just him.

And the ghost of you.

His gear still smelled like the rink, sweat, adrenaline. The post-game mix of a man who was supposed to be holding the weight of a team, a city, a legacy, but couldn't even carry himself some nights.

His skates had been sharper today. A little too sharp. Petey noticed and asked if he was okay. Quinn had just nodded and muttered something unheard, then deflected with a chirp about Elias missing an open net. That got a laugh out of the guys. They won tonight. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and everyone saw it. No one said anything.

The silence wrapped around him as he made his way through the house, each step echoing just a bit too loudly. It still looked like you lived here. Your touches were everywhere. The blanket on the couch, the mason jar with dried lavender you refused to throw away, the framed Polaroid of the two of you in front of the house the day you moved in.

God, that day.

You’d barely graduated when he asked you. It was after your ceremony, still in your cap and gown, your smile beaming like summer sun as you clung to your diploma and asked him if he was proud of you. Of course he was. He always was. And when he’d kissed your forehead and said, “Come to Vancouver with me,” you didn’t even hesitate.

You just laughed and said, “Only if we can get the ugly throw pillows I like.”

He let you buy four.

Now he stood in front of one of them, pink and puffy and godawful, and touched it like it might dissolve if he pressed too hard.

The air was thick with memories, and he was always breathing them in.

He passed the kitchen, and the floor creaked under his weight. His gaze flicked to the little speaker on the counter. He hadn’t touched it in weeks. Not since that night he tried to cook dinner, your favorite pasta with too much garlic, and ended up standing in the middle of the room, crying while Sinatra sang about moonlight and love and holding someone close.

You used to dance here. Right here on this tile.

It didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight. If he was exhausted from a back-to-back or if he’d just come home from a brutal loss on the road. If you were here, and music was playing, and dinner was cooking, or even just leftovers heating up, you'd grab his hand and pull him into a slow dance like you had all the time in the world.

“Just one song,” you’d say, smiling up at him. “Come on, Cap. You won’t get benched for dancing with your wife.”

He used to tease you. Used to grumble that he was tired. And then he’d give in anyway, and sway with you like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Now the music was off. The speaker was dusty.

So was the record player in the corner.

Quinn exhaled and pressed a hand against the counter to steady himself. His knuckles were scraped from practice, he hadn’t worn his gloves when he took a spill morning skate. The trainers told him to take better care of himself. That the team needed him healthy. That he couldn’t afford to play reckless.

They didn’t understand. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t know how to say it.

He closed his eyes.

The house was heavy with your scent. Faint vanilla, like the candles you loved. They still sat on the shelf by the window. Half-burned. Unfinished. Just like everything else. He kept buying more, like letting smell disappear would make it too real.

It had been two months.

Two months since the phone call. Two months since the early morning rain slicked the roads, and someone ran a red light, and you didn’t come home.

Two months since he last heard your voice that wasn’t trapped in a voicemail or a dream.

He hadn’t gone into your closet. Not once.

He still used your shampoo, though, small amounts in a futile attempt to savor what was left of you. Still wore your hoodie when he couldn’t sleep. The one you stole from him first and claimed as yours.

It still smelled like you, if he closed his eyes and didn’t try too hard to remember.

Quinn wandered to the living room window and looked out at the city. Vancouver glittered beneath the night sky. Indifferent, beautiful, alive. He’d once told you that this view made him feel like he could breathe. That was back when you stood beside him, arms wrapped around his waist, head on his shoulder.

Now, all he felt was the ache of where you used to be.

He turned away and glanced at the shelf beside the fireplace. Photos lined it, smiling ones, golden ones, the kind that belonged in a life well-lived.

One caught his eye.

University of Michigan. Fall semester. You were laughing, a coffee cup in hand, your other hand tugging the sleeve of his jacket. He looked stunned in the photo, caught mid-sentence.

He remembered that day.

It was your first week of classes. You were late. He was late. You rounded the corner in the lecture hall, juggling your bag and your drink and your headphones, and he barreled straight into you.

Coffee exploded down your front.

“Oh, shit—I’m—uh—” Quinn panicked, dropping his own backpack and grabbing uselessly at napkins that didn��t exist. “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked down at the damage, then looked up at him. “Wow. You come here often?”

He stared. Speechless.

You grinned. “If this is how you flirt, you’re gonna need to work on your game.”

And just like that—his face broke into a sheepish smile.

“Can I buy you another?” he asked, awkward but sincere. “Coffee, I mean. Not a new shirt. I mean, unless it’s ruined. In which case…”

You laughed. Loud and honest. “Just the coffee, Hughes. For now.”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Sure. But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Hockey.”

That laugh.

He could still hear it sometimes. In his dreams. In the rink. In the echo of the empty house.

Quinn turned away from the photo and wiped a hand over his face. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned. He didn’t let the tears fall. Not tonight.

Instead, he sat down on the couch, the one you picked out, and reached for the remote. Hockey highlights played, muted. He couldn’t watch them anymore. Couldn’t bear to see himself skating, smiling, high-fiving teammates when he felt like he was hollow inside.

He clicked the TV off.

And sat there.

Alone.

The morning light crept in like an unwelcome guest, filtering through sheer curtains you’d picked out because they made the bedroom feel “soft and cozy.” That was how you described it. “Soft and cozy, like a Sunday morning,” you’d said, perched cross-legged on their unmade bed with fabric samples fanned out around your legs, excited about decorating your first home together.

Quinn blinked up at the ceiling, unmoving, his head heavy against your pillow. Your scent was gone from it now. He didn’t know when it faded. Just that one day, he buried his face in the cotton and it wasn’t there anymore.

It was the little absences that gutted him most.

Not the obvious ones, not your inactive Instagram, or the toothbrush that was never replaced, or the unopened box of birthday decorations you’d ordered off Etsy two weeks before the crash. No. It was the quiet.

It was brushing his teeth alone and not having you peek around the corner with toothpaste foam in your mouth, saying, “Did you remember to floss, Mr. Hockey?”

It was opening the fridge and not finding your post-it notes stuck to the oat milk: Drink me. Don’t let me expire :(

It was not hearing you hum in the shower.

It was dancing in the kitchen to nothing but his memory.

He didn’t get up right away. Not that morning. Not most mornings. Sometimes he just laid there, listening to the hollow thump of his own heartbeat and the wind outside the window. February was cold this year. Not the bone-deep kind of winter cold, but the wet, lingering kind that made everything feel gray. Vancouver had always felt vibrant with her in it. Even the rain felt romantic when you were in his passenger seat, bare feet on the dash, hair a little wild from the wind, singing along to Fleetwood Mac like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Now, it just felt like grief pressing against the glass.

Eventually, the alarm on his phone buzzed. Skate @ 9:30. He ignored it for seven more minutes. Then he finally got up.

He didn’t shave. Didn’t really look in the mirror, either. Just brushed his teeth, pulled on an old team hoodie, the one you used to wear that hung just a little looser on him now, like everything else in his life, and left the house without breakfast.

The rink was quiet when he arrived. Most of the team wasn’t there yet.

“Morning, Cap,” called out Brock, tossing him a nod from the trainer’s table.

Quinn gave him a tight smile. “Hey.”

Conor passed him in the hallway, shoulder-checking him gently. “You good?”

He nodded. The lie was automatic.

They were good guys, his teammates, his brothers. They didn’t pry. But they didn’t avoid him either. They skated with him, trained with him, laughed around him, and gave him space when his eyes went somewhere else. Somewhere you still lived.

Only Jack and Luke really knew how deep the spiral went. Quinn tried to protect them from the worst of it, especially their parents, but there were nights when he'd call Jack at 2 a.m., voice cracking, and just sit on the phone in silence. And Jack would sit there with him. No questions. No pressure. Just presence.

Sometimes that’s all grief needed. Someone willing to sit inside it with you without trying to fix it.

Practice was a blur. He was sharp. Focused. Too focused. It wasn’t intensity so much as detachment. He skated like he wanted to be somewhere else. Or nowhere at all.

Coach said something about defensive gaps and ice time. Quinn nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

In another time.

Ann Arbor was golden with autumn. The leaves scattered like confetti across the sidewalks, and you always dragged him off the main path so you could crunch every single one under your boots. “It’s a crime to step around a perfect crunchy leaf,” you’d declared, mock-serious.

He loved that about you. The way you found small joys and treated them like treasure. Like they mattered.

That day, after the coffee spill, he met you outside the student union. You were early. He was nervous. He didn’t get nervous often, not about hockey, not about media, not even about scouts in the stands, but he was around you.

You waved when you saw him, eyes bright. “Captain Hughes,” you said with a grin, holding up your new coffee. “Redemption achieved.”

He flushed. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

“Third, actually. The coffee, the shirt, and the delayed class entrance.”

He laughed, and for the first time in what felt like years, it felt easy.

They sat outside on the lawn, trading stories. You told him about your dream of being a kindergarten teacher. About your love for messy finger paint and the chaos of snack time. He told you about growing up in a hockey family, about missing his parents, about how much pressure came with making mistakes.

And you said, “Well, I don’t care about your mistakes, Quinn. I care about your smile. So keep doing that.”

You didn’t know it then, but he’d remember that sentence forever.

After practice, he stayed late. The rink had emptied out. He sat alone in the locker room, taping and re-taping his stick like he didn’t want to go home.

Eventually, he drove. The city flickered around him. He didn’t turn on the radio. Couldn’t. Too many songs you used to sing to.

At home, the front hallway was still cluttered with reminders of you. He'd tried once to clean up. Lasted ten minutes before he ended up sitting on the floor in front of your rain boots, sobbing.

Tonight, though, he made it to the kitchen.

The lavender candle on the counter. The crooked fridge magnet from the weekend trip to Tofino. The playlist you made on the speaker, still titled Midnight Snack Dances.

He reached for the speaker.

His thumb hovered over the button.

Then he pressed it.

The song that came on was Sinatra.

"Fly Me to the Moon."

He didn’t remember the last time he let it play. Didn't remember if you picked this one, or if it came up by accident, one night when you two were tipsy and cooking pasta at 1 a.m. But the second the first note played, he felt you again.

Your hands in his.

Bare feet on tile.

“You’re not even cooking,” he’d murmured once, letting her lead. “You just want to dance.”

You laughed. “Cooking is overrated. But dancing? That’s what makes life delicious.”

Now, he moved to the center of the kitchen, eyes closed.

He let the music wrap around him. Let himself remember the weight of her head on his chest. The sway of your body against his. The way you used to hum along to the trumpet parts like you were in a jazz club in another life.

He danced alone.

To a song that didn’t belong to him anymore.

To a memory that wouldn’t fade.

Later that night, he sat outside on the back step, hoodie drawn up, coffee cooling in his hand. The stars above the city were faint, but he looked for them anyway.

He imagined you up there sometimes.

Not in the spiritual sense, he didn’t know what he believed anymore, but in the poetic one. Like your laugh became starlight. Like your soul settled somewhere that still saw him.

His phone buzzed.

A text from Jack. "You good?"

He stared at it for a long time. Then typed: "Not really. But I’m here."

Jack replied a few seconds later. "That’s enough for tonight."

Quinn nodded to no one, set his phone down, and leaned back against the step.

The air was cold.

But for a moment, in the stillness, he swore he could hear your laugh on the wind.

The third voicemail on his phone had never been deleted, for that reason.

"Hey Quinny… it’s nothing, just calling before you hit the ice. You left your protein bar on the counter again, by the way, one day you’re going to starve during a game and it'll be your fault. Anyway, love you. Don’t get checked into a wall tonight."

You laughed at the end of it.

That quiet, musical kind of laugh that only came when you were talking to him. He used to play the message on away trips when he couldn’t sleep. Not every night. Just the bad ones. The nights when the hotel room felt unfamiliar, or when the game went wrong, or when the silence inside his own chest started to get too loud.

Now he barely listened to it at all. It hurt too much. The laugh, especially. It sounded so alive. So present. So unaware of what was coming.

They told him it was instant. That you didn’t feel it. That you didn’t suffer.

He didn’t believe them.

Not because he thought they were lying, but because part of him needed to believe you’d known he loved you in that final moment. That you had thought of him. That you felt him, even as the world tilted and shattered and the rain kept falling like it had every damn day since.

Some nights, the guilt clawed at him like an animal. He’d replay the morning over and over.

You had argued. Stupidly. Quietly. One of those soft-voiced, tension-tight arguments that stretched through breakfast and followed them into the hallway. He was distracted, thinking about line changes, about the upcoming game against Vegas, about whether his hip was going to hold up under the forecheck.

You wanted to show him something. One of your students made a drawing: Mrs. Hughes and the Hockey Prince. Stick figures. Crayon crowns. A dog, even though you two didn’t own one.

“You’ve gotta see this one,” you said, smiling. “It’s so cute.”

“Later,” he said. “I’m late.”

He rushed out.

He didn’t kiss you goodbye.

He always kissed you goodbye.

And then you were gone.

He told no one about that. Not his family. Not even his therapist, the one the team’s mental health staff gently encouraged him to see after he broke down in two post-game interviews in one week.

He’d gone to one session.

Sat in the parking lot for thirty minutes.

Left.

The grief didn’t hit in full force all at once. It came in waves.

Sometimes it was a tsunami, pulling him under so fast he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be.

Other times, it was soft.

A song on the radio. A kid in a Canucks jersey pointing at him with wide eyes at the grocery store. The lavender scent in a stranger’s shampoo. A memory triggered by a piece of toast he accidentally burned the way you used to when you were distracted in the mornings.

He never knew which version of grief he was going to get.

He’d surprised you after practice. You had parent-teacher meetings that night, and he figured he’d swing by, bring her a coffee, maybe dinner. He was trying to be romantic.

You met him at the door, a smear of glitter across her cheek and a string of construction paper hearts dangling from her wrist.

“You look like a kindergarten Picasso,” he teased, handing her the coffee.

You kissed his cheek. “We made valentines. One kid ate the glue.”

He laughed. “Are you allowed to admit that?”

“I’m not naming names. Teacher code.”

Your classroom was pure chaos. Bright drawings, finger-painted handprints on the wall, tiny desks with tiny chairs. But it was magic. It was yours. And when you moved between the kids, kneeling to their level, praising their stick-figure whales and lopsided hearts, he swore he’d never seen anyone shine like that.

After the parents left, you walked him through the class library, stopping to point out your favorite picture books.

“You know,” you said, brushing hair out of your face, “this job is exhausting, but it’s the best kind of exhausting.”

He smiled. “You’re good at it.”

You shrugged. “They make it easy. Kids see the good in people first. Grown-ups forget how.”

That memory haunted him now.

The funeral had blurred past, just weeks after your passing. It felt too quick for him. The condolences, the flowers, the carefully constructed eulogies. Everyone told him you’d been light. That you lit up a room. That you were joy, wrapped in wild curls and vanilla-scented perfume.

He knew that.

He didn’t need to hear it in past tense.

The school had invited him to a small gathering for the parents and students. The kids adored you. The staff adored you.

He went.

He stood in the back, silent, hands jammed in his coat pockets, and listened to one of her students, a little girl with sparkly clips in her braids, read a letter she wrote:

“Mrs. Hughes said I was brave when I was scared. She let me wear the crown even when it wasn’t my birthday. She smelled like sunshine. I hope she’s dancing in the sky.”

He didn’t cry there.

He waited until everyone had left.

Then he stepped into your classroom.

It smelled like glue and markers.

Your handwriting still covered the whiteboard: “Be kind. Be brave. Be YOU.”

Your coffee mug, Kindergarten Queen written on it, still sat on your desk. He touched it like it might shatter under his fingertips.

On the back wall was a photo of them at the team’s charity skate day. You’d worn a Canucks hoodie that hung off her shoulder, laughing as a kindergartener tried to chase Quinn across the ice.

He stared at that photo for a long time.

Then he left without saying a word.

He went home, and opened the bedroom closet.

He sank to the floor, hoodie bunched in his fists, your clothes surrounding him like a cocoon.

He cried like a man unmade.

No noise. Just the kind of sobbing that comes from somewhere deep and private and untouched by language.

And when it passed, when he couldn’t cry anymore, he sat there, eyes swollen, heart split down the middle, whispering to the dark.

“I’m so sorry.”

For the argument.

For the missed kiss.

For not being there.

For not saving you.

He took you back to Michigan.

Said it was a nostalgic trip.

You suspected it from the beginning, he wasn’t good at lying, but you played along.

The two of you walked the campus. Stopped by the coffee shop where he spilled your first drink. You ordered the same thing: vanilla oat milk latte, two pumps, no foam.

He dropped to one knee just outside the old lecture hall.

“I know the timing’s crazy, and the travel sucks, and my schedule is chaos, but there’s no world I want to live in where I’m not waking up next to you.”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

“I love you,” he said, voice shaking. “Always. Even when I’m a pain in the ass. Even when the season’s long and I’m gone more than I should be. You make me better. You make me whole. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, laughing through her tears.

And whispered, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, he took off his wedding ring.

Not forever.

Just to clean it.

He set it carefully on the bedside table, wiped it gently a small cleaning towelette.

He held it up to the light.

“Love you,” he whispered.

And in the silence that followed, he thought he could almost hear you say it back.

The ring felt heavier once he put it back on.

It wasn’t symbolic. Not in a grand, poetic sense. It just felt heavier, like maybe his body was finally acknowledging the weight of everything he’d been carrying alone.

He stared at his hand for a long time after sliding the band over his knuckle again. The skin underneath was lighter now. A thin line. A ghost of something permanent. Something that once was.

The ceremony had been simple.

Lakefront. Small. Close friends and family.

He remembered every second.

You walking barefoot down the aisle.

You whispering, “You’re shaking,” when you reached him at the altar.

Him choking out, “I’ve never been this happy.”

The vows.

Yours: “You are my home. Whether we’re in Vancouver or Michigan or on the moon, if you’re there, that’s where I want to be.”

His: “You remind me who I am. And who I want to be. You make the world make sense.”

They danced to Can’t Help Falling in Love. You sang softly into his ear as they swayed.

“I’ll love you in every lifetime,” you whispered.

The phone buzzed beside him. A name on the screen: Mom.

He didn’t answer.

He went home.

Real home.

Michigan.

The house hadn’t changed. The same backyard net. The same cluttered garage. His childhood bedroom still had the worn poster of Datsyuk, corners curled.

Ellen opened the door before he knocked.

“Hi, baby,” she said softly, and pulled him into her arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just held on.

Inside, the house smelled like soup. Like love. Like memory.

He didn’t eat much.

But he sat at the kitchen table, head bowed, while Ellen laid her hand over his.

“You have to let yourself feel it,” she said.

“I’m afraid if I do,” he whispered, “I won’t come back from it.”

“You will,” she promised. “Because she wouldn’t let you drown.”

He stayed a week.

Jim didn’t say much, just sat with him in front of old Leafs games, passing popcorn, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

It was raining the day he opened your side of the closet again.

Five months had passed since the accident.

He hadn’t touched it since that first time he broke down.

Not the hoodies you stole from him. Not the floral dress you wore to the engagement party. Not the polaroids clipped to the inside wall.

But he needed something. He didn’t know what. A sweater, maybe. A memory.

He reached for a box tucked in the corner.

Inside, he found a card. A sealed envelope with his name on it, one he hadn't seen before. Your handwriting, unmistakable, the date on it, the night of your wedding. The sticker was a tiny gold heart.

He opened it.

My love,

There are things I feel so big I can never say them out loud without crying, and I don’t want to cry tonight. I just want to smile until my cheeks hurt.

Quinn… you are everything. You’re strength and softness. You’re the calm in every storm I’ve ever had. You are more than the name on your jersey or the goals you score. You are home.

I know sometimes you don’t see the light in yourself. But I do. I always will. You make me feel safe and wild and alive and steady, all at once. I’m so proud of you. Not for what you do. But for who you are.

I can’t wait to build a life with you. To wake up beside you. To dance barefoot in our kitchen at midnight. To grow old, and grumpy, and still completely in love.

You are my beginning. And my end.

Love, Y/N

He read it three times.

Then pressed it to his chest, and let the tears come—not like before. Not broken. But whole.

Full.

Alive.

Spring came late to Vancouver.

Not the bright, sudden kind of spring that bursts through like a symphony, but a slow one, measured and hesitant, like the world was still grieving something too.

Quinn woke to the sound of rain easing against the windows, not hammering. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel oppressive. Just… soft. Like it was letting up.

He sat in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. The Sinatra playlist still played quietly in the background, track number four, your favorite. “The Way You Look Tonight.”

There was toast burning in the toaster.

He didn’t even mind.

He’d read the letter every night for a week.

Not because he wanted to memorize it, but because it felt like you. Not a memory, but a conversation. A tether. Words from beyond the veil that didn’t close the wound, but helped him breathe through it.

He tucked it into the inside pocket of his gear bag. Right beside the laces you used to knot for him when you got bored in the locker room.

“Only the left ones,” you’d say, grinning. “I’m superstitious.”

He tied both the same way now. Just in case.

He’d gone back to therapy.

Not for anyone else. For himself.

It wasn’t easy. The words didn’t come all at once. But the therapist, an older man with gentle eyes and quiet pauses, just sat with him. Listened. Let Quinn unravel slowly.

One session, Quinn brought the letter.

Read it out loud.

Didn’t make it past the second paragraph.

Didn’t need to.

At the rink, the guys had started chirping him again. In the old way. Not walking on eggshells. Just giving him hell like brothers do.

It was the best thing in the world.

Brock called him “washed-up.”

Petey joked he “didn’t look like a homeless man anymore.”

Even Demko raised a brow when Quinn played Sinatra during pre-practice warmup.

“You good, Cap?”

Quinn nodded. “Getting there.”

That was enough.

One morning, Quinn visited the cemetery.

He didn’t go often. You weren’t there. Not really. But this time, he brought something.

The ugly pink throw pillow you loved, the one he always said was hideous. The one you insisted gave the living room “character.”

He set it down beside the headstone and smiled.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I admit it. It made the couch better.”

Then he sat with you.

Told you about the last game of the season, the Canucks narrowly missing a ticket to the playoffs. About his teammates, Conor’s new baby boy, and his family. About the letter he found.

“I read it,” he said softly. "I miss you so much" He admits, for the first time out loud.

The wind shifted gently.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, arms folded, leaning on the stone like you were teasing him from the other side of the veil.

“Still sappy, Hughes,” you’d probably say.

And he’d reply, “Still yours.”

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Hidden | Terrance X Wynnie (Black Fem OC)

Hidden Part I.

Pairing: Terrance (Foe) x Winona ‘Wynnie/Wyn’ (Black Fem OC)

Summary: Years after escaping her ex-husband’s cult and getting him locked up, Wynnie arrives to OuterMore after being selected for their two year space program. She is assigned to Terrance, who begins to get to know her on a much deeper level in order to prepare for the mission.

Warnings: MINOR DNI!, mostly buildup, fluff, sexual tension, PTSD (fem), mentioning of grooming/abusive behavior/trauma, emotional feelings, fear, cursing, smoking, non-canon

Dividers Made By: @cursed-carmine @thecutestgrotto

Parts: II • III • IV • V • Epilogue

A/N I: Excited to write about Terrance again as I had a series on my previous account. This is a little different from it, but a remake of that one is coming later on.

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT.

April 2065

Pulling up to a spot at the OuterMore Headquarters in Des Monies, Wynnie, a 5’6 brownskin woman, parks the car and turns it off, looking around the area.

In the middle of a grassy area, the building and its launch site stood tall. The sunlight shines brightly, which triggers something in her as she begins to breath harshly.

She looks down and closes her eyes, squeezing the steering wheel as she begins to attempt to calm herself down, tears running.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeated the chants, feeling it work.

The memory of her ex-cult leader husband being verbally abuse to her doesn’t play this, making her sigh in relief.

“Thank god.” as she wipes away her tears.

Getting out her car and locking it, she adjusts her white ruffled dress, hair and matching tote bag before walking to the building, her pace picking up with each step.

Entering the building, she takes in the four floor level spacious lobby.

The OM logo being on the carpet, the windows behind the reception desk showing the inside of the lab and the spaceship she’ll be riding in two months from now, spacesuits, and group photos of past missions on the walls.

“Welcome to the OuterMore headquarters, where we go better to be further.” greeted the female receptionist as Wynnie walked up.

“I have an appointment with one of your agents.” she said in a shy tone.

“Alright, and what is your name?” as the woman taps on her tablet.

“Winona. Or Wynnie. Have no idea which name is listed.”

The receptionist nods as she scrolls, looking for her name. She clicks on something before looking up, sending her a small smile.

“You’re all checked in. Have a seat. Your agent will be out very soon.”

Wynnie nods before walking to find a seat in the slightly vacant lobby, examining.

Feeling very anxious with sitting around someone, she chooses the seat in a slightly dark corner. As she waits, she begins to fidget with her sunflower ring on her point, which the charm spins, helping her relax a bit.

This particular flower reminds her of a positive time from her childhood. Well, the only thing she can remember after years of cruel treatment from the cult she was forced into.

All of this goes back to when she was 14 years old: her grandmother, her only legal guardian, unexpectedly died. Despite leaving her with a savings account and a few other things, she was put into a foster care as none of her family members were willing to take her in.

She remained there for the rest of her teenage years until she was adopted by this middle-age white couple three months before her 17th birthday. They treated her nice and lovingly, which is something she has always wanted from people who actually care about her.

But all that will come crashing down and she didn’t realize until it was too late.

On her birthday, she and her parents drove to West Virginia, where she was told that there was a special gift they had waiting for her.

As they pulled up to a random house in a rural area, she is handed a white robe and mask, being told to put it on as this is part of the surprise. She obliges and they walk in, with them helping her as she couldn’t see much out.

As she was waiting, she gets snatched up by a stranger, thrown into a random room, where the door locks on the outside, making it very hard to escape. As she banged on the door, begging to get out, she realized that no one was coming to save her, giving up.

The door opens, with masked members walking in, forming a circle around her.

Then, a man wearing a red shawl and a demon designed mask walked in, bowing to her. He reveals himself as the Adonai, leader of Tolons, a new religious group whose ideology focused on a new modern balance that people should start aligning themselves more to save themselves: conspiracy theorism and spirituality.

He stated that she was selected to be the new Adonica, his new wife as the current one was not fulfilling her duties that he required anymore, stating that she will be trained to be obedient and remain pure as he wanted.

She refused, said that her parents won’t let this happen, which is when he revealed the actual truth: he planted those parents into adopting her, ordering them to find them someone that was not only what he required, but had something he wanted, which was more money.

During the training, she was taught to: wear a covering anytime she had to go somewhere in public as not wearing one would be violating his trust, any form of light she sees without dark is a sign that evil is around her, and being pure is something he demands as her innocence is something rare to find in today’s world.

A.k.a., using this as a manipulation tactic to groom her and brainwash the rest.

Along with this, she was verbally abused by him and many members that he had on a higher level, forcing herself to accustom to these conditions to survive.

She and the Adonai wed on her 18th birthday, which was a birthday she’ll never forget, refusing to tell anyone what happened that day, but assures that he didn’t force himself on her, not even during the next three years she was there.

She thought her life was officially over, believing there was no way out of this since they were watching her every move.

Until the day she finally escaped.

While out with a few Tolons members, the van they traveled in broke down, making everyone get out. As they waited for someone to get them, Wynnie saw this as her only chance of freedom, running as fast as she could away from them.

She hid for a few days before going to the local police, telling them who she was, what was going on in Tolons, and how they need to believe her as she wasn’t making any of this up.

Which they did.

Turns out, they and the Feds have been building a case of taking them down as they are occurring looking for a wanted, man who has numerous of charges across a lot of states, ranging from fraud to attempted murder. They swooped in and arrested him, revealing his real name as Alfonso.

As the trials occurred, Wynnie found out that they were never legally married as Alfonso wasn’t even divorced from his first wife, making the marriage invalid. Not only did he steal everyone’s money, he took out numerous loans in everyone’s name for financial gain, including her, which leaves her with endless amount of debt and having to enroll into a government assistance program.

Now 26 and far from the media frenzy after the trial concluded with him being sentenced to life in prison, she is looking forward to figuring out the next step in her life, regaining memories, things, and abilities she was good at, while also balancing the long-term effects of PTSD coming out randomly.

Which is why she’s here as she was selected for the upcoming mission, ask to come in person since she doesn’t have an actual address listed under her.

She’ll be part of the Group 70 mission, which will launch after Group 46 returns in two months.

The sound of the doors barging open startles Wynnie, making her jump up.

A group of scientists and engineers walk out, having conversations among themselves as they pass her, making her sit down and lay back.

A pair of footsteps is heard, making her look over.

She sees a tall, black man walking to the reception desk, greeting the receptionist with a smile as he grabs a folder and begins reading it, intrigued by what he sees.

Wynnie takes in his looks, noticing how he looks quite different from the engineers and scientists she saw.

Wearing a pinkish brown polo shirt, light brown dress pants, and brown dress shoes, he is a slim but chiseled man, with arms showing some veins, rocking a low fade with a scruffy beard, sharp jawline, slight brown skin tone, baggy eyes were a mixture of a blueish-green color, and dark pink curved lips, whoever he is.

Wynnie found him attractive.

But, she felt insecure as she doesn’t think he’ll ever go for someone like her due to her issues.

He looks up, locking eyes with her, making her turn away.

Shit! He saw me, she said, cursing herself.

She looks back a bit to see if he was standing there. Instead, he was walking to her, which made her scared.

“I can’t do this.” she utters, getting up quickly to leave.

“Winona, wait.” said the man, a British accent coming out, standing in front of her so she doesn’t move.

She looks down immediately, which confused him.

“Um….Is there a reason you’re not looking at me? Understandable if it’s a medical condition, but I’m a little lo…” he said, trailing off with the last word.

Wynnie lifts her head up, showing her face. His eyes, which were glowing green under the bulb they were under, softening a bit.

“….do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar?” he asked, examining her face.

Suddenly, a reflex takes over as her mood suddenly changes, with her now looking visibly distressed.

“BACK UP!” she yells, holding her hands up in defense.

That scared him as he stepped back, holding his hands up as he tries to calm her down.

“Woah. I didn’t do anything to you.” he replied.

“But you were about to!”

“Lower your voice.” as he stepped closer.

“Or what? You’re gonna drag him in here to threaten to harm me in some way?!”

The man looks at her very confused, not understanding where she’s getting this idea from as he sees security coming over, but motion them to stop.

“….drag who in here? It says you don’t have no one in your file.” as he holds up her folder.

“Alfonso. Adonai. Whatever he wants to call himself. Him.”

“Ok. What is he to you?”

She was about to say something but pauses, closing her eyes for a second. When she opens them, she’s back to her usual self, as if nothing happened.

“What’s going on?” she asked, confused on why he’s standing there.

“……Winona. Who’s Alfonso?” he asked, a worrying look on his face.

She looks at her hands, putting them down instantly as she realizes she once again overreacted and looks around, seeing people watching them.

“Oh my god…” she whispered, collapsing into her seat.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as the man kneels in front of her, gently squeezing her hands.

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.” he said, mimicking the inhale-exhale motion.

She follows, squeezing his hands back as she begins to calm down, looking down as she begins to cry.

“No, no.” he whispered, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her.

She takes it and begins wiping her tears, feeling him rubbing her hand as he sits next to her.

“Don’t feel ashamed.” he added, motioning to everyone that he has it under control.

“It’s hard not to.” she replied, clearing her throat.

“How come?”

“….that’s just how I am. After being in a cult for a while. Easily scared……afraid of light…..being caught talking to another man.” she said, sniffling.

The man looks at her folder, rereading her notes as he slowly tried to piece together the information she just gave him.

“…..oh wow.” he said, a apologetic expression on his face.

“We didn’t realize you were the one who escaped Tolons and got everyone locked up, including……your husband.” he added, a slightly irritated tone on the last word.

“He wasn’t really my husband since he wasn’t even legally divorced from his first wife. That hasn’t changed what he did to me and others who suffered.” she said, lifting her head.

The man nods, feeling bad for asking her who he was to her.

“I do apologize.” he said.

“It’s not your fault. You probably won’t be the last to not realize who am I. I do live a pretty quiet life away from everyone else.” as she looks at him.

“And we just met.” she added, watching a small smile appear on his face.

“Well, if you’re not comfortable with doing the space program at the moment, we can always put you on the waitlist and contact you.” he said as he got up.

“No, I’m fine!” she said loudly, immediately clasping her mouth in embarrassment.

He laughs a bit, holding his hand out.

“I think this conversation should be had in private. You might feel more comfortable instead of being out here.” he said, staring at her.

Wynnie looks at his hand, questioning if she should go or not.

Hesitating a bit, she grabs it and helps her up, grabbing her bag and handing it to her.

“Atta girl.” he mumbled, gently removing his hand.

He motions her to follow him to the doors, in which he opens one. He watches her walkthrough it before following, closing the door behind him.

Wynnie in the spacious hallway, with the massive windows showing the inside of the lab.

“I’m….Winona by the way.” she said shyly, looking at him.

“I know.” he nodded, smiling a bit.

“I’m Terrance. I’ll be your agent throughout this whole experience.”

She nods as she walks up to one of windows, looking down at the floor inside.

With the rocket being on the right, the floor was filled with groups of engineers and scientists working on different things, from running tests on the spacesuits or oxygen to building items that are needed.

Feeling the lights become overbearing the longer she stood there, she closed her eyes, feeling her head beginning to hurt.

She hears a click sound and looks up. The blinds begin coming down, covering the windows, which dimmed the light a bit.

“Much better?” asked Terrance, leaned up against the wall where the button was.

Wynnie nods, smiling a bit.

He walks to a door, typing a code in before opening it.

“This is my office. Come in.” he said, motioning her to walk in.

She looks back at the window before walking forward, heading inside with Terrence following behind.

Hearing him close the door, she takes in his office’s area, which is beautifully decorated in black velvet furniture.

“You can have a seat in front of the coffee table. We’ll get started soon, just let me settle in.” Terrence said, pointing at the table.

Wynnie nods before taking a seat, still looking around.

A picture of him with a group of other people in spacesuits, with a sign that says ‘Test Group’ standing in front of them.

His degrees with MIT frames around it and certifications hanging up on the wall. A small United Kingdom flag in a cup of writing utensils on his desk, along with a Jamaican flag.

“Thirsty?” he asked, heading to his fridge.

“Just a water.” she replied, squeezing on her handle.

He replied with ‘mmhm’ as he opened the door, taking out two bottles of water. He walks back over, placing a bottle in front of her before taking the seat in front of her.

“What brought you over here to the states?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Terrance looked up as he picked up a box and placed it on the table, opening it.

“Got offered full ride scholarships to a lot of schools, but MIT was the one who had the best program to me. So, came over here and spent six years studying while getting to know much about the culture here.” as he takes out a bracelet, tablet, a box with four dots, and a recorder.

“Graduated with my bachelor’s in aerospace engineering, with a minor in astrophysics and my associates in astrobiology.” he added, a small smile on his face.

“And you came out here?” she asked, watching him laugh.

“OuterMore was amazed with my essays and the idea of cloning while the real human lives in space for a few years to bring the grand opportunity of everyone relocating up there when earth starts deteriorating even more, so I got hired immediately to develop the program after graduation.” he replied, turning on a switch as the machine began to run.

She nods, impressed with his resume as he stood up, motioning her to hand over her wrist, which she obliges.

“This is a bracelet that detects how much water you have in your body.” he said as he snaps it on.

“What’s in the box?” she asked, looking over.

“A machine we use on all clients to detect their oxygen, heart, and other vitals. Just so we have accurate information to write down and put into the other you.” as he grab the box and take off the cover.

“Using these.” he added, showing her the dots.

He takes one off and hands it to her, which she grabs.

“Where does this one go?” she asked.

“Over your heart. Wasn’t sure if you’re comfortable with me putting it on there, so…there you go.”

She nods, placing it over her heart, and watch it light up as he moves behind her, taking out two dots.

“The next two goes behind your ears, which helps us connect to your nervous system. Can you lift your hair up a bit?” he asked.

She does so, lifting up her curls as she feels him placing the dots on, gently pressing down to keep them in place.

He removes his hands, walking back into her view, as she lets go of her curls.

“And the last one is up to you to where you wanna place it.” he said, handing her the dot.

She grabs it, examining it as she looked at her legs, thinking about where she wants to put it. She placed it on the top of her fibula, watching it light up as Terrence sits back down, adjusting some of the buttons in the box.

“What’s the recorder for?” she asked.

“Our conversations are going to be recorded in case I miss something or it will help with developing your clone’s capabilities.” as he points at it.

“Anything you say to me will be kept strictly between us and no one else will have access to hearing it, unless I include it during the process of making you.”

“You swear?” she asked, looking at him.

“I do. As long as you’re fine with it.” he replied, a committed tone in his voice.

She held his gaze for a bit, slightly relaxing as she nods, placing her bag on the floor.

“Let’s start, shall we?” as he hits a button on the recorder, watching the red light come on.

He picks up his tablet and types on it, pulling up a list of questions as Wynnie watches.

“What’s your name?” he asks first.

“Winona. Or Wynnie, with a ‘Y’, to some people.”

“When your birthday?”

She hesitated for a bit, trying to find the answer in her head.

“August…..August 15th.” she replied.

“Mm.” he said, smiling a bit.

“Did I say it wrong?”

“No, no. You are right.” he assured.

“Just I never had a client whose birthday was the day after mines.” he added, amusement in his tone.

“Well….I’ll be turning 27 while in space, so I’ll have something *fun to look forward to this year.” she said, smiling a bit.

“28 for me.”

“You don’t look it.”

“…I look older or something?”

“No.” she said, shaking her head.

“You look younger than most of your colleagues here. And I mean it as a compliment.”

Terrance pauses, trying to not blush as he moves on to the next question.

“Where you coming from?”

“Iowa City.”

He exhales in disbelief.

“That’s a two hour drive from here. You driving that far?”

“Well, that’s the closest motel I can afford right now with assistance.”

His face softens, apologetic now.

“My apologies.” he said.

“Just doing the best I can right now.” she said shrugging.

“What kind of a car do you drive?”

“A 2010 Subaru Impreza.”

“Wow.” he whispered, typing in her answer.

“The program unfortunately doesn’t include coverage for self driving cars yet, so….yeah.”

“You’re not worried about it breaking down one day?”

She begins fidgeting with the sunflower charm, which he notices and makes note of.

“I have a bag of clothes, toothbrush, and other things just in case I get stuck somewhere. Hopefully there’s a shelter or something near that I can stay in.” she replied, looking away.

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen at all during this as it gets really hot over here.” he said, laughing a bit.

She nods, not amused by his response. He clears his throat before continuing.

“Where were you born?”

“I….um don’t know.”

He looks up, confusion on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I do know. It was, um…somewhere on the East Coast.” she added.

He nods, typing it in before she cuts him off.

“Sorry. It’s probably not helping, but I did lose my documents during my time in the cult.”

“Ahh. Makes more sense.” he replied.

“Yeah. They are sending me the copies of them. Should be here very soon.”

“Well, that saves me from asking the next…..” as he’s scrolling. “20ish questions then.”

“Damn, you need all that to know about me?” she asked, surprised at the amount of questions.

“It helps with making sure the other you is following the same mind you got going on. Even if you move away from some of it.”

“So…..this is also like a therapy session.”

He thought about it, almost wanting to counter-argument her, but realize she’s actually not that far off.

“You can say that.” he said, nodding in agreement.

“Figured.”

“Next question: what was it like during the three years of being in Tolons?”

She squeezes her hand close, feeling a little hesitant with answering as her heart begins to beat fast.

“Besides witnessing and going through the harm he caused, I lost the ability to write.”

“How?”

“I was the Adonica. He didn’t think it was necessary for me to write anything at all because “that’s not what a wife does.” Really, he was worried that if I written everything I saw and thought of, that would be evidence for the Feds to come after him and use.” as she rolled her eyes.

“And I’m gonna assume his followers were backing him up.”

“Yes. Because they know that he’s telling the “truth” since he knows how to talk to spirits, who exposes the secrets *they don’t want you to know about.”

“…..who’s they?”

She points at him, shrugging a bit.

“Exactly my point.”

Terrance nods, typing in her answer as she adjusts herself in her seat.

“So yeah. Because I did not get to write at all, I am forced to teach myself how to write again.” she begins to say.

“And how’s that’s going?”

She chewed on her lip a bit, fidgeting with her charm.

“…..I’m on the letter ‘M’. Writing in both print and cursive in my workbooks I use. Wrote some words in a journal I have, even if I don’t want to.” she replied, a little bit sad.

“Because of him haunting your mind with his taunts?” he asked, watching her rub her eye.

“More so of it being a bit humiliating that I’m almost 30, having to relearn things I grew up being taught on because of him trying to break me.” as she looks at him.

“I should be living a great life somewhere with the savings my grandmother left for me. In my dream career of……” she said, trailing off on the last word.

He waited patiently, hoping wherever she was going to say, comes out but she sighs, looking away.

“Don’t know what I wanted to do. Now I can’t even do that now.” she whispered.

“It’s never too late to start over. Even if you don’t want to.” he said in a caring tone.

“You gotta have something to do that. Unfortunately, I don’t. No diploma, no GED, no experience. Nothing.” she replied.

“You don’t have to beat yourself over it.”

“It’s hard not to when you had so much trust in people who you thought wanted to be your parents. Even in that short window.”

Terrance says ‘mhm’ quietly as Wynnie takes a sip of her water, seeing him focused on her movements.

“….are you noting how I move?” she asked.

He nods, fixing his shirt.

“Helps with accuracy. We want to make sure other you is still you while you’re away, so we have to apply with precision with the movements.”

“Including my face?”

“Especially that.”

She licks her lips, wiping her face a bit.

“Guess I have to relax it or she’ll look a bit older than what she actually is.” she mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like you aged at all.” he said, making her look at him.

“You’re saying that to be nice.”

“I’m not. I’m being serious, Winona.”

“Yeah, okay.” she replied sarcastically.

Terrance shrugs a bit as he moves onto the next part.

“Was not writing the only thing you lost? Sorry if I added onto the question.” he asked.

“You’re fine. Just doing your job.” she replied, coughing a bit.

“But when he wanted to be nice to make sure I’m obeying, he gave me some privileges if I did well.” she added.

“Like what?”

“Playing the piano. I was trained very well, thanks to my grandmother. Guess he found that out from my adopted parents.”

“So on a random night of his choosing, he took me out, wearing the covering over my body, to some….music store. He knew a guy there, who I’m pretty sure got fired after the trial.”

Terrance chuckled, but stopped, feeling like it was big inappropriate to do that.

“You can laugh. It’s not like he’ll get his job back after being a contributor.” she said, reassuring him.

“Right.” as he nodded.

“But yeah. He let me play on the piano for two hours. Played all kinds of songs that I knew and he wanted to hear. Until I spoiled it all and he cuts the session.”

“Spoiled it?”

She laughs, a memory of him getting upset playing in her mind.

“Whenever I get done playing what’s always the last song, he always praised me, then adds a comment about how our children will be loved with the sound of my playing accompanying them as they grow up. And I ruin it by saying “it will be a cold day in hell before I let you coming anywhere near me with that rabble wight he calls a dick.” each time.”

“You found another term for unwashed thing?” he asked in an impressed voice.

“Had many ways thanks to the dictionary. Soiled slob, polluted shrimp, even churned dick because he fucking smelled like rotting fish and moldy cheese.” she responded, watching him laugh loudly.

“What, he hated washing?!” he asked in the midst of his laughs.

“He believed washing our bodies is how the government gets close to controlling us…..as he and others paid the water bill and was drinking it.”

They both laughed in unison, in awe at how stupid that sounds as she drinks more of her water.

“Wow. You went through hell with that man.” he replied, drinking some of his water.

“Yeah, I did.” as her smile faded a bit.

“I did.” she repeated, looking down at her ring.

“What…” as he looks at his tablet, trying to think of a calm way to ask the question.

“What was his…..reaction like? Was it the same with anyone who did something he didn’t lie or different for you?” he asks.

Wynnie closes her eyes tightly, feeling an attack coming as Terrance leans forward, about to get up, but she holds up her hand, stopping him.

She breathes in and out softly to subdue it, feeling herself relax as she opens her eyes, seeing him watching with a concerned look.

“We can skip the question if you want.” he said softly.

“I think I want to answer it since you asked.” she replied quietly, feeling tears forming.

He nods, sliding a tissue box to her, which she grabs as she wipes her eyes, sniffling a bit.

“Alfonso. You would think he was just a nice man, looking to do things for his family on a budget and very caring on the outside when you meet him. But no.” as she shook her head.

“His rage was……something I never seen before. Very violent, harmful. Having you worried that he might get you while you’re sleeping.”

“What did he do if you don’t mind me asking.” he asked cautiously.

“He never physically assaulted me. Gotta make that clear every time I have to talk about him. But he did hit others around me, didn’t matter if they did something or not. He was verbally abusive though. Threatening to harm me if I didn’t do something he requested, calling me a bunch of things but a child of God, insulting my intelligence or when I’m right about something, hated when I talked to some of the male members, just full on angry.” she replied, exhaling loud.

“It was worse when it went to emotional. He used tactics to scare me into not ever wanting to leave him as long as I was there. He beat on someone to a point they are badly hurt, self harmed himself, or whipped out a gun and threaten to shoot someone because I didn’t follow an order. He did this mostly to the women.”

Terrance looked away, feeling very sick about the details he’s hearing as she cries a bit.

“The worst part? Everyone who didn’t see an issue with it followed behind because they wanted to be like him. Why? He’s just a man who has unresolved issues, spreading shit he believes to be true in order to get money and control over people!” she yelled, anger consuming her.

She wiped her tears away roughly, her face slightly red as he watches, seeing her pain coming out.

“How he got away with it for so long? I still don’t know. And I don’t care to find it out either.” she added.

“……they failed you.” he said, exhaling loudly. “They failed the other victims as well.”

She nods slowly, letting the tears pour down as she sees him walk over, kneeling in front of her.

“But you shouldn’t let that linger in you for the rest of your life. It’s tough, but it’s not worth reliving it in your mind.”

“It’s hard not to, Terrance.” as she looks at him.

“I can be having a great day, doing….whatever. But as soon as I go to sleep, the night terrors start and it always gets worse that I have to literally sleep with some light over me. Even that ends up not working sometimes.” she added, shaking her head.

“…..what did your room look like?” he asked.

“…..no windows. Black walls. Just a lamp and a nightstand. Kept my personal things on my bed as the floor was filthy.” she replied.

He nodded, standing up and pressing pause on the recorder, confusing her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, seeing him pick up the tablet.

“What motel are you staying at?” as he types something.

“Um…..Starland.” as she wipes her face.

“What’s your room like there?”

“Um, blue and white walls. A decent looking bathroom and furniture. A lamp that doesn’t work. My own desk and vanity. A tv I don’t use as much besides for some movies I pay for. AC doesn’t really work, so I bought a fan.”

“You know the address?”

She looks down, reaching into her bag and grabbing her phone, unlocking it. Pulling up a file, she hands it to him, which he takes, sitting down.

“I am going to send you a sound machine.” as he types in the address.

“A sleep lamp. And two coolers. Should be coming tomorrow after our second session.” as he hands back her phone.

“What I want you to do is try to get a good sleep schedule. We want other you to have a good mind and relaxed body while you’re gone. Don’t worry, she’ll still have the same emotions most humans have. Journal everything that happens when you wake up and if you notice it’s getting better and better, it’s working.”

She takes her phone, confused as he hits the play button, resuming the recording.

“How can I pay you back?” she asked.

“You don’t need to. I got enough and can make it back easily.” he replied, adjusting his seat.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll try another way. We got two months. I don’t want you giving up. You came too far for it to end like that.”

She smiles a bit, liking his comforting manner.

“Anyone ever said you have a nice voice?”

“Would be the richest man in the world if I got paid hearing that a lot.” he replied, smiling back at her.

A loud knock comes in, startling Wynnie as she jumps up, running to a corner in his office.

“Go away!” she yells, scaring Terrance.

She immediately drops to the floor, going into fetal position by hiding her face into her knees, hearing her breathing loud.

“…..loud and hard knocks is another one, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at her position.

“Yes.” she said quietly.

“Noted.” as he stood up.

“Probably just a co-worker dropping off something.” as he walks to the door.

“Make sure.”

He unlocks the top lock, before opening it, seeing his mid height, blonde hair, blue eyes co-worker, Lance, standing there with a file folder in his hands.

“Hello, Lance.” greeted Terrance in a low tone voice.

“Hey, Terrence! Sorry if I’m interrupting something, but Mel wanted me to drop this off.” said Lance, handing him the folder.

“Thanks.” as Terrence takes it.

“Not to be nosey, but….. did somebody scream in there after I knocked on the door?” he asked, trying to look inside.

Terrence blocked his view, making sure he doesn’t see Wynnie hiding on the floor.

“Yeah, my new assignment I just got assigned to. She has PTSD, so she’s a little sensitive to certain things.”

“Damn. Always getting the crazy ones around here.” he said, laughing a bit.

Terrence eyes him down, not amused by that comment as he steps back, grabbing the door.

“She’s not crazy. Just needs a little more help with healing before she goes up.” he replied, turning away.

“Have a good—“ is what he heard Lance say, but cut him off by closing the door.

“Asshole.” Terrence whispered as he reads through the folder while walking to Wynnie.

As he walks by the table, he presses the square button on the recorder, which stops the recording, watching the tape pop out.

He continues his journey, sitting down carefully in front of her, which makes her look up.

“He didn’t sound nice.” she said, watching him smile a bit.

“He’s a little bit of a dick that got reassigned here because no one else wants him.”

“Where is he supposed to be at?”

“Homeland Security. But don’t listen to him. He doesn’t…quite understand why I get assigned the special ones.”

“You can’t say you made this program from the bottom to him?” as she sits up, laying her legs out.

“Nahh. I just don’t pay him no mind.”

She nodded as he sits the folder next to him, leaning back a bit.

“How do you feel about me ending the session a bit early?”

“But we haven’t hit an hour.” she replied, pouting a bit.

“Well, most of the questions are in reference to things you don’t have at the moment and the rest are a bit getting deeper into your past and questioning your future plan after this is over, which I don’t wanna go to.” he said, a slight grimace in his voice.

“I do. It’s best we get it out of the way instead of me leaving now to go drive back two hours. And we’re not behind before the launch.”

“…..how about a break then? An hour or less. You did cry for quite a bit. I know your head slightly hurts.”

As soon as he said that, she felt a slight sting come into her head, making her rub it a bit.

“…deal.” she replied, blinking slowly.

He nodded before standing up, helping her afterwards before grabbing the tablet off the table.

“Have you eaten today?”

“…..you don’t have to buy me lunch. Your gift from earlier is just enough.” she said, waving her hand to decline.

“Well, I’m asking cause most of the places doesn’t take assistance program as payment.” he said, looking up.

“Why am I not surprised?” she said, sitting down.

“Still didn’t answer my question.” as he sat in the chair next to her.

“……only a muffin and a water.” she replied quietly.

“How do you feel about sushi? I know a great place that makes them and delivers to here.” as he types in the place.

“Never had it.”

“Ooh, you’re missing out.” as he hands her the tablet.

“Here’s the menu so you can take a look. If you don’t want that, we can get something else.” he added, a small smile on his face.

Wynnie takes it, reading through the menu carefully as Terrence watches, scanning over her face.

He takes note of her curved plumped lips, her thinned eyebrow, almond shaped eyes, curly brown hair, and subtle button nose with a hooped nose piercing as she looks up, seeing him staring.

They both hold each other’s eyes for a bit before she hands him back the tablet, looking away a bit.

“….the rock and roll & spicy tuna ones sound delicious.” she said, breaking the silence.

“They are.” he replied, adding her order to the cart before adding his.

“Did you also want a drink or you’re fine with the water I gave you?”

“I’m okay with the water.”

He nods before placing the order, sitting the tablet on the table.

“Should be here in 15 minutes. While we wait for it, let’s continue with some of the questions.” he said, pressing the button to begin recording again.

She nods, turning to face him as he begins asking the question.

They spend the rest of the day answering questions while eating the sushi, in which Wynnie was impressed with the taste and texture of it.

Noticing it was getting a bit late as the sun was setting, he ends the session and walks with her to her ca, making sure she’s safe.

Placing her bag and leftover sushi in the passenger seat, he walks over and helps her get in, adjusting her legs.

“Oh you don’t have to…” she begins to say, but is cut off by how warm and comfortable his hands felt against her skin.

He looks at her, seeing her eyes flutter as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve something.

“If anything happens…” as he hands her a folded piece of paper.

“Call me.” he added, watching her take it.

“Even if I’m two hours away?” she asked, reading it.

Terrance kneels, waving at some of his coworkers passing him before looking at her again.

“Even if you’re two hours away. Don’t like that you’re alone out there, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Wynnie nods, watching him close her door before stepping back.

“See you tomorrow, Terrance.” as she starts up the car.

“See you tomorrow, Winona.” he replied with a tender smile.

He waves as he watches back out carefully and drive away, seeing her exit at the end of the long road.

“Get home safe.” he whispered as he turns back to the building.

Two hours of driving on the dark roads later, Wynnie arrives to her home: the Starland Motel.

It sits a few minutes outside of downtown Iowa City, surrounded by a lot of street lights and one level homes.

She grabs her things before locking up her car, making sure everything’s fine before walking to the stairs.

She hears a door swinging open, making her stop and look to her left.

Seeing small clouds of smoke come out of the reception room, there stood the hotel manager and her landlord, Berlinda, a small Caucasian woman covered in tattoos, smoking a cigarette.

“Evening, Berlinda.” said Winona, waving at her.

“Thought that was you who pulled up.” Berlinda replied, coughing a bit.

She didn’t see Berlinda that much as the woman is always running around, fixing something around the motel or arguing with a customer who claims the wrong was up to what they expected.

However, when it came to her, she was always nice, having empathy for her as she recognized her face from the coverage of the trial, and never told anyone else about it.

“I been waiting for you to come back all day. I know you went to OuterMore, but you did get something in the mail.” she said, retrieving something from the room.

She pulls out a big envelope and walks up, handing it to Wynnie, who takes it, examines it.

“It feels a little thick, so I’m gonna assume it’s—“

“My missing documents.” said Wynnie, cutting her off as she smiles happily.

“Yep. Glad you finally have your stuff again.” said Berlinda, turning to walk.

“Oh, wait.”

Berlinda stops, turning back to face Wynnie.

“I’m going back there tomorrow. While I’m gone, a package my agent ordered for me is supposed to come. I don’t know how big it’s going to be, but can you watch out for it, please?” asked Wynnie.

“You bet your ass I can! You always good with me when it comes to your mail, don’t you worry. Now if this was Ms. Watkins’ nasty chitlins eating ass, it would be a different story.” said Berlinda, inhaling her cigarette before blowing the smoke out.

“Thank you. Good night.” she said, walking up the stairs.

Belinda nods before walking back into her room, leaving the door half open.

Wynnie walks along the hallway before stopping at a room with the number 15 on it. She takes out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing the door open.

Turning on the lights, she takes in the small room she told him about, noticing nothing has changed since she left.

“Home sweet home.” she utters as she puts her stuff on the table, walking the sushi to her refrigerator.

She does her nightly routine, which consists of washing her face, applying her skin care, brush her teeth, showering, and writing a bit in her workbooks before climbing to her bed.

She turns off the light, feeling her nerves rise a bit as she lays down, looking at the curtain covered window as she slowly falls asleep, hoping the terror isn’t too bad.

Wynnie wakes up in a very dark room, confused with how cold it was.

No windows.

Filthy floor.

And her stuff on the bed.

Immediately recognizes it as her old room from when she was still in Tolons.

She stood up, trying to find the exit, but keeps going through an endless loop, giving up.

Suddenly, she hears an uneasy sound of loud hitting and groaning filling in, making her cover her ears immediately.

“Please God, no.” she whispered, kneeling into a position.

It continued for a while, until it was replaced by evil laugh from a man, making her slowly look up.

Standing in front of her was a man wearing a red shawl and a demon designed mask with a grizzly smile, looking down at to her.

She noticed blood was pouring out of the mouth part, which made her crawl back until she hits something hard.

She looks up and sees another one looking down at her, blood pouring excessively out that it hits her, making her scream as she tries to get up.

However, she looks down, seeing that she sinking into the floor, which is now a pool of blood, struggling to fight her way out as the evil laughter grows louder.

“Don’t fight it, Wynnie.” she hears Alfonso say darkly, making her look up to see him sitting in a king styled designed chair.

“You’re home.” he added, getting up to walk to her.

“No, no, please!” she yells, feeling herself sinking lower and lower.

Alfonso stands in front of her, with the masked men standing behind watching her struggle, covered in their blood.

“Here. Let me help.” he said, kneeling down.

She tries to lift her arms up, but fail he places his hand over her forehead, pushing her down further as she screamed loudly. She feels something hot coming out of his hand, burning her horrifically.

Wynnie wakes up quickly, panting very violently as she tries to calm herself down, doing the method she does.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeated, emotions taking over.

After a few minutes, she’s calm down, rubbing her head as she looks at the windows, seeing the sun is out.

She looks at the clock, which reads 8:15.

She gets up, heading to the bathroom to start the first step in her morning routine: showering.

She follows with brushing her teeth, washing her face and applying skincare, doing her hair in a updo-sidebang, applying bodycare and putting on her outfit.

Wearing an off-shoulder purple tie blouse, blue flared jeans, white platform sandals, she applied her favorite red lipstick before adding final touches, taking one last look in the mirror.

Grabbing the envelope and placing it in her bag, she leaves, making sure the door is locked before heading downstairs to her car.

Two hours of driving with coffee and a donut later, Wynnie walks into the building, seeing Terrance already standing there, waiting for her.

He’s in a white dress shirt, black business casual jacket, black dress plants, and black shoes, starting at her as she got close.

“Morning, Winona.” he greeted, a big smile on his face.

“Good morning to you as well.” she replied, sending a small smile back.

“You look….” as he looks at her outfit, taking it in.

“You look great.” he added. “Purple suits you well.”

She nodded as he begins walking to the doors, with her following behind him.

Entering his office, she places her bag on the table, taking out the envelope.

“When I came home yesterday, my landlord told me my documents came in the mail.” as she hands it to him.

He said ‘ah’ as he takes it, impressed that it’s here already.

“Did you take a look?” he asked, placing it on his desk.

“Not yet. I’m, um….a little nervous on what it contains.”

He nods, grabbing her folder before walking to the door.

“That’s normal. But we can talk about it after we go to the lab.”

“The lab?” as she raised her eyebrows.

He chuckles a bit as he raises his hands in reassurance.

“It’s nothing crazy. Just we have to get your measurements and body scan.”

“Oh. Is it going to hurt?” as she relaxes.

“No. It’s a quick and easy process.”

He opens the door, waiting for her to walk out.

“Plus, I want you to meet a good friend of mines. Come.” as he tilted his head towards the hallway.

Wynnie walks out, with him following, closing the door.

They walk to the door at the end of the hallway that leads into the lab, with him typing in a code on the pinpad, hearing it unlock before sliding open.

Heading down the stairs, Terrance leads the way as Wynnie takes in the busy floor, from one group making a liquid to print out the skins to another building parts of the bodies as another group works on coding in facial expressions on some heads.

“Very grip as you see.” said Terrance as he looks back, watching her look at everything.

Wynnie looks at one particular one, where the face, belonging to a short haired brunette white woman, was very still-like and eyes closed.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open and mouth stretches open, showing a haunting expression you would see in a horror film that it scared Wynnie, causing her to bump into Terrance very hard.

“That’s what I meant.” he whispered, gently moving her to the front.

“We’re almost there though.”

They walk into a direction where there is an area called SCANNING in the corner, surrounded by a few scientists and other people, in which Wynnie assumes are her fellow Group 70 members.

“Still working hard, I see?” as he walks up to a tall darkskin black woman, causing her to look up.

The woman laughs before dapping him up, beginning a conversation with him that Wynnie doesn’t hear as she takes it her looks.

Wearing a short sleeve black shirt, black jeans, black and white sneakers, she was very fit and muscular, has dimples each time she smiled, locs with gold cuffs in them, a massive dragon tattoo who’s head started on her hand and wrapped around her arm while her other arm was covered in a vine-like tattoo with different plants, she was a sight to see.

She wonders if her and Terrance had a thing with how close they are as he looked over, motioning her to come over.

“Winona, This is Mel. A good friend of mines since our MIT days who’s good at accurately, getting the correct measurements and scans of everybody’s other you. She’ll be doing yours.” he said, stepping to the side a bit.

“Nice to meet you.” said Mel with a bit of a twang, holding out her hand.

“Nice to meet you as well.” Wynnie replied, shaking it.

“You from DC?” she asked immediately, surprising Mel.

“See? Someone can recognize my accent, Terrance!” said Mel, nudging him in his chest.

“I didn’t say that!” he replied, rubbing the spot.

“I said you sound like a Southerner.” he added, making Mel chuckle.

“Whatever, tea boy. You from out there too?” as she looks at Wynnie again, watching her shake her head.

“No. I’m from somewhere on the East Coast, but I can recognize your accent real easily for some reason.” she replied in a shy tone.

“You don’t know where you’re from?”

Wynnie stops for a bit as she comes up with a sensible answer.

As she was about to reply, Terrance leans into Mel’s ear, covering himself with the folder to tell her something, watching her face change from confused to apologetic.

“My bad. Forgot about that part of your file.” she said.

“It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean no harm.” said Wynnie.

Mel nods as she takes the folder from Terrance, grabbing her lab coat behind her.

“Follow me this way so we can begin and I can send you back his way.” as she begins to walk.

“He doesn’t come along?” asked Wynnie.

“Oh no.” said Terrance, looking at her.

“When it comes to this, we assign the same sex scientist to do this part so the client doesn’t feel uncomfortable with their agent if of opposite sex does it.” he added, smiling a bit.

“Makes the process much easier.” said Mel.

Wynnie nods, watching her walk into a room, standing at the entrance to wait for her.

“You don’t mind if I take a look at your envelope while I’m waiting?” he asked.

“That’s fine.” she replied, sending a small smile.

She holds his gaze for a few more minutes before following Mel, walking past her to enter the room.

Mel waves at Terrance, who waves back, before clicking a button that slide the door closed. He looks around the floor before heading back to his office.

Inside the spacey silver swirled room, Wynnie sees a big machine hooked up to different wires as Mel sits the folder next to the clipboard on the table against the wall, putting on her coat.

“Okay, so first thing I’m gonna do is take your measurements and ask some questions before we do the scanning. Is that okay with you?” asked Mel, looking at her.

Wynnie nods as she watches her unravel the measuring tape, kneeling down and pushing her left pants leg. She wraps around her calf, tightening it a bit.

“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked, letting it go before standing up and writing on the clipboard.

“8.5.” Wynnie said softly.

“Same as your ring size?”

“No. My ring size is a 6.”

Mel says ‘mm’ before turning back to her, looking her up and down.

“Stand straight for me, please.”

Wynnie obliged, watching her place the end of the tape on the top of her waist before pulling the rest down her leg, stopping at the top of the foot.

“Are you vaccinated?” she asks next.

“Just re-upped last month.” said Wynnie.

Mel nods before writing down the numbers on the clipboard. She moves behind her, placing the end at the top of her head.

“Close your legs for me.”

Wynnie followed, feeling her pull the rest down her back, over her ass before stopping at the bottom heel of her foot, holding it for a few seconds.

“Any tattoos or scars?” as she steps into her view.

“And hold your arms out like this.” she added as she holds her arms out horizontally.

Wynnie followed, stretching her arms out as wide as she could, watching her lay the end in one hand before pulling to stretch the other.

“Four scars. Two tattoos. One covers the scar on my left hip, the second one covers the one on my right wrist. And the two others are the same. Just one is on my left rib and the other is on my back.” said Wynnie, watching her write it down.

Mel wraps the measuring tape around her chest, feeling it jump a bit.

“You know your cup size?”

“D.” she replied instantly, making her laugh.

“That was fast.” as Mel lets go, wrapping it around Wynnie’s waist.

“…you seemed curious.” as she looks up at her.

Mel’s eyes twinkle a bit, letting go of the tape as she walks over to the clipboard.

“I see why he’s taken a huge interest in you.” she said as she was writing.

“What do you mean?” asked Wynnie, a confused look on her face.

“Normally, Terrance doesn’t talk about the assignments in a thrilling way. Only your typical “he’s boring, but his background is interesting” conversations.” as she looks at her.

“I noticed a new dynamic in him after you went home yesterday” she added, an amused expression on her face.

“It’s like…you awoken something in him. Something I haven’t seen since we went to space as the test group.”

Wynnie was stunned, not noticing Terrance was out there waiting for her early on purpose.

“He told you this?” she asked.

“Hasn’t stopped talking about you since. And after one day? That’s rare of him.”

She smiles a bit, but drops it fast as she remembers Mel is in front of her.

“….hopefully I’m not coming between something that you and him have.” said Wynnie.

Mel’s eyes widen, shocked by what she said.

Then, she lets out a humorous laugh, covering her mouth so no one hears her.

Wynnie watches in confusion, trying to figure out if she said something funny.

“Winona.” as Mel catches her breath. “That’s the funniest shit you ever said.” with a laugh following.

“…so you’re not seeing him?”

“Absolutely not.” as she shook her head. “We’re best friends. Taught him a lot about this country that he wanted to know about. But he’s not someone I would go for personally.” as she walked towards the machine.

Wynnie followed behind, watching her go up to a switch box, flicking everything up except one and the machine turns on.

“Not that anything is wrong with him.” as Mel looks back.

“Just men are not my type.” she added.

Wynnie stood there, taken a back by that reveal as Mel laughs.

“But, you’re fine.” as she opens one of the doors.

“I also don’t go after any female assignment OuterMore picks for the missions. That’s a rule I set with myself when I got hired to develop the program.”

She goes up to the wall, typing something into an invisible pinpad and the door unlocks, sliding open as she steps inside.

Wynnie looks away, processing the new information she’s learning right now, feeling a bit tense.

“..are you saying he would date an assignment?” she asked, watching Mel walk out with a stack of folded clothes.

“That’s the thing: he doesn’t. Not even the widowed or divorced ones.” as she sits them on the table.

“But, he might just break that rule for you.” she added.

“How do you know he’s not just trying to score?”

Mel takes out a gown and hands it to her, watching her take it.

“He’s an introvert who rarely goes out on dates or parties. And treats women nicely. He does his job with delicate gestures and if you feel him feeling awful about something you say, it’s genuine.” as she smiled.

“Change into that, by the way. Keep your underwear on and remove jewelry if you have any on.” as she pointed at the gown.

Mel turns around, hearing Wynnie remove her clothes and ring, placing them on the table as she puts the gown on.

“All done.” said Wynnie, watching her turn around.

“Alright. Step inside the machine and I’ll explain what you have to do.” as Mel points towards it.

Wynnie walks up, anxiety building up as she gets closer.

She stops at the entrance, looking inside the glowing green room before looking at Mel, who was standing by the door, holding the clipboard. She nods, gently motioning her to walk in, in which she does.

“I’m gonna close the door a bit. Just so you’re covered and I can’t see you.” said Mel, grabbing the handle.

Wynnie nods as she hears the door close, hearing it creak.

Okay, so what you are going to do next is remove your gown and align yourself on the outlined feet in the middle of the platform as Mel leans into a mic so she can hear her.

Wynnie hesitates as she slowly removes the gown, tossing it out.

Staring in all of her glory and a thong, she looks at the blinking cameras in front and behind her, taking it the different flashing colors each one has.

Mel examines while adjusts some of them, using a switch box. She enhances the one pointed at the left side of Wynnie’s hip, seeing a much clearer view of the banquet of sunflowers tattoo over the jagged line scars.

“Okay, so for the next step, I need you to stand on the outline and straight.” she says, pushing a button to close the door.

Wynnie stands on it, adjusting her body as the light dims.

In a few minutes, you’re going to see a flash of white light hit you. That’s the first scan being done. Then, it’s gonna flash twice, signaling the second scan. The last one is going to shine a bright red flash, signaling the last one, she spoke into the mic, making Wynnie look up.

Mel flicks another switch, adding more darkness around the green lit room.

Throughout this, you need to be in an A frame pose and be still as it’s going to happen very, very fast. It’s okay if you blink after the first one because it is a bit bright, but be careful with blinking after the first one in the second scan, she said, looking at the screen.

Wynnie looks forward as she gets into that pose, seeing the cameras adjust a bit. The air gets a little hot, making her sweat a bit as a countdown begins.

3..2..1.

Suddenly, a quick FLASH of white light hits her, blinding her a bit, which makes her blink.

“Fuck.” she whispered, rubbing her eyes a bit.

Second one is coming in less than 30 seconds said Mel, watching the first scan prints appear on the monitor next to her.

Wynnie repositioned herself, blinking very quickly as she hears the countdown begin again.

3.

2.

1.

Another quick FLASH of white light hits her, with another countdown following.

3.

2.

1.

The second FLASH hits her, completing the second scan.

Wynnie rubs her quickly, the sting being a bit overbearing as she hears some of the cameras move rinto the center, all pointing at her.

Alright, last scan is coming in one minute. This one will shine a bright red, which will be the outer layer of other you. Don’t be freaked out at all of the cameras staring at you, Mel added.

The light in the room turns red, which made Wynnie uncomfortable, feeling heat growing inside of her.

“Please don’t.” she whispered, knowing that familiar feeling.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as the room darkens, with the countdown beginning.

Keep your eyes open, said Mel.

Wynnie widens her eyes, feeling them slowly tear up as 10 seconds is shown in a fast pace.

3..2..1.

A FLASH of red light hits her, completing the final scan.

And you’re all done, as Mel gets up, hitting a switch.

Wynnie collapses to the ground, rubbing her eyes fast as the attack comes over, making her squeeze her eyes and say the chant quickly.

“You’re free. You’re free. You’re free. You’re free.” she repeats, shaking a bit.

The door opens, with Mel coming in with her gown, startled by the scene.

She rushes over, wrapping the gown around her as she kneels down, comforting her.

“Breathe. Breathe. It’s over, you’re okay.” she said, feeling Wynnie relaxing a bit.

She softly blinks, looking over to see Mel next to her, feeling slightly embarrassed about what just happened.

“Sorry about that.” she said quietly.

“Don’t be. It’s perfectly fine to have that reaction.” said Mel, a small smile on her face.

The women get up, exiting the machine. Mel begins locking it up as Wynnie puts back on her clothes, feeling the cool air returning.

Sitting in his office again, Wynnie hears a snap, making her look back. She sees Terrance standing there, holding up a camera.

“For photo references.” he said, smiling a bit.

He snaps a quick picture of her before she looks forward, spinning her charm as he hits the recorder, sitting behind her.

“So, I looked into your envelope. It contained a lot of documents, from your birth certificate, your passport, to the last address you lived at. It also had a lot of photos and a few items you might be able to recognize.” he began, sitting a stack in front of him.

“I’m going to do is ask you some questions and hand you some of them to explain to me. Is that okay?”

Wynnie nods, looking up as she hears him move again.

“First question: what is your mission group’s number?”

“70.” she said, adjusting herself.

Terrance takes out the first paper from the stack, handing it to her by gently tapping her shoulder. She takes it, reading it.

“What does that document say?”

“State of Maryland, Certificate of Live Birth.” she replied, reading over the words.

“My birth certificate.” she added, smiling a bit.

“What city does it say?” he asked as he types, moving the recorder closer to her.

“Columbia. Howard County.”

“Is it bringing back any memories?”

“A little bit. I know it’s between DC and Baltimore, but I can’t remember much.”

“What about the weather?”

“Oh that’s easy. Winter was hell due to how cold it gets. Summer too because of how hot it got. Fall and spring was okay, just not a fan of the bugs.” she said, hearing him laugh.

“How bout this?” he said softly as he hands her the next one, which she takes.

She looks at it, which is a photo that shows a woman in the hospital bed, holding a newborn baby as an older woman that looks similar to her stands near, both smiling. A man in an all white Navy uniform is at the end of the bed, holding a bouquet of flowers, that were a mixture of baby breath and lavender, and a huge “Its A Girl” Teddy Bear, making her get teary.

She recognizes this photo very well.

“The little baby is me.” as she points at herself.

“That’s my mom, who’s holding me. My grandmother, her mother, next to her. And my dad is the man.” she added, tears falling.

“I thought I lost this photo forever.” she said quietly.

“What were their names?” he asked, handing her the tissues.

She takes one, wiping her eyes as she sniffles, catching her breath.

“Mom’s was Dahlia. She was named after a rare flower that was growing in my grandmother’s garden. Had a need for growth since she bounced between jobs.”

“Clementine, or Tine, was my grandmother’s name. Got that name because when she was born, she had ginger hair, which was as bright as that. Was a florist and made money off selling flowers from the house since she couldn’t afford a shop. And why I like flowers a lot.” as she smiles a bit.

“She grew all types?” asked Terrance, watching her nod.

“Anything she could find to growing from the plant shop she went to. Was well respected around the community.” she replied, looking at the photo again.

“Cyrus was my daddy’s name. Don’t really know much about his personality or life other than him being in the Navy. Think this is the only photo of him I ever saw.” she added, tracing over his face.

“Why’s that?” he asks, a somberly look in his face.

“About a few weeks after I was born, he passed. Leaving my mother a widow and me without a dad. From what I was told, one of the ships he was working on caught on fire. He and I think, 20 others, got trapped. Died the same way my grandfather did.”

Terrance paused, exhaling loudly as she turns the photo around, seeing writing that said Baby Winona 8:15 AM MD.

“Did it..did it affect your relationship with her growing up?” he continued.

“I think it did.” as she nodded.

“I was a baby, but when I got older, my grandmother was the only one raising me. My mom wasn’t doing drugs, but she wasn’t mentally stable at all and my grandma couldn’t allow her to take me much longer.” as she laughed bitterly.

“Last time I remember seeing her was when I was 7. So, I have no idea if she’s even alive now.”

“Do you want to know?” he asked.

“No.” she answered quickly. “If she wanted to see me, she would’ve been there when the trials happened. Sounds selfish, but.” as she shrugged.

Terrance nods, reading the next question on his list.

“What’s the significance behind the sunflower ring?”

“My favorite flower. The one I always saw in the garden whenever I see her planting them. Even with the bad things, I’m always taken back to growing up with her and the house on that road. Felt like those were my happy days.”

“This house?” as he hands her a picture.

She takes it and looks at it, seeing a three story bricked house, a couple and their toddler daughter sitting on the steps, and a goldendoodle next to them.

“Yeah.” as she nods. “Had a garden full of them hidden in the back. Which made thieves interested.”

“Is that why she also got that dog?” he asked, hearing her laugh.

“No. When her and my granddad got married, they couldn’t figure out what kind of dog they wanted for their first house. So, they went to the pet shop that was in town and saw that he was the only different one since the rest were Dalmatians. Adopted him and called him Sunny since his fur shined brightly under the sun.”

“Did you get to meet him?”

“No. He died when my grandfather passed. Lived a long life. But he left behind 7 newborn puppies, so they adopted one of them, a girl, and named her—“

“Sunna?” as he hands another picture, which she looks at.

This time, its her as a toddler, her grandmother, and Sunna, wearing a sunflower collar, next to them.

“Yeah. Sunna.” she quietly said, smiling.

“My little ole Sunna, she always said. Was by her side from the moment she was born to the moment she passed.” she added, comparing both photos.

“And had her daddy’s eyes.” she added, smiling.

Terrance slowly gets up, moving to her left, but not enough for her to see him.

“What happened to the both of them if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair.

She exhales loudly, closing her eyes as she squeezes her hands close.

“She didn’t know she had epilepsy. There was a storm coming while everyone was sleeping, which is normal since it was the summer. So the storm went on like it always does. Hard rain, thundering, and lightning.”

She opens them, looking at her grandmother’s face in the picture.

“I guess the loud thunder woke her up and she was trying to go back to sleep. But, the lightning struck a few times and it was very bright, so it…scared her straight into that.”

Terrance looks away, wiping his eyes as she puts the photo on the side, looking at the background.

“Thought it was a little strange that she wasn’t up when I woke up. Didn’t know I was gonna find her lifeless.” as she laid back.

“As for Sunna, had to give her up since she’s not a service dog before I went into foster care. I cried very hard when I left, just holding her collar in my hand.”

“….you’re talking about this one, right?” he asked, holding something.

Wynnie turns around, seeing him with a bag that had the same exact collar from the picture. She snatches from him, surprising him as she looks at it, shocked that it was still existing.

“They had this?!” she asked loudly, looking at the tag, recognizing it’s the real things

“Yeah. They actually had a lot of your stuff. Guess they kept it in their facility after the raid.” as Terrance looks back at the rest of the things he laid out.

“….I didn’t mean to snatch it out of your hand like I did.” she said in an apologetic tone, looking at him.

“You’re fine.” as he smiled. “This is what I want from you. Be happy instead of dwelling on the bad stuff.”

Wynnie nods, looking at the collar again, smiling happily.

“I can show you the rest of what was in there if you want.” he said, adjusting his shirt.

She nods, getting up and sitting next to him as he pulls some documents and photos closer, seeing her eyes light up and admiring each one.

They spent the rest of the day looking at the stuff, with her wanting to avoid talking about some of them as she wasn’t ready, which he understood.

After departing in the parking lot again following the end of their session, when he reminds her about tracking her sleep, she drives back to Starland, parking the car and getting out with her stuff.

Entering her room, she notices the packages inside, confusing her as she wonder how they got in. Until she sees a piece of paper attached to one of them, making her grab and read it.

Hey Winona,

The packages came, but because I was gonna be gone by the time you came back and I don’t trust Bert to keep an eye on your stuff, I just put it in your room myself so you don’t have to worry.

- Berlinda :)

Wynnie nods, thanking her for thinking ahead to avoid her going down there and asking why he was in here.

She unboxes them, setting the coolers up on each side before putting the lamp and sound machine on her nightstand.

She does her nightly routine, but this time, does a journal entry of what she’s feeling like before sleep, noting sleepy and anxious.

Afterwards, she chooses the wave sound on the machine before dimming the light on the lamp, slowly falling asleep to that and the sounds of the cool air blowing on her.

The next morning, she wakes up very peaceful and relaxed. No night terror this time and she’s up before 8.

Terrance’s suggestion actually worked. She does feel a little better and excited for the day as she gets, heading to her journal to write.

May 2065

Dear Diary,

Today is May 19th. I been in Iowa for about a month and a half now. And in about 32 days, I’ll be heading to living in space for the next two years.

I thought we wouldn’t be anywhere close to done with making other me, but we about 90% done. They move hella fast, but I’m proud of how far I’ve grown.

My sleep schedule has improved a lot. The sound machine, coolers, and lamp have been helping with not having to relieve Alfonso’s terror every night. It’s still not fully gone, but I haven’t freaked out since the second week.

I been getting very comfortable with being around Terrance too, letting him inside of what I’ve been reluctant to show him without the fear of betraying coming over. It also seems like I’ve been trying to get to know more of him as well.

Every time he asks me about something, I answer. But then, I ask a follow up question that was similar to it. I expect him to shut it down by telling me it wasn’t my business, but he answers it.

Like for instance, he asked me about what do I expect when living out in space. I answered with a very long answer, but I know I said something about seeing Saturn. I asked him, and even Mel, about what was it like within those two years of living in space, being alone and all?

To be fair, I didn’t say the last part to Mel, but I accidentally said it to him, which made me feel bad. He laughed a bit, which made me nervous cause I wasn’t sure what he was gonna say. But, he said it’s hard, but you’ll start to get over it the more you look at the atmosphere around you that makes you appreciate space a little more and help you with what you want to do next when it’s over.

Which speaking of that…I been thinking about him a lot more than I should in a way I can’t explain. And I think he feels the same too.

I noticed lately that he takes a lot of pictures of me, even when he thinks I’m not looking. Even when he was noting my daily routine, he always looked at me in an amazed way, like whatever I was doing had him feeling lovey dovey?

Or maybe I’m reading it all wrong just because he’s nothing like Alfonso, so I’m not used to someone who genuinely likes listening to me answer their questions, watching me do something I like or I’m struggling with and they don’t shame me over it.

He likes taking care of me too. Buying me food, making sure I’m stocked up on things I need, and even checking up on me by texting or calling. Even when I don’t want to talk.

Am I in love with him? Is that what this is?

I was hidden from everything against my will during those dark years. And here comes this man, who is working with me to make my clone as I go to space, sweeping me off my feet with his ways that I never felt before.

I hope I’m right.

Wynnie is in the bathroom, curling her hair when she hears a knock on the door, making her pause.

Grabbing a bat she had hidden in the kitchen, she walks towards it cautiously, looking through the peephole to see who it was on the other side.

It was a man scrolling on his phone, who looked very familiar to Wynnie, but she couldn’t see his face. She opens the door carefully, holding the bat behind it.

The man looks up, revealing himself as Terrance, who smiles immediately.

"Oh, it’s just you.” she said, putting the bat next to the door.

“Good afternoon, Winona.” he replied.

She nods, looking at his outfit he’s wearing. A suede brown jacket, a button up white shirt, brown pants, and light brown shoes.

“You’re not hot?” she asked, watching him laugh a bit.

“I’m used to it. It’s a normal thing we do back home, so the heat doesn’t phase me.”

Wynnie says ‘hm’ as she looks at his shiny skin, which makes him look like he just got done working on a construction site, watching him lick his lips.

“Sorry, do you mind if I come in” he asked, breaking her gaze.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” as she steps to the side, watching him walk in.

Closing the door, she watches him look around the room, taking in the space before turning around to look at her.

“Nice place.” as he sat on the couch.

“Thanks.” she replied.

He looks at the table, seeing some of her workbooks sitting there open, which makes her feel slightly embarrassed as he picks one up, examining it.

“Your writing is getting better.” he said, looking at some of the words.

“Thank you.” as she smiled a bit. “Wait, how did you find my room? I never gave you that.”

“Well. Your very..enthusiastic landlord pointed me to the direction. After I showed her proof that I was your agent since she didn’t believe off word of mouth, of course.” as he puts it down.

Something Berlinda would do.

“Right. What are you doing here? Its Saturday. You guys are off the weekend.” as she sat down in one of the chairs in front of him.

“Well, I came out here cause Mel mentioned to me that there was a flower show being held at the convention center.” as he leaned forward.

“Yeah, I heard about it. Very expensive to get in too.”

“Which is why I’m here.”

She watches him with confusion as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out two tickets, placing them in front of her gently.

“I want to take you to it.”

Wynnie looks at him slightly surprised, picking one of them up to read.

“Since you leave in a month, and this runs til July, I thought it would be a nice opportunity for you to go and see it. Maybe indulge more of your inner child.” he added, watching her look a bit conflicted.

“I don’t know, Terrance…”

“What’s holding you back?”

“..myself. Feels like I’m taking advantage of everything you’re doing for me without doing anything for you.” she replied, placing it back on the table.

Terrance exhaled before getting up, causing her to look up. He walks up and kneels in front of her, seeing her look away instantly.

“Wynnie. You’re not taking advantage of me. You haven’t been. You been listening to my advice on how to heal from him and that cult, which you have done greatly on. I’m proud of you.” as he turns her face to him.

She looks at him, feeling him touch her hand before he squeezes it.

“You’re not used to someone doing nice things for you. I get it. It’s hard to get comfortable with that. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel bad about it if the person isn’t tripping about it. And I’m telling you I’m not.” as he stares at her.

“It’s my job to make sure you’re perfectly fine, whether I’m far or you’re asleep. That’s why I was assigned to you because they know I can transform you into a more happy and stable person. Everything you tell me, I come up with things I know you will love cause I see the way you instantly react when you see it. That’s what I’m looking for, Winona. A happy you ready for space.” as he smiles softly.

Wynnie blinks, not trying to cry as he takes out a handkerchief, wiping them away.

“So for the next few weeks we have left, I want you to accept the good things. Fuck the bad things, they don’t exist anymore. Just continue progressing for me. Can you do that?” he asked, looking at her.

She nods, smiling a bit as he got up, grabbing the tickets off the table.

“I’ll be downstairs while you get ready. Should be there in less than 15 since it’s not near the highway.” he said, walking to the door.

“I should be done soon. Just curling my hair.” she replied, seeing him nod.

“Alright. Don’t be too long, love.” as he opens the door, waving before he walked out.

Wynnie exhales, biting her lip as she feels her stomach flutter with butterflies over what he said.

Goddamn, he has her sprung.

10 minutes later, Terrance, leaning against his car, hears a door close, making him look at the stairs.

He sees Wynnie walking down, fixing her gold pendant earrings. Wearing a white milkmaid long dress with gold pattern, white sandals, and a brown straw bag, she looks perfectly dressed for someone attending a flower show.

“Atta girl.” he said as she walks towards him.

“Is it too much?” she asked, looking at it.

“No. I’m just underdressed.” he replied, making them both laugh.

He taps on the side of the car, which lifts the door up, hearing the car start. He helps her in, adjusting her dress before climbing it, watching it close.

“Do you not get worried it’ll malfunction and slice something off one day?” she asked, looking around the interior.

“No. We update these cars yearly to make sure it doesn’t happen, even if we stop making them.” he replied, tapping the car to move.

The car pulls out, jumping on the road and begins driving them to the convention center.

30 minutes later, they arrived and got their tickets scanned, beginning to walk through the doors, which was surrounded by walls of different flowers.

Wynnie’s eyes beamed, amazed by the different arrangements of each exhibition, from statues of people to dresses made of flower to the one built to hang like chandeliers from the ceiling.

“This is your first one?” asked Terrance, walking beside her.

“In a while. Used to go to the one in DC a lot when my grandma was still here.” as they passed rows of different colored Daffodils.

“Did she ever compete or they had requirements?”

She chuckles as she look at the pond filled with mini people wearing different petals as clothes or hairstyles, intrigued by the woman with jasmine as her dress and lavender as her cornrows.

“She did. After I begged her five years straight to do it. But they tried to play her when she first tried to enroll.” she replied, seeing him look at the exhibit below.

“What they do?”

“Because she didn’t belong to a shop or had a popular business outside of Columbia, they tried to charge her a seed fee, which is something unknown people had to pay to compete.”

“How much? $200?” he asked, thinking it couldn’t have been a lot.

“Add an extra zero.” she replied, seeing his eyes widen.

“$2,000?!” he yelps, accidentally making people turn to look at him.

He sends an apologetic smile, waving a bit, which Wynnie found cute as she looks at the next exhibit.

“They believed since the seeders’ exhibits are not going to come nowhere close to the experts and well respected, they should pay a lot of money for even submitting. She wanted to give up, but this guy, who used to buy flowers from her when he was a kid, heard about what happened, and not only did he pay her fee, he offered to build whatever design she was thinking of for free since he owned a construction company.” she replied, looking at the mini houses made with yarrows.

“So, she decided to do one based on the galaxy, but it was gonna be made out of night sky petunias since they were the closest ones to resemble it. Spray painted some sunflowers petals a glittery silver to make the stars.”

Terrance listens to her as she explained the different flowers used to make the planets and how she convinced them to see it when its dark as it would give it a luminous effect, watching her act very passionately as they walked through each exhibit.

“So, she showed it. It was sparkling in the darkness. The audience cheered. The judges took some notes without showing their true reactions and told us they’ll make their final decision when they finish looking at the rest.” as she sat on a bench.

He sat next to her, following her gaze at a portrait of Mona Lisa, made out of flowers.

“Those were the longest three days of my life. I thought she was getting played, assumed they already chose a winner before seeing hers. But she told me to be patient, and that she’s fine with whatever result comes out.” she continued.

“And she was proud to do this, accomplishing something I wished for her to do. Which is why she won, shocking everyone including me. Said they loved the determination in perfecting the details and how much support she had from the community that knows her, which made her a perfect underdog.”

She looks down at her ring, feeling some joy seeing the memory play in her head.

“What did she win?” he asked, making her look at him.

“$20,000 that went into my savings, her name on the trophy, a flower encyclopedia of that year’s edition that I cherished a lot, and free entry to the yearly flower show for life.”

“You had a lot of fun.” he said, a little smile on his face.

“I did. I did.” as her smile faded. “Now all of that is lost and in the past.”

He looks down, feeling bad as she got up, fixing her dress.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” she said, walking off.

He follows behind, watching her look at the art they’re passing.

A few minutes later, they are walking inside a room that is showcasing black women made of different flowers.

Wynnie is looking at the one where the woman is lying in a field of sunflowers, playing a guitar made of multicolored water lilies as some of them sits in her hair, amazed by it.

“What’s the significance with the sunflower and black women?” asked Terrance, coming next to her.

“Hm?” as she looks at him.

“Noticed every time I see the sunflower, one of you is associated with it. Is it a cultural thing?”

“I say so.” as she shrugged. “It can mean many different things to a lot of us. Which I always found interesting.”

“Like what?” as he leaned forward.

“Happiness due to its look. Good luck charm. Spirituality. Even helps build great relationships with people you feel like you can trust.”

“Is that why you choose it?”

“Actually, no.” as she turns to him with a little smile.

“I was actually a moonflower girl when I was first staring to knowing about the flowers in the garden.” she added, watching him be surprised.

“Little Wyn was not always a sunflower girl?” he asked in shocked tone, seeing her laugh.

“I was in love with the design and the concept of it glowing at night. So, I thought by blending that with the sunflower in a section, they would be the brightest flowers ever glowing at night.” as she moves down.

“Wow.” as he looks with delight, seeing her touch one that was allowed for the public to do.

“It was still the same, but I didn’t care because they looked cute together. Overtime, I started to become even more attached to the sunflower because of its yellow color. Drawing it, wearing it on my clothes, even had a little song I used to play on the piano.” as she picked it up, handing it to him.

He takes it, examining its petals and shape as she watched, seeing him gently touch its head.

“It’s almost like it’s delicate.” he said quietly, moving to its stem.

“It is. Needs its sunlight if you want it to last a while. And protection from the bad.” she said.

“Almost like you.” he utters, closing his mouth tightly after realizing what he said.

Wynnie looks at him, chucking lightly as she leans in, keeping her gaze.

“…You too.” as she touches his hand, feeling him jump back.

Terrance doesn’t say anything, smirking a little as he puts the flower back, gently grabbing her hand to walk, which takes her aback.

“So yeah.” as she coughs. “That explains why I like them so much.”

“It’s your symbol. Your…escapism.” he replied, feeling her squeeze his hand softly.

“Is that normal to have?”

“Of course. That defines you as a person who wants to get away from the bad.”

She smiles down as they went into another exhibition, with him leaning down to her ear.

“Just don’t let no one take that away from you again.” he whispered.

Wynnie nods, feeling him adjust his stance and pull her closer as they look as the huge display of glitter roses in a heart hanging up in front of them.

They spent the rest of day looking at more exhibits, with them catching each other’s looks, feeling the growing tension getting thicker and thicker.

Even when they were in the gift shop.

As Wynnie was looking at mini statues of flower people, she felt someone gently touching her, making her look back.

She saw Terrance there, looking at the mini plants in front of him as he was on the phone, talking to Mel while his hand traces over her arm.

He looks at her, realizing what he was doing and was about to pull away. She stopped him, bring his hand to her face. She rubs it against her face before placing soft kisses on it, hearing him softly groan as he watches, his lips twitching.

A sudden glass break broke them apart, making them go back to doing whatever they were doing and pretend that nothing happened. She bought nothing while he bought some things before they left, heading to the car.

Pulling into the parking lot of the diner, Terrance helps Wynnie out of the car, adjusting her dress before they walked in.

A soft 70s R&B song is playing as they walk up to a woman standing at the CHECK IN stand.

“Hello, welcome i—“ the elder black hostess began, stopping as she looked at Terrance.

“Terrance?! My OuterMore Guy I haven’t seen in three years?!” she yelps, watching him laugh as she hugs him, with him hugging back.

“Good to see you too, Ms. Gladys. Hope you’re holding up well.” said Terrance, looking at her.

“Always! You know they like working my ass as if I’m the only one here.”

He and Gladys laugh as the latter looks at Wynnie, who shyly waves back.

“Who’s this pretty woman you brought in here?” she asked gleefully.

“This is Winona. She’s my current assignment I’m helping with going to space soon. we’re just coming from the flower show.” he said, looking at Wynnie with fondness.

“Hello.” said Wynnie, watching Gladys nod.

“Ahh yes. I remember you explaining that program when you first started coming here. Congratulations on the big success, by the way.” she said happily.

“Coming here?” asked Wynnie, looking at him.

“Oh, let him explain it more when I sit y’all down so I don’t hold y’all up much longer.” as she grabbed menus from her stand, walking to the back.

They follow her to a table that is near the sign on the window, placing the menus on it.

“While y’all get settled in, may I get y’all something to drink?” she asked, taking out her pen and pad.

“I’ll do a Shirley Temple.” said Terrance.

“A Diet Coke.” said Wynnie as she sat down.

She shivers, in which he noticed. He removes his jacket, wrapping it around her, which she thanks him with a smile as he sits in front of her.

“Coming right up.” said Gladys, eyeing Terrance cheerily as she walked away, making him shake his head.

“So, you used to come here?” asked Wynnie, grabbing a menu.

“Yeah.” as he did the same. “Used to live out here since Iowa City had the rent price I could only afford when I first started with OuterMore.���

“This far?” she says sarcastically, remembering him being shocked at her, living out here from their first session.

“Yeah.” as he laughed. “This diner was my favorite place to go to for breakfast when I was leaving and dinner when I didn’t feel like cooking coming home.”

She nods, looking over the endless options as Gladys came back with their drinks, placing them in front of them.

“There you go.” she said, taking out the straws.

“Thank you.” both said in unison.

“Did you guys get a chance to look at the menu and figure out what you wanted to?”

“Oh, I already know what I want since it hasn’t changed. You ready, Wyn?” he asked, looking at her.

“Um…you can go ahead. I’m just debating between two dishes that sound good.” she replied.

He nods, looking at Gladys, who’s watching with a grin.

“I’ll start with the sample platter. Just incase she wants to try some of it.” he said, watching her write.

“What’s on that?”

“Chicken fingers, onion rings, and mozzarella sticks. Comes with honey mustard, ranch, BBQ sauce, and marinara. Pretty good.” said Gladys.

“Ooh. That does sound good.” she replied before resuming her reading.

“And then, I’ll do the cheeseburger deluxe. Same order: Swiss cheese, spicy mayo, no onions, and no pickles. Side of fries and broccoli. Medium.” he said, hearing Gladys laugh as she finished writing.

“Never forgot.” as she takes his menu. “And for you, Miss Winona?”

“I’ll do the honey barbecue chicken strip melt. Instead of the cheddar cheese, can I do provolone instead?” asked Winona.

“Sure, but that will be a $1.25 charge for the cheese change.”

“Oh. Then, I’ll just ke—“

“That’s fine with me.” said Terrance, cutting her off, which she looks at him surprised.

“Terrance, you don’t have to pay extra cause of my tastebuds.”

“And why not? It’s not like I can’t make it back the more time I spend with you.”

“Bu-“

“But nothing. Remember what I said earlier, pretty girl.”

She smiles humorously, trying to not show that him calling her that was adding to her growing fervor.

“…was that before or after you touched me?” she asked slyly.

Terrance looks at her surprised, biting his cheek a bit as he took a sip of his drink, beginning to feel hot as Wynnie watches with excitement.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Gladys, looking at them back and forth.

“No.” they said in unison, looking at each other.

“Well then.” as she laughed. “What did you want for your sides?”

“I’ll do french fries and broccoli as well. Can I also get honey mustard on the side?” said Wynnie.

Gladys nods, writing it down before taking her menu.

“Alright. Food shouldn’t be too long since we ain’t *that busy right now. Be back to check on y’all just incase.

They nodded, watching her leave before turning the attention back to each other, their need growing.

“You look good wearing my jacket.” he said, looking at her seductively.

“Don’t get us in trouble.” she said, sipping her drink as he laughed.

“Like you didn’t just allude to me touching you in a different way in front of Ms. Gladys.”

“I know you wanted to. Since you couldn’t stop sneaking pictures of me while we were walking.”

“Its for your file. Not for personal use.” as he looked out of the window.

“…you also look adorable being in your comfort zone.” he added, feeling her eyes looking at him.

“Thank you.” she said quietly.

He looks at her, taking in her subtleness as she tugs on his jacket flap, watching her hair bounce.

An hour passes and they’re laughing over their food, discussing a funny memory of Terrance and Mel during their MIT days.

“I cannot picture you running down the streets of Boston streaking.” she said, holding in her laugh.

“I did cause I lost that bet to Mel.” as he chuckled. “The Kings let me down with letting the fucking Nets sweep.”

“That’s on you for being a Kings fan.” as she bit into her melt.

“I’m not. I like the Thunder.”

“Even worse.” as she was chewing.

He chuckled as he ate some of his fries, watching her softly eat the broccoli. They ate in silence for a few minutes before she stopped, watching him eat.

“Can I ask you something? It’s a little personal.” she said, watching him stop.

“Go for it.” as he leaned back.

“…do you miss London? Like do you ever feel a bit lonely out here?”

He thought about it, feeling her presence luring around him as a song and conversations from other people fills the room.

“I’ll say this: I don’t really think about it as much as I would for reasons I don’t want to talk about.” as he leans forward.

“However, I do miss my favorite cousin, my favorite aunts, a few uncles and other cousins. I miss the meals, the laughs, and the banter we always had together. And I do regret not going to my grandmother’s funeral when she passed.” he said, feeling sadness coming out.

“But because I couldn’t put my issues aside for that, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Nor hear her say how proud she was of me accomplishing my dreams of running this program. That’s all.” he added, seeing her have a gloomy expression on her face.

He continues eating, ending the conversation as she gently rubs his hand, feeling bad for asking.

“Sorry for your loss.” she said, seeing him look up.

“Don’t be. We all have or had to deal with it. It’s always up to you how you want to move on.” he replied, wrapping his hand around hers.

She smiles, feeling him relax a little more before looking out the window.

They got their food packed into to-go boxes as he paid, said goodbye to Ms Gladys, and got into the car, taking them back to Starland before he headed home.

Walking up the stairs to her room, he watched their area both ways as she unlocked the door, opening it.

“Well. Thank you for today, Terrance. I really appreciated it.” as she turns to look at him.

“Anytime, Wyn. Especially with the little we have left.” he replied, staring at her happily.

She nods as she turns to walk in, but is stopped by him grabbing her arm, making her look back.

“Yes?” she asked with a raised brow.

He brings his other arm from behind, revealing a medium-size paper bag in his hand.

“Here.” he said, handing it to her.

“What’s this?” as she takes it, placing her food and bag on the tv.

“Some things I think you might like. Open it.”

She smiles as she takes out a book, which was the new edition of the encyclopedia of flowers, her eyes lighting up instantaneously.

“There’s more in there.” he said, pointing at it.

She squints at him before reaching back in, pulling out three small rolls of paper, with him grabbing the bag to hold.

After placing the book against the wall, she unwrapped them one by one. The first one was a sunflower haired black woman figurine, which looked similar to her. The second one was a moonflower dress young girl with pigtails figurine. And the last one was a piano figurine, made out of bearded irises.

Joy and appreciation all over her.

“Thank you.” as she hugged him tightly.

“No problem.” he replied, hugging her back.

“But I still feel bad though!” as she playfully nudged him, watching him smile.

“I feel like I haven’t given you anything so far.”

“You don’t have to give anything I don’t already have. You’re already doing that by letting me be around you. Trusting me with everything we’ve done so far. That’s something at least.” he said, giving her reassurance.

“…even the unspoken?” she asked cutely.

Terrance smirks as looks her up and down, noticing her slight blushing.

“That too.” he whispered.

She nods before placing the figurines in the bag and taking it, putting it on the tv before stepping closer to him.

They look at each other shyly as he steps closer, closing in the distance between them.

He traces over her face, taking in her small little freckles as she looks at his eyes, which are shining a brownish-green color under the hallway lights.

Wynnie gasps softly, not used to a man being gentle with his moves as Terrance pushes her hair behind her ear, leaning in a bit.

He hears her breathing slowly as he does the same on the other side, feeling her lean against her door as he stops at her lips, looking at her.

He crashes his lips onto hers, hunger slightly taking over him. She wraps her arms around his back, fighting back with her tongue as he cups her ass, squeezing it a bit.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at her as they both pant hard, lips a little red.

She begins kissing him again, rubbing his neck as he lifts her up, carrying her inside and closing the door with his foot.

Laying her against the bed, he pushes her skirt up as he rubs her legs, laying in between them as she moans, rubbing her hands under his shirt over his abs, hearing his groan.

“You got me hard right now, you know?” he whispers as he breaks the kiss again, grabbing one of her hands and putting it over his growing member.

She squeezes it gently, shocked at how thick it was for someone as slim he was. She kisses him again before pushing him onto his back, getting on her knees as he watches with a lewd expression.

She grabs his belt and begins to unbuckle it, gently pulls his pants down and stops at his member moving a bit in his underwear. She plays soft kisses around it, hearing his breath hitch.

As Terrance was enjoying seeing this side of Wynnie, he started to feel a huge wave of guilt coming over, feeling like he shouldn’t be doing this with her as he shouldn’t be stepping over his boundaries.

She wraps her hands around the waist band, beginning to pull them down when his hands stops her, gently removing them as he sits up, making her look up in confusion.

“Sorry. But I can’t let this go further.” he said, helping her to the bed before standing up.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, a worrying expression on her face.

“No.” as he pulls his pants up, buttoning them.

“I did. I crossed the line by kissing you when I shouldn’t have.” he added, seeing her look away.

“You’re my assignment. I’m suppose to be helping you for space and other you, not…going for my own needs.”

Wynnie feels heaviness coming into her body, feeling stung by his sudden decision to stop.

“….but I have needs too.” she said, sadness in her voice.

Terrance looks down, feeling awful for what he did, but felt like it was a good decision to make.

“I know. We both do. But it’s best we keep them *hidden and maybe wait until after you come back.” he said, stepping back.

Wynnie nods, looking up as he opens the door, stepping out.

“Good night, Winona.” as he looks back at her.

She doesn’t say anything, looking down as tears fall down her face, her pain slowly coming out.

He leaves, closing the door behind him.

Rubbing his face in humiliation, he walks down the stairs and gets into the car, looking up at her hotel room window. He lays back as the car pulls off, with rain beginning to pick up.

Wynnie collapses onto the bed, her cries filling the room as she lays in a fetal position.

She doesn’t know if she hates him for leaving her like this, or she understands why he stopped before he went too far. What she doesn’t know for sure if everything is going to be normal when she sees him on Monday for their next meeting.

Wynnie is sleeping in her bed peacefully after what happened last night with Terrance.

Suddenly, she is awoken by loud banging on the door, making her jump up. She looks at the clock, which read 7:15, annoying her.

“Who the fuck…” she began to say, marching to the door.

Grabbing the bat, she quickly unlocks and swings the door open, ready to fight whoever it is behind it.

She hold herself back when she notices Berlinda standing there, guilt over her face.

“Berlinda? What are you doing here so early? You don’t usually come in till 9:30.” she said, confused.

“I know. Bert called out, so I’m working his shift as well.” replied Berlinda.

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“You’re good!” she exclaimed. “So good. How was your date to the flower show?”

Wynnie scoffed loudly, surprising her.

“Oh, it must’ve ended bad.” she replied, watching Wynnie shake her head.

“No, no. It wasn’t a date. He just wanted to take me cause I like flowe…” she began, noticing an envelope in her hands.

“What’s that?” she asked, worry come across her face.

“Sorry I have to do this, but I couldn’t let it happen without you knowing.” Berlinda began in a somberly tone.

“Have to do what?”

“You have to be out of here by 6:30 tomorrow night. There’s a new immediate change the policy and unfortunately, Starland can no longer take any government assistance program as payment.”

“What?!” said Wynnie, anger all over her.

“You have to be joking. I just paid y’all Friday!” she added, with Berlinda shaking her head.

“Trust me. I was surprised myself when I got the email. Especially with the timing because we have a dust storm that’s about to hit us soon.” she said, watching Wynnie’s eyes fill up.

“They can’t do that. It has to be illegal to evict someone after getting their payment.” she said softly.

“I checked and checked to see if maybe you can somehow get a case out of this. Unfortunately, you can’t as Iowa doesn’t have a law or it violates something like that. I’m sorry, Winona.”

Wynnie exhales loudly, now having to spend the day packing her things and figuring out what she’s gonna do for shelter after she sees Terrance tomorrow.

Berlinda hands her the envelope, in which she takes. She immediately opens it, seeing the money she’s giving her for the last month being in there.

“I’m not supposed to give you that back, but I just couldn’t let you go without returning it because I don’t know what you’re gonna do after tomorrow since it’s very last minute.” said Belinda.

Wynnie hugs her tightly, crying a bit as the latter hugs her back.

“Thank you, B. I’ll be fine because I’ll always figure it out. You been very good to me these two months I been staying here.” she said, smiling a bit.

“You’ll always have my help, Wynnie. Even if I’m far.” Berlinda replied, smiling back.

“Well, I’m gonna start packing so I don’t have to drive back to grab my things after tomorrow.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need extra boxes.”

Wynnie nods, seeing her walk away before closing the door, locking it immediately.

Suddenly, her breathing becomes pitchy, but this time, she lets it happen, letting out a heartbreaking scream as she collapses to the floor, crying.

Last night’s ending was already bad, but this morning is already starting off worse.

How the hell is she gonna find somewhere new to stay approximately 36 hours before the dust storm hits Iowa?

A/N II: I do apologize for it being a little slow, but i like to build up as Terrance is quite an alluring character. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984 @turbulentvoids @fadingcherryblossompeach @angryflowerwitch @amethyst09 @motheroffae @cerya @thatitbitch @darkfairymoon @j0ysyndr0m3 @blaqueberryk @theogbadbitch @megamindsecretlair @zillasvilla @kumkaniudaku @that-one-anxious-mango @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[mi-co-uk]

empty pages

─── expired reader has been told she's dying. but how much does it matter if she wanted to anyway? best friend matt is heartbroken to be losing the girl he never shared his feelings for - until now.

expired reader x matt

a/n poured my heart and soul into this chapter please read 😞

warnings: mentions of sickness DO NOT READ IF you have issues with health anxiety as i think it will be quite triggering, consistent theme of death and dying aswell as suicidal thoughts. SERIES ITSELF will contain angst fluff and smut <3

wc: 1.5k

PART ONE

the phantom pressure on your neck tightens. warmth clinging to your eyes while you try and swallow down relentless sobs.

the road passes the window, your grip on the seat belt to ground yourself. your entire body is tense and you can't relax, prevented by cyclical thoughts of how you can't breathe, you can't function, you can't do anything.

you don't know how you're supposed to feel.

youve spent your entire life begging for the end and now youre a walking time bomb. you don't even know when it'll happen. it could be tommorow, it could be in one month or six. it could be right this second.

or this second. or this one.

is it bad that you want it to be?

saves you from waiting. and everyone else.

your upset morphs into bitterness. of course the death you get involves having a probable psychological reset, ending up in seeing the value in living for once. why couldn't it just happen?

like a heart attack or a car crash. it's wrong to want but you can't stand waiting. the hyperattentitive listening to your breath, your pulse. hoping they'll just stop. they don't. but one day you'll go to check and they will. and it'll all be over.

how the fuck would anyone cope knowing that?

"what you thinkin'?"

he reaches his hand over to you, inviting it as an alternate to the seat belt you were still choking. you accept the offer - fiddling with his fingers and rings. how do you explain this to mr perfect? mr happy. matt wouldn't consider himself mr happy, but he's your happy.

"'m angry. I think."

"me too." his voice was softer than his implication.

his thumb caresses the skin of your thigh, your gaze fixed on the front view mirror. youre glad he came with you to the appointment. you don't think you could've reiterated what the doctors and everyone said. you also weren't entirely listening.

all you had to do was ask him to come and he did. simple enough to say but hes the only person in your life who would. its always trades and even deals instead of actually caring about you enough to just do it.

but at the same time, you know why matt does it. he isnt exactly shy about his feelings, constantly flirting and staring. its purer than perceivable but that makes it all the harder to accept. being around matt feels like living, which is more than you feel worthy of.

"dunno what im supposed to do." you mumble out.

matt pauses before responding, "what d'ya wanna do?"

die. live. suffocate. survive.

it feels as though youve been living that cycle since you were born.

rotting. waiting.

does the death sentence actually change anything?

watching. listening.

you always thought you'd pass away by your own hand. isn't this essentially the same?

breathing.

do you change nothing? do you pretend you're the same?

"could do anything you want." he continues, interrupting your emotional spiral from unravelling further. "what's first?"

his hand quickly shifts to the gearstick, beginning to pull into the driveway of your house. when still, he returns his hand to the place on your thigh, turning his gaze towards you in the passenger seat.

"nothing?"

a small smirk appears on his face. "yeah we can do that."

────୨ৎ────

the movie you don't care about filters the silence of the room. you try to focus on your own breathing - monitoring the normality of it. your head is pressed against matts chest as his arms are resting around you. youre certain matt isnt paying much attention to the movie either.

its as if you're a walking hypothetical. people speculate about how they'd react if they find out they had a limited time left to live. it's all fun and games, imagining the perfect reaction and final moments but it's all unrealistic. you can't just decide immediately the best course of action and you can barely name the emotions you feel about the fact you're going to fucking die.

you hear his breath hitch before he takes a deep inhale. oh god.

"can I um- can I ask you something?"

"matt-"

"I know you don't wanna have this conversation b-but we need to have it."

you push yourself out of his grasp and sit up, knees pressed close to your chest in avoidance. matt becomes even more timid following the distance you created between you, sitting up and placing himself beside you.

"you know how I feel." he strains out his words, fearful of how you'd receive them. "a-and I just think we should talk about them while-" he chokes a sob as you finally meet his gaze to see how glossy his eyes had become. "while we can."

you shift yourself closer - wrapping your arms around the top of his back as matt instinctively reciprocates the hug. it's a tight grip, forcing closeness as if you'll evaporate if he isn't quick. "'m sorry" you whisper while you press kisses onto matts brown locks, fingers beginning to twirl them in a soothing manner. you're filled with relief when his breathing settles into an even pace.

"is it really fair on you, matt? 'm not-" your voice loses certainty as you feel the warmth return to your eyes. "'m not gonna be here long."

he only hugs you tighter, "don't care."

matt couldn't just watch you die, not when he'd essentially been doing that since you met. he didn't understand his role, or if he even had one.

was he suppose to use those final months the way he wanted to spend the years with you as he'd imagined? or was that unfair? he'd have to move on eventually, at least that was your stance on the situation. matt was sure he wouldn't. especially not if you left him this soon. you'd formed an imprint on his heart, one that he undoubtedly cherished and always would until the day he died.

"i-i can't, matt" your voice is laced with regret, the words beginning to echo through matts mind. "I can't" you mutter quietly, repeating it almost as if you're promising something to yourself.

a sob escapes you, matt retreating slightly to cup your face in his hands gently. he starts wiping the swimming tears with his thumb as you sob quietly, your hands placed on the top of his. "'s not fair" you mumble out. matt shakes his head in agreement. you reach your arms around the back of his neck, matt reciprocates the gesture and wraps his arms around your lower back, allowing him to cradle you in his lap. he rubs soothing patterns on your back while you softly weep buried in the crook of his neck.

"I just," you sniff, "just want control over my own life," matt begins placing delicate kisses on your shoulder blade, each placed with intent as if trying to transfer his own life to yours.

"could um, could make a list? of everything you wanna do?" he whispers softly inbetween kisses.

you hesitate for a moment before nodding as you rest on matts shoulder.

"not now" you mumble, too exhausted and relaxed against matt to want to get up.

"not now, okay" he agrees, "just stay there, yeah?" he begins to lean himself more securely against the headboard as he ensures your comfort in his grasp. your breathing is calmer now, peering up to admire matt as he comforts you, fiddling with your hair. seeing you relax calms matt down too, he focuses on your breathing while he admires your features. "any ideas?" he queries with a small smile on his face, wanted to lighten the atmosphere.

you ponder for a moment, meeting matts loving gaze and scanning his face.

"wanna.. get high" matt chuckles in response, not having any guesses but regardless, that wasn't what he anticipated.

"yeah?" he smirks, glad to see your personality shine through despite the weight of the day so far.

"and get really drunk" you mirror matt in giggles, his laugh shaking you as you lay against him. "like say something stupid drunk"

"what's stupid to say?" he says inbetween small chuckles.

"I dunno, i gotta get drunk and find out!"

your laughs layer together, the same way they always had. reminding you of your whole life thus far, matt relentlessly sticking by your side through-out.

"kinda want a dog" you begin thinking out loud, evaluating all your options. "but I don't want it to end up alone."

matts smile wavers slightly but he pushes forwards nonetheless. "I could look after it," despite matts desperation to avoid acknowledging the very likely fact he'll eventually be living in a world without you, he knows he has to. if he's afraid then how could you not be? "yknow, after."

you push yourself closer to him, inhaling his scent and indicating for him to hold you tighter. the idea of your own death making you feel more fragile than ever.

"be like a mini me for when I'm gone." matt nods in agreement, not trusting himself to give a verbal response. he places a kiss to your temple, earning a giggle from you as well as a return to a smile on both of your faces.

"what else?"

────୨ৎ────

NAVIGATION

AU MASTERLIST

<- PREVIOUS

NEXT ->

p.s im quite proud of some parts of this chapter 😞 also I've ironically had a couple health scares since I made this au but yas I hope you enjoyed :3 also this chapter is dedicated to @mattsstarlet for giving me the motivation to start writing this chapter :3

taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @faiyaz555 @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @baebadoobee4ever @fw-lee @afr8idofrats @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @chrxsprettygirl @franticroads @m4gz-png @sosasturns @clairomatt @allisonclairee @mattshorsenecklace @whor3ing @matts-girlfriend @obsessedwiththesturniolos @shadowthesim237 @xeneasworld @chrisslut04 @jetaimevous @eeyoresturnz @vanteguccir

[cut-the-camera]

Crashing as Liam Lawson's boyfriend

Liam Lawson x Male! F1 Driver! Reader

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of car accidents, hospitals, injuries and a brief mention of vomit

You and Liam spent nearly every day together, you raced against each other by day but absolutely adored each other everywhere else.

It wasn't something he really worried about too much, he knew in the back of his mind that it was dangerous but he'd had clips himself and watched you get into little scrapes before so he was never too worried about one of you getting hurt

The two of you do little things like kiss for luck and tell each other to be safe but he never really considered why you did those things, they just felt right to do

That was until one weekend. When your car screeched against the concrete, spinning like a rollercoaster, slamming into the barriers making the whole area stand still and silent for approximately two seconds before shit went crazy

Fans gasp, commentators panicked and engineers flapped about instantly getting on the radios to order the drivers away from the incident

The engineers likely made the decision to not even tell him who it was at first that had crashed in the interest of his own safety because if they had have told him he likely would have momentarily lost control of the car

"Red Flag! Liam Red Flag!"

"Yeah okay what's going on?" He asked, already on edge, slowing down significantly.

"Uh there's been an accident"

"Is everyone alright?" there's an eerie silence on the other side for a moment prompting a second question from Liam, "hello?"

When they deemed it safe to tell him he flipped, having to be held in the garage to stop him from rushing out to find you

if he saw it happen or was anywhere near he nearly instantly gets out of the car to rush over to you even if doing that got him disqualified or fined an obscene amount of money

While waiting for news from the medical team on the track, he was physically sick in the garage because he was so nervous, bringing everything he ate before the race back up, likely on the shoes of some poor Racing Bulls engineer.

He bit and chewed his lip until it bled, clasped his hands in a silent prayer and just kept whispering to himself, 'please be okay please be okay'

If the crash was the fault of anyone other than you, they immediately got chewed out, it doesn't matter who it was, another driver, your engineer, your fucking manager for all he cared he just needed to yell at someone to feel like he was protecting you.

If it was a team problem or some kind of neglect on someone's end he is absolutely not quiet about it at all. He calls out everyone he possibly can whether that's in interviews, on twitter or just to some fan that stopped him from an interview even if he's advised against speaking about it

He doesn't quite know what to do with all of the fear he has so he just starts screaming at anyone who will listen to him whether it's their fault or not

"Are you fucking stupid?! You could have killed him you fucking bastard!"

"Liam calm dow-"

"DON'T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN!"

He doesn't cry, not until the two of you get home and then he finally lets himself break. Tears rolling down his cheeks as he tells you just how scared he was to lose you

He doesn't let you go for the rest of the night at all, constantly asking if you're alright or if you need some water or if you feel dizzy or-

"Liam I'm fine," you had to insist as he fluttered around you in a nervous state

If you're too hurt to come home and end up in hospital, that's when he starts bawling. He's at your side holding your hand, watching the rise and fall of your breath to prove to himself that he hasn't lost you yet

He stays by your side the whole time, holding you hand, resting his head on your chest and cursing at every nurse that even tries to get him to leave you

The two of you watch cars in bed while you recover with him holding you just that little bit too tight to make sure you don't leave his side

He worries about you pushing yourself too hard, urging you to take time off if you need it and take ti easy in training but you're highly unlikely to listen to that (he will lovingly scold you if you end up hurting yourself even more)

He'll help you with anything that you need whether that's just some encouragement after you confidence took a hit or something more serious like helping you with tasks if you broke something and with physical therapy treatments if your injuries were that bad

When you did eventually return to the track, there were a lot more kisses for luck and 'please be safe's' before races and he held you for just a few seconds longer before you both went your separate ways to the garages

AN: Hello!! I've recently developed a raging crush on Liam so expect a few more of these fics. Apologies for being radio silent for a while, I have been busier than I have ever been in my life with all the film projects I've been on but hopefully I'm going to have a lot more free time now!!

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