#after disappearing for months or years one by one

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ELEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of severe anemia; pregnancy; abortion

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe sat in his truck outside the unassuming brick building for longer than he’d care to admit, over two hours. The sign out front read “Coastal Therapy Center” in simple, soothing letters, but nothing about this felt soothing.

Therapy. 

If someone had told him just three months ago he’d be here, he would have laughed in their face. Therapy was for weak people, that was what Ward Cameron had drilled into him since he was a kid. It was the kind of shit he’d spent his whole life avoiding because, what was the point? Nothing ever changed. Not for him, not for his so-called family.

After his mom died, Ward’s solution was to bury it—all of it. Grief, pain, confusion. “Camerons don’t cry,” he’d said. “We keep moving forward.” But what if forward felt like walking through hell?

The door felt impossibly far away, but he knew he had to get out.

“Get your shit together man,” he muttered under his breath.

He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, unforgiving. Weak. Pathetic. That same voice had driven him for years, pushed him to be stronger, tougher, to bury every fucking thing he felt. But it wasn’t Ward’s voice that mattered now, it was yours, the Picture of your eyes shining with tears the last time you’d spoken to him.

He glanced at the building again, still not knowing if he believed in it, if it could fix whatever was broken inside him. But he did know one thing: if he didn’t at least try, he’d lose you for good.

Rafe exhaled sharply, shoving open the truck door, but before he walked it, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, the flame sputtering before finally catching. He took a drag, the smoke burning his lungs in a way that almost felt good.

He exhaled slowly, watching the gray wisps disappear into the air. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. He should just leave. Get back in the truck, drive somewhere, anywhere but here. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked back to the door. One foot in front of the other, he told himself, although it felt like walking to his own execution.The waiting room was quiet, with soft music playing in the background. 

He hated it already. He didn’t belong here, but he chose to stay, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t stop his legs from bouncing as he waited for the receptionist to notice him.

When she eventually looked up and smiled, he nodded stiffly, avoiding her. He didn’t want her kindness. Didn’t deserve it. Rafe wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when he walked into that first session. 

He didn’t know how to explain the mess, the voices in his head, the anger that raged over and the guilt that followed like a shadow. But he knew why he was here.

When the therapist finally called his name, Rafe hesitated for half a second before standing. She looked normal enough—glasses, sweater, clipboard—but it still made his skin crawl. He felt like she could see through him, as if she already knew all the shit he’d done and thought and didn’t want to admit to anyone, especially himself.

“Rafe?” she called again, her voice patient. He didn’t deserve that either, but he nodded and followed her to the room.

It was small, the kind of place that made him feel like a caged animal, he sat on the couch because what the hell else was he supposed to do, and stared at the floor, picking at a thread on his jeans.

“So,” she started, sitting across from him, crossing her legs like this was just a normal conversation. “What brings you here today?”

 “Huh, what doesn’t?” he said before he could stop himself. He glanced up at her, half expecting her to kick him out right there.

But she didn’t, instead she simply nodded, like she got it, she’d heard worse. 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s start with whatever feels the hardest.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. 

Where the fuck was he even supposed to start? His mom dying? His dad? The drugs, the fights, the hole he’d dug so deep he wasn’t sure he’d ever crawl out? Or maybe with you, with the way he’d pushed you away until you had no choice but to hate him?

“I don’t know,” he said finally. His eyes stayed glossed over on a spot on the carpet “I guess...uh, I should start with my mom, right? She died when I was fourteen. Leukemia.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just nodded like she was giving him space to keep going. He hated the silence, how much it made him feel, but he kept going, because if he was going to do this shit right, he might as well not half-ass it.

““I’m sorry to hear that,” she said gently. “What do you remember most about her? What was she like?”

Rafe’s lips twitched, “She was… everything, y’know?” His throat felt sore, “I know everyone says that shit about their mom, but she really was. She was the one who kept everything together. When my dad was being—” 

He stopped short, his jaw twitching at how hard he bite his tongue.

“When he was being what?” the therapist prompted.

“When he was being him, she was the one who’d step in. She’d tell him to back off, that I was just a kid, or that I didn’t deserve whatever shit he was throwing at me that day. She was the only one who ever really had my back.”

“How did losing her affect your relationship with your dad?”

“It changed everything. When she got sick, it was like… I don’t know, like everything just fell apart. She was the glue, y’know? Without her, my dad just—he went full-on Ward Cameron.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard, “I remember the day she died,” he said after a long pause. “I thought I’d have more time. They kept saying it was bad, but I didn’t think it would happen that day. And then it did. Just like that.”

He rubbed his hands together, the motion frantic, restless. “I didn’t even cry. I just sat there, staring at the floor while my dad kept saying, ‘We’ll get through this. We’re Camerons. We don’t fall apart.’ And I was like, okay, I guess that’s what we’re doing then. Not falling apart. Just… moving forward.”

“What does that mean to you, ‘full-on Ward Cameron’?”

“It means he turned me into his fucking project.”

“Did he ever talk to you about what you were feeling? About how hard it was to lose her?” the therapist asked, her tone pointed.

“No,” Rafe said immediately,“My dad never wanted to talk about it. He acted like it was this... inconvenience. Yeah, he was sad, but he just buried it, wanted me to do the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” she prompted

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. 

“I’m the oldest, out of three. Not just the oldest— the only son. Wen she died, my dad decided I had to step up, be the man of the house. Take care of my sisters, keep everything running smoothly. Be his goddamn mini-me, like that was even possible. I was fourteen, but that shit didn’t matter. My dad expected me to bury all the shit I was feeling, I had to be twice as strong because I was the only man left.”

“How did that make you feel?” she asked, her tone measured but firm.

“How do you think it made me feel?” he snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He sighed, leaning forward again and dropping his head into his hands. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” she nodded, not the least bit fazed, “But I think it’s important to answer that question. How did it make you feel?”

“Like shit,” he admitted after a long pause. “I couldn’t do anything right. I was pissed at him for putting all of that on me, pissed at my sister for needing me, pissed at her for dying and leaving me with all this. And most of all, pissed at myself because no matter what I did, it was never enough. Not for him, not for me.”

“Do you think you could have stopped it?” the therapist asked softly.

Rafe’s head snapped up at that, but then he shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I know I couldn’t, it wasn’t my fault. But it felt like it was, if I’d been better—smarter, stronger—she would’ve stayed. Or at least… she would’ve been proud of me for trying.”

He hasn't said it out loud since that night, with you.

She pursed her lips, as she took notes, “You should give yourself more credit, for how much you’ve survived.”

“Credit? For what? Being a fuck-up?”

She barely looked up from her notebook, changing the direction of her questions, “What do you think your mom would say to you now, if she could?” 

Rafe’s throat tightened, and he looked away, “I don’t know. Fuck, maybe... maybe she’d say she’s proud of me for being here. For trying to fix it, even if I should’ve done it years ago,” He paused, swallowing hard. “She probably would think I’m a fucking idiot, I pushed away the one person who actually fucking mattered.”

“Who’s that?” the therapist asked gently.

“My girlfriend,” He bit his tongue, the word stinging, “Ex-girlfriend now, I guess. After my dad died, I just—I started pushing her away. Picking fights over Ward, shutting her out when she tried to help me see the truth about him,” He swallowed hard, his throat burning. 

He hadn’t expected to feel this vulnerable, but now that he’d started talking about you, about what he’d ruined, it was hard to stop.

“She’s the one, y’know?” he muttered, his voice distant as though he was speaking to himself more than anyone else. “I fucked it all up.”

“What happened?”

Rafe let out a shaky breath.

“I was an asshole. I told her I didn’t need her, that she should just leave, like it wasn’t me who was the fuckin’problem. She did—she left, thought if I cut her loose or pushed her away, maybe I wouldn’t feel so fucking broken. Maybe if I wasn’t constantly looking at her and seeing everything I couldn’t be, I could... I don’t know. Get my shit together or some bullshit.” He rubbed his temples, frustration mounting “But then, like a fucking idiot, I started seeing someone else. All I could think about was how much it would hurt her if she found out. And it did.” His voice cracked, “It fucking destroyed her, I knew it would. That’s the worst part—I fucking knew, and I still let it happen, like the selfish piece of shit I am.”

He pressed his palms to his eyes, hoping it could block out the memory of you—your tear-streaked face.

“What do you think that relationship was about?”

His fists clenched again, “A distraction? I thought if I just... started fresh, started with someone who didn’t know all my baggage, someone who wouldn’t make me feel like I was constantly failing, I could just... forget. Forget everything. Forget her, forget my dad, forget how fucked up I was.”

“And did it help you forget?” she asked, her voice steady, but full of understanding.

“No,” He gritted out, “I couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when I was with someone else. Every time I closed my eyes, it was her face I saw. Her voice I heard in my head, telling me I could do better, be better. Shit, all I could do was prove her wrong.”

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her expression compassionate. “It sounds like she means a great deal to you.”

“Talking about her,” He paused, wincing as if he was in physical pain, “She’s just—fuck, man—she’s always in my head. It’s worse than talking about my parents, worse than remembering my mom dying or my dad. Because with them, it’s just... loss, y’know? Her? I had her, she was there. She loved me, and I ruined it.”

“What do you think she would say to you now, if she could hear this?” the therapist suggested, “You don’t have to think about it, if you don’t want to.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He chuckled, but it came out jagged “Shit, that sounded real fuckin’ pathetic, huh? I can’t even talk about her without losing my shit.”

“It’s not pathetic. Give it a try.”

“I don’t know,” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his noise, “That it’s too late? She’s done with me, and I deserve it. I think she’d still tell me to get my shit together and she’s proud of me for trying, even if I’m still the same fucked-up mess I was when she left, even if she hates me. That’s the kind of person she is.” His throat tightened again, and he looked away. “But even if she did, it doesn’t change the fact that I broke her heart.”

The therapist let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again. “It’s clear that you’re carrying a lot of pain, not just from losing her, but from how you see yourself in all of this. Have you ever thought about what it might look like to forgive yourself?”

“Forgive myself?” Rafe repeated, his voice incredulous. He shook his head, scoffing. “I don’t even... know what that would look like, y’know?” His leg started bouncing again, the restless energy coursing through him. “How do you even do that? Is there, uh, like, a fucking manual or something for that shit?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head, “I keep replaying it. All the shit I said to her.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just watched him, her expression poised. He hated that, how calm she was when he felt like he was losing it.

He huffed, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, yeah, maybe that’s why I’m here. I don’t even know where to fucking start. It’s just—fuck, it’s just a lot. Too much.”

“It’s a lot of guilt for just one person, Rafe,” she pointed out, “Your mom, your dad, your relationship. And I think you’re right—talking about it won’t change the past, but it might help you figure out how to move forward.”

He scoffed “Yeah, okay. Move forward. Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But it’s possible. You don’t have to figure it all out today, or even next month.” 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You’ve already started,” she pointed out. “You’re here.”

You’re here. 

Those two words rattled around in his skull. He was here, but why? To make himself feel better? To prove to himself—or you—that he could do this, could change? Did he even believe that?

He thought about the nights he spent pacing his room, phone in hand, your number glowing on the screen. He’d wanted to call, to apologize, to beg, but he couldn’t. What would he even say? 

Rafe let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping, his foot tapping out an uneven rhythm. He didn’t have it in him to argue, not anymore. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here.”

He was there, sure, but the room still felt small, the air dirty, his own body too restless to sit still for another second. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs, his nails biting into the fabric of his levi’s.

“You say you’re a mess, but you’re here,” the therapist said after a moment, her tone even. “You’re talking about it, trying to figure out what went wrong and what you can do to make it right. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s given up.”

He wanted her to push, to give him a reason to bolt out of there, to justify why this whole thing was a stupid mistake. But she didn’t, she was waiting like she had all the time in the world.

“Why’s it gotta be like this, huh? Why does everything have to hurt so f-fucking much? Why can’t I just... be normal? Like everyone else?”

“Normal is a lot more complicated than it looks. What does ‘normal’ mean to you?”

He scoffed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. Not waking up every day feeling like... like there’s this weight on my chest.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze firm but not invasive. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life,” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like... I can’t turn it off, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the space around him. “It’s just there. Always.”

“You mentioned earlier that you feel like you’re not enough,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Not enough for who?”

“For anyone,” he said immediately, then paused, his throat tightening. “For my dad, for my sisters... for her. I mean, shit, if I can’t even be enough for me, how the fuck am I supposed to be enough for anyone else?”

The therapist smiled faintly, not unkindly. “That’s what we’re here to understand.”

Two hours later and 300$ short, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat, the screen lighting up with two missed calls and a flood of texts. All from Topper. 

Rafe grabbed the phone, unlocking it with his thumb and scrolling through the messages.

Topper: “Bro. SOS.” “I think she hates me.” “Like, actually hates me.” “Call me back. This is a situation.”

He huffed out a breath, tossing the phone back onto the seat. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Topper’s idea of a crisis was probably that your coffee order had foam when you wanted oat milk or some shit.

Rafe rubbed his temples knowing he wasn’t exactly in a position to play mediator. 

The last call came in five minutes ago, he muttered, “What the fuck did you do now?” and hit the call button.

Topper picked up on the first ring.

“Rafe!” Topper’s voice was a mess— frantic, breathless, like he’d just run a marathon. “Okay, okay, it’s official—she’s gonna kill me or us—”

“Top, what the fuck are you talking about?” He snapped, already annoyed.

“I—uh—Did you tell her I told you?” Topper stammered. “Because she blocked me, everywhere. She told me, ‘Never speak to me again,’ and blocked me! I’m dead. She’s gonna cut me off for good, man.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t, but Sarah knows you know.”

“Why would you tell her?” Topper grumbled out, “You know she hates me too. She’s the enemy.”

“She’s my sister you fuckin’ idiot.”

“Semantics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of his truck. He wanted to hang up, but Topper’s desperation was almost pathetic enough to make him stick around

His friend fell silent for a moment. Then, quietly: “You think she’s gonna be okay? I mean, with everything?”

“I don’t know. But she’s strong. She’s gonna do what she needs to do—whether we’re in the picture or not.”

Topper swallowed audibly. “So… what do I do?”

Rafe sighed, “Give her space. Just… back off and let her come to you. If she even wants to.”

“It’s kinda crazy, right? Asking you for advice? For the longest time, you were public enemy number one. You, the big, bad ex who broke her heart.” Topper’s laugh was nervous, he knew he was pushing it but couldn’t stop himself. “Now she hates me more. Like, I dethroned you. That’s wild.”

 “Yeah, hilarious,” he muttered.

Topper either didn’t catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “A real plot twist. I knew I’d screw up eventually, but I didn’t think I’d ever top your record.”

“Topper,” Rafe growled, “this isn’t a fuckin’ joke. You don’t even know the half of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You mean, like… she really hates you, or…?”

Wow.

Rafe clicked his tongue in annoyance, “The fuck you think?”

"Wait, wait," Topper said quickly, his voice climbing. "You still haven’t asked her? Confirmed all this? What if I—what if I misunderstood or something?"

His eyes squeezed shut, as if the sheer force of Topper’s stupidity might give him an aneurysm. "Yeah, fuckin' genius. Because it’s so easy to ask someone who won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me."

"Okay, okay, fair," Topper admitted, “Your sister could’ help.”

“Again Top, be fucking serious.”

"Yeah, okay, nevermind. But what if it’s not true? What if I made things worse for no reason?"

"You did make things worse," Rafe snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. "You’re lucky she hasn’t shown up at your door to shoot you.”

"Not helping, dude," Topper muttered, then hesitated. "So… what’re you gonna do? I mean, if she won’t talk to you, if Sarah won’t fess up, how’re you gonna know for sure? What if she really is—y’know—and you’re just sitting here like a dumbass, waiting for a miracle?"

Rafe opened his eyes, staring blankly at the dashboard. Topper wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said out loud made his stomach burn, especially after he just spent a good fucking hour talking about you, pouring his feelings out to a stranger he paid for.

Was he wasting time—time you needed him to be stepping up?

"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? I want to know, but—she’s got every right to hate me, man. How am I supposed to just… show up and ask her something like that, huh?”

Topper exhaled loudly, his usual bravado replaced with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess you’re kinda in a lose-lose situation. Damn. That’s rough, bro."

"Thanks for the insight. Real helpful," Rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face.

“She’s blocking me, she’s not talking to you—you think she’s just gonna wake up one day and decide to make it easy for us? For you?"

Rafe sighed, "No. She’s not."

"So… what’s the move?"

Rafe stared out the windshield, his heart pounding in his chest. What was the move? He didn’t have an answer.

"Guess I’ll figure it out," he said finally, voice rough around the edges.

Topper hummed thoughtfully. "Well, uh, good luck with that. And, y’know, if you figure it out… let me know if I’m, like, still alive in her eyes or if I should start preparing for witness protection."

Rafe rubbed his forehead, trying to avoid the headache that was building behind his eyes. "You’re on your own there.”

"Fair," Topper said lightly, “Shit, this is depressing. We should go on a boat ride tomorrow.”

A boat day? He could almost hear the suggestion in Topper's voice: a desperate, half-hearted attempt to get away from it all.

"Yeah," Rafe hummed, "Maybe.”

"Seriously, though, it might help," Topper said, but he could tell the guy was genuinely losing it, "Get out on the water, clear our heads, get some space.”

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the dashboard “Space,” he repeated hollowly. Empty. "Yeah, I guess.”

Topper's voice came through again, sounding more serious "Just don't stay in your head too long, man. Don't get stuck there. You deserve a break too.”

Maybe the boat ride was the kind of distraction he needed to stop the spiral he’d been going down over the past few days. To stop thinking about all the things he couldn’t fix right now.

"Alrigh’, we’ll do the boat thing."

Topper, as if relieved that Rafe was playing along, responded with a chuckle. “Sweet. I’ll get the cooler ready. It’ll be good. I’ll try not to drive you completely insane.”

“Don’t make any promises,” He rolled his eyes, feeling the tension in his body soothe slightly, though it was still there—a bruise that hadn't healed.

The call ended shortly after, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

He glanced at the phone, the notifications still lighting up with messages from Topper. He barely glanced at them, his mind turning instead to you, as always. To the things he should have said, the things he should have done. To the feeling of you slipping farther away, out of his reach, out of his life.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore, didn’t know how to fix any of this. 

He just knew that at least for a little while, he wouldn’t have to be alone with his thoughts.

You were at ponguelandia again for the night, it wasn’t exactly where you wanted to be, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Sarah had insisted, practically dragged you here after hearing about your “severe anemia” situation. Add the fact that carrying the baby could fuck up your health to the point where you’d be bedridden for the rest of your life (or worse), and it was a recipe for a meltdown. 

You couldn’t be alone right now, not after all that. Being around people was better than being alone. 

Her and John B were being everything you needed, so you’d put on a happy face and pretend you weren’t dying inside. They were doing their whole supportive couple thing, and it was almost everything you needed—if it weren’t also so annoyingly them. Could they be more in love? Probably not. It was nauseating in the best and worst way, watching the life you could’ve had with someone else if things had turned out differently.

Then there was Kie and JJ. They were around, too, in their usual JJ-and-Kie way: watching you, but not prying, holding back out of respect—or pity. They knew you’d passed out on the beach two weeks ago and that you were “sick,” but Sarah had spared them the details. Small blessings, you guessed.

You were trying your best to keep up the whole "everything’s fine" act, but it was getting exhausting. Sarah had been the one who knew the real story—about the anemia, the baby, the complications—and she was the only one who knew how much of a mess you were in.

You’d asked her not to tell any of them. That didn’t make the pretending any easier. All they knew was that you were feeling a little under the weather, run-down, nothing too serious. You didn’t want to tell them. They’d never understand, not in the way you needed him to. Not when the issue was...everything.

You were curled up on the couch in their messy living room, a blanket thrown over your legs, you were trying to hide under it. You were just tired of pretending you weren’t falling apart inside. But you could do it for Sarah, she deserved to have a normal night, one that wasn’t filled with you sobbing in her arms. 

John B was sitting on the other side of the couch, there was an awkward space between you two. Not in a bad way, just... you didn’t really know him. He and Rafe had a history, to say things were tense between them was an understatement. But you liked him for Sarah, he treated her right. 

That was more than you could say for a lot of people in her life, so... here you were.

Kie was sitting cross-legged on the armchair, holding a bottle of something that definitely wasn’t soda, while JJ sprawled across the floor by her feet. John B had his arm slung casually around Sarah, who was perched on the couch between you and him, her body half-turned toward you as if she were ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. 

Always watching, always waiting.

JJ tossed a pretzel at Kiara, which she caught without looking up.

“So, tomorrow’s the big day,” he announced, grinning like a kid.

Kie rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“To you,” he shot back, pointing dramatically. “To me? Monumental. Legendary. Historic.”

Sarah groaned. “He’s talking about the party,” she explained, bracing for your reaction.

“What party?” you asked, already regretting the question.

“Just a little thing at Poguelandia,” John B said casually, brushing popcorn crumbs off his jeans. “Bonfire, some drinks, a couple of people. Nothing crazy, it's promotional."

 “A couple of people? Dude, half the island’s gonna show up.”

John B shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “It’s not a party unless it’s packed.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, leaning back on his elbows. “You have to come. It’s gonna be sick.”

You made a face, “I’m not really in a party mood.”

Sarah turned to you immediately, her eyes wide and full of meaning. The look. The one that said, C’mon, you need this.

“It’d be fun,” she pouted, “You could use a little fun right now.”

“I’m fine,” you said, avoiding her eyes and focusing on the popcorn in your lap. “I don’t need a party to cheer me up.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Just a chill day. You won’t even have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“And there’ll be drinks,” JJ added with a wink. “Or, you know, drink-adjacent options for those who can’t hang.”

For a second, your stomach almost dropped. Did he know? The way he said it—so casually—it almost felt like he did. It felt like he was teasing you in that obnoxious JJ way, but with an awareness that made you want to crawl out of your skin. But then logic kicked in.

They didn’t know. Not about the baby, at least. As far as they were concerned, you were just sick. Which, to be fair, you were. “Drink-adjacent” made sense because no one expected you to down shots when you could barely keep yourself upright most days.

Still, the comment made you uneasy, and your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.

“Right,” you grimaced, your voice stiff. “Because nothing says ‘party’ like seltzer water.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll even get the fancy kind, with lime or whatever. Really roll out the red carpet for you.”

Kie snorted. “You’re so generous, JJ.”

“Hey, I’m a man of the people baby,” he said, throwing his hands up like he was defending his honor.

Sarah nudged you again, harder this time, and you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was giving you that look again, the one that screamed, Just say yes already.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” you muttered, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to resigned.

“Nope,” she said brightly.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

JJ whooped, pumping a fist in the air like you’d just agreed to crown him king of the Pogues. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“I didn’t say I was going. I said I’d think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving you off like the details didn’t matter. “Thinking about it is basically saying yes.” JJ grinned at you, “But y’know,” he started, pointing a lazy finger in your direction, “it’s still kind of insane that you’re here. The literal kook of the kooks.”

You rolled your eyes, “And yet, here I am. Stuck with the pogues. Truly the highlight of my life.”

“Admit it. You love it. The... gritty charm.”

“Right,” you casted a skeptical glance around the room. “Because who wouldn’t love the charm of beer-stained furniture, half-empty snack bags, and... whatever that smell is?” You wrinkled your nose for effect, though you weren’t entirely joking.

The place was a dump.

John B chuckled from his corner of the couch, tossing a piece of popcorn at JJ. “She’s not wrong, man. This place barely qualifies as livable.”

“Livable?” JJ looked mock-offended, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is prime real estate! You kooks don’t appreciate the artistic chaos.”

Kiara looked up from her phone. “It’s chaos, all right.”

Sarah leaned toward you, her voice low and teasing. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just salty you make this place look like a dump by comparison.”

“Please,” JJ cut in, leaning forward, “This place looks like a dump because it is a dump. But it’s our dump.” He grinned, flicking his eyes back to you. “And now, apparently, it’s yours too. Welcome to the family, kook princess.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Don’t get used to it.”

JJ clutched his chest again. “Ouch. Cold. But fair.”

The truth was, you did think the place was terrible. 

Objectively, it was, you already knew that since last week.

The furniture didn’t match, the walls had stains you didn’t want to think too hard about, and everything felt sticky, even if it wasn’t. You were used to perfect beachfront properties with matching decor and staff that catered to your every whim. This? It was a wreck.

But at the same time, there was something about it that felt... alive. The chaos wasn’t just chaos—it was theirs. The mismatched furniture, the random surfboards propped in corners, the lived-in feel of a space that wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It made you hate it and love it all at once.

Your eyes flicked to Kie, who rolled hers at JJ but couldn’t hide her smile. He said something under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, and she shoved his shoulder in mock annoyance. He grinned at her, that lazy grin he probably didn’t even realize he saved just for her. And she was trying so hard to look unimpressed, but her expression softened anyway, she couldn’t help herself.

Sarah caught you looking and smirked, nudging you. “Cute, right?” she whispered.

You gave her a half-smile, more honest this time. “Annoyingly so.”

JJ, oblivious to the exchange, flopped onto his back. “I don’t know why you all keep insulting my hospitality. If this was a five-star resort, it wouldn’t have vibes.”

“Yeah, vibes of a condemned building,” you grumbled back, unable to help yourself.

And when everyone laughed—Kie’s chuckle, Sarah’s giggle, JJ’s full-blown cackle—you hated yourself a little for loving it here, even as you pretended you didn’t.

Would things have been different if you hadn’t been born a Kook?

The thought hit you out of nowhere, unwelcomely, like it always did when you let your guard down. Would your family still be alive if you weren’t wrapped up in the trappings of wealth and privilege? If your dad hadn’t been able to afford that stupid private jet, if your mom hadn’t insisted on using it for every family trip, if your sister hadn’t tagged along on that one last flight...

It was a cruel, useless spiral of what-ifs that never went anywhere but still had you choking on guilt every time. Because it wasn’t just the money. It was the whole stupid kook world—the private schools, the country clubs, the constant need to show off and be better than everyone else. That world had shaped your family, pushed them into the roles they played, and it had been the death of them, literally and figuratively.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they would’ve been safer if you’d all been normal. Just some middle-class family driving to vacations in an old station wagon, complaining about rest-stop food and fighting over the radio. Maybe your parents wouldn’t have been so busy, and maybe your sister wouldn’t have been on that flight at all.

Your throat burned, and you blinked hard, trying to push the thoughts back where they belonged. The pogues were still talking, still laughing, completely unaware of the war blazing in your head.

“You’re lucky to be here, kook princess. You’re getting the real-life experience.”

You forced a weak smile, still staring at the popcorn. “The real-life experience.”

If this was real life, you thought bitterly, maybe you wouldn’t have so much to regret. Maybe you’d still have them. Maybe you’d even know who you were outside of the perfect, shiny bubble you’d grown up in—one that had popped so catastrophically you were still finding pieces of it in your skin.

Maybe if you hadn’t been born a kook, you wouldn’t have met Rafe when you were kids. You wouldn’t have been his best friend, wouldn’t have spent your whole childhood trailing after him, clinging to every crooked smile and reckless dare like they were proof that you mattered.

You wouldn’t have fallen in love with him at sixteen, back when you thought love meant him driving you to the beach in his dad’s truck, his hand on your thigh, telling you you were the only person who really got him. You wouldn’t have had your heart broken by him now, when he was with someone else. Your hand drifted to your stomach, a subconscious gesture that made your breath hitch. You wouldn’t be pregnant with his kid, either. Or sick.

You’d built this whole life around him without even realizing it.

Would it have been better? Not having Rafe at all?

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to imagine a version of your life where he’d never existed, where you didn’t have his name carved into your heart. Where you weren’t here now, still loving him. Where you weren’t pregnant and alone while he was somewhere else.

The truth—the awful, undeniable truth—was that you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

For all the ways he’d broken you, Rafe had been the one to hold you together when everything else fell apart, the one who pulled you out of bed when you couldn’t find the strength, who made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how.

If it weren’t for him, you didn’t know if you’d even be here now.

And you wouldn’t trade the sound of his laugh for anything in the world. Not the condescending biting one he used to throw around when he was being an ass, but the real one, the one that came out when he was caught off guard. 

Even if you hated him, you couldn’t regret him. Not all the way. Not enough to wish he’d never been in your life. Despite all of it—he’d been there when no one else was, that was enough to keep him tethered to your heart, even now, when you wished it wasn’t.

“Earth to princess,” Kiara's voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the dimly lit room and the blanket over your legs. She waved a hand in front of your face, “You still with us, or are you planning your escape route?”

You forced a smile, “Just trying to figure out how I got roped into your weird little cult, that’s all.”

They laughed, the sound was bright enough to pull you out of your head, just for a moment. It wasn’t the same as Rafe’s laugh, but it was something. Right now, you’d take it.

When you woke up, the house was already buzzing. 

The pogues were up and at it, setting up for whatever party they had planned. You’d slept in, which wasn’t like you, but Sarah had all but forced you to stay in bed last night, insisting you needed the rest. She’d even made John B sleep on the couch so you could take his spot in their bed. You felt bad—guilty, really—you tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but Sarah was Sarah. Stubborn, loyal, annoyingly sweet Sarah.

The morning, however, had been nothing short of a disaster.

You barely made it out of bed before you were sprinting to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet like you’d had one too many shots at a party the night before. Except, this wasn’t from partying—it was the fucking morning sickness. Thank God everyone else was outside setting up, or you’d have to deal with their questions.

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you wanted to, rinsing your mouth out and glaring at yourself in the mirror like your reflection was to blame for your misery. Your hair was a mess, your skin looked pale. You looked like shit.

To make matters worse, the house was painfully loud. Every noise from outside echoed through the shitty walls, stabbing into your head. The party. Where everyone would be drinking, laughing, and probably noticing that you were the only one sitting in a corner looking like you’d been hit by a train.

Groaning, you wiped your face with a cold washcloth. “Fuck,” you complained under your breath, glaring at yourself in the mirror. 

You grabbed the bottle of pre-natal vitamins from your bag, the ones that looked like horse pills, and twisted off the cap. The nausea was already crawling up your throat again, and the last thing you wanted was to shove a giant vitamin down your stomach.

You didn't have much of a choice. You needed it, not just for the baby, but because of the anemia. If you didn't stay on top of it, you’d end up worse than you felt now—and that was already a nightmare you were trying to avoid.

You stared at the pill in your hand, mentally preparing yourself.

“Just swallow it,” you muttered, willing yourself into doing it. It took a moment, but you finally threw it back. You chased it down with a sip of water, grimacing as it settled in your stomach. It felt like you were choking on a rock, and you had to fight to keep your stomach from revolting all over again.

For a while, you sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, head in your hands, hating the lingering taste of bile in your mouth even after your oral hygiene.

You let yourself fall back, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily, pressing a hand to your stomach, not out of affection but frustration.

"I’m trying here, okay? Can you at least meet me halfway?" you muttered.

The distant noises and commotion from outside seeped in through the window, but it only made you feel more isolated. You reached for your phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications you didn’t care about. A text from Sarah popped up: "Take your time. We’ve got it covered out here.”

You tossed the phone aside, rubbing your temples. You wished you could just stay here all day, curled up under the covers, but the thought of Sarah’s concerned face, of the inevitable questions and glances, made that impossible. You were tired of being a problem, tired of being the fragile one everyone tiptoed around.

You sighed, knowing there was no way you’d make it through this day without looking like total crap. You grabbed a hoodie from the back of the door, tossed your hair up into a bun, and made your way downstairs.

You found her in the kitchen, already pouring drinks and bossing JJ and Pope around. She spotted you lingering in the doorway and waved you off before you could say anything.

“Nope,” she shook her head, clicking her tongue at you like you were a misbehaving child. “Don’t even think about it. Go sit down. Rest. It’s gonna be a long day, and you need it, okay?”

You blinked at her, then at the mess around the house. Decorations were half-done outside, the tables and counter were an explosion of snacks, and JJ was currently trying to balance three folding chairs in one hand like a party trick. Kie was arguing with John B about where the cooler should go, and Sarah was somehow keeping it all from falling apart.

You leaned against the doorway, hand still on your stomach, glaring at her as she poured some sort of drink into a plastic cup. “You could’ve woken me up. I’m not completely useless.”

Sarah spun around, eyebrows raised and gave you a look that could kill. “Uh, no, you don’t get to complain. I let you sleep in because you need it, and I’m not about to let you overdo it, okay.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “I feel like a freeloader right now.”

“You’re not a freeloader,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “You’re my sister. And you’ve been through... a lot. So just chill. We’ve got this.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re pregnant, which means you’re officially on my do-not-let-her-do-anything list. Now go sit your ass down before I make one of them carry you.”

“Don’t drag them into this,” you muttered, but you were already giving up the fight. Sarah was like a pit bull when she made up her mind, and there was no arguing with her. You nodded reluctantly, letting her win this one. It wasn’t like you had the energy to argue anyway.

Outside, the rest of the group was scattered around the yard, setting up for what promised to be a classic pogues-style party. Pope and Cleo had arrived at some point; Pope was trying to figure out how to hang a string of lights between two trees, while Cleo stood nearby, holding a roll of tape and offering sarcastic commentary.

“Maybe if you’d let me do it, we wouldn’t be out here for an hour,” Cleo teased, tilting her head.

“And maybe if you didn’t talk so much, I could concentrate, baby.”

JJ was dragging a cooler across the sand, muttering something about how “beer doesn’t carry itself,” while Kie followed behind him, laughing and tossing bags of chips into a pile on the picnic table.

Sarah joined you on the porch, a can of sparkling water in her hand. “See? We’ve got it under control,” she said, gesturing to the scene in front of you. “Now, sit down, relax, and enjoy the show.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you? Aren’t you gonna take your own advice?”

Sarah grinned, “I’ll relax when the party starts. For now, my mission is to make sure you don’t lift a finger.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” she replied, linking her arm through yours.

And she wasn’t wrong. As much as you hated being doted on, it was hard not to appreciate everything she’d been doing for you.

Cleo spotted you from across the yard and waved, her smile wide and warm. “Yo! You gonna come hang out or just stand there looking pretty?”

“Both,” JJ called out, smirking as he cracked open a beer.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. 

“I said pretty, rude boy. It doesn’t include your ass.”

“Cleo, you wound me. I thought we had something special.”

“Yeah, it’s called my patience, and it’s runnin’ real thin,” Cleo yelled back, smirking as she handed Pope the tape. “Here. Fix your mess before the whole damn tree comes down.”

Pope muttered something under his breath but took the tape anyway, climbing back onto the ladder. “You could’ve just done this yourself if you were so sure about it.”

“And rob you of the chance to prove me wrong? Never,” Cleo quipped, crossing her arms as she stepped back to watch him work.

The two of you headed toward the table where Kie was busy arranging snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“How are we still out of guac?” She muttered, her tone more annoyed than concerned. “I swear I made enough to feed an army.”

“Your boyfriend happened,” Sarah said without missing a beat. “I saw him sneak off with a bowl earlier.”

Kie groaned, hands on her hips as she glared at the blonde boy, who was now lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on the cooler.

“You are a menace to society.”

“And yet, here I am, invited to all your parties,” JJ replied, raising his beer in a mock toast. 

Kie grabbed a chip and threw it at him, hitting him square in the forehead, "It's your party too, dick."

“Guys,” Pope called out from the ladder, sounding exasperated. “Can someone just hold the other end of the lights? I’m not trying to die out here.”

“I got it,” Cleo said, strolling over and grabbing the string of lights. “Don’t let go of that tape, or you’re on your own.”

Cleo had finally climbed up the ladder with Pope, muttering something sarcastic, only for him to pull her into a quick kiss that made her giggle.

It wasn’t long before everyone started getting ready for the party. It was only around 3:30, but you could tell everyone was in full-on prep mode, running around and grabbing last-minute things. You figured you should probably start getting ready, too, if you wanted to make it to the party without looking completely out of it.

You escaped, fully aware that Sarah would check on you soon if you didn’t start moving. Sitting on the bed, you scrolled aimlessly for outfit inspiration, but everything felt wrong—too tight, too flashy, or too… not you. You hadn’t exactly packed for a pogues-style party, and the thought of showing up in your worn-out jeans or one of John B’s oversized T-shirts made you shudder.

Sarah’s closet caught your eye, the door slightly ajar. A beacon of decent fashion that you knew was still hiding in there, despite her efforts to shed the kook label. She still had a few relics from her old life, buried beneath tie-dye and frayed denim.

You’d teased her about it last week, calling her out for keeping a little piece of her former self tucked away. She’d rolled her eyes and said, “A girl’s gotta have options.”

Today, you needed those options.

You bypassed the flashier options in favor of something understated. Nestled between a linen sundress and a denim jacket was exactly what you needed: a simple, fitted black dress. It was sleeveless, with a subtle scoop neckline and a hemline that hit just above the knee. The fabric was soft and unassuming but hugged your frame just right, giving it a quietly polished look.

“This one,” you murmured, pulling it off the hanger. It wasn’t loud or overly attention-grabbing—more like the kind of dress that someone who didn’t need to try would wear. 

Elegant, minimal, perfect.

Sliding it on, you immediately felt the difference. It didn’t scream for attention, but it made you feel put together, which was exactly what you needed right now. You ran your hands over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles before stepping into a pair of nude sandals you’d found shoved in the back of the closet. Flat, simple, and mercifully easy to walk in.

Sarah popped her head in just as you were brushing your hair out into soft waves. “There she is,” she said, giving you a once-over. “God forbid you wear something ugly, huh?”

You tugged lightly at the hem of the dress. “I’m doing this closet justice.”

“You are. I forgot I even had that dress or I would've given it away."

“Thank God for that,” you replied, slipping on a simple gold bracelet you found on her dresser. “The pogues' style is great and all, but I have my limits.” You hadn’t even touched your makeup yet. With a sigh, you glanced at Sarah. “I’ll be ready in five.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t tease, already heading downstairs to check on the others. You glanced at the clock—it was almost party time, but you needed a few more minutes to look presentable.

You grabbed her makeup bag from her vanity and settled in front of the mirror. Starting with a light layer of foundation, you evened out your complexion. You weren’t trying to hide anything; you just needed to look less like you’d just rolled out of bed.

For the first time in what felt like years, you weren’t thinking about the baby. You weren’t worrying about keeping your secret from Rafe or everyone else around you. You weren’t wrapped up in the anxiety of it all. Instead, you were just doing something that felt simple, that belonged to your age—putting on makeup, getting ready for a party, like a normal twenty-year-old something woman.

This was the most normal you’d felt in months.

You’d been so consumed with everything pregnancy-related, trying to stay on top of your emotions while dealing with the fear of being found out. It was exhausting. You had forgotten what it felt like to be carefree, to be you—not just someone wrapped up in worry. There was something so familiar about it—the way the brush swept across your skin, the way you mixed your bronzer just right to highlight your cheekbones. It felt like the old you. Who knew this shit could be so therapeutic?

A soft sigh slipped from your lips. You needed more moments like this. Simple, easy moments where you didn’t have to think about the rest of the world. Just doing your makeup. Just getting dressed. Just being you—even for a little while.

When you made your way downstairs again, the mess had somehow multiplied. The house was alive with movement, and the sound of JJ yelling something unintelligible from the backyard. People had already started arriving—pogues, and a handful of kooks who never missed a good party. You spotted Sarah in the kitchen, pouring drinks into a massive punch bowl, looking entirely in her element.

You sidled up to Kie, who was setting out plates of food with military precision. “Hey, you need any help with this? Or anything, really?”

Kie glanced up, her brows shooting toward her hairline as she appraised you. “Is this the control freak in you?”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, leaning on the counter. “Seriously, though. Put me to work.”

She snorted, grabbing a handful of napkins and shoving them into your hands. “Fine. You can help set these out on the tables outside. But if Sarah catches you, this conversation didn’t happen.”

“Deal.” 

The yard looked like something out of a fever dream. String lights were half-strung between trees, chairs and tables were scattered everywhere. A cooler sat precariously close to tipping over, its contents already being raided by JJ, who was popping open another beer while Cleo scolded him for being “absolutely useless.”

You moved through the yard, laying out napkins and straightening plates, feeling some of the earlier tension and sleep deprivation ease from your back. It felt good to do something normal, something productive. By the time you circled back to the porch, Sarah was waiting for you, hands on her hips and a knowing look in her eyes. “I thought I told you to sit down.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Kie needed help. I’m fine.”

Sarah didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she handed you a cup of water and gestured toward one of the chairs on the porch. “At least pretend you’re taking it easy, okay? You’re gonna need your energy when this party really gets going.”

You rolled your eyes but took the seat, sipping the drink as you watched the guests buzz around the yard. 

Cleo and Kiara were already in tears laughing as JJ dramatically narrated Pope’s “world record attempt,” complete with fake announcer voice. By the time Pope finally flipped upside down with his help, everyone was cheering loud enough to drown out the music blasting from the backyard speakers.

JJ was yelling something about “legendary keg stand form” as Pope balanced upside down on the keg, supported by Cleo and a very unenthused Kie.

It was hilarious watching his usually composed demeanor dissolve into giggles as beer dripped down his face, but even funnier was JJ hyping him up like this was the Olympics. “That’s my boy! New record! Somebody time this shit!”

You laughed, for once letting yourself enjoy the day. It felt good to be surrounded by fun, to not be caught up in your head for a change. Maybe Sarah had been right—you needed this.

For once, you were wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. It felt so good to do it too, to feel like you were part of something instead of just watching from the sidelines. You could breathe again.

Pope wobbled, barely lasting ten seconds before collapsing onto the grass. JJ threw his arms up like they’d just won the championship, shouting, “A legend was born tonight!”

You felt all the stress and heaviness you’d been dragging and moping around had finally been put on pause.

Then, subtle at first, a tickle at the back of your neck, a whisper of unease. You moved around on the railing, trying to shake it off. You glanced around, casually at first, scanning the crowd. Everyone seemed caught up in something—JJ was on his third keg stand attempt, Kie and Cleo were busy arguing over the playlist, and the rest of the partygoers were either dancing or clustered around the fire pit.

Nothing out of the ordinary. You tried to ignore it at first, brushing it off as your brain’s way of being a buzzkill. It had a way of doing that—ruining a perfectly good night with its tendency to overanalyze everything.  You were having a good time, and you weren’t about to let paranoia ruin it.

But then you spotted her, Sofia.

She was standing near the back door, lit by the string lights strung across the porch, holding a beer cup. And she was staring at you.

Not just a quick glance, not the way someone looks when they’re zoning out. No. This was…staring. Your stomach twisted. This couldn’t be about you, she was just drunk and in her feelings or whatever. But there was something about the way she looked—sad, almost heartbroken—that made you want to bolt home.

You turned away, feeling like you couldn’t breathe, the night wasn’t as fun anymore. Maybe she wasn’t even looking at you. Except, you couldn’t shake it. You drained the rest of your water and headed inside to refill it, telling yourself you needed a second to breathe.

But of course, the second you stepped into the kitchen, Sofia was there.

She was crying—full-on crying—her mascara smudged and her cheeks streaked with tears. She was drunk, that much was obvious, so drunk she had to grab the counter.

Jesus.

 “Uh…? Are you okay?”

You weren’t Sofia’s biggest fan.

She had the love of your life—the guy you’d once thought was it for you—and that alone made it impossible to feel anything but complicated about her. Add to that the fact that she was a pogue, and… you’d never been friends.

The last thing you wanted to do tonight was play therapist, especially not for her. But she was still a girl, drunk and crying in the middle of a party, and no matter how much history—or lack thereof—existed between you, there was no way you were going to leave her like that.

You sighed, setting your cup down on the counter, “Do you need to sit down? Water?”

She only sobbed harder. Okay, not helping, noted.

“Hey, sit down,” you murmured, guiding her to the bench by the window. She didn’t resist, collapsing onto it.

Her eyes glassy and red. She looked up at you like you were the last person she wanted to see, but also, somehow, the only one she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice cracked. “I shouldn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You crouched down in front of her, arms resting on your knees as you tried to figure out what the hell she meant. “What wasn’t supposed to happen? Did someone do something to you?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head hard enough to make her curls bounce. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just… it’s Rafe. He—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

The second she said his name—Rafe—you already knew.

You didn’t know the details, didn’t need them, but you knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. That name always did.

Sofia’s voice cracked again, her words coming out between hiccuping breaths and slurred apologies, but you’d already braced yourself for whatever you were about to hear.

And yet, when she finally said it—he dumped me—it still felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water in your face.

What the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

"I’m not sure what you want me to do with this."

She flinched, her glassy eyes darting up to meet yours, but she didn’t say anything, just sniffled and stared at you like you had all the answers. You didn’t. Not for her.

"You’re upset, I get that," you continued, "But coming to me about Rafe? Really? What did you think was going to happen here?"

Her lip trembled, you thought she might start wailing again. "I—I didn’t plan this, okay? I just… I didn’t know who else to—"

On one hand, you felt bad for her.

How could you not? She was drunk, sobbing, in a way that felt painfully familiar. But on the other hand… what the fuck did she expect? She’d dated Rafe—your Rafe—knowing you were a six-year-long shadow she could never step out of.

She was with him knowing now she wanted you to what? Comfort her? Be her shoulder to cry on?

This wasn’t the time to be petty or mean, not when she was looking at you like you were the only person who could possibly understand.

“H-he dumped me,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “said… he said he’s not over you. That he c-can’t give me what I d-deserve because… because his heart’s still with you.”

You pursed your lips, a tangled knot of guilt, and something dangerously close to vindication swimming in your head.

Of course, it felt good to hear it—of course it did. But that didn’t make it easier to watch another girl fall apart in front of you because of him. As pathetic as it was, you knew what it felt like to be that girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the snarky comment sitting on your tongue. As much as this whole thing screamed bad decision after bad decision, she was still here, crying her eyes out, and you weren’t heartless. Not entirely, anyway.

“I knew,” she whispered, “I knew he wasn’t over you. From the beginning. I thought I c-could… I don’t know. Change his mind?” She let out a choked sob. “I’m sittin' h-here, drunk and crying to you, of all people, because I d-didn’t li-isten to my gut when it told me to walk away. I’m sorry,” she blubbered, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. You probably hate me.”

You didn’t answer right away because, yeah, she wasn’t entirely wrong. You didn’t like her, that was for damn sure. But hate? Hate took too much energy.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Couldn’t say what you really thought—that she should’ve walked away, that no one could ever fill a space someone else left behind. So instead, you sat down beside her.

“I know it doesn’t help,” you said finally, “but it’s not your fault. Rafe�� he’s complicated. He doesn’t know what he wants half the time, and even when he does, he’s too scared to hold on to it.”

She looked at you through teary eyes. “He held on to you for years.”

“Yeah. And look how that turned out.”

"If this is how I feel now, I can’t even imagine what you went through."

You bit your lip. She honestly thought this was the time for some heartfelt apology? God, bless her heart—no, scratch that, bless her delusions. She was standing there, looking like a wet mess, telling you she couldn’t imagine how you felt? If only she knew.

You sighed, grabbing a towel from the counter and tossing it at her. "Here. Fix your face. You look like you’ve been crying in a frat basement."

She caught the towel, her cheeks burning as she dabbed at her ruined makeup. "I—thanks," Her voice shook as she continued her drunk ramble, "I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how bad it hurt you."

You took a breath, part of you wanting to snap at her, tell her it was too little, too late. You could’ve easily unleashed all the venom you’d kept inside for so long. But then, there was that little voice in your head—one that, surprisingly, wasn’t making fun of her. You couldn’t be that cruel, you weren’t heartless, no matter how complicated things had gotten.

Sofia, in this state—drunk, emotional—didn’t deserve that. 

"You need to get your shit together, stop letting your entire world revolve around him.” You could see her flinch at that last part, but you weren’t done yet.

How ironic.

"You’re better than this. You don’t need a guy—especially Rafe—to make you feel whole. I learned something, and you’re going to learn it too. Life doesn’t revolve around some guy’s bullshit feelings. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be, put yourself first, always. I’ve been there. You’ve got to live with the fact that he chose someone else. It doesn’t matter if you did everything right—sometimes, it’s just not enough."

There was a part of you that really felt sorry for her, the part that was human, not just jaded from all the pain. But there was also a voice in your head saying, You don’t owe her understanding.

Loving Rafe Cameron could feel like the best and worst thing at the same time.

You watch her carefully, making sure she’s soaking it in. "You deserve better than a guy who doesn't know how to value you. And don’t get me wrong, I get it. We’ve all been there. You can’t fix him."

Sofia was still sniffling and wiping her eyes, catching her breath, maybe even trying to piece things together. You felt like you had done something... good? Maybe not good, but at least you’d been the bigger person, showing her a bit of mercy.

Before she could answer, the door creaked, and you both turned to see your cousin standing there. Instantly, all alarm bells went off in your head, your eyes narrowing instantly, hands searching for something to throw at his face.

"Topper," you spit out, the name coming out like acid, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

ooop- y'all not ready for chapter 12 heheheh

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@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

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[brevityandclarity]

Control over plants. I start out feeding myself more nutritious food, then my household, then my friends and neighbors. The whole community gets healthier. They share with others around the country. I branch out into textiles, utensils, containers, shelters. Then I get creative.

The corporations don't notice at first, but eventually it hits social media. Free nutritious food for you and all your loved ones including all but the obligate carnivores, and hey even they can benefit if you're willing to feed up their prey first. Food good enough to help with a lot of what ails you. Durable and semi - durable goods with care, biodegradable if discarded.

At first they ignored me, but eventually I started making a dent in their profits and they started up with their usual scare tactics. A handful of corrupt "scientists", dozens of news articles, hundreds of paid influencers. Big Ag screaming about mutant GMOs. Big Pharma, the snake oil salesman, health insurance, and mega hospitals alike screaming about mutant foods not being the medicine you need. (Which I never claimed it was, but when you're not suffering from random unknown nutrient deficiencies you suffer less. In fact, I've said more than once that people need to keep seeking healthcare for life-threatening issues.) Then other manufacturing industries started chiming in to paint me as the villain too.

When that only slowed me down for a bit, they started pulling on the strings of their pet politicians. They tried to strangle me with red tape. Someone even had the temerity to send a hit man after me.

They really didn't think it through.

I encased the top corporate headquarters of each industry so thickly that sleeping beauty's evil fairy godmother would be jealous.

They got me put on terrorist lists.

Soon every corporate board member, c-suite officer, vp, and director learned how visciously allergic you could be without actually dieing. As did several politicians and various alphabet soup agencies.

More hit men disappeared without a trace, after all roses aren't the only ones that love blood and bones.

They tried to fight back, with chemicals, then with fire, then cold, then insects, but I'd anticipated most on my very first month of experimenting with my ability, and now all these years later I could evolve plants on the fly.

I'd've been content to leave them alone, but they chose this path. They declared me villain and I was more than willing to live up to the role.

You discover that you have control over a certain thing, as determined by spinning this wheel. We're talking full-on magical girl/superhero/supervillain/your label of choice control.

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[mysunshinetemptress]

Taste of Heaven

Scars Tex Universe

Warning: I got a good few asks about the scar on Tex’s head so…..

Leah doesn’t know what time it is, she doesn’t really care as the light breaks through the curtain she can’t help but stare at your sleeping form, you’re so peaceful, relaxed she thinks to herself.

Last night was a dream and as the memories flicker through her mind, the journey from the club back to your hotel, your hat still firmly placed on her head as you lead her through the hallways and into your bed she can’t help but smile.

Your hat is on the nightstand beside you and as she looks at you she can’t help notice the little things your hat seems to hide.

Your hair and the way it parts in the middle perfectly even after last night, and as she trails her eyes down towards your eyes she can’t help but notice the scar on your forehead and the way it starts on your forehead but blends into your hair.

Leah runs her finger over it lightly, it’s white against your tanned skin and it seems to hold all her attention as she repeats her movements, again and again.

“It’s not going to disappear no matter how many times you rub it, believe me I’ve tried.” Your voice is raspy with sleep and you startle her ceasing her fingers movement on your head.

“I don’t want it to disappear.” You blink your eyes adjusting to the light in the room “I do.” You say quietly as you turn your eyes flicking over Leah’s face.

“How did you get it.” Leah asks timidly, scared it’s a story you’re not ready to tell. “I-I was messing with my brothers, Mitch was there and a few of my brother’s friends.” You start, Leah’s hand is still on your head and you move yours told hold it gently “I was young-to young to be on a stallion that was being broken in by Tristan and his friend.” Leah stares at the scare before her eyes flicker back down to yours “No one had been close to getting on him but we had been messing around and one of the boys dared me to try, I wanted to be cool, cool in my brothers and there friends eyes so I got on him.” You pull Leah’s hand away from the scar and down away from it entwining your hands with hers “He wouldn’t stop bucking and I came off, I don’t remember anything after that.” Leah’s breath gets caught in her throat “I-i was in hospital for a month after.” Leah swallows harshly “how-how old were you.” You turn looking at your hands “eight.”

Leah watch’s the way your shoulders relax “why do you hide it.” You let out a light laugh “ do you normally ask all the deep questions in the morning.” Leah shrugs smiling “yes normally during our second date.” You laugh again before coughing slightly “I had a crush on this girl when I was younger, it was a year after the whole thing, Mitch tried to play wingman and ask if she was interested she said no way why would I like Freddy Krueger…..I was standing behind her with a flower” Leah feels her heart sink at the thought of nine year old you being told you looked like such an ugly monster.

“I love it.” You roll your eyes “you don’t have to lie it’s ok.” You turn your head letting go of Leah’s hand as you reach for your hat “ no I’m being serious I love it.” Leah says as she grabs your face pulling your attention back to her “I love your scar, it makes you a real cowboy.” You laugh “was the hat not enough no.” Leah laughs leaning in to kiss you “no definitely not.”

[hrtwayne]

So High School || Jenna Ortega

Pairing : Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: Where Jenna and her girlfriend finally manage to take a vacation after a tough year of work!

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: Mentions of kisses and suggestive content!

MASTERLIST

The waves lapped gently against the shores of the Greek island, creating a rhythmic and soothing sound that filled the house where Y/n and Jenna were spending their first vacation in a year. After months of grueling work and packed schedules, the place feltike the perfect reward. They had arrived that morning, and the anticipation for a starlit dinner grew as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in golden and pink hues.

Around 7:15 PM, Y/n emerged from the bathroom wearing a sleek black dress that highlighted her curly blonde hair. She wandered around the room, searching for her silver rings, taking a deep breath as she noticed Jenna's familiar perfume lingering in the air. The actress stood in front of the bedroom mirror, focused on perfecting her eyeline, completely absorbed in her reflection.

Y/n watched the scene with a smile of pure admiration. There was something magical about how Jenna seemed so intent on the smallest details, as if every stroke were work of art. It was hard to believe they had been together for almost four years; thesinger still felt utterly captivated and grateful for every moment with her girlfriend.

An unexpected thought crossed Y/n's mind: before this vacation ended, she was going to propose to Jenna.

Pushing the idea aside for now, Y/n leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms her gaze fixed on Jenna, a playful smile curling her lips Jenna didn't notice her presence, too engrossed in her makeup

"I must be the luckiest woman in the world," Y/n murmured, her voice soft and brimming with affection.

The reaction was immediate. Jenna let out a small gasp, placing a hand over her chest as she turned to Y/n with a mock look of indignation.

"Sorry, love. I just had to compliment you," Y/n said, stepping closer and leaning in to place a light kiss on Jenna's lips.

"Careful, you'll smudge my makeup," Jenna grumbled with a smile, trying to sound annoyed, though the happiness in her eyes was unmistakable

"Just one kiss," Y/n insisted, her gaze locked on Jenna's, her lips moving closer in a slow, teasing motion.

Jenna pouted in mock frustration, but the gesture only made Y/n laugh. She leaned inslightly, brushing her lips against Jenna's in a soft, teasing touch before pulling back her smile stilin place

"Don't you dare pullaway," Jenna whispered firmly, standing on her toes to pull Y/n closer.

Y/n felt her breath quicken, her lips parting with anticipation. This was one of the things she loved most about Jenna— the way she fully embraced the moment, unafraid to show what she wanted.

In a split second, their bodies met, and their lips collided in a hungry kiss, full of urgency and desire. Y/n pressed Jenna against the wall, erasing any space between them, feeling the heat of Jenna's skin against her own. The kiss was intense, desperate, as if they were making up for lost time.

Jenna's hand slid along Y/n's neck, savoring the softness of her skin, while their lips moved in perfect harmony. Jenna's heart raced, each beat echoing the excitement coursing through her.

Jenna tangled her fingers in Y/n's blonde curls, pulling her closer as if she couldn't bear the thought of being apart from her.

Y/n took control of the kiss, her hands firm on Jenna's waist, holding her in place as she savored every sensation—their shared breaths, the slight tremors of their bodies. lt was as if the world around them had disappeared, leaving only the two of them in an eternal moment.

With a sigh, Y/n pulled back, leaving soft kisses along Jenna's jawline before finally releasing her.

"All right, I think you should put on your dress so we don't miss our reservation," Y/n said, her voice tinged with a lingering smile.

Jenna laughed and rolled her eyes before heading to the bedroom to change. Minutes later, she emerged wearing a light blue dress that brought out her eyes and framed her dark hair as it fell over her shoulders. Y/n's heart skipped a beat at the sight of hercompletely captivated.

"You look stunning darling" Y/n said, her voice low and full of admiration.

"Don't start with that charm of yours,' Jenna teased, laughing as she wrapped her arms around Y/n's waist. "0r we'l never leave this house."

"Fine, but know that when tonight ends, you'll be all mine," Y/n murmured, whispering near Jenna's ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

They left the house shortly after, walking through cobblestone streets as the sky darkened and the first stars began to appear.

[jellyfishmoon97]

In the spirit of Onyx Storm almost coming out and my current fixation on a neglected reader in the Batfam I had this idea for all the lovely authors I propose.

Batfam X Neglected Reader ( Fourth Wing )

I’m somewhat aware that there are pocket universes in the DC universe. At one point, most of the heroes team up to face The Crisis on Infinite Earths where different multiverses collide. Monitor a supervillain they assumed was an arms dealer but can actually manipulate different dimensions. Begins destroying different realities with a wave of antimatter, planning on becoming the sole ruler of all realities.

Let's say we get a classic neglected reader who's in university. By that point, they give up on the Waynes keeping to themselves and are too independent, to the point that it takes Alfred days to realize the reader disappeared and never came home from school.

Maybe one day while at Gotham U theirs an attack being too close to the attack, they fall through the multiverse as Monitor escapes. They end up in the kingdom of Navarre months before Conscription Day (The day of admittance to Basgiath War College) adjusting to their new world they decide to become a Dragon Rider. ( What if time moves differently in both universes one month in Gotham can be one year in Navarre)

Let's say back in Gotham on the day of the attack Dick was there with the Titans having permission from Batman due to Monitor attacks he sees reader in the fray but disregards them. Maybe at one point, they trained to also be a vigilante but quit or Bruce fired them or simply being a Gothamite Dick assumes they know to run away. Days later when Alfred informs the family Dick is filled with regret he’s a hero and he turned his back on his sibling. After weeks of searching for reader unable to find them, they all assume reader died. ( The Angst!!!)

Now imagine years later once the war is going on reader can come back and help they don't do it for their family, maybe they had friends they missed and held dear or maybe Monitor plan to annihilate other universes is affecting their new home. Imagine a dragon or dragons are spotted flying over and helping the heroes. Reader is back older badass and with a dragon and a signet ( a unique power that rider develops after bonding with a dragon).

[beebeeswee]

Nalu AU where the Eclipse Gate worked exactly the way it was supposed to.

Anna Heartfillia travelled through the portal with the dragon slayers in the year X777, meeting Layla and all her Celestial Spirits on the other side. Layla insisted Anna raised the dragon slayers on the sprawling Heartfillia property, in the woods surrounding the estate.

She would take her daughter, Lucy, with her to visit Anna and the children, bringing gifts at Christmas and birthdays, taking sweets and cakes throughout the summer months so the children could play while she sought advice from her wise ancestor.

Lucy was frightened but enamoured by these strange, powerful children; and looked forward to visiting them with her mother. Especially the little fire dragon who had more energy than the others combined, and who would smile wider than anyone when she would take little baskets of treats for them.

She was never to go alone though, the woods are dangerous, and easy to get lost in. One night though, after an argument with her father, she snuck out and ran, as far as she could, into the dark, cold winter's night. She got lost in the woods, turned about by thick rows of identical black tree trunks, and soon she couldn't even see the stars.

She sat down on the dirty, cold ground and cried and cried. Alone, lost, terrified. Until she saw a golden flicker in the night, a flame that stood out against the inpenetrable darkness, and grew closer and closer. Natsu found her, with his unwavering bubbly spirit. "Are ya lost Lucy? C'mon don't cry! I'll take you home! I knew I smelt something funny out there."

He did take her home, and their friendship grew. Soon she just had to call from her window, no matter what time, and she'd see a little flame outside in the grounds. He'd take her on adventures, show her birds' nests, fishing spots, a strange egg he found that hatched into a little flying blue cat, and hollowed out trees they could just about fit in together.

As they grew older, her wanderlust never stopped, and they'd venture out further, into towns and villages, where there was always some issue that required both his magic power and her intelligence to solve. They'd pour over Sorcerer Weeklys together, and one guild kept appearing. Fairy Tail.

After her mother died in X790, Jude drew into his work further, neglecting Lucy unless he needed her to appear in a lavish ballgown in front of esteemed business guests. She saw Natsu less and less, until one winter's night, a year later, her mother's keys around her hip, everything she cared about in a little pink backpack; she called out to him, frightened it had been so long and he wouldn't respond. Then, she saw that little glowing flame and all her worries disappeared. She asked him to run away with her, their hearts set on one place. Magnolia. Fairy Tail.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Meeting at the snack machine

Simon Kalivoda x fem!reader (nurse)

warning : fluff, kiss, mutual feelings, implied past relationship

Summary : What was for them a normal night shift at the Shadyville hospital was for Simon and his friends a nightmare that had just begun. A nightmare that seemed to have arisen from the town's past and that, by pure chance, brought Simon to a person he hadn't seen in a long time, but the shared memory was all the stronger.

info : I knew I had to write for Fred again and the stories for Simon are far from over. I wish you lots of fun ;)

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

The evening began as usual with her alarm clock which seemed too shrill and too loud, a yawn and a tired look later she was standing in the bathroom under the shower trying to keep her eyes open.

A quick breakfast in the evening and less than two hours later she was in her blue uniform in the nurse's room, stowing her things in her locker before setting off for her shift.

It was the same every day, every week and every month, getting up, eating breakfast and trying not to fall asleep on the way to the hospital before she started her shift, taking turns with her tired colleagues who were glad to get home.

,,Have a good shift!” she heard the goodbyes of her colleagues before she took the clipboards and went through the individual complaints and requests of the patients.

Whether it was refilling water, emptying a bag or washing hair after there was food inside, there was always variety and even though she had vowed to get out of the city, this feeling of helping and doing something good for others was somehow addictive, especially here.

Addiction was a word that meant a lot in her job and her freedom, gone were the weekends and weeks when she had gotten a little too drunk, taken a few pills and worried about nothing in the world.

Now here the only dependency was the money she got from this job, ,,And only for another forty years,” she muttered as she stepped out of the hallway and decided to just check the medicine cabinet.

Although her tiredness was gone, the toast with jam and the few pieces of fruit made themselves heard a few hours into her shift, a growl that was audible to others but was unmistakable to her.

Especially in Shadyside the later it seemed to get the less interesting the town seemed to become, especially from the other side you could hear the partying and the loud music of festivals something the inhabitants here could only dream of.

Festivals and concerts here in the city would probably lead to a fire and a storm, which is why people were rather glad that everything was quiet and still and that there were no accidents and murders, which were not only bad enough but also turned the otherwise uneventful hospital into a crowd of onlookers.

Sighing to herself, she just said, ,,Maybe there's a banana in the hall” and decided to go to the front of the floor where the reception area was located and she found one of her colleagues and coworkers looking just as bored and tired as she was.

The night shift was the shift where no one called in despite the little extra pay, it was like being a ghost in Shadyside it was so dead quiet.

The morning and midday shifts were busier, more people came in and there was even a sense of hope, which was helped by seeing the sun instead of the moon whenever you looked outside.

The same brief smile was exchanged between them and a ,,Thank you lifesaver” came from her as she was handed the yellow fruit and opened it, so it seemed like it was going to be another uneventful shift...what she didn't know though was as she disappeared back to her floor, footsteps and more importantly screams approached the hospital.

A small group in the middle of which was someone who had the same hunger as her and whose circumstances were slightly different from hers, but both would meet again sooner than they thought.

The papers and folders had priority but when the phone rang at her station she picked it up, ,,Emergency room on the line, what's up?” she asked and heard her colleague on the other end, ,,A couple of kids just showed up, could you pick up some bandages but could also be a Halloween prank” and hung up again.

A sigh came over her lips as she walked a step faster and rummaged through the cupboards and drawers for the utensils, there had been many times in the last few years and especially weeks and months since the incident in the mall the teenagers seemed to be particularly amused and play such false alarms.

If not she could at least do her job and get some variety, mostly it was just small cuts from broken bottles anyway, rarely anything bigger.

With the bandages and the necessary extra to make her way to the lobby, she didn't see the gang tampering with something down the hall, ,,I hope you're not taking the piss, do you need anything else?” she said to the group, spotting a few familiar faces from parties and especially fights with the sunny, happy bastards.

But the nervousness and the blood, which looked a little too dark to be artificial, made her a little uneasy - what had happened?

She was just about to exchange a few words with Kate when Deena asked her for some tape to fix the whole thing, which she acknowledged with a ,,Sure, wait a minute” and headed back to her room where more equipment was stored.

But first of all, she passed a certain snack machine where she saw someone who made her pause, ,,Simon? What on earth are you doing here?” she asked even though it was obvious and the blonde looked up from the vending machine.

A familiar broad smile appeared on his face and he leaned against the machine, ,,My nurse, it's been a long time,” he said, yet he seemed happy to see his former companion and perhaps more since she had left school early to start here at the hospital.

A chain of unfavorable events, as they often were in Shadyside, had brought them apart and also brought them together again, ,,Still the broadly grinning, troublemaking Simon,” she replied, not quite knowing whether she should shake his hand, wave, talk or embrace, a decision he took from her and she got into a brief, intimate embrace.

Hands clasped briefly and yet not unfamiliar, a verne memory something that made her heart beat, ,,You know me, Doc,” he winked and she rolled her eyes at the nickname they had really thought she was going to be a doctor and now she was a nurse almost the same.

He hadn't changed in the past month still had the slightly curly hair, a hopeful slightly silly smile and a cute demeanor, ,,Are you assigned to pick up snacks?” she asked, pointing to the glowing vending machine from which he leaned away and pointed to some of the merchandise.

Apparently Simon and his friends had had more than one successful night with the odd creepy incident, ,,I'd love to but no change” he replied and she pushed him aside only slightly not seeing him look away embarrassed as her hand settled on his chest.

How gentle and yet guiding she was, something that had been reflected not only in the bedroom but also in the consumption of pills.

A consumption that had often led them both to each other, from taking them together, smoking, drinking and perhaps the first kiss and more.

With a few deft grabs and a final tap on the drink symbol, the machine gave a rustle and jerk before all the snacks fell down one by one, ,,Who needs change when you've got me?” she replied, pressing the snack bags into his hands, hands resting on top of each other for perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

Maybe she should have walked away, let Simon and the past they had experienced together be a thing of the past and maybe she shouldn't have looked into those blue, engaging blue eyes.

,,Does this work?” Simon's question took her out and she followed his gaze to her chest where the stethoscope lay in her hand, ,,Sure here" she replied and held it out to him, at first he seemed to want to give it back to her but when he realized what he could do with it he took it.

Putting the earpiece of the stethoscope in her ear, she moved a little closer to him, ,,Don't be frightened, my patient,” he grinned and pressed the surface of her breast lightly, wishing her body wouldn't betray her, her heart seemed to jump out of her chest as much as his.

It was like when they used to lie on the couch, cuddling and foggy-headed from a little too much grass, hearts united and just enjoying each other's company. ,,I-I think you're fine,” he stammered, handing her back the stethoscope, which she put back on and silence fell between them.

Their eyes met again and again, hands brushed past each other and only when they heard the shouts and voices of the others did they both flinch, ,,I think we should go back,” she cleared her throat and pointed into the corridor when she suddenly felt his hand on hers.

Turning around, she felt his lips on hers the next moment, finally feeling the kiss again that she had hoped for so long, ,,I still had to thank my nurse,” he had found his mood again and with a wink pulled her after him to the others...maybe they should meet at the snack machine more often than just every few months.

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

@tori111777 , @simonsrealwife , @bel0ved-heretic , @amecchii , @xxxibgdrgons , @lordbelzeebub , @cowgyaru

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part Two

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.0k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), split POV in this one, referenced past trauma, graphic injury detail/description, mentions of gore, death, capture, and torture, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

In the immediate aftermath of the meeting, the base was a frenzy. An entire wing of the barracks was sectioned off within the space of an hour - designated solely to the newly reformed Taskforce 141.

You'd stormed off as soon as you were dismissed, retreating to the private sanctuary that was your car. You'd all received the same parting orders; all been told to go home, pack up what you needed, and return to base.

It didn't take long for you to get your affairs in order. Half an hour to sort out the meagre belongings in your rental unit, boxing up what you wanted to take with you, and setting the others aside to drop at a charity shop on the way. Not that you had much to begin with; your lifestyle was nomadic - had been since you retired. Before that, even.

You dropped your keys off with your landlord on the way back to the car, notifying them of your immediate departure. The old lady was understanding - kind, even - having already gathered the vague sense that you were military and just passing through.

Driving back through the English countryside, you kept your prized possession in the cup holder in the centre console. It was only little; a small, gold St Christopher pendant about the size of a penny on a long, thin chain. Back in simpler times, you used to wear it, the engraved disc laying over your heart. Back when you could bear the feeling of a chain around your neck. Back in the days before "Tiger" was your sole name.

God, you hated that name, though it was preferable.

It had been years since someone called you by your actual, birth name. Letting someone know that meant letting them in, and that was something that you refused to do.

Never again.

Soap and Gaz were the first two to make it back to the base. Together, they claimed the battered old leather sectional in the rec room attached to their barracks, drinking cups of tea and nattering like two old ladies in a retirement home.

"So, what do you think the odds are that she's 'the Tiger', as you put it," Gaz asks, leaning back. Despite the roguish smile on his face, the rigid set of his jaw gives away his concern.

Like Soap - hell, like most British soldiers - he's heard the stories.

Stories about men being killed in their beds in the dead of night, militias toppled within a matter of days, and enemy soldiers going missing from their posts only to be found days later in the middle of nowhere. And that's just the light-hearted stuff. That woman's ledger is soaked in red - probably rivalled only by Ghost, which is a troubling thought to say the least.

The worst story Gaz could recall was one he'd been told years ago, back when he'd enlisted. Allegedly, it detailed the incident in which Tiger had earned her nickname. It was probably an exaggeration in parts - he kept telling himself as much, trying to settle his unease at the idea of being stuck in a confined space with her for the foreseeable future.

As legend goes, her and her team were sent out on an infiltration mission, and she returned a month later as the sole survivor. For three weeks after their capture, her teammates were tortured, beaten, starved - herself included - until, one by one, they were executed. But, before they could get to her, she slipped free from her restraints and disappeared into the enemy base. For days, the militia searched for her as she bided her time, stealing food and weapons as she essentially lived within their walls. And then, when she was finally ready, she unleashed herself upon them.

Forty-three men and women died that day.

Some - the ones to whom she'd bestowed some degree of mercy - had had their throats slit; their heads caved in; their necks broken. But the others...

A small minority had done something to incur her wrath. Instead of blades, she'd taken to them with her own sharpened nails. In some instances, her teeth.

She'd butchered them like a wild animal.

Gaz had taken some time to read the report after he'd been promoted to sergeant, although most of it was redacted and required a much higher level of clearance than his own to access. The basics he'd gleaned along with a handful of photos from the militia base had told him enough: the stories were true, and Tiger was someone to be feared to the highest degree.

And - somehow - she and Ghost seemed to know one another. Well enough to have an opinion, at that.

Soap makes a noise, something between a wince and a huff, pulling him back to the rec room. Back to beige, plasterboard untouched by blood and gore. "'ah don't know, Gaz. But, based on form, ah'd say yes."

Gaz grimaces.

"An' if they've had to call her 'ere, ah'd say we're all fucked."

Ain't that the truth.

"Think she's as bad as they say?" he asks, voice giving an involuntary shudder that he hopes Soap won't catch. Last thing he wants is to look scared, especially with her lurking the halls.

Instead of answering the question, Soap shrugs and offers, "Perhaps we should ask Lt? He seems to know 'er."

Gaz nods non-committally. That'll be a fun conversation.

And then a familiar gravel-laden voice rings out across the room, sudden and harsh like a crack of thunder. "Ask me what?"

Both men twist around so fast that Gaz is surprised they don't end up with whiplash. Ghost is standing in the doorway, balaclava and hard-shell mask on, dressed in all black with a duffel slung over one shoulder. Even after years of working together, he's still a spooky bastard - creeping around soundlessly despite his sheer size.

"Tiger," Soap says in that fearless way of his, blue eyes unhindered by any trace of doubt. It's something that Gaz has always admired and been amazed by; the bold, unabashed bravery with which the Scotsman handles their Lt, refusing to coddle or humour him like other soldiers do.

The light in Ghost's already-dim eyes gutters. "What about her?"

His growl sets Gaz on edge. Makes him wonder if it's not too late to back-track on their line of questioning. If it might be safer to wait for the morning and ask Price or Kate instead.

Regardless, Soap ploughs on. "How d'ya know 'er? Seemed like a pretty explosive reunion back there."

Ghost takes a few more steps into the room, slinging the bulky duffel onto a vacant armchair. He folds his brawny arms across his broad chest, puffing it up. "There's nothing to know. I knew her once and now I don't. That's all there is to it."

Soap guffaws, folding his own arms with a grin. "'ah, come on, Lt. Tha's just begging for questions to be asked."

"All I'm going to say is that you need to watch her. I don't trust her; don't let your guard drop around her; don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you know her. Treat her like you would a hostile. That way, we might just all come out of this on the other side."

And - with that - Ghost stalks back to the doorway, grabbing his duffel on the way. His stark warning hangs in the air long after he's gone.

Both of the men listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he pads down the linoleum-tiled hallway, no doubt claiming a room as his own to brood in until Price arrives.

"Note to self," Gaz says aloud after a few minutes of silence have dragged by, "never bring up Tiger around the Lt."

You sit at your desk, listening to the sounds of the taskforce's laughter just doors away. They'd ordered pizza to the barracks tonight, and you'd stayed in your room to prove a point - away from Ghost's hollow, accusing eyes.

It's been a week since you relocated, and Kate has yet to provide any actionable information on Makarov and the plot to stop him. Meaning it's been a week of isolation, eating and training in solitude, avoiding the men at all costs. You'd caught the whispered conversations and furtive glances when they thought you weren't looking - exactly the sort of thing you'd hoped to avoid - and it made you hate Ghost all the more.

From day one, he'd done nothing but poison them against you.

Your eyes slip to the black plush box at the side of your laptop; the St Christopher pendant nestled within its protective lining.

More than anything, you wish you could travel back in time to last week and not pick up Kate's call. That way, you'd still be in your rental unit, curled up in front of the TV or jogging around the neighbourhood. You'd still be alone, but at least you wouldn't be judged like this.

It was a little known fact that your reputation was what had pushed you to retire.

Surprising, you knew, but that's just how it was at the time. It wasn't the trauma of the 'incident' but the aftermath of your return that made you consider an exit from the army. How people who had once considered you a friend looked at you with nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes, like they could still see the blood staining your fingertips and dripping from your maw. Like you were a rabid dog in need of putting down.

You'd still stayed for a couple of years before you put in your papers, aided by Laswell, who advocated from an early retirement instead of a discharge. By then, you were sick of being shunted from base to base, pushed between assignments as an increasingly shrinking number of captains agreed to work with you.

To some, you were an asset; to others, a liability; to most, an unknown.

But, it was towards the start of it that you met Ghost. In fact, it was only something like three months after the incident, fresh from therapy and evals that you first crossed paths.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, freeing yourself from the tangled web that those memories weave within your mind. It's always risky to look back on that time - too clouded with emotion and fear for you to view objectively. It's safer to ignore it.

You lose track of how much time passes before there's a knock at the door of your suite, faint and hesitant.

It's purposeful, the exaggerated amount of time you take to open it. Giving whoever was sent to poke the beast ample time to escape before the door opens.

To your surprise, it's MacTavish - the cheerful, blue-eyed Scotsman from the meeting - standing in the hallway with a wide, encouraging grin. Wasting no time, he dives straight in with, "Coming out any time soon, lassie? We were starting to think ye'd starved to death in there." He nods to the room behind you, the only sources of light being the hallway and the small lamp on your otherwise barren nightstand. "Want to join us for a bit?"

The invitation lingers in the air between you. It takes another moment for it to register in your brain as a genuine offer. One of kindness, not malice.

It puzzles you.

"Why?" The simple question leaves your lips as a snarl; half-feral and significantly more impolite than initially intended. "Why do you want me there?"

Something glimmers in MacTavish's eyes. For a second, you think it might be pity, and it heats a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Because 'ah know the Lt does'nae seem to like ye, and I think ye could use some friends around 'ere."

There's a beat of silence. Then another. By the third, MacTavish is shifting his weight between his feet, that handsome grin faltering just slightly.

"Listen," you say primly, taking a step out into the hall. He retreats the same distance, eyes focused on your face as you smile coldly. "I want to be on my own. I like it that way. Beats people gossiping about me; telling all sorts of stories about my past. About how I earned my callsign." The colour drains from his face. "So, no - I don't want friends. Not here; not anywhere. I do, however, want to be left alone. I want my wishes to be respected; my personal space too. Got it?"

Balking, MacTavish nods.

You ease back into your room as he starts to walk away, heading back up the hallway towards the rec room, where the laughter seems to have dissipated. But, just before he slips back inside through the ajar door, he twists back to face you, offering a kind, "We'll be in here until late if ye change yer mind."

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you retreat back into your suite, closing the door with a firm shove. You lean against the thick wooden slab, exhaling a trapped breath from your tight chest.

Back sliding down until you meet the floor, you can't help but regret agreeing to come here. It's all starting to feel like such a huge, massive mistake.

a/n: happy new year folks! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

[mama-qwerty]

If Shadow didn't have the element of surprise, do you think Knuckles would have a better chance of putting up a fight against him?

That is a good question.

The reason Shadow won against Knux so easily is because Knuckles didn't know what Shadow was capable of. Shadow can teleport, which is his primary method of fighting, to ambush his enemies and get the drop on them quickly and efficiently. Knuckles didn't know this, and had no way of countering it, so he was at a severe disadvantage during his battle with Shadow.

Now, given time, would Knuckles have found a way to counter that?

Theoretically, I think he could have. Knuckles is (or was) the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. He's not simply "the guy who punches", as brute strength wouldn't be enough to keep that title over the years. An effective warrior studies his opponent's fighting style, and adjusts his own to match it.

So, given time, Knuckles could, theoretically, learn Shadow's fighting pattern, and work to counter it. I'm not gonna go into Knuckles' sensitivity to chaos energy, because SCU Knux doesn't seem to really have that, so let's just focus on his observational skills.

After facing Shadow a few times, Knuckles would learn that the hog tends to use the element of surprise to his advantage. He'll disappear and reappear closer to you, usually to whichever side he deems your blind spot, or behind you, so once Shadow blinks away, Knuckles only need to spin himself around into a more defensive positioning. Odds are he would catch Shadow unawares at least a few times doing that, and deliver a powerful blow to stun him long enough to go on the offensive.

Now, if Shadow didn't use his teleportation ability to fight Knuckles, I think Knuckles would be able to take him down. Shadow is strong, yes, but I think Knuckles is stronger. They'd have a good match, and may seem evenly met for a while, but I believe Knux has the upper hand when it comes to strength.

Now, all that said, the Knuckles who faced Shadow in Tokyo was one who'd been in domestic life for an unknown amount of time. Months, at least. He hadn't been on the run, day in and day out, senses heightened and focused on surviving.

To be blunt, he'd gone soft. At least a little. The novelization has Knux stating that he "might be a little rusty" after Shadow kicked his butt. So it would seem that the Knuckles of Sonic 3 had softened to the point where he himself feels he wasn't at the top of his game. The Knuckles of Sonic 2 would have been horrified to think of that happening.

So, the question then becomes, would Shadow have won against the Knuckles of Sonic 2? When he was still hyperfocused on surviving and doing anything necessary to find the Master Emerald?

I think Knuckles would have still found himself at a disadvantage regarding Shadow's teleporting abilities. But that drive was still there, that focus, that anger. You'd have two very angry, very focused boys who were looking to avenge their fallen loved one. And I think that would have been one helluva fight.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[studiogrimm810]

Florida Heat

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: trying to wipe out a vamp nest goes south when more than expected monsters emerge from nearby

warnings: humidity (ick), blood loss, vampires, drinking blood, disorientation, graphic depictions of experienced pain

word count: 3,182

A/N: i’m such a sucker for physical hurt/comfort, so enjoy!! ^.^

———————

The hum of the Impala was something that could soothe you to sleep like a baby regardless of its destination. Whether it was 12 hours into a boring road trip or speeding to a nest like it is right now- it was always a lull to ease the churning nerves in your stomach.

It was nearing sunrise so you three were really banking on the vamps being blood drunk and passed out by now. That was your only advantage to the half dozen you assumed to be camped out just outside of town.

You and the brothers had been in town for a few days already, tracking the disappearances of fraternity brothers who all were seen last with one Theo Williams. Theo was a transfer student who slipped into the school year just last month and has now not been spotted outside of the eye witness reports made by students on the nights of said disappearances.

After background checks run by the police department, it was concluded that Theo, who was a fraternity brother of the school he claimed to transfer from almost 8 years ago, he's been reported missing for almost a decade.

The piece that led you three to become certain it was a nest, was one specific witness who swore that Theo had jagged and “shark-like” teeth.

And after hacking traffic cams and tracking so many vehicles, you, with Sam’s consistent vigilance and Dean’s ‘words of encouragement’, had successfully pinned the location of the nest.

Dean parked about half a mile away, far from sight, and you all climbed out of the peaceful bubble of the Impala and into the veil of sticky summer heat of a Florida morning. On the horizon, a honey stained sky glows bright and confident with piercing UV rays slicing through creamy clouds. The picture reminded you just how early it was and you had to stifle a yawn that follows an instinctive stretch from exiting the car.

You’re quickly sucked back to the heat rolling over your skin, collecting humidity that worked overtime to quickly produce a layer of tacky sweat that loose pieces of hair stick to like glue. The sensation led you to mumble out a quiet ‘yuck’ that made Sam chuckle fondly to himself. You tried not to let the itchy sweat get to you and instead focus on the weapons lined in the trunk of your safe-haven that you already missed dearly.

“Alright, stay close, no splitting up,” Dean instructs as if you and his brother aren’t grown adults who’ve been hunting for years. It doesn’t really bother you much when he does so though. You know he only does it because he worries. It’s how he copes hunting with those he cares for, and that’s enough for you to just sit back and be led. “Careful with these, don’t wanna poke yourselves,” he says, passing out a few vials of Dean Man’s Blood for you and Sam to pocket.

It was honestly sweet how consistently caring and protective Dean was of not only you, but Sam. Sam was a grown ass man- 30 some-odd years of painful, firsthand experience of the job under his belt- and yet Dean still treated him like a precious trinket that must be kept pristine at all times.

“We ready?” Dean asks, checking over his machete, darting his eyes up through his brows to look at both you and Sam.

Sam looks over at you before answering his brother. You give Dean a curt nod, sheathing your machete, and Sam gives Dean a simple ‘yeah’.

Dean slams and locks the trunk with a few pats on the silky metal out of affection before leading the way up a road so slim that there aren’t even any lane markers. The three of you fall into your usual line of approach- Dean in front, Sam on the flank, and you in between.

It isn’t long before you spot a crooked trailer that clearly wasn’t hitched properly. There’s a fire pit emitting lazy flakes of ember into the swirl of air above it. A few bodies lie around the pit, slow rising if their chests being the only hint that they’re still breathing.

The bodies are slack and mouths stained with red that have dribbled down their chins and soaked into their clothes. A set of fangs peak past one of their lips and it’s the cherry on top of the confirmation you need to classify this group as blood-thirsty killers.

From here you count four vamps, but the arrhythmic rocks of the trailer behind the lifeless pit suggest more.

A silent look from Dean, with accompanying hand motions, signals a loose plan of action. Dean continues to lead the way and you make sure to stick to his heels as Sam stays a few feet back to keep a clear picture on both of you.

As the group gets close enough, Dean ticks his head to the vamp opposite of you, Sam the same, and with a quick swift spiral of limbs, three heads slice off of their hosts and thud into the swampy mud beneath them. The sound startles the remaining vamp and it bolts up with a dizzy sway from its blood-drunken state.

Its anger is clear as his teeth flash razor sharp fangs and a piercing hiss. Dean, who doesn’t waste time with intimidation, advances the vamp with his machete held high and ready to strike. Before his blade can meet its second victim of the morning though, Dean is tackled by the vamp in front of him. It bucks its shoulders into Dean’s abdomen like a linebacker and lands him into the moist ground with a wet smack that sprays mud everywhere.

“Dean!” Sam barked, heading straight to his brother to decapitate the vamp attacking him.

Your instinct pulls you towards the fumble but the prickle of skin on the back of your neck alerts you back to the now idle trailer. A fresh new wave of crimson lined fangs flash at you from the doorway of the trailer and out pours six more besotted vamps with their sights clearly set.

“Shit,” you utter out as if the dropping of your stomach forced it out. You stumbled back, slipping in the mud but solidifying your grip on your weapon.

Sam has successfully beheaded the vamp who attacked Dean and secured Dean's forearm to hoist him back up to his feet just in time to ready their next attack.

The bundle of vamps seem to split into three and three. One group heading towards the brothers and the other towards you. And unfortunately for you, you and the Winchesters mirrored each other around the fizzled fire pit, putting- well not much- but just enough distance between you to potentially be lethal.

You try not to focus on that and instead put all of your attention into fighting off the three recently turned, frat bro vampires who were out for more blood. The first grabbed your upper arm with a bruising force that made your teeth clench and you swung up your machete to make a sloppy aim for its neck. The blade landed into the monster’s clavicle, however, and only served to further piss it off.

As you swung the blade back out from the pinch of bone you created, the now free blade sliced across another vamps throat, digging a few inches deep into its carotid and spraying blood on its allies. It stumbled back a few feet and was grabbed by Sam who finished the job with a successful flick of his machete.

The vamp who initially grabbed you was not even bothered by the action behind him and instead only cared about the shimmering skin exposed along your neck. You tried to hold off the creature but with a menacing crack, a surge of white-hot pain oozed down your arm and settled into your fingertips before going numb. The pain did continue to radiate around your shoulder and it caused you to lose a vital weapon- your dominant hand.

You cried out at the shock of nerves that erupted in your shoulder and the vamp used the feathering weakness of your body against you, digging its fingernails onto your opposite trapezius and angling you just perfectly for it to sink its fangs into your salty skin.

The sharp stab following the first ache was enough to reverse the air in your lungs- rendering you mute. Your mouth fell agape and eyes wide as all you could do was just take it. The pain weaseled itself under your skin and settled deep like barbed wire before trying to yank back out as the vamp drained you of your blood.

The feeling was uncanny.

Past the vamp, you could see that the beautiful sunrise has finished its display and now the morning sun dominates the sky, shining down on you like rays of warm amber. It sizzles in the far, far distance but still singes your skin with its blistering heat, only adding more insult to injury.

Muffled voices and slick swipes of mud are blocked from your ears as the sounds of sickening slurps and hungry grunts emit up your jaw and into your eardrums.

The wet heat between you and your attacker provided even more sticky humidity to coat your skin under a shrink-wrapped layer of cloth. So when the body is torn off of you and the harsh rays of the morning sun settle upon you, you can almost feel steam roll of your skin.

A brush of wind blew past you and you felt it card through your locks of damp hair as it provided a fresh blast of air. It was enough to settle your nerves enough after the vamp has been torn off of you. But it relaxes you too much as your knees land into the mud beneath you before you can stop yourself.

In the midst of an unfortunate mix of thick, salty air around you, the feeling of cool mud seeping through your jeans is yet another thing that helps to soothe you. It sends little chills up your body and you start to feel colder than you should.

“-hear me? Hey-.”

You let your hands settle into the mud next, but only one hand feels the sensation. Why can’t you feel the mud?

You dig your fingers in further, just enough to wiggle them under the muck, hoping to spike even a hint of feeling in your tips.

But nothing.

What’s up with that?

Your shoulders slack, and- wait, how long have your eyes been closed?

“-to me! Stay with-.”

The recent memory of a firm hand on your shoulder sends a reminder wave of pain through your upper body and causes your teeth to grit.

Oh yeah.

Fucker shattered your shoulder.

Your sharp intake of air stretched your lungs past their capacity, almost shocking you back to the present. The noise around you fades back in and you peel your eyes open.

Sticky mud has sucked you under its skin and you pull back out of it with a ‘smuck’. This motion starkly heightened the throbbing pain in your shoulder that hasn’t stopped screaming at you. You drag your head up just enough to see that Dean is nowhere to be found and Sam is fighting a vamp. You assume they’ve been at it for a minute because mud cakes the side of Sam's body like icing. You recognize the vamp as the one who latched its fangs under your ear.

Sharp slams of feet pull your attention behind you and Dean reappears from the inside of the trailer and aims at Sam.

Dean is quick to aid Sam and soon enough, you watch the vamps head fall into the slop.

When did it get so cold?

Sam hurries towards your swaying form that’s crumbling into itself in the messy grass. You sat back between your heels and shoulders slack, holding yourself up only by the way your posture is bent.

Sam grabs the sides of your face, fixing your gaze onto him. He’s speaking- saying a lot.

Nothing he says settles into your ears yet though.

The pretty sun shines down on you, blinding and warm.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he assures like there’s no other answer. His voice sounds pretty when it’s desperate and full of love.

So, so pretty.

“Dean, they’ve lost a lot of blood,” Sam calls back to his brother, heart in his throat.

“So cold,” you grunt out, trying to find any way to lean your torso so that your shoulder doesn’t hang with such ache.

“Shit,” Sam mumbles to himself, holding a cloth to your neck and brushing some hair out of your face. Dean stumbles over to the scene, blood sprayed across his face matches the splatter of mud across Sam’s.

“Can you hear me?” Dean pats at your face, using a soft pet name to try and coo you back to yourself.

“Sh-shoulder,” you grumble, your face pinched at the tedious pain.

“Let me just take a look,” Dean’s voice is gruff and filled with worry but you can tell he’s doing his best to use his ‘hurt Sammy’ voice.

You feel the cloth peel back, exposing the pierced skin. You hiss at the lack of pressure, revitalizing the itching sting in your wound but a warm ooze settles over the itching just enough to take it down just a notch.

“Okay, okay,” Dean settles the cloth back over your wound and Sam keeps you steady. “It’s not pretty, but it’s not too bad, okay?” Dean says, his eyes lasering into your own. “Just stay awake, okay? You gotta stay awake,” he insists, nodding to show that there’s no other choice. You don’t respond but you think he can tell you’ve been listening. “We need to get them outta here,” Dean finished, standing and surveying the surrounding area.

“C’mon, honey, I’ve gotchyou,” Sam hums, snaking his arm around and under your own arms, holding you close. The sudden rise of your body makes your vision blacken for a moment followed by a flood of heavy pressure against your eardrums. “I’ve gotchya,” he repeats, waiting patiently for you to adjust to the minimal altitude.

As your vision blurs back into colorful place, Sam begins to lead you to the rumble of the incoming Impala.

Damn, Dean was fast.

Sam continues to mumble soft assurances and sturdy words into your ear as you two approach the vehicle.

Sam guides you into the back seat and follows behind.

“You still with us?” Dean looks back to make sure you’re awake before taking off back to the motel.

“‘M head hurts,” you whimper, leaning into Sam.

“It’s the bloodloss, honey, you’ll be okay,” Sam kisses the top of your head that must be disgusting at this point, sweaty, frizzy, and muddy.

“My shoulder too,” you’re starting to find your voice again and that makes Dean's shoulders lighten in relief.

“Yeah, it looked dislocated.”

“God, that’s what that feels like?” You groan, trying to sit up a bit in hopes that a different position will help the dry throb behind your skull.

“Yeah, and it won’t be great goin’ back in either,” Dean scoffs with a tight smirk, trying to gauge just how present you are. Sam gives Dean a sharp look of warning.

“Don’t worry about that right now, love, just focus on staying awake for me,” Sam pushes some damp hair out of your face, keeping soft eyes in you.

He hates to see you like this. It’s like a punch to the gut, keeping him breathless and aching. He just wants you to be better- happy and safe and painless.

The soft hum of the engine brought you down a bit, soothing you like a loving whisper. It held you close and consistently sang its soft tune as the tires brought you closer to your destination. But what exactly was your destination?

“Am I-, are we going to a hospital?” You ask, feeling a wave of nausea coarse through your stomach. You hate hospitals.

Sam locked eyes with Dean in the rear view but this went unnoticed by you. Ideally, yes, you would go to a hospital but this isn’t ideal. The motel was closer and there was no use in worrying you farther, so Sam settled on a simple, “No, honey, we’re gonna fix you up at the motel, no need for a hospital.”

You found comfort in his words and the anxiety started to settle enough to ease your nausea. The pain still snaked from your shoulder and your neck throbbed around its gash.

There’s no way the motel was this close, but you’re already being led out of the Impala by Sam and back towards your room.

The heat of the Florida morning ripples over your clammy skin and causes a wave of heat to tickle up your spine, but once you pass the doorway of your shared motel room, the cool air settles onto your skin and settles your temperature back into place.

Sam sits you into the bed as Dean gets the necessary items to clean you up. Sam peels back the cloth on your neck and the quick smile he flashes lets you know that things really would be okay and he wasn’t just trying to make you feel better.

“The bleeding has stopped, it looks good, sweetheart,” Sam nods softly, the fire in his eyes warming the exhausted ice in yours. You smile weakly at him. “You’re covered in mud, we really should get you cleaned up before patching you up,” Sam places the dirty cloth off to the side.

“Should take care of that shoulder first though,” Dean interrupts and a soft wince could be seen under his stony exterior. You knew it was coming, but the reality of it was sickening.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Sam agrees and you could see his hesitation.

“Js’ get it over with,” you mumble weakly.

Dean sighs and steps forward, positioning you just right to line up your throbbing bone back against its socket. “One… two-,” he shoves the joint back into place before he gets to three and you let out a strangled cry, sucking in a deep breath at the sudden stab back into place.

“Fuck!” You huff, glaring up at him, “what the hell?” You rub your shoulder, your chest rattled with your voice. Dean smiles proudly with a shrug, glad you seemed to be getting your energy back from the lack of blood.

“Go shower, your highness, you both look awful,” Dean scoffs lightly, headed towards the fridge that only housed a recently bought 6-pack.

“You’re one to talk,” Sam joked back lightly, helping you stand again. Even if you were getting some energy back, you’re still quite dizzy and disoriented. “C’mon, love,” Sam's hand rests on your lower back, guiding you to the shower that you both very much needed- you just didn’t want to outwardly admit it to the smug man who winks at Sam as Sam follows you in to the bathroom.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

>>check out my other works here

[wc-fernclan]

My name is Ahmed Bakr, a Palestinian. I live in the Gaza Strip. My least wish is to save my wife and children (Neven, Khaled, Joan, Aida, and Musk) from certain death. I write these words and ask for your help. I do not know whether we will be able to survive. This is my last message to you as a human being and the story of my life and my family since the beginning of the war. My son (Khaled) is his age. (8) years old and suffers from enlarged liver diseases, infections, and anemia from contaminated food and water. We are unable to treat him, buy medicine for him, hold a baby no more than two months old, and I am unable to provide her with milk, pampers, or even supplies for small children. My children need food and treatment. We are deprived of the food we love. Our mental health is deteriorating and very destructive, and we need hygiene supplies in the tents. I was displaced from my home from the north to the south, to Khan Yunis, then to Rafah, and then to Nuseirat. I was injured by an occupation sniper while searching for a living for my children. I endured carrying water, searching for wood to light the fire, and bringing food for my children because there was no gas for long distances. Long, all day long, surrounded by devastation, bloody missiles and shattering shrapnel. We endured constant fear day and night for a whole year without any peace or comfort. I do not know where to take my children. Our lives are very painful and difficult, and every time we miraculously escape death, I want to help everyone who can help us, those with compassionate hearts. We live in the heat of tents and under the blazing sun. My house was completely demolished after years of effort and fatigue and building our house. Then, one night and one day, everything disappeared and my children’s room was completely burned and demolished. Even our car was not spared from the bombing, as we had all the wonderful means and tools. For the sake of a decent life, we started roasting our food over the fire despite the fatigue and heat. We are still standing despite the bombing, hunger, and severe shortages. We need your help. At this Save My Children event, we invite you to share our story with your friends and families with clarity and support. Your sensible words and prayers provide strength to endure these difficult circumstances... (Your donation) can make enough difference in our lives. We depend on your support and your standing by our side through this traditional ordeal, boxing, to restore hope and safety to Hayat and her family. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for considering my application. Your support and donation are very important to me and my family

Show your support for this GoFundMehttps://gofund.me/1d3a37c4

Ahmed, thank you for reaching out. Thank you for sharing the details of how much these atrocities have affected you and your family.

It’s not just your children who deserve better, you do as well.

To whoever sees this post, donate what you can and please share the link.

[yeonmuse]

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ Curtain Call ·˚ ༘

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x lee heeseung ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

authors notes This is a follow up to Heeseungs side story in Can You Hear My Heart. It takes place directly after the final chapter of Jungwons Mini Series. This is not a Hee X Reader series, but if youd like to replace the characters name with your own feel free to. This is part of admins University series

IN WHICH 𖤓 Heeseung has a thing for the theaters golden girl, he’s been crushing on her for months. He’s got it so bad for her that he somehow lets Jake talk him into attending auditions just to get closer to her.

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Everyones invited

Heeseung meant what he said when he tweeted that he’d be going to that party, though the party itself was quite exclusive he along with his friends had already scored secure invites. Him having been friends with the boyfriend of the party host, besides since nicholas had cancelled his party, what better way to spend their time then at a party where he could finally see her outside of just practice or they’re occasional bump ins on campus.

He along with everyone else from the operationXO group chat would be attending, everyones invited, though if only they knew tonight was about to take a turn for the worst.

As they all arrived the house had already been completely packed, his first time at a penthouse suite yet all he cared about was finding her, his priorities sure did change. As he spots the pink fuzz of her hoodie which he had seen in the photos she had taken, he takes a few steps forward only to stop dead in his tracks as his eyes fall upon her smiling and laughing with two other girls, and one girl he knew all too well, Rena.

Sakoia must have sensed his presence because he had been preparing to turn himself around and walk away before he could be seen. She spotted him standing there.

“Heeseung?” He curses under his breath before looking up at her rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Koia, didn’t think I’d see you here. You didn’t strike me as the party type.” He was lying through his teeth, he had seen her posts enough by now to know when it came to her friends she was out often.

“Guess there’s a lot you’ve got to learn about me, Lee Heeseung.” She laughs and jerks her head into the direction of each of her friends as she introduces him to them.

“Ladies this is Heeseung, Heeseung this is Yuan, Nezza and Yuan's friend Rena.” No one else had seemed to notice but by the time Sakoia had introduced Rena, she had already been staring at him. This was painfully awkward and awfully troubling for him, the woman he was once in love with, the one that broke his heart, standing right across from the girl he had been trying to pursue for the last 5 months.

“Nice to meet you all.” He tried his best to play it cool, act as if he didn’t remember her, but she was well aware that he remembered, and he also knew very well from the way he looked at her alone, that he had a thing for Sakoia, because the same way he looked at Sakoia was how he once looked at her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight? Are the girls and the others here too?”

“Yeah we all came, Wonbin gave us an invite since Nicholas had to cancel his party. Congratulations on your release by the way, Nezza.” Truth be told he didn’t know a lot about nezza since the two had only met a handful of times, on the other hand he had known wonbin for years, the two of them having lived across from one another for years in their high school and middle school days.

“Thanks Hee, he’s upstairs probably playing pool in the foyer with some of the guests.”

“Sounds like I should be joining them, but I’ll catch you a little later?” He responds looking at Sakoia.

“Come find me later?” She responds with a smile on her face, he nods in response before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment Sakoia turned around she was met with amused faces.

“Lee Heeseung? You’re hanging out with him and his friends now?” Nezza was the first to mention the obvious elephant in the room, as long as she had known wonbin she had known about Heeseung, she had only met him and his friends a handful of times but it was enough times to know that they were a fun but chaotic bunch. As sweet as Heeseung was, she knew very well that he was the type to leave them, not love them, and it was obvious that his sights were set on her.

“I won’t say hanging out with his friends, I’ve only met them all once at his friend Jungwons Film event, other than that I only just met the girls but we’ve been hanging out occasionally.”

“All I got from this was that there are other women stealing my wife away.” Yuan complains and wraps her arms around Sakoia earning a laugh from sakoia and Nezza, while Rena just sat and observed.

“Just be careful with him, he’s not the type to talk to a woman just because he wants to be friends.”

“Nezz don’t read too much into it like you always do, we’re only friends, he’s a cast member now so I’m sure he just wants to get to know me better since we’re working together, it's only natural to do that right?”

“I don’t even know the guy, but the way he looked at you was not how a costar looks at their costar.”

“Yuan. Seriously you both are reading too much into it.”

Knowing that she had caught Heeseungs eye made her look at Sakoia in a different light. She scanned the girl from head to toe, she had to give it to Heeseung, he sure knew how to pick them, she was beautiful, stunning, but was she really his type?

While the girls remained in the kitchen chatting and gossiping about their life outside of campus, Heeseung joined the others upstairs, half out of his mind from the fact that now only the girl he currently had a thing for had been there, but so was Rena, of all places he could run into her, of all the people he could have seen here it was her.

“You look like you just saw a ghost” Wonbin chuckles as he leans over the pool table for his play.

“Maybe he ran into Sakoia.” Sunghoon teases, warning a slap on the arm from yn who had been sitting on jungwons lap.

“Oh I definitely saw her, she and her friends were gagging a nice conversation before I met them in the kitchen, a conversation with Rena.”

“Oh shit she's really here?” Sunghoon was sent into a fit of laughter that only made Heeseung roll his eyes in response.

“That bitch is actually here? Why ?” Sunoo absolutely hated her, there was no one in the group that hated her more than he had, not even Heeseung himself.

“Apparently she knows both of Koias friends and she was invited, Koia doesn’t seem to know her. I'm guessing they met for the first time today.”

“I saw the whole interaction on twitter, I just didn’t think she would actually be coming, that's insane.” Sunghoon chimes in as he takes his shot on the billiard table.

“Am I missing something? Who is this girl and why do we hate her exactly?” Yn had been the only one left out of the loop, for as long as the guys had known each other they all knew that she was someone that they didn’t speak of. There was a mutual hatred for the girl that each of them had had since senior year in high school.

“Shes Heeseungs Ex”

🔖 @sol3chu @butterflywonz @jwonistic @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @lillotus17 @dreeki @jiamini @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @heesallure

Chapterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[kittenscookie]

I just wanna ask for more M.E. Hermes and Luke if it’s no trouble like they go out of camp to hang out and M.E. Hermes version is taking Luke to the club for fun and introducing him to people

M.E Hermes tries to take his kids out at least once a month. The younger kids get more group activities and the older get more one on one time.

*Little Dinner*

M.E Hermes: Excuse me young man?

Waiter: Hm?

15-Year-Old Luke: Dad what the fuck are you doing...?

M.E Hermes: I'm sorry to bother you at work but my son thinks you're cute—

Waiter: *Blushing*

Luke: *Blushing like a mad man* DAD—!

M.E Hermes: —and he was wondering if you're free after work?

Luke: *Sliding under the table in embarrassment, trying to disappear into the floor*

Luke totally got the waiter's number before they left don't worry.

[tachiharastanacc]

small black lizard fic

If somebody were to ask Gin for an example of a mafioso, she’d easily point them to Hirotsu. The elderly man had been in the mafia for longer than she’d been alive. He was both ruthless to his enemies and protective of their allies. In the six years she’d known him, he never wavered.

That wasn’t to say that he’d never failed. Hell, Gin had watched him be tossed out a window by his broken arm. She’d seen him bleeding out at the hands of that hooded Hunting Dog.

But she’d never seen him like this.

The man was hunched over his desk. His coat was gone; his usual pristine white shirt was unbuttoned and stained with coffee. Papers and files were scattered across the mahogany wood, buried beneath coffee cups and cigarette butts.

It was uncanny to see him like this. And it hurt a bit too.

“Boss asked me to talk to you.”

Despite that, her usually quiet voice was firm and clear. She’d dealt with her brother overworking himself on more than one occasion after all.

“Speak then,” he muttered, not lifting his head to look at her. “I’m busy covering for Tachihara’s slacking off.”

“That’s what Boss wanted to talk to you about.”

The assassin shoveled a pile of documents off the chair directly across from Hirotsu as she sat down.

“It’s been over two months. Boss believes it’s time to promote a new commander.”

He didn’t spare her a glance. “No.”

“Look. He was my best friend. I’m upset too. But it’s natural in our line of work. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“For the dead, perhaps. But Tachihara is not dead.”

There was a reason that Mori had tasked Gin with this conversation. Logically, he could order any one of the executives to tell him to knock it off and they would. But Gin wasn’t an idiot. She knew that doing so would push the old mafioso away further.

Afterall, how could you order someone to stop grieving the death of his son?

“Then he ran away. He was acting weirdly before his disappearance. Maybe he turn-”

“Don’t.”

Hirotsu finally looked up, a cold rage in his steel grey eyes. “Tachihara is not a traitor.”

And normally Gin would agree. Tachihara was aloof. Isolated, despite the brash persona he put on. But he cared. He would do anything for his comrades. She knew that. But…

“Tachihara is not a traitor.”

The boss smirked behind his gloved hands as he stared at the pair. “Perhaps your care for the boy has blinded you to his secrets.”

“I am not as oblivious to these alleged secrets as you claim. However, I put little value in senseless titles. Tachihara is no traitor.”

Hirotsu was perhaps the most frequent victim of the boss’ schemes. Mori clearly got a kick out of the way Hirotsu wouldn’t bat an eye at the absurd orders, such as throwing a ball in Elise’s name or painting a wall. And while Tachihara would frequently complain about the ridiculous missions, Hirotsu would smack him on the head and tell him that the boss’ orders were absolute.

Tachihara would still sulk, but he carried out his orders flawlessly without hesitation after that.

But to see Hirotsu speak back to the boss…it was clear they were discussing something Gin wasn’t privy to. And as much as she hated to admit it, she had a strong feeling that she knew what it was.

Tachihara had been paid off by the government. He’d tipped off the Hunting Dogs.

The military police had likely helped him escape. It’d be a miracle if he was even still in the country, much less the city.

And while Gin couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing, she couldn’t deny that he’d been acting odd; he was guilty and apologetic, as if he was sorry just for taking up space. It was a completely different Tachihara than the one that she knew.

“If the Port Mafia can’t find him, then maybe he doesn’t want to be found. We’re one of the largest organizations in the city. We’re already suffering losses from the attack on the airport and the vampire apocalypse.” Gin paused to rub at the fang marks on her neck. “We can’t waste any more resources on someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

If it was up to her, she would have been searching for him too. But with Ryuunosuke’s recent memory issues and the mafia’s declining numbers, that just wasn’t an option.

And though she wouldn’t admit it to the others, she was afraid of what she would find. The image of Tachihara’s corpse lying in the dirt was almost more than she could bear. His throat slit like her brother as he choked on his own blood. The light slowly leaving his eyes…

“It isn’t that simple. There are…there have been rumors. He may have been…”

“If he was taken by another organization, we would’ve heard about it. They would’ve tried to ransom him to us. Or we would have found clues.”

Or they would have found Tachihara relaxing next to a dead gang who’d thought that kidnapping a teenager was an easy way to get information.

“Not if it was someone with authority. Or somebody who could manipulate facts. Or-”

“You’re spiraling again.”

Gin whirled around towards the shadows. Not many could sneak by her, but her mentor was an exception.

The Frenchman stepped forward, giving her a respectful nod.

“Since when are you two close?”

“The boss would like to stop spending manpower looking for the dog, no?”

“The hell are you calling a dog?!”

Deep breaths.

Anger would help no one.

Gin schooled her face back into something neutral.

“Tachihara’s a person. Not a dog.”

A small smile crept across Verlaine’s face. He looked almost…proud?

“My apologies. But the point stands. The boss no longer has the resources to retrieve him. And you aren’t going to find him alone. Thus, I’m officially offering my assistance.”

In the roughly six years that she had been Verlaine’s student, she’d never heard of him leaving without the stubborn insistence of Chuuya or the violent prodding of Golden Demon.

“But…why? He might not even be alive.”

“He is. Those bastards are many things, but they’re not wasteful. I made a promise to Arthur. And to my brother. I will not stand by and allow this to happen again.”

Gin opened her mouth to protest, but Hirotsu spoke first. “Thank you. We would gladly accept your help.”

[kittenintheden]

Not Your Sweetheart Ch 49 - Wonderwall

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 49 - Wonderwall

The one where I absolutely delight in reminding everyone that Astarion has a dead average 10 charisma and an 18 CHA Tav gives him a run for his goddamn money in all the best and most angsty ways.

AKA "gets away with it bc hottie w/a body" meets "wins every social interaction and is also troubled and hot."

AKA the seducer gets seduced and he's mad about it, until he isn't.

But also it's a whole campaign? You know. Do not enter unless you're expecting true-to-life D&D -- everyone hot as hell but stupid as fuck. Get your top-shelf found family and hotties battling for flirt dominance tropes here. 

---

A look into Leon's past, a brief but loaded family reunion, and a discovery that's immediately ignored because we aren't ready to unpack all that. Read on AO3.

Commissioned piece of the dorks by the fantastically talented @/hamrikaa (see the full thing in Ch 10).

***

Leon Onufrio wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he was born with the Weave flowing through his soul. To some, that was an even more enviable gift.

When a scrappy young sorcerer with the world at his fingertips rose the ranks in Baldur’s Gate, everyone of import noticed. Many with interest, some with jealousy, and others with wariness. Charismatic, skilled, proud. Everything magic had always come easy to him and it showed. Leon didn’t lean toward arrogance, really, but he couldn’t help a little bit of self-importance after a lifetime of praise and open doors.

Which is why Victoria’s birth humbled him so.

It would be too far to say the child was an accident. She hadn’t been part of the plan at the time, exactly, but he’d known what he was doing when he charmed his way into a pretty patriar’s bed. Talent gets you far, but it never hurts to have insurance if life turns sideways. And turn sideways it did. The Gate’s nobility are hardly unaccustomed to the occasional scandal, but they are very accustomed to making scandals disappear. Leon’s lover took a sabbatical, his best ties to the Upper City were mysteriously severed, and some months later a parcel was delivered to his door.

The parcel contained five hundred gold, a tear-stained note full of melodramatic waffling, and an infant.

Magic was Leon’s forte. He knew exactly how to bend the Weave to his whims and use it to impress his way into good standing. But parenthood? The very first thing that didn’t come naturally. At all.

That first year was an endless struggle. Keeping the little one fed when she could have naught but milk every few hours. Sleepless nights punctuated with wailing every time he managed to dose for a few minutes. Exasperated fights with the people who used to give him work and had since been instructed to find another enchanter.

He wanted to hate the baby. He should have hated her.

But he found he could do nothing but love her.