#anyway. do you like time loops? do you want a time loop story told by someone who isn’t IN the time loop? well I’ve got a fic for you

[oh-no-its-bird]

Kakashi Anastasia AU. Specifically bc I started listening to once upon a december on loop, oops

But umm. Anastasia AU. Taking place in a weird mix of old Russia and old Japan with little to no shinobi presence. The Hatake house was once this great, powerful clan that ruled over Iron Country, till a man (stuck between Danzo or Madara— tho also Orochimaru could make for a funny Rasputin) swore to tear them down from their lofty position

Eventually pretty much the entire clan is killed and or scattered, and in the chaos Sakumo and Kakashi manage to escape the palace but are separated. Years pass and the political climate has chilled the fuck out, and while the Hatake's are no longer in charge, Sakumo remains in a position of relative wealth and power

Kakashi, meanwhile, who was a child at the time of the upheaval, has grown up and no longer remembers his father or anything of his former life— he doesn't even remember his previous name, going instead by Sukea.

But there's a rumor on the streets, that somehow Kakashi had survived. And that his father would pay his weight in gold to see him again

And so between markets selling old Hatake belongings stolen from the palace, Rin and Obito strike up a plan to find themselves a Kakashi look alike, train him to the part, and present him as the "real" Kakashi— all for the reward.

And they find the perfect Kakashi in the shape of one street boy named Sukea

So I'm typing this out and I cant lie, I'm a bit torn between Kakashi as our Anastasia or Sakumo. I think both could make for pretty interesting stories, so lets just do both, actually. For fun.

Kakashi as Anastasia

So like I said, Rin and Obito as Dimitri and Vladimir.

They're scrappy street conmen, and their latest great idea to get the hell out of their shitty situation called life is to make themselves a 'Kakashi' to present to Sakumo and hopefully get the big reward.

This plan sounds pretty shitty, but they have one big advantage— Obito and Rin both actually used to work in the palace, and were there the night the Hatake's fell. In fact, that night Obito actually helped Kakashi and Sakumo both escape through one of the hidden servants halls, set into the wall as a false wall. So he came out of that night knowing how they'd escaped and also holding onto a music box that belonged to Kakashi, which he'd dropped.

Obito's big plan is to use the music box to prove his Kakashi is the real one, as presumably only the real one would have it, especially since he'd had it on that fateful night (till he dropped it anyways)

So, Rin and Obito find Sukea, and they're like "oh man this is perfect, you have the hair and everything!" and Sukea is like "??? who are you people leave me the fuck alone???"

And the thing is, they dont like. Want to tell Sukea they want him to pretend to be Kakashi, bc he'd say no. But they have an advantage bc Sukea just so happens to have a very poor memory of his childhood, is an orphan, and is about the right age! So they instead just begin to gaslight him into believing he really is Kakashi

After a couple roadblocks, this works,,, surprisingly well, actually.

Anyways just Rin, Obito and Sukea road trip to fire country to reunite Sukea with his maybe dad, Sakumo

Over the course of getting there, little bits and pieces of his childhood begins to come back to Sukea. Helped along, ofc, by Obito and Rin feeling his own history to him.

And ofc as Rin and Obito are feeding him this information he's going "omg its all coming back to me,, I remember that guy,, I also remember (thing they never told him about)"

And they're looking nervously at each other like "??? did you tell him that?? I didn't tell him that"

and Sukea is taking to their lessons incredibly easily (almost like he really did this all as a kid, wow how impressive)

And at this point also just, have fun w the Hatake lore. Really get in there, there's a great excuse of Rin and Obito teaching him about his families history.

Uhh fun scene of Obito teaching Sukea to ballroom dance,,,, Rin is playing music for them as Kakashi takes to it like a fish to water, quickly outpacing Obito. Rin is giving a side eye at the romantic tension between them as Obito gets way too flustered as Sukea teases him ab who there is the real dance instructor

It's around this time that Sukea really does become Kakashi, even in his own mind

They arrive in fire country !!!

Obito and Rin are both starting to feel uhh,, a bit of guilt for having so thoroughly gaslit Sukea into thinking he's Kakashi, especially as when they arrive, they are hearing rumors of how there are plenty of other fake Kakashi's hounding Sakumo.

And like. Oh man, if their Kakashi is caught as a fake it'll probably fucking crush him. They've convinced this man that he's going to meet his long-lost father.

But also, hey, if they get him in, everyone's happy, right? Sukea gets a father, Sakumo gets a son, Rin and Obito get their money!

And then they'll split ways. And that's fine. Obito is so fine about that. There's no reason at all why he'd feel bad about having to split up from Kakashi now, like, at all. In the slightest. Shut the fuck up Rin.

(Obito might be starting to catch a feeling or two and its just all a mess. It's a slow moving car crash and they're in too deep to back out now)

So they approach Sakumo— or try to, anyways. Seeing as he's, yk, the last standing Hatake, important guy, all that, they don't get very far. But they do manage to get an audience with one of his servants. Who for this we're going to say is uhhhhhhh

throwing a dart at a board here, yk what? Dan. Sakumo's trusted second in this au is gonna be Dan, Tsunade's dead boyfriend. Good for him.

So they get an audience with Dan, and Obito and Rin are like "omg look its the REAL Kakashi !!!!" and Dan is like "yeah thats what the last 10 "real Kakashi's" all said."

But he starts asking Kakashi questions, ab his history, all that, and it's going pretty well. Kakashi has remembered a lot of this, and had a lot more of it trained into him by Rin and Obito— who are, by the way, also in the room and sweating bullets as the interrogation happens.

But then Dan asks the final question. How did Kakashi get out of the palace that fateful day.

And Obito is like oh fuck I didn't tell him that one. But it's too late, bc Kakashi is thinking it over, and finally Kakashi goes,

"there was this boy,,, and he,, opened up a wall, I think. For us to escape through."

Which, again, Obito never told anyone about.

So Obito is like [incredibly loud 10 car pile up noises] oh FUCK this is THE ACTUAL KAKASHI

but he cant say shit bc the interview is ongoing and hey, good news, they passed!! Dan will go tell Sakumo he has (another) Kakashi here to see him.

So as they wait, Kakashi wanders off for some fresh air and Obito tells Rin what he realized, and Rin is like, oh my GOD????? Oh fuck, we ,,, actually found his family. Obito, we actually found the Hatake heir

and Obito is like I KNOW!!!

and Rin is like Obito, we FOUND THE ACTUAL HATAKE HEIR !!!!!

And Obito is like I KNOW !!!!!!!!!!!

So they're freaking the FUCK out but then Kakashi comes back in and they have to pretend like they weren't hyperventilating 2 seconds ago while Kakashi kinda side eyes them and goes "damn, and I thought I was nervous about this"

So. They are allowed to see Sakumo.

Specifically, Obito is allowed to see Sakumo while Rin and Kakashi wait outside in the hallway.

So Obito is brought in by Dan, whos like,

"hey boss, this is uhh—"

"Uchiha Obito"

"This is Uchiha Obito, he claims to have found Kakashi."

and Sakumo, who is hella depressed and totally sick of this shit, is like "oh great, another one."

and Obito is like, "omg ur uhh. Highness. Majesty. Sir Hatake. Fuck."

And Sakumo is looking at him, very visibly unimpressed, and it's really not helping Obito's nerves right now.

So Obito tries to make his case but Sakumo is frankly just not hearing it— he's seen so many fake Kakashi's and he's just. So tired. He wants to be left alone. His son is dead, he's given up hope.

And suddenly Sakumo is squinting and going, wait what was your name again?

And when Obito tells him, Sakumo is snorting and going "yeah bitch, I've heard of you. Werent you holding auditions for a good person to play Kakashi?"

and Obito kind of bluescreens and is like, "I mean— Yes, but— Listen, you dont understand, this is the real Kakashi!"

And Sakumo is like "Yeah, sure he is kid. I bet you trained him real nice and authentic too. Bet he's very impressive. Get the fuck outta here."

And Dan pushes him out of the room— straight into Kakashi. Who heard everything and has made some pretty damn logical assumptions, and is now totally devastated

So Kakashi Rin and Obito (but mostly Kakashi and Obito) get into a shouting match as Kakashi is just. Devastated. So what, Obito and Rin have been using him this entire time? It was all a lie? They never really thought he was Kakashi, they just played into his vulnerability and desire to know his family, because they wanted the reward money?

And Obito and Rin both are trying to say no, they promise— Or well, at first, but you have to hear them out, he's the real deal!

But they're tripping over their words in their panic and Kakashi— Sukea —isn't hearing it. Isn't interested.

Sukea stomps off, leaving a totally devastated Obito and Rin and a pretty awkward Dan, who just kinda stood by and watched this all happen like "damn, tough luck"

But it's not over yet, Obito and Rin both refuse to let it be over yet. So Rin distracts Dan as Obito proceeds to car jack Sakumo when he goes to leave the opera house this whole thing went down at.

And Sakumo is like "I will literally fucking kill you. Pull the car over NOW." as Obito is absolutely terrified for his life but more determined than ever (and just praying the glass between him and Sakumo protects his ass)

And they finally get to the hotel Kakashi and them had been staying at, and Obito slams the door open and is like "LOOK—"

Sakumo punches him in the face.

Obito is pretty sure his nose just shattered.

Obito tries again, through the blood and pain, with a now harder to understand but no less determined, "LOOK—"

His nonstop determination to be a fucking maniac is impressing Sakumo just a little bit by now, so he decides to see what this loser has to say.

Obito gives Sakumo the music box he picked up from the palace way back in the beginning of all of this, and begs him to just see Kakashi. And Sakumo, sick and tired of all of this but genuinely shaken by the reappearance of his son's music box... agrees.

So! Sakumo heads upstairs to where Kakashi is very angrily packing his shit up, getting ready to haul his ass back to Iron Country, alone. And he knocks on the door and Kakashi shouts at him to go the FUCK AWAY, OBITO !!!! HE DOESNT WANT TO SEE YOUR LYING BITCH ASS EVER AGAIN !!!!!!

And Sakumo is like, "well. You have the attitude to play my son, at least."

And Kakashi freezes and is like, "oh my god Im— Im so sorry. Oh fuck, Im so sorry, why are you here, I— I'm sorry, this is a waste of you time, I never meant to pretend to be your son, I just wanted to know who I was"

And Sakumo just kind of watches him as Kakashi keeps talking, apologizing, cursing Obito and Rin's names both, trying to explain he had no idea that this was supposed to be a con, refusing not to even look at Sakumo.

Kakashi just keeps talking till Sakumo finally interrupts, admitting, "I have to say, you are the most convincing actor I've seen so far."

Kakashi kind of blanks.

They talk.

Kakashi shares things he remembers. Sakumo listens. He tries not to hope, he tries so hard not to hope, but he can't help the feeling that wells up inside of him each passing moment that Kakashi speaks.

This entire time, Kakashi has had a necklace. It's nothing too special; he likes to fidget with it sometimes. He's had it as long as he can remember. It's now, that Sakumo notices it. Asks him what it is.

"What, this?" Kakashi looks at the necklace, which he genuinely forgets he has sometimes. "I've had it since.... forever, I guess."

Sakumo shows him the music box, and immediately, Kakashi knows what to do.

The necklace fits into the music box's lock like it was made to be there. Probably because it was.

Kakashi looks at Sakumo with the same painfully hopeful eyes, the same expression of 'Was this it? Did I do it right?' that he used to aim at his father whenever he learned something new.

Sakumo crumbles.

So!!! Reuinion time !!!! Kakashi and Sakumo both cry, it's a big messy thing, they are very happy. Tears and emotional vulnerability all around.

Rin finally makes it home, looking a little ruffled from some presumed off screen fight between her and some security guards, but fine over all. She approaches Obito, gasping out an urgent, "How did it go?"

Obito doesn't even look at her, only nods up towards the second story window. "Look for yourself."

Rin follows his gaze, greeted with the sight of father in son hugging each other like they were scared the other would disappear if they loosened their grip so much as a single fraction.

"Oh." Rin says, torn between awe and relief.

"Oh." Obito echoes, feeling about the same way.

Later that week, Obito is called in to accept his reward money. He's already discussed it with Rin, and they both agreed— they can't accept it. It... doesn't feel right.

Sakumo is surprised. Impressed, even. He walks Obito out and they pass by Kakashi, who is like, "well have a GREAT life, Obito. With all your stupid REWARD MONEY, since that's all you ever REALLY wanted!"

And Obito doesn't argue, doesn't deny it, just leaves. Figuring it's the best thing he can do for Kakashi. But as he goes, Sakumo turns to Kakashi and is like "yeah so he didnt accept the money lmao"

Kakashi blue screens.

"He,,, didn't accept,,, the money?" Then, what was this all for? What the fuck? Kakashi, above all else, finds himself really fucking mad.

So what. Obito and Rin trick him, lies to him, brings him here under false pretenses that... end up not being so false, if only by chance. Then they have the gall to NOT accept their reward, to return home in defeat, abandoning Kakashi here, like cowardly little BITCHES

Long story short: Kakashi chases after Obito in the street. It's a very busy street, they have a large audience— not that either of them seem to care.

There is screaming. There may be a punch thrown. Possibly two.

In the mess of it all, someone kisses the other. It's unclear who starts it, but the next thing Kakashi knows there are lips on his, teeth clicking angrily against his teeth as they swap from fighting with their fists to fighting in a much less effective way.

When Kakashi drags Obito back inside, his father doesn't look as surprised as Kakashi feels like he should.

Umm then they all lived happily ever after, the end <3

I ended up not really using a Rasputin character for this, which tbh Im ok with. I think the more down to earth take is kinda fun in itself, so I'll stick to it.

Anyways. On the flip side:

Sakumo as Anastasia

I think Sakumo could make a particularly interesting Anastasia in part due to his age. Because where Kakashi is this young man, honestly still probably like 18/19 year old guy, reuniting with his dad, learning about his past, all of that good stuff— Sakumo is in his early 30's, a whole grown man with a child, doing the same thing.

There's no cap on how old you can be to learn about your past or rediscover yourself, and I think Sakumo would make a fun Anastasia for that alone.

Also it's an excuse to use his mother in a plot, lmao

Sakumo has already had Kakashi, so he's like lugging around his 5 year old son with him this entire adventure, which is fun for the both of them.

I think the sanin would make for a very funny Dimitri and Vladimir. It's Jiriyah and Tsunade leading the charge on this excellent get rich quick scheme, Orochimaru is along for the ride

I spent so long on Kakashi as Anastasia, I kind of don't want to go too in depth with a Sakumo as Anastasia au, but like. It could be fun. Obviously, it'd hit p much all the same beats— this is one of those easy AUs that follow the original story pretty much one to one, tho idk if Sakumo's route would include any romance like Kakashi's did

Uhh, Sakumo/Orochimaru anyone I guess? I do love that pairing, it is true

Anyways now I'm watching this and this compellations of Dimitri, picturing him as Obito, Vladimir as Rin, and Anya as Sukea/Kakashi and having way too much fun giggling about it

Final thoughts: Anastasia is an excellent movie, you should watch it.

[romanromulus]

[thebibliosphere]

With hindsight, I probably should have realized I was polyamorous/ambiamorous sooner than I did. (And to be clear, I realized it pretty young. I just didn't have the terminology for it.)

Ignoring the fact that five-year-old me used to watch Signing In The Rain! on a loop and was already making up stories about Don, Cosmo, and Kathy all living together in Don's big house and *gasp* holding hands (maybe kissing), I was never any good at shipwars.

Like someone would ask me, "What's your OTP?" and I'd be like, "Well, I guess I like X/Y, but also Y/Z is good too..."

And they'd be like, "No. I mean your one TRUE pairing," and I'd just blink at them like, I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.

I'm sure they thought I was trying to stir shit or being deliberately annoying, but I just... couldn't wrap my head around it. Why did I need to pick one thing? There were multiple options with different things that made them appealing. That's like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and just drinking water. Which is fine! If water is all you want, great. But you don't get to go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and judge people for eating different foods...

And when I eventually found out multi-shipping was a thing, I was like, "oh neat, that's what I do!" and while there was a definite feeling of having found my people, it was weird having the moral judgment from other people who seemed to think multi-shipping was a symptom of a greater moral character flaw. Like my inability to settle on just one thing meant I was more likely to cheat irl.

This wasn't helped by the fact that I... kinda already didn't care about monogamy? Not the way my friends did. I didn't mind that my then-boyfriend liked Sarah, too. What I minded was that he went behind my back and kissed her when he'd told me I couldn't kiss anyone else.

It was the betrayal of the agreement that hurt. Because we'd agreed. He'd asked me to be exclusive with him, and I did. And then he... didn't. And my friends couldn't grasp that.

It was all, "How could he kiss someone else?!" and my chief complaint was, "Why didn't he tell me first?!"

Anyway, if I could go back in time, I'd tell teenage me, you're not weird and amoral, you're just queer, polyamorous, and have ADHD, lmao.

[cameronspecial]

hii! I really love and enjoy all of your writings, you are so amazing and talented!

I checked just to be sure before I ask if you could write about rafe being/having casual dominance towards a clumsy!reader but she doesn’t really notice she’s clumsy or a bit reckless?

i’m so sorry if this doesn’t make sense my english isn’t that good but it’s okay if you don’t want to this, I love your work anyway! thank you so much!

Clumsy Princess

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

A/N: You are so sweet, thank you!

Masterlist

Rafe knows how to control his body. He is aware of every movement he does and how it affects and is affected by his environment. He is practically Spider-Man. Y/N, on the other hand, is the completely opposite. She bumbles around the world like a baby doe on freshly born legs. Her depth perception is severely lacking and it has led to a variety of bruises all over her body. However, ever since she started dating Rafe, the number of her accidents has dwindled.

———

The couple walks hand-in-hand around the aquarium, taking their time to look at the different exhibits. Rafe booked out the whole place, so they didn’t worry about other people being in the way. The first place she has wanted to go is to look at the turtle and they have been making their way to the animals for five minutes now. They finally spot the hard-shelled sea creatures and her face lights as bright as a star. She rushes to the tank while dragging him behind her. As soon as they get to the tank, he places the back of his hand against the glass around her height. She can’t question what he is doing because before she can, the momentum of her hurry to get to the glass causes her forehead to hit his hand. Her left hand reaches up to rub where a bump would have been forming if not for Rafe and she turns to him with a thankful smile. “Thank you, Baby.” She rises on her tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips. 

———

Her hand is looped into his as they walk down the street after leaving the aquarium. They are heading to Chinatown to get something to eat. “And I told her that she was being mean…” The words Y/N is saying fade away from Rafe’s ears as he sees the street lamp coming up and he has a fortune-teller moment. He nods with a smile, pretending to listen. As they pass the lamp, he is sure to tug her to his side. She narrowly misses walking into the pole, yet she doesn’t notice and she continues on with her story. “She said I was the one at fault.” Rafe can now focus on his girlfriend’s words because there are no dangers in sight. 

———

They get back home and she can’t wait to get to their room to watch Coco like Rafe said they could. He holds her hand whilst she stumbles over her shoes as she takes them off, but she lets go of it as she runs to the stairs. Rafe is right behind her. She rushes up the stairs and feels his hands on her waist. As he predicted, she was going too fast and would’ve missed the first step, which would’ve caused her to face plant right into the steps. She straightens up and looks at him with a sheepish grin. He returns the smile and rests his hand against her lower back to help her upstairs. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Summary: After waiting all this time to have you, Suguru finally gets to taste you in a whole new way.

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Fem Reader

** A sorta Part 2 of Do Not Answer **

Story Warning: Post Partum Sex, LACTATION KINK!!!, Smut, Milk Drinking (Suguru), Mutual Masturbation, Female and Male Masturbation, Profanity because I can only be me, Sprung Suguru, Primal Play/Marking, Creampie, A Sprinkle of Breeding Kink, Fingering, Fingersucking, Sensitive and caring Sugu, Needy Reader and Needy Suguru, Missionary, Cowgirl, Dripping Titties, Got Milk??, Threats of violence sorta, Domestic Suguru

WC: 5.6k

Divider Cred: @hitobaby

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Baby…”

“Suguru, I promise. I’m sure. I’m ready. Besides, the doctor said we could…” You loop your arms around his neck, watching worry etched across his face slowly begin to fade. “I’ll let you know if I need to stop.”

The deep frown lines between his brows disappear, expression softening as he peers down at you. Since you’d returned from your most recent appointment, Suguru had been on edge, tenser than ever. But that’s been his baseline mood for the last nine months anyway. Though, today was worse than others.

Suguru knew this moment was coming and on a normal day, he’d be looking forward to it. He’d be jumping for joy at the prospect of having you. However, all he can think about is how terrible he’ll feel if he ends up hurting you. He runs one hand gently along your thigh in soothing motions, and he’s not really sure if the act is to ease your mind or his.

You’ve been beaming, going on about doing this from the moment you’d left the doctor’s office, all smiles and eager eyes. Suguru told himself he’d resist, give you more time even as you chirped an excited “I can’t fucking wait!” in the car.

But as Suguru stares down at you, all soft and beautiful lying in bed in your cute little silk nightdress, he knows he’ll give in to you no matter what. He’s weak for you. Always has been. It’s why he couldn’t let you go when he’d left jujutsu society. It’s why he took the risk of trying to win you back.

And it’s easy to give you everything you want and more when you gaze up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. He really should have known from the moment he settled his hips between your legs that all you had to do was ask and he would be yours. It’s always been that way when it comes to you.

Suguru brings his face down to yours, runs the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours and like a reflex, you tilt your chin up to meet him. He watches your eyes flutter closed, lips pursed with anticipation. And just before your mouths collide, he stops.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks again, slight panic in his voice.

He’s certain he doesn’t sound like himself. He’s full of nerves, voice trembling the closer you get. But you roll your eyes playfully with a giggle and it calms him just a bit. “Suguru, just kiss me,” you whisper against his mouth. 

His lips meet yours hesitantly. His kisses are careful. Tender, like he’s afraid he’ll break you if he devours your lips the way he truly desires.

His hand squeezes your plush thigh and a soft whimper falls from his mouth and into yours. When you moan back into him, the sound sends tingles up his spine, making his legs shake ever so slightly. It’s been some time since you’ve made noises like that, and it does something to him. That, and the combination of your little makeout session currently happening. Suguru is struggling to keep it together. You’ve barely been kissing and he’s trying to resist pressing his hips roughly into yours. He so desperately wants you.

See– Suguru has been waiting months to be able to touch you like this again. To have you like this again. Nine long months actually.

Six weeks ago, you’d given birth to your son, the perfect blend of you and him. 

Your pregnancy had been unexpected and if Suguru’s math was right, he’s pretty sure it happened the night he’d crawled through your dorm window at the school and begged you to leave with him. It’s been almost a year since you’d abandoned all of your beliefs and hopes to fully stand alongside him as a curse user. 

After not being able to touch you for so long, just when he’d finally gotten you back, he found himself right back at square one.

But, the payoff was worth the wait. 

Not long after your defection, you’d come to Suguru in the early hours before he was to meet with the monkeys lined up outside the monastery. Your eyes were rimmed red, evidence of your tears as you stood before him. You looked ill, and you had been for some days. This had Suguru worrying. You’d been having such a hard time coping with the choice you’d made already. 

And it likely didn’t help that Yaga ripped you a new one days after your defection had become clear. Satoru had given you hell via text, promising to end you both if he saw either of you again. 

But Suguru could not have gave less of a fuck about his ex friend’s empty threats. He did, however, care about how much it affected you. It only took a few weeks for your health to decline, for you to be sick and in bed most of the day. Suguru truly believed this to be depression settling in for you. The same had happened for him. He couldn’t help but be concerned.

On the days you felt well enough to be out, you opted to be without him. And because old habits die hard, Suguru had of course had curses following you in the shadows. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything. Which was even more worrisome to him.

Where was the fiery attitude he so loved about you? Where was the woman who gave him absolute hell if he overstepped?You were nowhere to be found.

His mind began eating away at him as he tried to find reasons for your sudden change. Perhaps you had decided to return to the school and  leave him behind again? Maybe you were beginning to regret your choice… Regret him?

Well, that would just be unacceptable. Suguru could not imagine what he would do if this were the case. He’d already risked everything to have you again. To beg you to leave with him and give up all you’d known to join him in his fight. It still took convincing even after you’d joined his cause. Now you may be entertaining the idea of leaving again?

Suguru lost his mind the first time he thought he lost you.

This time, he thinks he would destroy everything and everyone in his path if he lost you again.

Luckily for him, and everyone else, all of his worries melted away when you took his hand in yours, squeezing gently and told him the news. “I know this wasn’t the plan, Suguru. I know we were going to move forward with…” you paused, choosing your words carefully, because you never knew who could be listening. “Celebrating Christmas Eve.”

He knew what you were referring to, of course.

“I don’t care about any of that.” Because he didn’t. Even as his heart roared in his ears, all he could think about was the gift you were giving him; the blessing that was now going to be coming.

A child – His child. With you. The perfect heir to his legacy.

But pregnancy had not been good to you and you spent a good majority of it uncomfortable and sick. And so, Suguru had been reluctant to initiate intimacy with you. Not because he didn’t find you attractive anymore. It was truly the opposite. In fact, Suguru found you so incredibly enticing during your pregnancy that he was afraid he’d hurt you if you became intimate. He feared he would not be able to fight his urges to fuck you through the bed if he had you.

Seeing you all round and soft? It had his dick aching. He found himself showering three, sometimes four times a day, fisting his cock as he imagined all the ways he wanted to have you. It was embarrassing, the way his body reacted to the simple sight of you. So, he had to find some sort of outlet. You were already struggling so much with your pregnancy. He couldn’t add onto that, be the reason you had more discomfort than you were already dealing with.

Now, you’re six months postpartum and you’ve been an absolute angel. You’re glowing, the epitome of beauty, ethereal almost. Motherhood has only made Suguru fall even more in love with you. 

The doctor has finally given you the green light to be intimate again. Though, with a warning to be careful as the risk of becoming pregnant again is incredibly high right now. Somehow, the thought makes Suguru even harder if possible. Some sick part of him wants to bury himself as deep as possible. Breed you again and again. Pump you full of his seed and have you round with him as many times as he can. 

A tiny groan escapes Suguru as he deepens the kiss, lips slotting sloppily against yours. Every moan he pulls from you is making it more and more difficult for him to resist pressing his hips against yours, strip you of this flimsy little fabric and make love to you until you can only think of him. The same way he only thinks of you. His hand glides up your smooth thigh, slipping beneath your gown and up to your waist. 

He finally breaks the kiss, and the gentleness does not make a bit of difference because you’re both left gasping for air between each other. Suguru’s eyes roam down your body ravenously, every new dip and curve gifted to you by your newfound motherhood so goddamn enticing. Even moreso, when he feels it…or doesn’t feel it, rather.

“You’re not wearing panties,” he mumbles, more as an observation than a question. He pulls his hand from beneath your dress to glide over the smooth material of your silky gown along your stomach, up to the valley of your breasts.

You shake your head, a cheeky grin spreading along your face. “Didn’t think I’d need them.”

Suguru hums, hooking a finger into the cup of your gown and tugging down. He watches with heated desire as your supple breast falls free from its confines. So round and full. He can’t help but run his tongue along his lips.

“Did you pump before bed?” He asks. He cups your breast gently in his palm, biting down on his bottom lip when you sigh a soft no, followed by a quiet gasp. Suguru clicks his tongue, delicately squeezing the tender flesh and honing in on the small pearlescent bead of liquid that forms at the tip of your pert nipple. His heated gaze watches as your eyes fall shut, back arching as you press your breast further into his touch.

Suguru has watched you pump many times. Watched you breastfeed and has always wondered about this–what it tastes like. It’s not as though he’s picky when it comes to ingesting things. He’s a curse eater, after all. He’s sure your breast milk tastes heavenly. Everything he’s tasted from you has never been anything but delectable. But this…this is new. This is something he’s never had from you. But he will soon.

He must have every part of you.

“You okay?” Suguru asks, gaze locked on the warm liquid cascading down your breast. He meets your gaze and because you know him so well, you nod almost immediately. He dips down to wrap his lips around your hardened bud, pulling another sigh from you, a little louder this time. 

The rush of liquid filling his mouth surprises him at first, only for a second. Then he takes his time to taste you. Your milk is rich. Sweet. Buttery. But there’s an aftertaste there that’s so incredibly intoxicating, it has Suguru’s eyes rolling straight to the back of his head. It shocks him, the way this taste travels straight to his cock, and has him painfully erect to the point that he lets out a garbled moan against your breast. 

It only takes him a few seconds, after more than a decade of knowing you, training with you, fighting beside you that he realizes this taste is your cursed energy. And it has his dick is pulsing between his legs.

‘How delightful’, he thinks. To fully have you like this. To be able to literally taste the essence of your being. To consume what makes you superior to all others in this world. 

What makes you powerful. 

What makes you a sorcerer.

The thought alone makes him want to fucking cum in his pants right this second.

But he can’t. He needs to reel it in. At least, long enough to please you. He takes a deep breath, swallows what’s in his mouth. And just in time, because you roll your hips up into his and he has to pull back with a quiet hiss. The heat of your core meeting his clothed erection has his legs quivering already. It’s pathetic. 

He peers down at you, strands of hair stuck messily to his wet cheeks. Under the soft moonlight peeking in through your bedroom windows, he can just make out the way your chest heaves with shaky breaths, the slight parting of your lips as you stare lustfully up at him. His gaze trails down to your other breast, now soaking through your gown, your milk having leaked while he was giving all his attention to your other breast.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Suguru whispers sweetly, hooking his finger into the other cup and pulling it down. “I spent so much time on one, I forgot the other.”

His hand cups your soaked breast, a thumb brushing gently over your erect nipple and you gasp again.

“Sugu…” you whine, hands coming up to grab hold of his shoulders.

“You okay?”

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage, eyes fluttering closed as he tweaks your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Sensitive.”

Suguru hums, slowly brushing his thumb over your nipple again, groaning when he elicits the same reaction from you.

‘So responsive’, he thinks. You’ve always been, but it seems you’re increasingly so today.

When Suguru slides his wet tongue over your nipple just before taking the peak into his mouth, you squeeze down on his shoulders, a choked sob falling from your lips.

“Oh, I love that sound you make,” Suguru breathes against your breast. He drinks greedily from you, savoring every little tingle the taste of your cursed energy sends up his spine, every little mewl you let out. He’s sure his skin is covered with goosebumps.

This must feel like sweet relief for you. Your body melts into his as he mouths at you, slurps you up, devours you and all you have to offer. 

You’re delicious.

And Suguru means that literally.

When your hands tangle in his hair and pull him up from your nipple with a loud pop, it’s only then that he realizes he’s been so focused on your breasts that he damn near forgot about you.

Panting, he stares down at you. He’s certain he looks all kinds of disheveled – lips swollen and glistening, chin dripping, eyes glazed over.

And you, you only stare back at him lovingly – eyes full of arousal, hungry and wanting, lip swollen from biting down on it in attempts to stifle your moans. You bring a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek gently. You swipe your thumb along his chin, collecting whatever liquid resides there. It’s sweet, cute that you’re wanting to clean him up. But then you press your thumb to his lips, your mouth falling open as you slide the digit past the threshold until you reach his tongue. You peer up at him expectantly. So Suguru wraps his lips around your thumb and greedily sucks the remaining drops of your milk from your thumb.

Your other hand wraps around him, fingers delicately tracing a line up and down his back and Suguru releases a muffled groan. 

“I want you,” you whisper and you grind your hips into his again. He can feel your arousal through the fabric of his boxers. He can’t even stop his own hips from rutting desperately into yours and you whine softly, “Please.”

He can hear the desire in your voice. It shoots straight to his dick and the throb that follows has Suguru wincing.

There you are. There’s his girl. So fucking needy for him like you’ve always been. He loves it when you get like this. And it’s been so long since you’ve begged for him that he has to resist yanking his pants down and sliding right into your dripping cunt.

He’s so hard for you, wants to fuck you until you can’t stand. But he has to remember, you may not be ready for that. He needs to be careful with you, take his time so as to not hurt you.

“You sure?” He asks, just one more time. For his own peace of mind.

You fix him with a deadpan look, much like the one you gave him the night he’d climbed through your window and threatened to splatter your little boyfriend’s insides along the streets of Tokyo.

“Okay,” he acquiesces, a small smirk playing on his lips. He loves your little attitude.

He’ll take his time with you, let you get used to this again because god knows he’s gonna need a second or else he’ll be losing himself to you in no time. He dips his head down, lips finding your neck and pressing soft kisses before he lightly sucks at your skin, making quick work of leaving a mark.

In the morning, when you’re getting ready for the day, he knows he’ll receive your wrath and it will have been worth it. Suguru loves to mark you up, though it pisses you off. He only cares that it signifies to everyone that lays eyes on you that you belong to him and him alone.

His possessiveness takes over, makes him bite down on the already tender spot on your neck and you cry out, which only makes Suguru moan against you.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he nuzzles against your throat, nipping and sucking lightly as he goes.

“More,” you whimper, and your fingers trace down his bare chest, along his abdomen until they reach the waistband of his boxers. You slip your hand inside, finding his cock with ease and wrapping your hand around him.

The sensation makes Suguru buck into your fist, a weak cry falling from his lips as he thrusts himself into your hand.

“Baby…” he whines into your neck. “Fuck, wait–”

But you don’t listen. You pump his cock, matching his rhythm as you throw your head back with a soft moan.

Suguru slips a hand between the two of you, cupping your pussy and groaning when he feels how soaked you are. It’s probably for the best that you ditched your panties tonight. He runs a finger through your folds, finding your clit and massaging circles around the sensitive nub teasingly.

You’re writhing beneath him, keening quietly into the air as you stroke his cock and let Suguru mark your skin as he pleases. He’s moved onto your chest now, lips back on your nipples and he suckles any drop of milk he can get from you.

The sounds coming from you are driving him insane. The sounds coming from him are almost foreign. He’s never heard himself sound like this before, so desperate, so needing, so fucking in love with you. He wants more, wants to hear more, wants to feel more.

He breaks free of your breasts and crushes his lips against yours. When you gasp in surprise, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth while simultaneously slipping a finger easily inside of you. Your movements pause, a sharp intake of breath making Suguru pull back.

“You okay?” He asks, panic clear in his voice. “We can stop.”

You shake your head quickly. “No! No, I’m fine. It’s just…” You begin pumping him again, smirking when you see the way Suguru’s jaw clenches, how his hips stutter slightly. “It’s been awhile. Keep going.”

Suguru is a little hesitant. This is exactly what he was worried about. He knew you weren’t ready. He should stop –

His thoughts are interrupted when you squeeze the head of his cock, his precum adding enough lubrication to make the sensation dizzying for him. He has to catch himself on his free arm.

“Goddamn,” he grits, pulling his finger back just slightly before burying it knuckle deep inside you again. “Fuuuucking stroke my cock.”

You have your fist tightly wrapped around his length, twisting and pumping him just the way he likes. Like you haven’t missed a beat. You gaze up at him, all flushed cheeks and eyes glazed over in bliss as Suguru slips one more finger into you.

“Like this?” You ask innocently and Suguru leans down to press a wet, sloppy kiss to your lips.

“Just like that,” he pants against your lips. “You’re s– ah – so good at that. Good fucking girl, ” he praises.

It goes on like this for some time, you and Suguru getting each other off. He feels as though his nerves are on fire, skin prickling as the pleasure begins to take over. He wants to cum so fucking bad. Wants to coat your little hand in his load and have you use it to keep jacking him off. But nothing is getting him off more than the idea of being inside of you right now. Though, he knows he’ll have to take it slow.

“I need to fuck you now,” he grunts roughly. “Need you so bad.”

He pulls his fingers from your core, chucking low when you whine at the loss. He reaches down to his waistband and you let go of him as he pushes his boxers down, working them off until he can kick them across the floor.

“You ready for me?” He asks, kissing you messily again. He settles between your legs, brows knitting when your bare cores finally meet. It’s so hot. Literally, he can feel the heat radiating from your pussy and the anticipation of your answer is killing him. You’re already drenched, coating him with your slick arousal. He wants to be inside of you. Please don’t deny him.

“I’m ready, baby.” You reach down between your bodies and take him in your hand again, position his tip at your entrance. “Please fuck me.”

He nods. Your eyes are locked as Suguru eases forward. It’s a tight fit, and Suguru doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to get all the way in without blowing his load.

“Oh god,” he groans. “Fucking tight as shit, baby. Fuck.”

He keeps going, pushing in and parting your walls with difficulty even though your core drips for him. It's as if you've gotten even tighter since giving birth. Suguru has to pull back slightly several times and try again before he’s all the way in. He has his eyes squeezed shut, fists clenching the sheets tightly. 

You whimper beneath him, hands having now found Suguru’s biceps and gripping on for dear life. It’s a slow, delicious, painfully snug journey through your walls. And when he finally bottoms out, he takes time to look at you. You’re biting your lip, breaths coming rapidly as you grasp onto him.

You’re so fucking beautiful like this.

He's embarrassingly hard. He wonders if you can feel it. He thinks you can, from the way you squirm beneath him.

“Good?” He asks, checking in again and you roll your eyes.

“Yes. Now fuck me.”

Suguru rears his hips back, watching as your lips part with a quiet gasp just before he rolls his hips forward. He does it again, just so he can hear you make that sound one more time. Then he does it again and again.

His movements are slow, careful. He gives you soft and languid thrusts that have you digging your nails into his arms, has him gritting his teeth so he doesn’t cum. He can hear and feel how absolutely wet you are with each agonizingly slow thrust. 

It’s driving him insane to be so gentle. He wants to fuck you so bad, destroy your little pussy, bury himself so deeply inside of you he can’t fucking see straight.

And it’s like you know this, because you whisper his name. When he looks at you, you’ve got a cute little pout on your lips, glaring up at him. He tilts his head questioningly.

“Suguru, stop treating me like you're gonna break me…” You loop an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a rough, sloppy kiss before pulling back just slightly to tell him, “...fuck me like you mean it.”

And he does. Doesn’t need you to ask twice. With a deep groan, Suguru pulls his hips back, all the way until just his tip sits inside of you. Then he thrusts forward, plunging into you over and over.

Each snap of Suguru’s hips brings a new sound from you. It’s music to his ears – this mix of your mewls, his grunts and moans, his balls slapping against your sopping cunt. He’s losing himself in you, the way he always does, swallowed by your warmth.

“Ah…I- I’ve been waiting so long for this, beautiful. Been craving this - ngh - pussy for months,” Suguru rasps, dipping his head down to find your breasts. He can already see the bruises forming along your skin from where he marked you earlier and it has him choking out a soft sob. He pounds into you hard, fast, chasing his high as he watches your breasts bounce with each thrust. “Missed your pretty little cunt. Missed fucking you so bad, baby.”

He licks a long strip between the valley of your breasts, eyes rolling to the back of his head and hips stuttering when he tastes the remnants of your breast milk from earlier. 

“Yeah, babe?” You ask, pressing your hands against his chest.

You move your hips against his, meeting every thrust eagerly and Suguru inhales sharply. “Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, kissing his way up to your lips. Just before he meets your mouth, you push against him and shift your weight, effectively rolling you both over so that you’re not straddling Suguru. His hands find your waist immediately.

“I missed you. So fucking much. Couldn’t wait to have you again,” you sigh as you lean down to kiss your lover. Your hips begin to move, grinding yourself down on Suguru. His back arches, the feeling of him tapping against that spongey in your walls completely overwhelming him.

“Shit.” Suguru watches you move your hips against him, feels his dick twitch within your walls at the sight. “Feel good, baby?” He asks. Because it damn sure feels good to him. Suguru thinks he may lose his mind just watching. You sit up and his eyes follow you, watching the way your kiss swollen lips part as you let out another moan when he thrusts up into you.

You can’t do anything but nod your head, your hands falling to Suguru’s chest to keep your balance as you bounce on his cock. His gaze drinks in all the dips and curves of your body until they find where you two connect. He watches as you roll your hips forward, as his cock disappears into your pussy over and over. A quiet moan rushes past your lips and Suguru’s hands find your ass while you grind down on him. You’re so wet, he can feel your arousal dripping down his cock, drenching his balls.

“Oh my god, Suguru,” you cry out quietly, halting your movements to lean down and crash your lips into his again. “Feels good, feels so fucking good,” you gasp between kisses. Suguru pushes against your ass, prompting you to keep going.

“Don’t stop, baby. Fuck me like you mean it,” he repeats your earlier words, a sly grin on his lips when he smacks your ass, making you yelp.

You sit up, lifting your hips all the way up until just the tip of his cock sits inside you. Suguru’s eyes are glued to the view and he can visibly see himself pulsing between your legs. He lets out a low hiss that quickly turns into a loud groan when you slam your hips back down on him.

“Shhhh,” you shush him. “Gonna wake up the whole compound.”

He grips your ass tighter. “I don’t give a fuck. Let them hear us.” He gives you a particularly harsh thrust that has you keening loudly. He thrusts again and you let out another sharp cry. “Want them to hear me fucking the mother of my child, fucking my whole heart tonight.”

The air is filled only with the sounds of the wet slap of your hips meeting, your soft gasps and moans, the bed creaking with every hard thrust he gives you. Suguru’s eyes roll back, each pump of his cock in your pretty little cunt bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Your walls are so tight, so wet, so hot, squeezing the life out of him. 

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you love my cock, baby. Tell me you missed fucking me as much as I missed fucking you.”

Your nails dig into his chest as you cry out his name, tell him all about how you craved his dick, wanted him so badly it drove you crazy some days. The feeling of his tip pressing against your most sensitive area with each pump lighting a fire in both your cores.

“Fuck, baby,” Suguru gasps, voice hoarse with arousal as he stares up at you with nothing but love in his gaze. “So sexy. Look at you. Riding my cock so good – fuck.”

“Suguru,” You gasp as he holds your hips, keeping you in place as he fucks up into you pace increasing. “I’m…I’m gonna cum, Suguru. Fuck. I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum on my dick, baby. I wanna feel it. I need to feel it,” he grunts, driving into you. He feels his balls tighten, his release approaching quickly. He tries to stave it off, but then he feels it. Feels warm droplets of liquid hitting his chest and his stomach. He follows the trail, eyes landing on your breasts and the droplets falling from your pert nipples and onto him.

The sight is so erotic, so goddamn sexy, it sends chills racing up Suguru’s spine. You, taking his dick so fucking well, your breasts coating him in your essence, the very essence he got the luxury to taste early and god, did it taste incredible. Your mouth slack and eyes pinched shut as you dissolve into pleasure on top of him.

One more drop hitting his skin.

Your walls squeezing him for all his worth.

Your mouth crying his name.

It’s enough for him to shatter beneath you, enough to trigger that first rope of cum shooting from his cock. 

“Shit, oh– oh fuck, baby, I’m cumming,” Suguru sputters, holding your hips painfully tight and with one last powerful thrust, he shoves himself as far as he can go before emptying himself inside of you. His muscles tense, breathe hitching as he rides out the shockwaves of his release. Every pulse of his cock is met with your walls sucking him back in, milking every drop from him.

He thinks he’s seeing fucking stars, the muffled sound of your moans drowned out by the pure euphoria he’s experiencing right now. He doesn’t even notice that excess of cum that leaks from your core and onto his groin. He feels that damn good.

Suguru’s head falls back on the bed and his grip on you loosens, leaving you to lay your weight down on him. Both your breaths come rapidly, your matching heartbeats racing against each other’s chests. And this is Suguru’s favorite part of it all. He loves this, loves the feeling of you pressed into him, loves the feeling of you completing him. 

His eyes drift shut, his fingers tracing a line up and down your spine. And for the first time in almost a year, he lets himself fully relax.

- - - - - - -

The warm beams of the early morning sun peek through the bedroom. Suguru shifts, turning onto his side to get more comfortable.

Until he realizes something is missing. His eyes shoot open and he sits up quickly in the bed, eyes roaming the room for you. When he finds no trace of you in the room, he decides it’s time for him to get up, too.

You’re likely up with the baby and he wants to help you with his morning routine.

He makes his way across the room to your master bathroom and when he opens the door, he’s met with a cloud of hot steam and the sight of you naked in front of the mirror. You’re scowling, craning your head to the side like you’re looking at something.

He sees it the moment your hand reaches up and touches your neck and your chest. You’re riddled with hickeys and bruises, marks covering almost your entire upper body. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, a murderous glare staring at him in your reflection.

And it’s not like Suguru is particularly sorry. He wants you to be all marked up and claimed so everyone knows you’re his. But that look in your eye tells him he really may be in danger here.

Luckily for him, the shrill cry of his son pierces through the tension. So he shoots you a smug grin and backs right out the door.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter eight ♡

Summary: After being with Joel again, you're back home. Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, you're determined to finally talk things through with him. But just as you're ready, life throws more obstacles in your path—and so does Travis, apparently. WC: 15.3k A/N: Well, It’s been two long weeks since I last updated the story, and I can't even begin to tell you how much I wish I could have written this sooner! But the good news is, I’m officially on vacation now, and all my finals went well. So, I’m hoping to update more regularly from here on out <3 Please remember that i no longer use the taglist, so if you want to receive notifications you can follow me on capuccinodollupdates!

When the door clicked shut behind you, the sound felt final, heavy in a way that made your chest tighten. You leaned against the door, the cool wood steadying you as a flood of emotions rushed in, each one colliding with the next. Surprise. Anger. Helplessness. Pain. And somewhere in the tangled mess, something softer—love? Desire? Whatever it was, it caught you off guard, made your knees buckle. You slid down to the floor, your back scraping against the doorframe as you went, until you were sitting there, small and folded into yourself.

The first sob escaped before you even realized it was coming, a fragile sound that cracked in the quiet of the room. Tears followed, slipping hot and fast down your cheeks, and you wiped at them instinctively, as if erasing them would make the moment less real, less unbearable. Your knees came up to your chest, and you buried your face there, trying to make yourself small, trying to disappear.

What were you supposed to do now? How could you fix this?

The first time with Joel had been a mistake—or that’s what he’d called it, anyway. A lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness, a thing that shouldn’t have happened but did. And you’d told yourself to believe him, even though every nerve in your body said otherwise. But tonight, it was different. This time, you had been the one to lean in, your lips the ones that crossed the distance, your hands the ones that sought him out. And he hadn’t stopped you. He hadn’t hesitated. No, he’d kissed you back, fiercely, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

Did he need you as much as you needed him?

The thought spiraled through you, looping and tangling until it became something you couldn’t unravel. You sat there for what felt like forever, unmoving, the weight of everything pressing into you. When you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your body felt heavy, your muscles tight with the ache of holding too much. Your shoulders throbbed as you rubbed at them absently, trying to knead away the tension, but all you could think about was the weight of Joel’s hands there just moments ago.

His touch had been deliberate, slow, like he was memorizing the shape of you. You could still feel it, the way his fingers had mapped your skin, his warmth sinking into you. And his eyes—dark, searching—had felt like they were seeing more of you than you were ready to show.

For a brief, fragile second, it had felt right. Like you were exactly where you were meant to be, like he was meant to be there with you. But the feeling didn’t last. It dissolved into something bitter, something sharp that stabbed at the edges of that fleeting joy.

What was happening to you?

Despair bubbled up in your chest, sharp and consuming. You wanted to run, to escape, to leave this house that suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the air itself had turned against you. But running wouldn’t help, would it? No matter where you went, Joel would follow—in your thoughts, in the way your body still hummed with the memory of him.

Names darted through your mind like unwelcome guests: Joel, Travis, Sarah, Sienna, Clara. Each one tugged at you in a different way, their presence reminding you of what you’d done, of what you couldn’t take back, of what had happened during the last few weeks.

You pressed a hand to your chest, where the ache was sharpest, right beneath your ribs. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, your lungs struggling to keep up with the storm inside you. Inhale, exhale. You forced yourself to slow down, to count the breaths until they came easier, but it wasn’t enough. The tension stayed, coiled tight in your body, refusing to let go.

When you caught sight of yourself in the hallway mirror, the reflection startled you. Your eyes were glassy, rimmed red, your face pale and unfamiliar. You looked like someone else—someone fragile, someone lost.

Calm down, you told yourself, the words hollow even in your own head. Just calm down.

In your room, you undressed methodically, peeling off layers that felt heavy with his memory. The air was cool against your skin, but even that wasn’t enough to erase the warmth of his hands, the way they’d lingered like he was afraid to let go. You closed your eyes and exhaled, but all you could see was Joel—his hesitant voice, his uncertain eyes, his body golden in the light spilling through the window.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, and the intensity in his eyes was like a physical touch, hot and almost unbearable. “It’s not my case at all,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. “Not a single day has gone by where I haven’t missed you. Do you have any idea how empty this house feels without you? How empty my life feels?”

He had looked at you like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to leave, maybe. Like he’d already braced himself for the sight of you walking away again. And yet, in his eyes, there had been something else too: fear. Like he wasn’t sure if he could handle it this time.

Joel had hurt you in ways he would never fully understand. Ways you weren’t sure you could articulate, even if you wanted to. What had all of this been for? Why had he done it? Was it out of boredom, selfishness, some unspoken need you couldn’t possibly fulfill? He had a girlfriend. Sienna. He was still dating her, wasn’t he?

And then there was Clara. He’d made you believe there was something there, too. He’d admitted it outright—he’d used her. Said it with a kind of brutal honesty that had stung more than it soothed. The worst part was that you had valued his honesty, that it had felt like a gift even as it tore you apart. You knew him well enough to believe he hadn’t lied, not about that. His words had been sincere, and that sincerity only made it harder to bear.

The truth was a weight in your chest, heavy and immovable: one of the most important friendship of your life was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Even if you and Joel managed to untangle yourselves from this mess, to salvage whatever was left, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing could undo what had happened. His kisses, his sharp words, the way his touch had lingered—they had left marks you couldn’t erase, scars you weren’t sure you wanted to hide.

You stepped into the bathroom, shedding your clothes in silence. The room was cold, the tiles biting at your feet as you turned on the shower. The water sputtered, then poured hot and steady, and you stepped under it, letting the heat soak into your skin. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, imagining the water washing him off of you, carrying away his touch, his scent, the ghost of his hands.

But it wasn’t that simple.

*

Later, cocooned in a pile of warm blankets on the couch, you finally began to feel your body relax. The ache in your muscles started to fade, but Joel was still there, present. You felt him in the tender bruises on your hips, where his fingers had gripped you too tightly, as if holding on for dear life. You felt him in the hollow ache inside you, the space he seemed to occupy without even trying.

For a moment, you thought you could smell him on your skin—a faint trace of cedar and salt, something earthy and him—but you shook the thought away. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

You pressed your head deeper into the couch cushions and closed your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on sleep, on anything but the way he had looked at you tonight.

Your body was still. Your mind was anything but.

*

When you woke, your back ached in protest, the sharp pull of poorly positioned sleep making you wince. The dry taste in your mouth felt like a rebuke, and your eyes were heavy with the kind of exhaustion that lingers even after hours of rest. A dull headache crept in as you pushed yourself upright, the blankets slipping off your shoulders.

The clock on the small side table blinked at you from under the soft glow of the lamp you’d just switched on. 9:23 PM. You’d been asleep for nearly three hours.

You groaned softly, rubbing at your lower back with one hand as you stood, catching a glimpse of yourself in the living room mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, disheveled and weary. Puffy eyes, tangled hair, pajamas that had twisted in your sleep. You looked like the physical embodiment of a bad day. God, you needed a break.

Your thoughts drifted to Cassie, miles away in Rome, likely fast asleep in the early morning hours. Even if she were awake, you weren’t sure you could unload everything on her tonight. You made a mental note to call her tomorrow, when the guilt and exhaustion felt less immediate.

The kitchen was cold and quiet as you opened the fridge, hoping for something—anything—that might resemble comfort. But of course, there was nothing. The emptiness on the shelves felt like a metaphor you didn’t want to unpack. You sighed and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment.

It was times like these when you missed your mother most, her gentle hands brushing your hair back, the way she’d kiss your temple and tell you it would be okay. Living alone meant there was no one to do that for you. No one to soften the edges of your sadness. You had to pick yourself up, take care of yourself, even when it felt impossible.

There had been a time when Joel was that person. And Sarah, with her quick wit and bright smile, had been the distraction you needed. But not anymore. You couldn’t lean on them now. Not after everything. You owed Sarah a make-up evening, though. The memory of her hopeful face when she’d invited you to dinner today made the guilt twist in your chest. Tomorrow, you promised yourself. You’d make it up to her tomorrow.

Resigned, you tied your hair into a loose bun and started chopping vegetables for a salad. The repetitive motion was grounding, if nothing else, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from drifting to darker places. When your phone buzzed on the couch, the sound startled you.

You washed your hands quickly, drying them on your t-shirt as you hurried to pick up the call. Travis’s name lit up the screen, and for a second, you hesitated.

Your chest tightened as guilt surged through you. Ignoring the call wasn’t an option; Travis didn’t deserve that. You swiped to answer, your voice coming out softer than you intended.

“Hello?”

He said your name with a kind of warmth that made you pause, like he’d been waiting to hear you for hours.

“Good to find you awake,” he said, his voice gentle but edged with something unsure. “I felt bad leaving your house earlier without saying goodbye properly.”

“You left a note,” you reminded him, sitting back down on the couch and pressing a hand to your forehead. “It’s fine, really.”

“Still,” he said, a faint sigh on the other end. “It felt… a little abrupt. Evasive, maybe?”

You hummed in agreement, not trusting yourself to say more.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, concern creeping into his tone. “You sound… off.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear, covering the microphone as you exhaled shakily. He was right. You did sound off. You felt off. Lately, you felt like you were failing everyone, yourself included.

You and Travis weren’t serious. Nothing had ever been defined. But he’d been kind, patient, more understanding than you probably deserved. And you cared for him, in your way. He’d even told you earlier that he’d wait, that you could take the time you needed to sort things out with Joel. And yet here you were, complicating things further by falling back into Joel’s orbit.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you lied, your voice too even, too practiced. The guilt made your stomach twist.

“Still feeling that hangover, huh?” he teased gently, his laugh light and familiar.

“Probably,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory of last night—his exaggerated grimace as he’d crouched over the toilet, the surreal shade of blue in the bowl.

“Well,” he said after a pause, his tone softening, “tell me you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I was… trying to make a salad or something,” you admitted, glancing at the half-chopped vegetables on the counter. “I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Good,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I was thinking about ordering pizza and bringing it over. If you’re up for some company, that is. No pressure. Just friends.”

His voice faltered slightly on the last words, and the sweetness of it made you ache.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Turning him down would feel worse than whatever strange guilt was already weighing on you.

“I like pizza,” you said finally, a smile tugging at your lips. “Definitely better than salad.”

“Way better,” he agreed, laughing softly. “No offense to the salad—or the salad maker.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound lighter than you’d expected. 

*

On the television screen, Vida Boheme radiated elegance, her black-and-white ensemble tailored perfectly, her nails immaculate, and the glint of her pearl necklace catching the soft light. The scene unfolded with Vida sitting at a table surrounded by the women of the village, Noxeema, and Chi Chi, all leaning in as if she were about to reveal a profound secret.

“You know what we should have?” Vida said, her voice lilting with certainty and charm.

The camera cut to Noxeema, dressed in a vibrant orange outfit, her expression deadpan, gesturing as though the answer was obvious.

“A day with the girls,” Noxeema declared, turning to the elderly woman beside her with a conspiratorial smile.

You smiled at the screen mid-bite, the warm glow of the TV casting soft shadows across the room. Turning to Travis, you shook your head, half-indignant, half-playful, a hint of laughter in your voice.

“I seriously can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie,” you said, your words slightly muffled by the bite of pizza still in your mouth. You quickly swallowed, grabbing your glass of soda for a sip before continuing. “Cassie and I used to watch this one all the time. This or Riding in Cars with Boys. Classic.”

Travis, lounging beside you with his socked feet propped up on the coffee table, gave a casual shrug, glancing at you with a smirk. “Wait, you mean the Drew Barrymore one?”

“Obviously,” you replied, rolling your eyes and nudging him with your elbow. “Please tell me you’ve at least seen that one.”

He grinned, as if sensing the trap you’d set for him. “I have,” he said slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then he dropped the bomb. “But it’s kind of a downer, don’t you think?”

You froze mid-reach for another slice of pizza, your head snapping toward him. “A downer?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief. Your eyes narrowed as though he’d just insulted your favorite family member. “Are we talking about the same movie?”

Travis held up his hands defensively, his expression a mix of sheepishness and amusement. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say it was bad! Just… I don’t know, it bums me out.”

He paused to finish chewing a bite of pizza, clearly weighing how to explain himself. You leaned back, arms crossed, waiting.

“Okay, hear me out,” he said finally, his tone quieter now. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter. “The first time I saw it, I was twenty. It was right after my dad passed away.” He hesitated, glancing down at the pizza in his hand. “Not that I was close to him or anything. Honestly, I barely knew the guy. But my mom… she was wrecked. And watching that movie, seeing all the family stuff, all the pain... It just hit a little too close to home.”

His words hung in the air between you, the weight of them settling quietly in the space you shared. You studied him for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden honesty that had slipped into the conversation. It wasn’t the direction you’d expected things to take, but there was a kind of openness in him now that you couldn’t help but appreciate.

“I had no idea, Trav,” you said softly, your voice gentle as you shifted on the couch to face him more fully. “That makes so much sense.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a small, self-conscious smile. He seemed almost reluctant to hold your gaze, his fingers idly picking at the edge of the pizza crust in his hand.

“Yeah, well…” he started, his tone lighter now, as if shaking off the vulnerability he’d just shared. “That aside, you gotta admit—the movie’s kinda heavy. All that stuff with the dad? It just plain turns my stomach.”

“With her son’s dad or her dad?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Oh, Lord, her dad,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch as if even the memory of the plot exhausted him. “I’d almost forgot ‘bout him. But yeah, both, I reckon. Still, her son’s dad takes the cake. What a piece of work.”

You laughed lightly, the sound bubbling up as you thought back to the first time you’d seen the movie. “I watched it for the first time when I was ten,” you told him, your grin widening as the memory surfaced. “And I’m not kidding when I say it terrified me. I was so scared of getting pregnant as a teenager that I wouldn’t even let my first boyfriend hold my hand.”

Travis let out a warm chuckle, the sound drawing a smile to your lips. He tilted his head toward you, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure that ain’t how babies happen.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you felt your cheeks flush. “Hey, I was young and ridiculously innocent,” you shot back, holding your hands up in mock defense. “It didn’t matter anyway. The poor guy dumped me before I could even think about trying it.”

Travis laughed again, a deeper, more genuine laugh that sent a pleasant warmth spreading through you. The way his face softened when he laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, it tugged at something deep inside you. You found yourself watching him for a beat too long, taking in the quiet tenderness in his expression. There was something different about him tonight—something that felt steady, comforting.

On the television, the women of the village were parading in colorful dresses, their laughter and movements filling the screen with life. Stockard Channing’s character stepped into the frame in a stunning red gown, her hair slicked back, adorned with a sparkling appliqué.

Travis gestured toward the screen with his pizza slice, his voice pulling your attention back to him. “Now, that’s somethin’. She’s got, what, maybe ten minutes of screen time? And she just about steals the whole dang movie. I like Vida too. Amazing."

You smiled at his observation, appreciating the way he could shift gears so seamlessly, from quiet reflection to casual banter. “Right? She’s iconic. Cassie and I used to try to copy her attitude, but, uh, let’s just say it didn’t land.”

Travis raised an eyebrow, his grin crooked. “You? Tryin’ to act all high-and-mighty like that? I’d pay good money to see it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you reached for another slice of pizza. “Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly convincing. Cassie, on the other hand… she nailed it. She had the whole icy glare thing down.”

Travis chuckled, leaning back into the couch with an easy smile. “I can’t picture you doin’ icy. You’re too warm for that.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. There was something so matter-of-fact in the way he said it, like it wasn’t a compliment so much as a simple truth.

“Well,” you said after a pause, your voice quieter now, “I guess I’ll just have to stick to being me.”

“Can’t imagine that’s a bad thing,” Travis said, his soft tone softening the edges of his words. He glanced over at you, his gaze warm, steady. 

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Travis broke eye contact, reaching for another slice of pizza, and you shifted your attention back to the movie.

“Back up, Virgil,” Carol Ann said, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering as she confronted her husband. “I’m a drag queen.”

Virgil, the abusive husband, looked at her surprised.

“Stupid fucker,” Travis muttered under his breath, the words slipping out almost by accident.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, the sound startling in the quiet room. His comment felt so unfiltered, so distinctly him.

The clock on the wall read almost 11 PM, and as the minutes stretched on, you felt the weight of the day settling over you. Your body ached for rest, your eyelids heavy as you stretched your arms above your head.

Leaning back against the couch, you let your head tilt, the soft warmth of Travis’s shoulder inviting as your body gave in to its exhaustion. He didn’t seem to mind, adjusting slightly to make your position more comfortable.

On screen, the movie carried on, but the details blurred as sleep began to pull at you. For a moment, the day’s worries faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the TV, the soft sound of Travis’s breath, and the steady rhythm of your own heart.

For Travis, this was just as complicated as it was for you—maybe even more so in certain ways. He liked you too much, too deeply for how short a time you’d been together. He’d grown accustomed to the way your presence softened the sharp edges of his days, to the ease of your laughter and the subtle ways you tried to hide how much you cared. He’d started to imagine a version of his life with you in it, a version that didn’t feel as far-fetched as it probably should have.

But Joel.

Joel was the immovable obstacle, the thing he could never quite get around. Not because of just jealousy—although there was a trace of that too—but because Travis knew that whatever existed between you and Joel, it was bigger than him. It was bigger than you, even. And he knew, with a sinking kind of certainty, that no matter what he did, no matter how patient or kind or present he tried to be, he would always be standing in Joel’s shadow.

What made it worse, though, was that he accepted it. He wasn’t proud of that, but he had made his peace with it, or at least he thought he had. If being with you meant living with the ghost of your best friend, then fine. He’d find a way to make it work. And if you decided you couldn’t be with him at all—if all you could offer was friendship—then he’d take that too. Hell, he’d even try to like Joel, which would be an uphill battle considering the guy had never mattered much to him before.

Travis dropped his gaze to you, watching in silence for a moment.

He had noticed right away that you’d been crying—your eyes were still a little red, the skin beneath them slightly swollen despite your attempts to hide it. Whatever had happened earlier, he knew it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Joel.

But he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t.

He had promised you time, space, no pressure. And Travis was a man of his word, even if it hurt to keep it.

Still, the thought of Joel had his jaw tightening. For a guy who usually avoided conflict, the idea of punching Joel square in the face had crossed his mind more than once since you’d told him everything. How could Joel have done that to you? How could he have looked at you—you—and treated you with so little care?

Travis didn’t understand.

He knew Joel was stubborn, strong-willed, the kind of guy who seemed charming and generous until the moment he decided otherwise. Joel could be kind, sure. He could be thoughtful, maybe even sweet when he wanted to be. But he could also be cold, sharp-edged, someone who wielded his words like weapons.

“I don’t think that’s true.” His voice was calm, steady, as if he’d already thought this through. “I think Joel has... feelings for you. And I think it scares him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he’s defensive. That’s why he can’t stand me. That’s why he kept watching us at the barbecue like I was committing some kind of crime.”

“Travis—”

You had looked at him then, your expression unreadable, and Travis had felt a small, selfish flicker of hope. You didn't seem to believe him.

Maybe you wouldn’t go back to Joel. Maybe you’d leave him behind for good this time.

He hated himself for thinking it—for the way relief had bubbled up in the pit of his stomach even as you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t the kind of man Travis wanted to be, but the truth of it was there all the same.

Because as much as he wanted to be the one you chose, he wanted you to be okay even more. And he meant it. Even if it made him feel pathetic. Even if it meant giving up the small, selfish hope he’d been holding onto.

When Travis left your house earlier that day, he entered his own feeling like his chest was a tightly wound spring about to snap. His emotions churned in ways he hadn’t anticipated. First, there was confusion—a sharp, disorienting kind of bewilderment. He hadn’t planned on feeling so strongly about you. He had always liked you, sure, but he never expected it to grow into this. This sharp, aching attachment that felt impossible to let go of. Losing the possibility of discovering what you could be together felt like a quiet kind of devastation, one he wasn’t entirely ready to admit to himself.  

And then there was jealousy.  

Jealousy that burned hot and ugly, coiling itself tightly around his insides until it became hard to breathe. The thought of Joel—his presence, his history with you—sliced through him in a way he couldn’t rationalize. All the interactions he’d had with Joel over the last few weeks replayed in his mind on an endless loop. The veiled comments, the pointed jabs, the little ways Joel had gone out of his way to provoke him, to make him feel small.  

The worst part was the anger that followed. Not just at Joel but at himself. For not saying something. For not standing up for himself, for you, for whatever it was that had been building between the two of you. He should have fired back. He should have said something—anything—to cut Joel down to size. But he hadn’t. He’d swallowed the insults, keeping his composure because that was what he did. Because that was who he was.  

By the time he made it to his bedroom, Travis felt drained. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to force the tension out of his shoulders. Getting angry wasn’t worth it, he reminded himself, pacing the length of the room as if he could walk off the weight of his emotions. This wasn’t his fight to have; it was yours. Yours and Joel’s.  

Still, the thought brought him little comfort.  

In an effort to shake off the heaviness in his chest, he went for a walk, letting the brisk evening air sting his face. Later, he stood under the scalding spray of the shower, letting it beat against his skin as if it could scrub away the swirling thoughts that had taken up permanent residence in his mind. By the time he reached for his phone, hoping for a reply from you, the ache in his chest had dulled but hadn’t disappeared entirely.  

Hours later, as your soft breaths fell against his shoulder, Travis felt the tension ease slightly. You were asleep, completely at peace, and he was struck by how delicate you seemed in that moment. How your face, so often animated with sharp wit or quiet determination, had softened in sleep. He thought briefly about staying like that all night, letting you rest against him, but the ache in his neck was becoming impossible to ignore.  

Just as he was trying to figure out how to move without waking you, there was a knock at the door. Three sharp, deliberate raps that shattered the quiet of the room.  

You didn’t stir, not even a little. Travis glanced down at you, then gently slipped out from under your weight, careful to cover you with the blanket you’d neatly folded on the other couch earlier that day.  

The hallway felt darker than it had before as he made his way to the door, his mind spinning. Should he wake you up? Probably. He hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob. Was opening the door himself crossing a line? Maybe. But before he could talk himself out of it, he tugged the door open.  

And there, standing on your doorstep, was Joel.  

For a split second, Joel’s expression betrayed him. His eyebrows lifted, eyes widening slightly as if he hadn’t been expecting Travis to answer the door. The surprise vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something steadier, harder. His gaze flicked past Travis, scanning the interior of the house before landing back on him.  

Travis could feel the storm brewing inside him again, all the resentment and frustration he’d tried to let go of earlier crashing back in full force.  

Joel didn’t say anything at first. Neither did Travis. The two men stood there, the silence between them thick and unyielding, charged with everything they weren’t saying.  

Travis clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He wasn’t going to let Joel get under his skin—not again. Whatever reason Joel had for being here, it wasn’t his business. Not really.  

"Travis," Joel said, his voice firm and clipped, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "Can you call—"

"Joel," Travis interrupted, his tone sharp but with a thin veil of politeness that neither man believed. "How's it going?"

Joel’s jaw tightened, the movement barely perceptible. If Travis hadn’t been watching so intently, he might have missed it.

"Fine," Joel replied, his impatience cracking through the surface of his calm demeanor. His dark eyes met Travis's with the kind of intensity that felt like a challenge. "I need to talk—"

"She can't right now," Travis interrupted again, his voice firmer this time, leaving no room for debate.

Joel’s eyebrows flicked upward, just a twitch, but enough to betray his irritation. His mind whirred, questions piling up faster than he could address them.

"Is she okay? Did something happen?" Joel asked, his voice low and measured, but laced with something more—an edge of concern that Travis couldn’t fully place.

Travis leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as though settling into the moment. "Oh, she’s fine," he said, feigning nonchalance. "She just had a long day. A really long day." He tilted his head, letting the words linger. "She’s sleeping now. Needed it."

The knot in Joel’s stomach tightened, a slow burn starting to spread through his chest. Something about Travis’s tone—the deliberate drawl, the smug edge—rubbed him raw. "Was she upset about something?"

"You could say that," Travis replied, completely unaware of Joel's concerns, shrugging as though the details were inconsequential. "She was wound up earlier, but I helped her relax."

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting through the smugness Travis wore like armor.

"You helped her relax," Joel repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yeah," Travis said, straightening a little, his smile sharpening. "She needed someone to be there for her. Lucky for me, I was."

Joel’s nostrils flared, his composure cracking slightly. "What are you trying to say, Dunn?"

"Nothing at all," Travis said, his smile widening. "You know how it is. Just statin’ the obvious, you know? Folks like us—we step up when someone needs us. You’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

The words hit Joel like a punch to the gut, an unanticipated blow that left him reeling. A knot began to form in his stomach, twisting tighter with each second of silence.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood there, looking at Travis, digesting the words as if they were a meal gone bad. His face felt hot, his pulse heavy in his ears.

"Anyway," Travis continued, his tone light but with an edge of something smug, "it's kind of late, isn't it? She had a long day. Poor thing was so tired she fell asleep on me and everything." He smiled, leaning against the doorframe like he didn’t have a care in the world.

It was a deliberate smile, one Joel recognized instantly for what it was: a taunt.

If this conversation had been happening under different circumstances, Joel might have enjoyed hearing such words. Might have smirked at the irony of some guy bragging about holding his girl, oblivious to the fact that she'd been in Joel’s arms earlier that day. But now, standing there on your porch, the words felt like nails in his chest, sharp and unbearable.

“I see,” Joel said finally, his voice tight, each word sounding like it had been carefully measured before leaving his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the floor for just a second before snapping back up. His eyes locked on Travis with an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. “I just think it’s a little strange, that’s all. You answerin’ her door like that.” His tone shifted, gaining a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. “Pretty sure she needs to talk to me too, don’t you think?”

Travis chuckled softly, the sound low and disarming, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? Did something happen?"

Joel straightened, squaring his shoulders as he inhaled slowly. The action made him seem bigger somehow, more imposing, as if the weight of his presence alone could force Travis to back down.

"None of your business, Dunn," Joel said, his voice gravelly, the words biting.

"Maybe. But today she told me she wasn’t sure she wanted to see you," Travis added, his voice quieter now but no less pointed. "She seemed pretty certain about it. Said she wanted space, and honestly?" He tilted his head, his expression almost pitying. "I think that’s a good call."

Joel stepped forward, his body tense. "You don’t know a damn thing about what’s between us," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Travis didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. "Yeah, maybe," he said, his voice light. "But I know what she wants. And tonight? Certainly not you."

The words hit their mark. Joel flinched, barely, but it was enough for Travis to see. Enough for Travis to know he had scored a point in whatever unspoken battle they were waging.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure.

"Again, none of your damn business," he said, his voice dropping low, rough with frustration. He stepped forward, just an inch, but the movement carried weight.

Travis met Joel’s gaze head-on, his jaw clenched, his body tense. For a brief moment, he considered saying more—letting loose all the things he’d held back in the past. But something in Joel’s expression stopped him. Something raw and heavy, something that mirrored the storm Travis had felt earlier that day.

"Sure," Travis said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "None of my business. But hey, I’ll let her know you stopped by."

Joel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he took a step back. "Right," he muttered, his voice laced with derision. "Don’t bother. No need."

He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Travis, a mixture of disdain and something else—something softer, almost mournful—flickering behind his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off the porch, his steps quick and purposeful.

Inside, Travis closed the door with a quiet sigh. Leaning against the door for a moment, he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to shake off the lingering tension. It had been childish, he knew that. But Joel had treated him like this before, made him feel small and insignificant, and for once, Travis had enjoyed turning the tables.

He moved quietly down the hallway, stopping briefly in the bathroom before returning to the living room. You were still lying on the couch, curled under the blanket he’d placed over you earlier. Your face was soft in sleep, peaceful, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name as he looked at you.

Instead of heading to the guest room or leaving altogether, Travis grabbed the remote and settled onto the other end of the couch, careful not to disturb you. He flipped through the channels aimlessly, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering light across the room.

This time, he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t scribble out a note or disappear before you woke up. Tonight, he’d stay.

*

Travis leaned against the kitchen island, watching you with quiet amusement as you poured sugar into your coffee cup. The soft hum of the morning settled around you, the slow ache in your back from sleeping on the couch a reminder of how little sleep you'd gotten. You glanced over at him—he was still there, still here, though you hadn't expected him to stay the night. His presence surprised you, though there was a comforting weight in it, one you hadn’t quite prepared for.

The coffee, when you finally tasted it, was perfect—rich, balanced, like it knew exactly what you needed to start the day. You closed your eyes briefly as the warmth spread, savoring the sensation. Travis chuckled softly from behind you. "Is it good?"

You smiled to yourself, the corner of your lips curving slightly. "Like you have no idea," you teased, letting the moment stretch just a little longer before breaking it.

“Well, let’s do this again sometime," he said, pushing himself off the stool. He straightened his coat with an exaggerated gesture, his voice light, almost playful. "Smells good.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just took another sip of coffee and turned to the toaster, waiting for the bread to pop. The quiet felt like a small luxury, one you weren't used to, but savored nonetheless. 

“Well, I’m off,” Travis said, his footsteps echoing faintly as he moved toward the door. "I’ll see you later, okay?"

You glanced over your shoulder, the cup still cradled in your hands. "Sure, I’ll text you," you said, as his lips brushed against your cheek in a quick, lingering kiss. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

His eyes softened for a moment, a promise without words. “Of course,” he said, and then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

Alone, you turned and reached for your phone, which sat untouched on the coffee table. It had been the first thing you'd done when you woke up—texting Cassie. Her response had been as you expected: she was home, curled up in bed, eating ice cream and watching TV. It was 4 pm in Rome.

“Aw, look at you,” Cassie cooed, her smile lighting up the screen. She tilted her head, examining you with playful scrutiny. “How cute do you look this morning? How’d you sleep?”

You exhaled slowly, leaning back in your chair as you tried to find the words to describe the chaotic whirlwind of emotions you’d woken up with. “It was... okay,” you said finally, your voice hesitant. You paused for a moment before adding, “Travis came over last night.”

Cassie’s eyebrows shot up, and her face practically filled the screen as she leaned closer to her phone. “Ooooh, Travis,” she teased, dragging out his name with a knowing grin. “Well, well, well. Did something finally happen? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, albeit nervously, as you reached for your coffee mug. The warmth of the ceramic grounded you, but the bitterness of the coffee didn’t do much to mask the knot tightening in your chest. “No, nothing like that,” you said after a sip, shaking your head as you spoke. “In fact, I don’t think anything is ever going to happen between us.”

Cassie’s playful expression faltered, replaced by a look of concern. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. “Wait, what? Why not? Did he do something?” Her tone softened, but her curiosity didn’t waver. “C’mon, tell me.”

You hesitated, staring into your coffee as if the swirling liquid might somehow hold the answer. The truth had been sitting heavily on your chest all morning, and you knew you couldn’t keep it in much longer. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost apologetic. “It’s just... I—”

Cassie leaned in closer, her eyes wide with anticipation. “You what?”

The weight of what you were about to say made your chest tighten. You hadn’t spoken it aloud yet, and the words felt sharp and foreign on your tongue. But there was no other way to get it out than to just... say it.

“I slept with Joel.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and the moment they left your mouth, your heart started pounding like it was trying to break free.

Cassie froze, her jaw dropping as her eyes went wide with shock. For a moment, she just stared at you, her face a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “Wait, wait, wait. What?! When?!”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you set your mug down. “Yesterday,” you admitted in a whisper, avoiding her gaze. “And, um... on his birthday.”

Cassie’s mouth fell open even wider, her hands flying to her face. “No. You are not serious right now.”

“I am,” you said, sighing as you ran a hand through your hair. “It just... happened. I don’t even know how to explain it, Cassie. I should’ve told you sooner, but... everything’s just been so complicated.”

She leaned back, shaking her head slowly as if trying to process the bomb you’d just dropped. Then, without warning, her face lit up with wild excitement.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her voice rising a few octaves. “I knew this was gonna happen! I totally knew it! Tommy and I used to joke about it all the time—like, ‘When are they gonna stop being so stubborn and finally admit it?’”

You blinked, looking at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. “Wait—What? You guys were talking about us? What, like a whole secret conspiracy or something?”

Cassie burst out laughing, her grin widening. “Oh, honey, it was not a secret. Tommy was basically on a countdown. We’d be sitting there, sipping our beers, and he’d go, ‘Any day now, he’ll cave. We just need to wait for the stars to align.’”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of it all making your head spin.

“I’m over here thinking I’ve been doing a pretty good job at keeping my feelings in check, and meanwhile, Tommy’s plotting my love life like some kind of matchmaking genius?”

Cassie shot you a teasing look. “Oh, he’s not a genius. More like an overenthusiastic amateur. But he’s not wrong, was he?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

It took a while for her to collect herself, but then she zeroed in on the more important question.

“How was it? Does Travis know?”

“Yeah, he knows... about the first time,” you said, a sigh escaping your lips as you rubbed your forehead, exhausted. “I... Well, it wasn’t planned.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I assumed as much.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts. "So, on his birthday... we had this massive argument," you started, your voice a little shaky as you remembered how everything had unfolded. "He’d been hiding this thing from me—he's been dating someone... Sienna, that's her name. He didn't tell me, not even once. I had to find out from Sarah." You paused, shaking your head in disbelief. "And then, he actually asked Tommy not to say anything. Can you even believe that? Like, really? I thought he trusted me."

Cassie’s face tightened as she processed your words, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, the concern in her voice palpable. "What the hell is wrong with him? He couldn't even be honest with you?" Her gaze darkened slightly, her brow furrowing. "I swear, some people... men."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

"Exactly. That's exactly how I felt. He didn’t even tell me, so I confronted him about it. And we fought—big time. He actually told me I was just jealous. Said he knew I had feelings for him, that I liked him. And I—I just snapped. I told him no, I didn’t. That he wasn’t my type. That we were just friends." You rubbed your temples, trying to remember how you felt in that moment. "I was so mad, Cassie. So pissed off that he’d kept something like that from me."

Cassie’s expression softened a little, though there was still a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You totally hit his ego, didn’t you?” she said with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Come on, admit it. That had to have been part of it."

You couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly.

"Yeah, I guess I did," you admitted, rolling your eyes in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help myself. It just came out."

"Well, I’m sure it worked," Cassie mused, leaning back into her chair with a sigh. She paused, her lips curling up into a grin. "So, then... you kissed him, huh?"

You closed your eyes at the thought of it.

"I did," you said, your voice a little more distant as the memory replayed in your mind. "And it was... God, it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. No joke. The best." You let out a breath, feeling the weight of your words. "And the best sex too. Sorry, but it’s true."

Cassie gasped in dramatic disbelief, her hands flying to her face.

"Joel Miller," she whispered, almost in awe, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite process it. "Who would've thought? You’re killin’ me here. This is too much."

You nodded slowly, still lost in the vividness of the moment.

"Yeah, but here’s the kicker," you continued, your voice quieter now, a trace of sadness creeping into your words. "When I woke up, he was gone. Just... gone. No note, nothing. It was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Then, when he came back to talk to me, he said it was a mistake. That we should never have crossed that line. And he... he looked at me like I was the one who’d messed everything up. Like I was the one to blame. And we fought again, Cassie. I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t."

You felt the weight of everything you’d said—the confusion, the regret, the pain—and let it hang in the air. Cassie sat silently, processing it all, her eyes soft but intense, focused on you as she tried to understand your tangled mess of emotions.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been talking until you finally took a breath (an hour, maybe?), looking up to find Cassie watching you with a quiet expression, her concern clearly etched in her features. You shifted uncomfortably.

"I don’t know what to do, Cass," you said, your voice small, the heaviness in your chest like a brick pressing down. "I feel like I’m losing my mind over all this. Like I’m... I don’t even know anymore."

Cassie stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed everything you’d told her. Then she let out a soft sigh, sitting up straighter.

“Well,” she said, her tone calm but firm, “it’s pretty clear to me what’s going on.” Her voice softened just a little, but it was certain. "Do you want me to tell you what I think?"

You looked at her, the uncertainty swirling inside you, but you nodded, desperate for some clarity.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice filled with so much tension, you felt like you might snap.

Cassie didn’t hesitate. “You love him. And he loves you,” she said simply, her words hitting you like a wave. “It’s been obvious from the start, hasn’t it? You both tiptoe around it, but the signs are all there. I even asked him once, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. "You asked him?"

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yeah. It was a while ago—on your birthday, I think, when you were turning... twenty-eight? I asked him straight out, just to see what he'd say. He denied it, of course. Told me he only saw you as a friend. But, honey, I saw through it. He was nervous as hell. You could practically see the feelings swimming under the surface. It was obvious.”

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do I do, Cass? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Cassie exhaled slowly, her expression softening as she looked at you with understanding.

“You need to stop running from it,” she said, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “You love him, and he loves you. If there’s nothing standing in your way, you’ve got to go for it. You can’t just keep pretending it isn’t there.”

You swallowed, your heart heavy in your chest. "But what about Travis? He’s... he’s... And Sienna, Joel doesn't even—"

“That woman he’s dating, Sienna, isn’t an obstacle, I mean, it's obviously not serious. He's just going to break up with her and that's it. And Travis, well, that isn’t serious either,” Cassie said, her voice firm with conviction. “So really, what’s stopping you from going to talk to Joel and figuring things out? Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing in your way. Besides, he told you himself, didn’t he? Yesterday, he admitted it—that he misses you, that he’s sorry, and that he feels terrible about everything. I’m not saying you need to forgive him right away or pretend that everything is fine, but—come on, in my opinion, he deserves a chance to show you how sorry he is.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the idea of confronting Joel still sitting heavy in your stomach.

"This makes me nervous," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" Cassie asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Talking to him... I don't know, God, it makes me nauseous just thinking about it," you admitted, your hands shaking slightly as you placed them in your lap. The thought of confronting Joel about everything, of peeling back all the layers of confusion and regret, felt like a weight that would crush you.

Cassie’s laughter was soft but genuine, amusement dancing in her voice as she took in your panicked expression.

“Easy,” she said, trying to soothe your nerves. “Just take it one step at a time. Talk to Joel first, then you can figure out what you’re going to do with Travis.”

You shook your head, the knot in your stomach tightening. “No, Cassie, I’m telling you, Joel never actually said he wanted to be with me. In fact, he was pretty clear that he was willing to accept Travis... and—” 

"Jesus Christ," Cassie cut you off, her voice rising with frustration. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto you, as if trying to break through your fog of doubt. "Are you even listening to yourself right now?" she asked, her tone a mix of exasperation and impatience. "He told you that because he’s terrified, okay? He’s scared of what might happen between you two, but trust me, he wants you. Deep down, he’s desperate to be close to you again. He said all that because he wants to convince you, but it's clear as day. He’s not trying to shut you out; he's trying to gain you back. He needs you, and you need him. That’s the truth." 

She let out a breath, her face softening for a second. "You need to stop overthinking everything and just see it for what it is. Trust me."

You exhaled slowly, trying to process her words, but the doubt still clouded your mind.

“Okay, I trust you, Cass, I do, but... what if I go talk to him and he tells me that I’m wrong, that he doesn’t want anything, that I’ve misunderstood everything? What if it’s all just one big mistake on my part? I couldn’t stand the humiliation. I just couldn’t,” you said, your voice rising with the tension. “If that happens... I’ll move out. I’ll leave. I’m serious. I don’t think I could live with myself after that.”

Cassie groaned loudly, her frustration palpable. She covered her face with both hands, groaning again before dropping them dramatically. When she finally looked at you, her eyes were sharp, her gaze unwavering.

“You’re being way too dramatic,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to shut you down like that. But if you’re really that insecure about it, then just... take it slow. Go talk to him. See what he says. Don’t try to rush it, okay? You’ve already done the hardest part, just by being honest with yourself.”

You rubbed your eyes, a mix of frustration and exhaustion settling in.

“Okay,” you said after a long pause, your voice quieter. “I’ll do that. I wanted to invite Sarah over anyway, so I might as well start there. I’ll take it one step at a time.”

Cassie’s face softened with approval, her lips curving into a smile. “Sounds perfect to me. You’ll do fine.”

The conversation shifted then, easing into lighter topics as you both chatted aimlessly for the next couple of hours. It was around noon when Cassie started telling you about the small chaos in her life. She vented about a fight she’d gotten into with the guy who lived below her, the constant tension over thin apartment walls. Then, there was her boyfriend—how he’d been acting strange, how she’d found some unsettling things on his phone that made her question everything. You listened, nodding along as she vented her frustrations. 

Then, she shared something that took you by surprise.

“I really need to get away from Rome,” she confessed, her tone suddenly more serious. “I’m thinking about coming to Austin for a bit. A change of scenery... I just need a break from everything, from the stress. I need to recharge.”

You grinned at her, feeling a sense of relief and excitement bubble inside you. The idea of seeing her, of having her nearby again, was like a lifeline. You wanted her here, now more than ever. And you couldn’t help but celebrate inwardly that her need to escape Rome stemmed from conflict—something that meant you’d have her to yourself, even if just for a little while. 

At one o’clock in the afternoon, you heard the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck engine, a sound that seemed to make your heart skip a beat. You hurried over to the window, your pulse quickening as you pressed your hand against the cool glass, watching him. Joel’s truck backed out of the driveway, and there she was, Sarah—her smile wide and easy as she climbed into the passenger seat. They drove off together, the sound of the engine fading as they disappeared down the street.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to watch so closely. Maybe it was just to reassure yourself that he wasn’t avoiding you or that whatever had happened between you the night before wasn’t as messy as it seemed in your head. But there they were, together, and you couldn’t shake the knot tightening in your stomach.  

Half an hour later, the engine rumbled back into your consciousness. You pressed your ear to the window, straining to catch the sound of his truck once more. When you saw them return, your anxiety flared up again. They weren’t gone long, and that gnawing feeling of uncertainty crept back in, latching itself onto your chest. You knew what you had to do. You couldn’t wait any longer, or it would just get harder to face him. To face this. To face everything.

Taking a deep breath, you rushed upstairs. You threw on a thick white sweater over your T-shirt, pulling it down quickly over your hips, the fabric brushing against your skin. You stood in front of the mirror for a moment, running your fingers through your hair. It was wild, messy—just like everything else—but you managed to smooth it into something presentable. A little makeup, just enough to make you feel like you weren’t about to crack under the weight of this conversation. You didn’t want to look like you were out of control. You needed to feel in control.

When you went back downstairs, your heart raced, and a part of you wanted to turn back. To hide. To not deal with any of it. But then you remembered. He came looking for you yesterday, right? He wanted to talk, and he had been honest with you. You could do this. You just had to go to him. No more games, no more hesitation. You had to find out where you stood. You couldn’t keep putting it off, not without making everything feel even more tangled and complicated. 

The door swung open in front of you as if the universe was pushing you forward, or maybe it was just the weight of your own feet propelling you. The cool air slapped at your cheeks as you stepped outside, the breeze sharp against your skin. The sun, bright but low, kissed your face in a way that should’ve been comforting, but instead, it made everything feel more vivid. You walked quickly, every step pulsing with nervous energy, your body moving faster than your thoughts.

When you reached Joel’s door, you stopped for a moment, staring at the old, worn wood. Your fist trembled as it hovered over the surface, then you knocked, three quick, tentative raps. 

Silence stretched for a few seconds—seconds that felt like hours. You almost knocked again, your resolve faltering, but just as your fist was about to make contact, the door opened. 

There he was. Joel. 

His figure filled the doorway, leaning slightly, the faintest hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He was dressed simply—black pants, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, Converse shoes. Casual, effortless. His hair was the usual mess, tousled and rebellious, little spikes jutting out as if the world had no business asking him to tame it. It should have been familiar, comforting, but something about the way he stood there, looking at you—neutral, unreadable—shifted the air around you. 

Your heart stuttered. His eyes weren’t soft like they had been the night before. They were guarded, intense, fixed on your face, as though he were waiting for you to speak first. There was something in that expression, something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the uncertainty or the confusion or the way his jaw was set, like he was preparing for whatever was about to happen. 

"Hi, Joel," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, and you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck, flooding your cheeks. It was ridiculous, how shy you suddenly felt in front of him, but you couldn’t help it. "How are you?"

He let out a sharp sigh, as if the sound itself was an effort, and his gaze shifted past you, looking out into the distance like something on the other side of the street had become suddenly fascinating. His eyes briefly flickered back to you, and for a split second, they dropped to your neck, then to your lips—lingering there a moment too long before quickly darting back to your face, as if he was consciously avoiding something. A pang of disappointment struck you, sharp and immediate. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, suddenly aware of the closeness between you both. You just wanted him to look at you the way he used to, to see something familiar in his eyes again.

"I'm kinda busy, actually," Joel muttered, his voice colder than you'd ever heard it, the words clipped and distant.

“Oh… what are you doing?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity slipping out before your thoughts could catch up.

Joel shifted his weight against the doorframe, making the subtle move of pulling himself back, like he was creating even more space between you. His eyes flicked to you, briefly scanning you from head to toe, before he looked away again, almost as if the idea of meeting your gaze was something he wanted to avoid.

"Need somethin'?" he asked, his tone flat, almost uninterested.

The words hit you like a slap. The detachment in his voice was like ice water thrown in your face, and the coldness of it left you reeling. You felt a tightness in your stomach, your heart stuttering in your chest, as you tried to steady yourself. Something had shifted—something was off, and you could feel it, heavy in the air between you.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," you said, shifting nervously on your feet. Your voice was quiet, but firm, the question you’d been holding back finally slipping out. “Can we talk about what happened?”

He raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable, cold.

"What for?" he asked, his voice clipped, hard. His gaze flickered over you again, and it almost felt like he was sizing you up—like you were nothing more than an inconvenience to him. 

You stood there, completely thrown off by his coldness, the harshness of his words catching you off guard.

“What for?" you repeated, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Well, to… to clear the air, Joel,” you added, the words barely coming out, as though saying them made the weight of the situation even heavier.

Joel shifted, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his posture defensive. His eyes roamed over you briefly, then locked onto your face. The movement was so subtle, but it felt like a barrier being put up between you both. Your chest tightened as his presence seemed to grow colder, more distant. You felt a knot twist deeper in your stomach.

“There’s nothing to clear up,” Joel said, his voice now cutting through the silence, blunt and sharp. 

You inhaled sharply, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you took a small step forward, your body moving without thinking. But even as you did, you could feel it—the growing chasm between you, the space he’d created between you that seemed impossible to cross. His arms remained firmly crossed, his body language locked tight. 

"What's wrong with you?" you asked, your voice softer now, laced with confusion and hurt. You could feel your heart aching, the raw emotion creeping into your words despite yourself. “Why are you acting like this?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, the tension in his face so palpable that it almost felt like a physical barrier between you. His eyes darted to the side, catching the fading light of the afternoon, and his profile was so perfect, so effortless in its intensity, that it made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t have to look so goddamn beautiful when he was angry, when he was pulling away like this.

“I ain’t actin’ in any way,” he finally muttered, his voice low, rough, and weary. It was as if the words didn’t even belong to him, like they were just something he was forced to say. “I’m just tellin’ you that you and I ain’t got nothin’ to talk about.”

The words hit you like a slap. The frustration bubbled up from your chest, burning in your throat, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You exhaled sharply, trying to control the tremble in your voice.

“God, Joel,” you muttered, your words heavy with exasperation, frustration, and the kind of confusion that felt like it was cracking your heart open. “Why do you always do that? What the hell happened yesterday? What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you just stop confusing me for one damn second?”

Joel scoffed, the sound like a knife scraping against stone, a sharp, sarcastic laugh that didn’t even reach his eyes. He turned his head, looking past you, anywhere but at you, as if trying to escape the weight of the moment, as if you were somehow the one making this harder than it had to be.

You stood there, watching him, your heart racing in your chest, trying to understand what was going on in his mind. But the more you tried, the more it felt like the pieces just wouldn’t fit. When he finally looked back at you, there was something in his expression—a cold amusement, a bitterness that didn’t belong. It made the pit in your stomach twist painfully.

“I confuse you?” he asked, his voice now laced with amusement, as he pointed at your chest with his index finger. His eyes glinted, but the expression didn’t reach his face, not really.

You crossed your arms, mimicking his stance, as if somehow it would make you feel less vulnerable.

“Yes, Joel, you confuse me.”

He shook his head slowly, still smiling that bitter little smile.

“I’m done with this conversation, darlin’,” he said, his voice colder now. “And with all of this.”

Frustration bubbled up again, and you took a step back, feeling the familiar sting of unshed tears behind your eyes. You tried to hold it together, but the pressure in your chest was too much.

“What the fuck is wrong with your head, Joel?” you asked, quieter now, but the words still packed a punch. “Seriously, because it’s not normal to act this way.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, that same unreadable expression on his face, the silence stretching between you like a thick wall.

“Can you say something, at least?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them, desperate for something, anything, to break through.

“I think I was pretty clear,” he said after a long pause, his voice clipped. “I’m done with this conversation.”

You laughed, incredulous, the sound bitter on your tongue. “It’s ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself.

Joel’s gaze turned hard again, like stone.

“And if I recall correctly,” he continued, “I expressed myself quite well yesterday. I don’t intend to waste breath repeating somethin' that serves no purpose.”

You stared at him, stunned, the realization sinking in.

“You’re mad because I didn’t come to dinner last night, is that it?” The words came out before you could stop them, and part of you hated yourself for asking it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

Joel paused, his gaze narrowing slightly.

“Ah, no,” he clarified, shaking his head, his tone sharper now. “I think you had other plans, didn’t you?”

You stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what he was saying, of what this all meant. But as he stood there, waiting for you to speak, you realized there was no clear answer coming. You didn’t know what to say anymore.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Joel replied, his voice tight, as he pushed away from the doorframe. His hand waved dismissively toward the door handle, an almost casual gesture that only made your frustration grow. "But it's all good, don't worry."

You blinked, trying to make sense of his tone.

"Is this about Travis?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, a bemused smile starting to form as you processed what might be happening. Was Joel really making some kind of jealous scene?

Joel sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in that familiar way you knew meant he was worn out, defeated even. He took a half step back, gesturing toward the door like he was dismissing the whole conversation with a simple movement. The air between you was thick, and you could feel your neck heating with the anger that had begun to coil tightly in your chest.

"No," you said, your voice low but heavy with irritation. "You're not gonna do this."

You didn't back down, not this time. You stepped closer, closer than you ever had before, your body moving almost instinctively. Your hand found his, gently but firmly pushing it away from the door handle. 

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, surprised, but there was a hardness in his expression that only deepened the tension between you. His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, and it made something inside of you feel a little less afraid.

“Stop acting like that and talk to me,” you said, your voice quiet but urgent, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the subtle flicker of something—anger, maybe, or something deeper—behind his guarded eyes. You almost wished he’d let it out. Anything, just to break this suffocating silence.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he let out a sharp breath, as if trying to calm the storm inside him. He turned his face away briefly, looking out into the distance like the world outside was more important than what was standing right in front of him. When he finally met your eyes again, it was like a wall had been erected between you, the tension in his gaze so thick it made the air feel heavier.

“What’s the use?” he shot back, his voice rising, rough with frustration. "What’s the use of me talkin’ to you? Tell me, what’s the fucking point of it?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You had no idea what was happening between you anymore. 

He didn’t wait for you to speak. “I was clear with you yesterday,” Joel continued, his voice growing more intense with every word. "I told you everything. Everything. What do you want to talk about now? What fucking sense does it make?”

His words stung, but they didn’t scare you. You took a step closer, your chest tight with both anger and desperation.

"Yes, you did," you replied, your voice steady now, despite the pounding in your chest. "But we didn’t solve anything, did we?"

The laugh that left Joel's lips was harsh, bitter. It echoed in your ears, making your stomach drop.

“I confuse you," he muttered, sarcasm lacing his tone. "You say I confuse you, don’t you?" He shook his head, an empty laugh leaving him. "But I’m not the one who throws himself on top of you, takes you to bed, and hours later spends the night with someone else.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. The words hit you like a physical blow, and you stepped back, your pulse racing in your ears. You stared at him, unable to form a sentence, your mind struggling to process the accusation. 

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling as the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The space between you felt like it was closing in, thick and suffocating, every breath becoming harder to take. You wanted to step back, but your feet wouldn’t move.

Joel stood frozen, his posture rigid, eyes dark with frustration and something deeper—something raw—that you couldn’t quite name. The tension hung between you like a heavy fog, and every second that passed felt like an eternity. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it was like he was trying to see right through you, into everything you’d tried to keep hidden.

“You say you can’t be my friend,” he started, his voice rough, like every word was being dragged out of him. “That you want me gone.” He paused, his breath hitching, and you could see the weight of it in his chest, in the way his fists clenched. “I... I had to sit there. Day after day. Watching you walk around with him—watching you laugh, watching you pretend like it was all fine, like none of it mattered.” His voice cracked, the emotion too much for him to contain. His eyes darkened, and the hurt in them felt like a punch to the gut. “But it wasn’t fine, was it? It never was.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the words slicing through you. You wanted to say something, anything, but the truth was, you didn’t know how to answer. How could you explain the mess that had been brewing inside you for so long? The confusion, the guilt, the longing, the fear.

Joel’s breath quickened as he continued, his words gaining momentum, each one a little sharper, a little more painful.

“And then, when I finally decide to take control of my feelings—when I finally decide to be honest with you, to lay everything out, to tell you how I feel—you just shut me down. Just like that.” He gestured sharply with his hand, his voice rising, cracking under the weight of his frustration. “And then you sleep with me again. For what? Was it even real? Did you even think about it, or was it just another damn impulse?”

“Joel—” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The rawness in his voice, the way it trembled with pain, made it impossible to breathe.

“And I don’t give a damn that you didn’t come to dinner,” he cut you off, his tone now biting, hard like steel. “That’s not the problem. Not really.” He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. They were searching, desperate, like he was trying to find something in you that made sense—something he could hold on to. “You kissed me. You kissed me and made me think maybe, just maybe, you were starting to feel the same way. But I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I? I guess that meant nothing to you.” His voice wavered, breaking on the last word, and you could see the pain written all over his face. “So why the hell did we do it?”

The words hit you like a blow, sharp and heavy, but it didn’t stop something inside you from snapping. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it was all too much to hold in anymore. You opened your mouth, and the words rushed out before you could stop them.

“Yeah, it was an impulse,” you shot back, your voice thick with frustration, raw and unfiltered. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it, or that I regret it. You, of all people, should know that.” The words were sharp, but they were true. You weren’t going to apologize for wanting him. For needing him. For feeling something real that couldn’t just be swept away. “Don’t you dare be a hypocrite.”

Joel’s eyes flared, and he took a step closer, his body tense with rage. His face was a mask of fury, and the air between you seemed to crackle with the force of it.

“I don’t give a shit,” he spat, his words bitter, venomous. They landed between you like daggers, each one cutting deeper. His gaze burned into you, dark and endless, and you could feel the heat of it searing through you. “You think you can just walk away from this without any consequences? You think I’m just some damn fool you can toy with?” 

You didn’t back down. You couldn’t. Every part of you ached, but there was something inside you that refused to let him see how much he was breaking you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice quieter now but filled with a quiet strength. “But I’m not the one who’s been playing games here.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything left unsaid. Joel’s breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting to stay in control, to hold onto something, anything. But you couldn’t hold onto anything anymore, not when he was looking at you like this. Not when you both knew everything was falling apart.

Finally, Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I don’t know what the hell you want from me no more,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly. “I really don’t. I’m done. You can go on and tell that to your doorman.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension in the air.

Joel’s expression twisted with anger, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m talkin’ about that damn idiot you like,” he snapped. “Stop actin’ like you don’t know a damn thing.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, your vision blurred, the sting of his anger biting into you. But you weren’t about to let him see you break. You bit down on your lip, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. 

You glared at him, your hands balled into fists, trembling with the effort to control yourself. Stepping forward, you shoved the door open, the force of it leaving a crack in the silence.

“You’re full of shit, Joel,” you shot back, your voice low but fierce, the tremble in it only adding to the weight of your words. “You’re a fucking asshole.” 

Determined, you turned and walked quickly, your steps carrying you away from him, away from everything that had gone wrong between you. But you didn’t get far. As if by some cruel twist of fate, you heard him behind you—his long strides eating up the distance in seconds. 

“I’m not doing this again,” you said, your voice shaking now, but you kept your back to him, gripping the door handle with white knuckles, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. 

You didn’t want him inside. You didn’t want to face him, not like this, not with everything so broken between you. You opened the door wide and turned, positioning yourself between him and your entrance like a wall. 

Joel stopped at the edge of your space, standing there for a moment, silent. His eyes—his entire face—betrayed a chaos of emotions. He looked at you like he was struggling to breathe. Slowly, carefully, he moved a step closer, his face so close to yours now that you could feel his breath, the warmth of it. His voice cracked when he spoke again. 

“I was honest with you,” Joel whispered, his voice barely above a breath, thick with emotion. His words trembled as if they carried the weight of something unbearable. “I told you everything, every damn thing I’d been holding inside for so long. I didn’t wanna do that—hell, it’s damn near impossible for me. But I did it. I laid it all out for you. For you, damn it.” His voice cracked, the rawness of it hitting you harder than anything. “I was ready for anything, anything you wanted. I’d do whatever it took, even if it meant beggin’. I'd take whatever you threw at me, no matter how much it hurt. But then..." He paused, and you could feel the weight of his words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. “Then you kissed me. You fucking kissed me. And for just a minute, I thought maybe... maybe you didn’t hate me that much. Maybe this could be somethin’. Maybe we could be somethin'. More than just... whatever the hell we’ve been lately, you know?”

His voice faltered, cracking at the edges, and you could see the pain behind his eyes, raw and real.

"But what was it for?" he asked, the words bitter on his tongue, as if they had burned him just to speak them. “What was it all for?”

The tears started to fall before you could stop them, hot against your cold skin. You stood there, silent, the air heavy between you two. His anger was palpable, the frustration, the hurt, everything he’d been holding back pouring out in waves. You didn’t know what to say, you were terribly confused, but you didn't have the strength to ask the reason for his discomfort, for this sudden anger.

Joel took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a kind of desperation that made your heart ache.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice rising now, tinged with something like pleading, something you hadn’t expected. His teary eyes were glowing in the daylight. "What was it for? So you could turn around, go back to him, and not even wait a damn day before you’re back in his arms? Gettin' his fuckin' dick wet like nothing happened? Is that what this was all for?”

His words were harsh, cutting into the quiet, and you could hear the anger, but also the heartbreak in them, in him.

You opened your mouth in disbelief, a gasp escaping your throat as if the words he’d just thrown at you had physically wounded you. The pain in your chest was sudden, sharp—like something had cracked open inside you. Your hands trembled as you raised them, and with whatever strength you could muster, you shoved him away, hard. Joel staggered back, his breath coming quick, his chest heaving in frustration. But before he could say anything, you took a step toward him, your palms pushing against his chest again, this time with even more force.

“I never slept with Travis, you fucking asshole,” you choked out through your tears, the words tumbling out like you were trying to expel something suffocating. “Never. Not once.”

The change in Joel’s face was instant, a shift so sudden it was almost imperceptible. His expression softened, confusion flickering behind his eyes, his mouth opening slightly, as if he was about to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. But you weren’t done.

“I can't fucking believe it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The hurt in your chest felt like it was pressing down on your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He took a step back, eyes searching yours, almost like he was looking for some sort of explanation, but you didn’t have one.

“That's ridiculous, you were pretty obvious at the barbecue, right?” he started, his voice strained.

“I fucking lied to you, Joel,” you said, your voice cracking. The admission felt like it tore something open inside you. “I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you. I… I don’t know, I just wanted to make you feel bad. So I fucking lied about it, just like you did with Clara, remember?"

His face twisted in disbelief, his eyes narrowing as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you rushed on, the anger bubbling up in your chest again, the pain mixing with something else—something darker.

“You really think I’m capable of sleeping with you, and then doing it with him?” You shook your head, unable to believe the distance between what he was thinking and what had actually happened. “What kind of person do you think I am? You don't know me at all.”

His jaw clenched, muscles tightening like a coil ready to snap, and his eyes—God, his eyes—flashed with something so intense you couldn’t quite place it. Anger, maybe? Or was it something deeper, something darker? Fear? Desperation? You couldn’t tell, but the way his gaze hardened, like steel being forged in fire, made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.

“And what the fuck do you want me to believe?” Joel demanded, his voice rough and jagged, cracking like a man at the end of his rope. It was raw—like he hadn’t just been hurt, but betrayed. “When I came to see you last night, he—he was pretty damn clear with me.” His words punched the air, heavy with the weight of something he’d been holding back, but his frustration was impossible to ignore. "How the hell can I believe a damn thing you tell me now?"

“How?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief. “How the hell? I’m your damn best friend. Have I ever lied to you? You act like you don’t even fucking know me anymore.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he started, his voice strained with a false calm. “According to Dunn, he seems to know you better than I do. Maybe he's right. And clearly, you didn’t wanna see me last night, did you?”

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment. You froze, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside you. His words didn’t fit together in your mind. What was he talking about? Your pulse quickened, but your throat tightened, like you were choking on your own confusion.

“What... what are you talking about?” The words slipped out in a whisper, barely more than a breath. You wanted to understand, but nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt like it was collapsing in on itself. "Please explain it to me."

Joel exhaled sharply, his breath heavy with exhaustion, like the very air was too thick for him to breathe. He rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down slowly, as if trying to wake himself up from some twisted nightmare he couldn’t escape. The frustration, the hurt—he was wearing it on his skin now, like a second layer. 

"Ask him," Joel muttered, his voice tight, strained. "I’m done. I’m fuckin’ tired of all of this. I can’t do it anymore, damn it." His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world was on them. 

And then, as if the final shred of strength he had left had finally snapped, he let his hands fall to his sides, defeated. A short, bitter laugh broke from him, harsh and empty, echoing in the silence. It cut through you, making your heart ache in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes, filled with unshed tears, glistened in the light filtering through the leaves above, the sunlight casting shadows that seemed to mirror the pain in his expression.

“Apparently, I can’t get anything right,” he said, his voice thick with defeat. The words were coated with the kind of resignation that made your stomach twist. He looked at you for a moment, his gaze filled with something you couldn’t name—pain, maybe? Or was it the last flicker of hope slowly fading away? You could feel your chest tighten with every passing second, and that damn ache in your throat started to burn. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Your mind raced, but you couldn’t make sense of any of it. What did Travis have to do with this? What the hell was going on? Everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and the harder you tried to hold onto it, the faster it seemed to unravel.

“I think you should go,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. The words felt like they were being ripped from your chest. You didn’t want to be cold. You didn’t want to hurt him more. But you didn’t know what else to say. Every word felt like a betrayal, and you were drowning in the confusion, in the pain of it all. You needed space. Distance. You needed to breathe without feeling like your heart was being crushed. "I just... I need some time."

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Joel didn’t move. He stood there for a long moment, just looking at you, his face a mixture of hurt, frustration, and something else you couldn’t place. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came out. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded once, his eyes still locked on yours, and without another word, he turned away. Each step he took felt like it was pulling him farther from you, and you hated how much you wished he would just stop. But he didn’t.

You watched him walk away, feeling like you were watching the last thread between you snap. He disappeared inside his house, and you stood there, staring after him, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You didn’t even realize you were still standing there until you felt the cold air on your face, and then you moved into the house, slowly, mechanically.

Inside, the silence was overwhelming. It felt like everything had shifted, like the ground beneath you was unsteady. Your heart was still racing, your chest tight with all the words you hadn’t said. You couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t understand why things had gone the way they did, why everything always felt like it was about to fall apart. And now, there was Travis—what did he have to do with any of this? Why did Joel keep bringing him up?

That night, as you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, sleep was as distant as it had ever been. Despair clung to you like a second skin, making it impossible to close your eyes for even a second. You tossed and turned, but it was useless. The weight of everything was too much, too heavy to ignore. You couldn’t keep carrying it.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, and after a while, you reached for it, fingers trembling as you unlocked it. You opened the chat with Cassie, the words spilling out in a hurried, frantic rush. You couldn’t think too much about it. You just needed to get out of here, to escape, to breathe.

“I need to get out of here. Now.”

You hit send without a second thought, then stared at the screen, waiting for her reply. The silence in the room was deafening, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[goldfades]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "hey! I think u should right a fic about the night ice and paige were in miami out partying (obviously including reader) but paige has a little too much fun, so reader and ice to take care of her. reader is also dating paige at this point they are just on the down low 🤫 anyways adapt on the story however u want i just think this would be super cute!!" or, paige wants to finally tell ice that you two are together.

─ word count | 1.2k

─ warnings | drunk!paige, mentions of being wasted af, emotional paige, confused af ice, scared y/n, ummm... confessions, idk what else

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

PAIGE STUMBLED FORWARD as you and Ice grabbed her arm, making sure she didn't fall.

You and Ice exchanged amused glances as you got Paige up to her feet, drunken giggles coming out of the blonde's mouth. She had one too many drinks tonight and now, you're not sure she'll remember tonight.

Paige's hand went up to grab your shoulder, holding on tightly. "Hey, you guys are the fucking best," Paige slurred, her words weaving together slightly. "I love you guys, have I ever told you guys?"

You chuckled, exchanging another glance with Ice. "We love you too, P," you replied, steadying her as she swayed. "I think it's time to call it a night, what do you think?"

"But we're out here in Miami," she slurred as she let out an amused chuckle at her own joke. "L-Looking for the hoochie daddies,"

"Yeah, it's time to go back to the hotel." Ice held in her laugh as she looped Paige's other arm around her shoulder. You carried their bags as you guided her through the crowd.

The cab drive back to the hotel was anything but peaceful, Paige almost puked five times and she kept talking about how much she cared about you guys and the team. When you finally made back to the hotel, Ice threw Paige on the bed with a groan.

With a weary sigh, Ice carefully helped Paige settle onto the bed, making sure she was lying down comfortably.

"You're lucky we love you, Paige," Ice said with a playful grin, shaking her head as she glanced back at you.

"Yeah, me too." Paige sighed as she glanced back at you with a grin. "C'mere,"

Your face felt warm with embarrassment as Ice gave you an amused look as Paige kept gazing at you expectantly. Oh shit, she wasn't about to air you two out, right? Well, drunk Paige was very unpredictable you slowly made your way over to where Paige lay on the bed, her gaze fixed on you with a playful glint in her eyes.

With a nervous chuckle, you took a hesitant step closer to Paige's side, unsure of what she had in mind. "What's up, Paige?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Paige's grin widened as she reached out to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. "Just wanted you closer," she said softly, her words laced with drunken boldness. "You know I love you, right?"

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, warmth flooding through you as you squeezed her hand gently. "Yeah, Paige. I know, I love you too."

"Damn, am I interrupting something?" Ice joked as her amused expression faded into a confused one. You and Paige exchanged glances as Paige laughed, pulling you closer.

Ice looked very confused as you shot Ice a slightly panicked look as you tried to figure out how to respond.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," you stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Just, you know, friends being close."

Paige sent you a glare as she sat up. "A friend? Are we really still doing this, Y/N?"

Ice looked slightly uncomfortable as she watched the interaction, sensing the tension in the air. "Um, I'm gonna go get us some water."

You shot Ice a grateful look, silently thanking her for the distraction, before turning your attention back to Paige. "Paige, I..." you began, searching for the right words to say.

But before you could continue, Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I'm tired of pretending, Y/N," she admitted, her voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability. "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

Your heart skipped a beat at her confession, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "You're just drunk. Are you sure you wanna do this, now? On vacation, with Ice?"

But Paige shook her head, her expression determined as she reached out to take your hand. "No, I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she insisted, her eyes pleading with you to understand. "I love you, Y/N, and I don't want to hide it anymore."

You felt a lump form in your throat at her words, torn between the fear of what could happen if you gave in to your feelings and the overwhelming desire to be with her. "Paige, I..." you started, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words.

But Paige pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you. "Please, just hear me out," she urged, her voice soft but determined. "I know this might be scary, but I can't keep pretending that I don't feel this way about you."

You looked into Paige's eyes as she sobered up, seeing the depth of emotion and vulnerability in them, and felt your resolve crumbling. "You're sure?" You whispered, your voice just above a whisper as Paige nodded.

As if on cue, Ice came back with three bottles of water and an awkward smile. She looked at you, noticing the proximity before handing you the bottle. You both mumbled a quick thank you before glancing at one another.

"So..." Ice began, her voice soft as she looked in between her close friends. "What's going on-"

"We're dating, Ice." Paige ripped the bandaid off quickly as your eyes widen in panic, shooting her a glare. "For like three months, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Just three months?" Ice asked as she opened her water bottle casually, taking a sip. There was a moment of silence as you all just stared at each other, waiting for Ice to continue. "What?"

"That's all you're gonna say?" Your tone was slightly annoyed as Ice shrugged, sending Paige a grin.

Ice laughed as she shook her head, as Paige pulled you into her chest. "We've been known, Y/N. It's pretty obvious, trust me."

You blinked in surprise, feeling a mix of relief and disbelief wash over you. "Wait, you knew?" you asked, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

Ice chuckled, nodding as she took another sip of her water. "Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss," she admitted, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "But hey, I'm happy for you guys. You make a cute couple."

"That's all you're gonna say?" You repeated as Ice sent you a glare, Paige stifling her laugh.

"What do you want me to say? Oh my god, really! You guys are fucking, wow what a surprise." Ice exaggerated as you let out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. It was really that easy, huh?

You couldn't help but laugh at Ice's response, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at her easy acceptance. "I guess we were just expecting a bit more of a reaction," you admitted, still chuckling.

Ice rolled her eyes playfully, nudging you with her elbow. "Come on, you know me better than that," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm happy for you guys, really. You guys are adorable but I hope I don't become, a third wheel or something."

You grinned at Ice's playful remark, appreciating her lighthearted approach to the situation. "You could never be a third wheel. You're an essential part of this trio." you reassured her, nudging her back gently.

Paige nodded in agreement, looping her arm through Ice's. "Yeah, we're a package deal, remember?"

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[httpsdana]

Heyy. Love love love ur stories. So i was thinking one for kenan. I imagine him to be someone who appreciates a thicker curvier girl. My idea is that reader is such a girl with thick thighs and a bit of a tummy and maybe she gets insecure about it and being with kenan that maybe she doesnt deserve him or should be with some model… anyways and kenan catches her and goes off on a cute rant about how obsessed he is wirh her figure and just fliff and cute and i imagine hom to rly like love those parts of her

Warm Silhouettes~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

The evening played on a loop in her head: the models with their perfect smiles and effortless confidence, the way they seemed to belong beside the players, like they were all plucked from the same magazine spread.

She stood in front of the mirror in Kenan’s oversized shirt, her fingers nervously tracing the soft curve of her stomach.

The doubt crept in, gnawing at her. He deserves someone like them. Someone who doesn’t have thick thighs or a visible tummy. Someone...better.

The door creaked open behind her, and Kenan stepped in, his face lighting up the second he saw her.

“There’s my girl,” he said warmly, walking over and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “What are you doing in here all alone? You hiding from me?”

She gave a half-hearted smile, leaning back into his chest. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking?” He kissed the side of her neck, his voice muffled against her skin. “About how cute I am? ‘Cause I’ve been told I’m very cute.”

She couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “No, Kenan. Not about you.”

He turned her around to face him, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Okay, now I’m offended. What could possibly be more important to think about than me?”

She hesitated, glancing down. “It’s stupid…”

Kenan tilted his head, pouting like a little kid. “Hey, no calling my girl stupid. Only I get to call you names, and they’re all nice. Like ‘my little squish.’”

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a sigh. “I just... I felt out of place tonight. Like I don’t belong around all those... perfect women. They’re so thin, so put together. And I’m... not.”

Kenan’s eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping dramatically.

“Excuse me? Did you just insult my girlfriend? Oh no, no, no. We’re not doing this.” He took a step back and held up a hand like he was stopping traffic.

“First of all, those ‘perfect women’? Boring. Do they have the world’s softest thighs? No. Do they have the cutest little tummy that’s like a personal pillow for me? Absolutely not. And don’t get me started on their lack of squish.”

She blinked, caught between laughing and crying. “Squish?”

“Yes, squish,” he said, poking her stomach gently and grinning. “I love this squish. I’d marry this squish if I could. You? You’re my dream girl. You’ve got all the good stuff: soft thighs, a perfect tummy, and don’t even get me started on that butt—”

“Kenan!” she interrupted, laughing despite herself.

“What? It’s true!” He pulled her closer, his hands resting on her hips. “Babe, I’m obsessed. You think I want some model? Nah. I want you—my cuddle queen, my thigh pillow, my little lovebug.”

She covered her face with her hands, her cheeks burning. “You’re so silly.”

He gently pulled her hands away, his face softening. “I’m serious, though. I love everything about you. Every curve, every soft spot, every little bit of you that makes you you. You’re not just enough—you’re everything.”

Tears filled her eyes, but they were tears of joy this time. “Kenan…”

“And,” he added with a cheeky grin, “if you ever say anything bad about yourself again, I’m going to write a song about your thighs and sing it at every team dinner. Loudly.”

She burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Please don’t.”

“I will,” he teased, kissing her forehead. “I’ll make sure everyone knows how perfect my girl is.”

She kissed him, smiling against his lips. “I love you, Kenan.”

He grinned, brushing his nose against hers. “I love you more, my little squish.”

[theoxenfree]

DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 2.8k

you're mystified by the strange noises coming from the basement. despite your uncle attempting to thwart your concerns, you make your way downstairs into the basement one night and come across an appalling sight, and soon enough, a blooming infatuation.

warnings; 18+, double penetration, explicit sexual details, imprisonment (not mc), some unsettling details, roughly proofread, repost from my old blog 2kmps.

this is a concept piece for a potentially long one-shot! pls answer the feedback questions at the end + reblog!! it really helps to develop a well-rounded story for y'all!

Uncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Uncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, Uncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Uncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much to at the bottom; a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brung a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

"Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by goose pimples as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

“Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n: so, this idea has unfortunately never been able to fully develop from a lack of ideas. with starting this new blog, I'm hoping to get enough interest and feedback to actually commit to this and bring a completed project eventually!!

are you satisfied with how the aquatic monster was written in this piece? what would you be interested in having added/taken away? what do you think could be improved upon/expanded? is there anything you're particularly curious about?

what sort of setting would you like to see this story take place? 19th century, the 90s, or modern e.g. 2010+? are you satisfied with the setting being in cape tellis? a location inspired by lighthouse coastlines with predominately dreary/cool/wet weather? if not, what type of setting would you prefer to see?

in terms of the storyline, are you more interested in seeing: 1) a relative goes missing, so you arrive at the lighthouse he owned to solve the mystery 2) mc being an underwater mechanic to fix a damaged dam 3) mc being part of a small group trying to capture proof of a "creature" lurking around cape tellis. 4) something else???

[aesthetically-dying101]

Very long but just asking if u wanna do a oneshot in this. What about the reader being a person transmigrating into the Jjk world , but for whatever they change they need to place someone else so like for example to prevent anyone from dying they need to die/or someone else needs too , so the reader tries to save nanami but then nanami dosent know that the reader has more than one life(reader will regress until she changes the fate of everyone) and so he breakdown realising the person whom he cherished gone for him but then she comes back alive but nanami forgot about the reader (he hasn't confessed but he liked the reader, and whom ever she saves they forget about her)

A/N: screaming and throwing up THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, anyways... yeah. took me a second to answer this cause i wanted to make it perfect hhehehehhehee

warnings: death. angst, sadness, pain and emotional torture, BUT, happy ending so don't come at me with pitchforks, also this is LONG, inaccurate description of being a midwife.

You never asked for this.

Hell, you didn’t even know what this was. Some cosmic punishment? Divine irony? Whatever cruel god—or thing—out there had pulled the strings to place you here, in a world where death loomed as naturally as breath, must’ve been laughing their omniscient ass off.

Because you were a joke.

Transmigration? Sure. Sounds exciting. New life, new opportunities, maybe a harem if fate was feeling extra generous. But this wasn’t one of those stories. No, this was a twisted little tragedy dressed up like a second chance. Every change you made to save someone—a person, a moment, a goddamn outcome—came with an unbreakable price.

One life for another.

And here you were, the cosmic accountant in charge of balancing that equation.

But no one told you how much it would hurt.

Nanami Kento’s life hung in the balance, and you couldn’t let it happen.

Not him. Not now. Not ever.

His death was etched into the timeline—clear as blood on pavement, sharp as the edge of a curse’s touch (fuck you Mahito). You’d seen it a dozen times, the vision playing out like a film reel stuck on a loop. The exact moment when his light would go out, when his voice would falter, and the world would swallow him whole. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape the truth: if you wanted him to live, you had to die.

Again.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To rage against the stars and demand an explanation, a reprieve, anything but this endless, unbearable cycle. But there was no one to hear you. Just the echo of your own thoughts bouncing back, mocking you.

Because deep down, you knew.

You’d already made your choice.

I’m sorry, Kento.

The words echoed in your mind, a prayer he would never hear.

And then it happened. The shift. The reset.

It always felt like utter shit, like your nerves were being pulled from your body like some weird puppet.

The world trembled, reality folding in on itself like a film reel burning out, and you felt it—the sharp, searing pain of being erased. It was always like this. Your existence, your memories, every fleeting moment you’d shared with the people you saved—gone, wiped clean like you’d never been there at all.

When the world righted itself again, you were already fading. You saw Nanami kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he cradled your face. There was something in his eyes—grief, confusion, disbelief. Like he was trying to hold onto something he couldn’t quite name.

But even as you looked into his eyes, you could see it happening. The forgetting. The cruel, unrelenting hand of fate wiping you from his mind, piece by agonizing piece.

You wanted to scream, to beg the universe for mercy, to cling to the fragile thread of connection between you. But it was too late.

It was always too late.

*-*

Nanami woke up confused.

He hadn't noticed it at first.

The hollow feeling crept in quietly, like a thief slipping through a crack in the door. He chalked it up to exhaustion, a natural byproduct of this cursed life.

Another mission, another brush with death (fuck you Mahito), another day spent wondering why he was still fighting in a world that seemed determined to grind people like him into dust.

But it didn’t go away.

If anything, it grew worse. It gnawed at the edges of his mind, a shadowy presence that whispered something is wrong. He couldn’t place it. Couldn’t name it. But it was there, constant and maddening, like a tune he couldn’t quite recall no matter how hard he tried.

He sat alone in the faculty lounge, the quiet hum of the overhead lights doing little to ease the unease coiling in his chest. His fingers tapped absently against the table as he stared into the void of his coffee mug.

Empty.

Fitting.

“Nanami.”

He looked up to see Gojo leaning casually against the doorframe, his ever-present blindfold pushed slightly upward to reveal one piercing eye. He wore his usual grin, but there was something in his tone that felt off.

Concern, maybe. Or as close to it as Gojo ever got.

“Is this about the mission? You’ve been acting weirder than usual.”

Nanami sighed, his gaze dropping back to his mug. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no,” Gojo said, striding into the room with that infuriating confidence of his. “You’re not. You’re sulking more than usual, and honestly, that’s saying something.”

“Gojo, I’m not in the mood.”

Gojo paused, leaning against the table, his grin fading just enough to reveal the seriousness beneath. “You sure? Because you don’t look fine. You look... I don’t know. Like you’ve lost something.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Nanami stiffened, his fingers tightening around the handle of his mug. Lost something. Yes. That was exactly it. But what?

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? That he felt like he was mourning something he couldn’t even remember? That every time he closed his eyes, he felt the weight of a name he couldn’t recall?

“Nanami?” Gojo’s voice softened, just barely. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Nanami admitted, the frustration bleeding into his voice. He set the mug down harder than he intended, the sound echoing in the empty room. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like...” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “It’s like there’s a hole in my chest. Like something’s missing, but I can’t remember what. Or who.”

Gojo straightened, the teasing edge vanishing from his expression. “That’s... not nothing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the school’s ventilation system.

“Have you talked to Shoko?” Gojo finally asked.

Nanami shook his head.

“You should,” Gojo said, his tone oddly serious. “Maybe it’s... I don’t know, stress or something. But if it’s bothering you this much—”

“It’s not stress,” Nanami snapped, more forcefully than he intended. He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I just... I don’t think this is something a doctor can fix.”

Gojo studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable behind the blindfold. Then he gave a small nod. “Alright. But if you ever feel like talking about it... You know where to find me.”

Nanami didn’t respond, and Gojo left without another word.

*-*

Later, Nanami found himself in Shoko’s office, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he got there. She glanced up from her paperwork as he entered, raising an eyebrow.

“Kento,” she said, setting down her pen. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you in here. You’re usually too stubborn to admit when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe something is wrong,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

She gestured for him to sit, her expression softening. “Alright. What’s going on?”

Nanami hesitated. How was he supposed to explain this? How did you put words to something you didn’t understand yourself?

“I feel like...” He paused, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair. “Like there’s something I’ve forgotten. Or someone.”

Shoko tilted her head, her gaze sharp and analytical. “Forgotten how? Like a memory?”

“No,” Nanami said, shaking his head. “It’s... deeper than that. It’s not just a memory. It’s like... like a piece of me is missing. Like a part of my soul is just... gone.”

The words felt ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but they were the only ones that made sense.

Shoko frowned, her fingers drumming lightly against the desk. “That’s... specific. And unsettling.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Have you felt this way before?”

“No,” Nanami said, the frustration seeping into his voice again. “And that’s the problem. It’s not going away. It’s there every second of the day, this... emptiness. Like I’m mourning something I can’t even name.”

Shoko leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That’s not exactly a common complaint, you know.”

“I figured as much.”

Silence settled over the room, heavy and uncomfortable.

“I can run some tests,” Shoko finally said. “But... if this is what I think it might be—if it’s something supernatural—I don’t know if I’ll be able to help.”

Nanami nodded, though it did little to ease the weight in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, standing to leave.

“Kento.”

He paused, turning back to look at her.

“You said it feels like someone’s missing,” she said carefully. “If that’s true... maybe you haven’t forgotten them entirely. Maybe some part of you remembers.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

As he walked out of her office, the ache in his chest remained, a hollow, unrelenting reminder of something—or someone—he couldn’t name. It felt like a wound that would never heal, a ghost haunting the edges of his mind.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing the most important part of himself.

*-*

The first thing you realized after your grand sacrifice was this: dying hurts like hell.

The second thing? Waking up hurts worse.

It wasn’t the physical pain—though that wasn’t exactly a picnic, either. No, it was the sharp, bone-deep knowledge that you were alive and he didn’t know you existed. That every shared smile, every subtle glance, every unspoken connection had been wiped from Nanami Kento’s memory, replaced with a hollow nothing.

You hadn’t saved him to be remembered, of course. You weren’t that naive. But knowing he was alive didn’t dull the ache of losing him in every other way.

He’s safe, you reminded yourself bitterly as you sat on the edge of your unfamiliar bed, staring blankly at the floor. Alive and safe and probably eating his bland little breakfast and being unreasonably handsome about it. Mission accomplished, right?

Your fingers dug into your thighs as you leaned forward, elbows on knees, the weight of the whole cursed situation pressing down on your chest.

So why does this feel like the universe took a baseball bat to my heart?

You knew the answer, of course. Because Nanami Kento wasn’t just some guy you decided to save on a whim. He was the man you loved—the man you’d given up everything for. And now? Now he’d never even know your name.

You laughed, but it was hollow, sharp, and bitter enough to leave a metallic taste in your mouth. “Fate’s got a hell of a sense of humor.”

*-*

You didn’t want to see him. You shouldn’t want to see him.

But you did.

Because you were weak, and desperate, and a little masochistic, apparently. So, two days after you’d died to save him, you found yourself lingering outside his apartment building like some sort of creep.

Not your proudest moment.

You leaned against a lamppost across the street, your hood pulled low over your face as you sipped on a lukewarm coffee you didn’t even want. The bitter liquid churned in your stomach, souring with every passing second, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.

It was ridiculous. You’d already confirmed that he was alive, that your little act of self-sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. What more did you need?

Closure?

The word popped into your head uninvited, unwelcome, and far too smug for its own good.

“Shut up,” you muttered to yourself, taking another sip of the coffee just to have something to do with your hands.

And then, there he was.

Nanami Kento, stepping out of his building at precisely the time you knew he would. Because of course he was predictable like that. Reliable. Steady. A creature of habit in a world that refused to make sense.

He looked the same as ever: impeccably dressed, tie perfectly knotted, his expression set in that familiar mask of calm focus. There wasn’t a single hair out of place, not a single crack in his polished exterior.

Except for his eyes.

There was something in them—a flicker of something restless, like he’d spent the night wrestling with shadows he couldn’t see.

He feels it too, you thought, your chest tightening.

It was ridiculous. You knew the rules, knew how this worked. He didn’t remember you. He couldn’t. Whatever lingering sense of unease he felt wasn’t about you. It couldn’t be.

And yet...

You watched as he paused on the sidewalk, his gaze flickering briefly toward the sky. His hand brushed against his chest, just over his heart, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that he was thinking of you.

Stupid.

Your grip on the coffee cup tightened, the cardboard creaking in protest. What were you even doing here? Stalking the man you loved like some lovesick ghost, hoping for what? A glimpse of the life you’d sacrificed yourself to save?

Pathetic, you thought bitterly, pushing off the lamppost.

He started walking, his steps measured and deliberate, his briefcase swinging lightly at his side. You didn’t follow him—you weren’t that far gone—but you couldn’t quite tear your eyes away from his retreating figure.

You’d saved him. That was supposed to be enough.

So why did it feel like you’d lost everything?

You turned on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, your coffee abandoned in a nearby trash can. The ache in your chest was sharp and unrelenting, a constant reminder that you’d traded your happiness for his life.

“Alive and safe,” you muttered under your breath, the words bitter on your tongue. “Good for him.”

You didn’t cry. Not here, not now. You’d done enough crying already, and it wasn’t going to change anything.

But as you walked away from the man who didn’t even know you existed, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything left of you that was worth saving.

It feels like a slow, suffocating kind of emptiness, a vast, hollow pit where your heart used to be, gnawing away at the edges of your soul. There's an unbearable weight in knowing that Nanami is alive, thriving even, and yet you are nothing to him now—just a forgotten ghost, a passing shadow.

The ache is constant, curling around your chest like a vice, tight and unforgiving, until every breath feels like a reminder of your own sacrifice, of how you gave up everything and still ended up with nothing.

It's an endless, gnawing bitterness—part of you yearning for him to remember, to feel something, and another part of you scornfully accepting that he never will.

*-*

Nanami's week continued as if nothing had changed. The world kept turning, the usual grind of missions and meetings pulling him along in its ceaseless flow. But somewhere, beneath the surface of his everyday routine, something felt... off.

He couldn't put his finger on it, not at first. Maybe it was the way his mornings felt slightly more mechanical, like a performance rather than a natural flow. Or how the quiet of his apartment seemed a little more suffocating, a little more... lonely. But he pushed those feelings aside. He was fine.

He was always fine.

But the cracks kept showing, like tiny splinters in a glass that was slowly starting to break.

It started with the mug.

He didn’t know why he even noticed it, but there it was, sitting on his kitchen counter like it belonged to him. Except it didn’t.

It was a chipped, faded thing—nothing fancy, just a simple ceramic mug with a faded print of a cartoon cat wearing glasses. Nothing about it said “Nanami Kento.” He didn’t even like cats. He was sure of it. But here it was, nestled among his other mugs, like it had always been there.

He frowned, his hand hovering over it for a moment before picking it up. It was strangely comforting in its own way, like a forgotten memory trying to claw its way back to the surface.

The feeling was fleeting, and he shoved it down, setting the mug back on the counter and shaking his head.

Just tired. Probably stress from the missions.

*-*

Then there was the stack of birthday cards in his drawer.

Three of them.

Why three?

Well, if he used his common sense, one card for one birthday right? So one for the past three years.

It wasn’t his birthday.

It wasn’t even close to his birthday. So why the hell were there three cards, all with the same, ridiculous design? A cheap, cartoonish glitter pattern with tiny animals dressed up in party hats. He hadn’t even taken the time to read the inside of them—didn't need to. They were empty. All of them.

Who the hell would give him empty birthday cards? Who would keep them?

His fingers tightened around the cards, his mind racing for an explanation that didn’t make him feel like he was losing his grip on reality. But there was nothing. Just these stupid, empty cards.

Maybe... maybe someone thought this was funny? A joke, maybe?

He tossed the cards back into the drawer, but the nagging feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. They’d been there for... how long? He couldn’t remember. But somehow, they’d never been thrown out.

*-*

The final straw came when he was sitting at his desk, trying to work through a mountain of paperwork, when his gaze drifted to the calendar on the wall.

It was a plain calendar, the kind you could buy anywhere. And yet, there was something strange about it.

A single Saturday was circled in bright red marker.

He blinked, staring at the date, but it didn’t make any sense. The day didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t have any particular plans for it. He didn’t even remember marking it. So why the hell had he circled it? Why was it so... important?

And written underneath it, in neat handwriting that wasn’t his, were two words:

Confess.

Confess? Confess to who? What was he supposed to confess?

Nanami’s heart stuttered, the sense of confusion deepening into something more unsettling. His fingers hovered over the red circle, almost like he was afraid to touch it. The word confess kept echoing in his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of it.

Why the fuck had he written that??

Confess to who?

And more importantly, what??

His mind reeled. He stood up abruptly, moving to his window, the sunlight streaming in but doing little to ease the tightness in his chest.

What was wrong with him? Why did it feel like there was something he was forgetting? Something that should be right in front of him but wasn’t.

Something was missing.

*-*

By the time he’d gone through his apartment, looking for anything else out of place—anything else that might explain this gnawing sensation—he was more disoriented than ever. His apartment was... normal. Too normal. Too quiet.

And yet, the emptiness was suffocating.

He glanced back at the calendar, his mind racing to make sense of the tiny clues he’d uncovered. His gaze flickered back to the mug again, the stupid birthday cards, and that damn circled date. Something was trying to break through—something about all of it felt familiar, and yet, it also felt like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Why do I feel like I’m... forgetting something?

He slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. It wasn’t just stress. It wasn’t just exhaustion.

There was a woman.

He knew there had been.

It was as if a shadow was stretching just out of reach of his memory, a face he should recognize, a voice that should sound so familiar, but when he reached for it, it slipped through his fingers like smoke.

Who the hell are you?

The question whispered in his mind, though he could never quite bring himself to speak it out loud. He wasn’t sure who he was even asking. The woman in his mind? The empty mug? The cards? Or the damn calendar that was still taunting him with its inscrutable message?

Confess.

His eyes traced the word again, the curve of the letters taunting him like some secret he couldn’t uncover, a truth that was just beyond his grasp.

He had no answers.

Only the feeling that something was horribly, terribly wrong, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

And he hated it. Hated that the only thing that was clear was how much he missed something—or someone—he couldn’t even name.

*-*

The dreams came every night.

At first, they were fleeting—a blur of warmth and shadows, the outline of a person he couldn’t quite see, couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up with the lingering sensation of something—or someone—right there, beside him. A warmth that never quite vanished, like a hand that wasn’t his own, brushing against his skin. But as the nights wore on, the dreams grew clearer.

A face remained hidden, obscured by a blur that twisted like smoke, but the feeling, the presence, was unmistakable. He could feel her there—standing just out of sight, her energy a constant pull in the distance. She was with him in a hundred places. In his quiet apartment, where they’d sit together in silence, the only sound the ticking of a clock on the wall. In darkened streets, their hands brushing as they walked side by side, their pace in sync as if they’d done it a thousand times. And sometimes—too many times to be coincidental—she was with him in the chaos of battle, a fierce, unspoken bond in the way they fought together, backs aligned as if they'd shared this moment in a thousand lifetimes.

But there was no voice. No name.

He reached for her—desperately—his hands closing around air, but every time, she slipped away, like sand running through his fingers.

And every time, he woke up feeling more empty. More incomplete.

*-*

That afternoon, Nanami found himself standing in front of Shoko’s office door, the cool metal of the doorknob cold against his fingertips. His hand hovered there for a moment, indecision clawing at him.

What the hell was he even going to say?

He’d spent the last few days wrestling with the confusing, fragmented thoughts that had been consuming him—the dreams, the feelings of familiarity, the overwhelming sense of loss. He hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even Gojo, whose insufferable antics would only make a joke of it. This... this was different. It was deeper. More personal.

So why did he feel so damn foolish?

He knocked, twice, and waited.

Shoko didn’t even look up when she opened the door, just waved him inside. “What’s up, Nanami?”

“I need your help.” The words came out before he could think better of them. There was no room for hesitation now.

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I... I’ve been having dreams,” he started, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “But they’re not just dreams. They feel like... memories.”

Shoko leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing with professional interest. “Memories of what?”

“I don’t know,” Nanami admitted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I keep seeing this... woman. She’s there in my dreams. Sometimes, she’s... with me. Sometimes we’re on missions together. Sometimes we’re just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “—just living. Like we’ve been doing it for years. And I know her. Or at least, I think I do. But I can’t remember her face, her voice, anything. She’s just—” He gestured helplessly with his hands. “Gone. But not. She’s there, and then she’s gone.”

Shoko didn’t respond immediately, just stared at him with that clinical detachment of hers. Her gaze flickered down to her desk, then back to him, her fingers tapping idly against the wood. “This sounds like... a curse. A complicated one, at that.”

Nanami clenched his jaw, frustration rising in his chest. “I don’t think it’s a curse.”

Shoko looked at him skeptically. “Then what the hell do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight. “But it’s real. These dreams—these moments—I feel them. I feel like I’ve lived them, even though I don’t remember. And every time I wake up, it’s like... like something’s been stolen from me. Something I can’t get back.”

Shoko’s expression softened just a fraction, but she didn’t offer him sympathy. Instead, she stared at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “You’ve been through a lot, Nanami. You’re tired. Maybe your mind’s just playing tricks on you.”

But Nanami was shaking his head before she even finished speaking.

“No, Shoko. I know. It’s something more. I know it’s something more than just dreams. It’s like...” He paused, trying to put it into words that wouldn’t make him sound like he was losing his mind. “It’s like... part of me is missing. And every night, in those dreams, I feel whole again, for just a moment.” He exhaled sharply. “And I need to know why. I need to know what’s happening.”

Shoko’s silence stretched for a long moment before she finally spoke, her voice low and serious.

“Okay. I’ll help you. But this is going to get messy, Nanami. You’re asking for answers to something that... well, I’m not sure even I can figure out.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but his resolve hardening in his chest. “I need to know who she is. I need to know what she is.”

Shoko studied him for a moment longer, then finally nodded.

“Fine. We’ll start by looking into it. But don’t get your hopes up. Whatever this is, it’s not going to be easy.”

“Thank you.”

She gave a small, understanding nod. “Don’t thank me yet, Nanami. We’ve got a long way to go.”

But as Nanami left her office, the sinking feeling in his chest didn’t ease.

The dreams were only getting stronger, and with each passing night, the sense that something—someone—was slipping through his fingers became more unbearable.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on, chasing the ghost of a woman he couldn’t even remember.

*-*

While Nanami was out there, slowly losing his mind over a woman he couldn’t even remember—ahem, the love of his life, if you wanted to be dramatic about it—you, on the other hand, had begun the process of rebuilding.

And by rebuilding, I mean you’d started a new job at a maternity clinic because, well, why not?

It’s not like you had any better ideas. There was no easy way to wipe your mind clean of the raw emptiness left behind by everything you sacrificed, but you figured that at least keeping yourself busy would keep you from spiraling too far into a pit of self-loathing. Or worse, crawling back to Nanami, hoping for some impossible miracle.

No, that was done. That was over.

You were moving forward.

If you squinted hard enough, you could almost convince yourself that this was an entirely new chapter.

Except for the fact that every night, the same dreams haunted you. The ones where Nanami was there, out of reach, just like he always had been—just like he always would be.

But back to the whole maternity clinic situation.

You’d always liked helping people. It was in you—somewhere deep down there was a part of you that got a strange sense of satisfaction from seeing people thrive, seeing them smile, seeing them take their first steps into the future. And yeah, you could technically say you liked the job. You liked it more than you expected, even if the constant parade of new mothers and babies could get overwhelming.

It was a messy, noisy job, full of too much emotion and far too many bodily fluids, but it paid the bills. And after everything you’d been through, the daily grind was starting to feel normal.

Normal.

Isn’t that just a beautiful word?

“Miss, are you okay?”

You blinked and looked down at the tiny baby you were holding. She was staring up at you with wide, curious eyes, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Great. Now the babies are judging me.

“Yeah,” you muttered, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Thinking about the fact that I’m alive and that’s probably the worst joke the universe has ever played on me.

The baby cooed, her tiny hands reaching out, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. You were a sucker for these little ones. Maybe that’s why you didn’t mind coming into work every day, despite the broken pieces of yourself you still couldn’t quite piece together.

“Just don’t get too attached,” you whispered to the baby, a wry grin on your lips. “I’ve got a serious problem with losing things.”

The door to the nursery opened with a soft squeak, and one of the nurses came in with a new batch of newborns, as if this was some kind of rotating assembly line.

You rolled your eyes. “Great. More to babysit.”

But the nurse—Olivia, you think—flashed you a quick smile. “Someone’s got to do it. You’re the best we’ve got.”

You gave her a sharp, exaggerated nod, but internally, you felt your chest tighten. She was being nice, of course, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had moved on without you.

You had no one. You had no one to go home to, no one to sit with after a long day. Just you, and the hollow ache of everything you’d lost.

The baby in your arms kept cooing, her tiny hands clenching and unclenching, her innocent gaze following your movements with unspoken trust.

Isn’t it funny?

The world had forgotten you. It had forgotten what you had done, what you had given up.

And yet, here was a tiny, helpless being, relying on you.

At least someone still cared.

You sighed, shifting the baby carefully, and then continued with your work. You didn’t have time to dwell on anything else. Not when there were bills to pay, lives to help, and—honestly—no one else to lean on but yourself.

But late at night, when the clinic was quiet, and you were alone in your small apartment, the ache in your chest came flooding back.

And that’s when you let yourself feel the weight of it all—the unbearable emptiness that gnawed at you, the broken pieces that never quite fit together.

*-*

Nanami was fucking close- no, not in that sense you heathens- close to finding who she was.

Or who she had been.

If she was still alive, that is.

The frustration gnawed at him. The hours, the endless search through obscure texts and records, trying to piece together the impossible, the fragments of a life that had slipped through his fingers. There was no name—at least, not one that made sense to him. No face, no voice, only the echo of her in the pit of his chest. Every night, he was haunted by dreams of a woman, someone he knew, but couldn't remember.

It was maddening.

The days felt longer now. Each one bled into the next, a sea of monotony that only made the absence of her sharper. His soul ached with every breath.

Nanami was fucking close—no, not in that sense, you heathens—close to finding out who she was.

Or who she had been.

If she was still alive, that is.

The frustration gnawed at him. The hours, the endless search through obscure texts and records, trying to piece together the impossible, the fragments of a life that had slipped through his fingers. There was no name—at least, not one that made sense to him. No face, no voice, only the echo of her in the pit of his chest. Every night, he was haunted by dreams of a woman, someone he knew, but couldn't remember. It was maddening.

The days felt longer now. Each one bled into the next, a sea of monotony that only made the absence of her sharper. His soul ached with every breath.

Shoko had been the one to find it.

While Nanami had been lost in his own spiral, pacing endlessly in his apartment like a man on the verge of a breakdown, Shoko had been methodical, the scientist in her determined to pull any thread that might lead them to the truth.

The text had been buried deep in the archives. Something so ancient, it felt like it belonged in a legend. The words were cryptic, written in old, faded ink, but it was the one clue they had. One tiny, fragile thread that might pull them out of the dark.

"To save one life, another must be sacrificed. In the space between life and death, memories are traded. The price is steep: to save the one you love, you will lose the memory of them forever. Their existence will be erased from your mind, as though they were never there. But their life will be spared, and you will never know the weight of their absence. You will carry their love without ever remembering them."

Nanami had stared at the text, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath had caught in his throat.

"Sacrificed."

The word hit him like a truck.

Had she been the one to save him? To save them—to save everyone—in that one moment, that single act that had erased her from his memory and allowed him to carry on, to fight, to live?

It was the only explanation that made sense. The only reason why he couldn’t remember her.

"You need to remember."

Shoko’s voice had broken through his spiraling thoughts, a sharp, firm whisper. "You need to stop pretending that you can live without her."

Nanami’s hands had clenched around the paper, his knuckles white with the force of it. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how badly he had failed her. How every step he had taken without knowing the truth had been a step away from her, from the only person who had mattered.

*-*

The ache had only deepened after that.

It was impossible to shake. The idea that she had chosen this. That she had willingly sacrificed herself—not her life, but her very existence—for him. For them.

Nanami had spent nights unable to sleep, his thoughts swirling around that ancient text.

Every night, he dreamed of her. Those moments of tenderness, of quiet exchanges, of gazes that said everything without a word. The fragments of intimacy—so real, so achingly real—only to wake up to the cold emptiness of the morning, where she no longer existed in his mind. But he felt her. She was there, in his heart, and it was killing him.

He had to find her. He had to remember.

That was how Nanami found himself sitting across from Shoko, the flickering candlelight in the corner doing little to soothe his raw nerves. His chest tightened with every passing second, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table in frustration.

“Shoko,” he said, his voice strained. “What if I can’t find her? What if she’s gone for good?”

Shoko looked at him, her expression unreadable, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—pity, maybe, or understanding.

“You will find her,” Shoko replied, her voice quiet but firm. “But you have to remember. You can’t just pretend it’s not eating you alive. You need to go to her. To find her, Kento.”

Nanami clenched his jaw, feeling the words settle deep within him like a brand. Find her.

The idea was both comforting and terrifying. He wanted to find her, more than anything. But what if she didn’t want to be found? What if—

“Shoko,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What if she hates me for not remembering? For not knowing her? For letting her slip away while I lived my life, as though she never mattered?”

Shoko’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Nanami swore he saw a flicker of her own vulnerability. But then, she reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

“She won’t hate you, Nanami. She loved you enough to sacrifice everything. If she’s alive—if you find her—you’ll remember.”

*-*

That night, Nanami stood before the mirror, his heart pounding. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The reflection staring back at him was a man who had everything and nothing at the same time.

He felt... hollow.

Like a part of his soul was missing, and no amount of fighting, no amount of missions, no amount of anything could fill the void.

She was gone. And yet, she wasn’t.

Every corner of his mind screamed her name, but when he reached for it, there was only silence.

The ache was unbearable, a constant, gnawing pain that refused to be ignored.

And he knew—he knew—that if he didn’t find her soon, if he didn’t get the chance to say what needed to be said, to apologize for everything he couldn’t remember, that hole in his chest would never heal.

“Please,” he whispered to no one. “I need you. Please. Come back to me.”

*-*

Across the city, in a small, humble maternity clinic, you sat by the window, staring out into the night. Your thoughts drifted—aimless, bitter—pushing away the ache that clung to your ribs, the loneliness that wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

You had tried to move on. You had. But the memory of him... his face... it never left.

And you didn’t know how long you could bear this. The feeling of loving him without him even knowing who you were.

Maybe you weren’t meant to be in his life after all.

Maybe he was better off without you.

But there was a part of you, buried deep within, that refused to believe that.

And so, every night, you waited for the moment when your fate—and his—would finally collide.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the fear that even then, even when you stood before him, he wouldn’t remember. He wouldn’t know you.

And that was the cruelest thing of all.

*-*

Nanami wasn’t losing his mind.

Or rather, he had been, but not in the way that would’ve required a padded room and a team of specialists. His dreams—those fragmented glimpses of a life he couldn’t remember—had finally given him something tangible.

Her eyes.

Well, yeah, of course she had eyes. Most people had eyes. But hers—they weren’t just a detail anymore. They were vivid now, clear and bright and hers. He could see them in his mind as if they’d been etched into the fabric of his soul.

And with her eyes came the cascade of other memories. Little snippets, pieced together like the most maddening puzzle he’d ever tried to solve.

He remembered why his calendar had that red circle on the Saturday, the word confess written neatly in the corner.

He had been planning something for her.

Not just something—everything.

A date. A bouquet of flowers that he had agonized over choosing because he didn’t know if she liked lilies or tulips more (he’d ended up getting both, just in case). A quiet dinner at a little restaurant he’d scouted out weeks in advance. And then, when the moment was perfect, when the words didn’t threaten to strangle him, he was going to tell her.

Tell her how much she meant to him. Tell her that she had been the only light in his life in far too long. Tell her that maybe—just maybe—she could consider giving a relationship with him a shot.

The memory hit him like a freight train, and he nearly staggered under the weight of it.

Why didn’t I do it?

Because something had happened. Something catastrophic enough to tear her from his life and his mind. The memory was blurry, smeared at the edges, but he knew—he knew—it hadn’t been her choice. Not entirely.

All of it had been taken. Wiped from his mind. Gone.

And now, the universe had dangled this thread in front of him, taunting him with the knowledge of what he’d lost.

“I’ll grovel,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice breaking. “I’ll get on my knees and beg. Just... just let me find her. Let me have this chance, please.”

He didn’t care who he was pleading to—the universe, some higher power, anyone who would listen. He just needed her back.

*-*

The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender, a bizarre combination that Nanami didn’t have the mental bandwidth to process.

The maternity clinic. A quiet place, where life began anew.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

He’d been searching for weeks, going through every shred of information he could find, following every lead, until it had finally brought him here.

To her.

He didn’t know how, but he knew. His chest tightened the moment he stepped through the doors. The air felt heavier, charged, like he was standing at the edge of something monumental.

But before he could ask the receptionist anything, a heavily pregnant woman standing nearby let out a sharp gasp of discomfort, her hand pressing against her lower back.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” Nanami asked, his instincts kicking in immediately.

She nodded, her face tight with pain. “Yeah, just... give me a second. These Braxton Hicks contractions are no joke.”

“Here.” He offered his arm without hesitation, guiding her to a nearby chair. “Take a seat. I’ll get someone to help.”

As he straightened, his gaze shifted—and froze.

There she was.

Standing just a few feet away, clipboard in hand, her scrubs neatly pressed, looking every bit like she belonged in this chaotic, bustling clinic.

He almost couldn’t breathe.

She was here. She was alive.

The relief hit him like a tidal wave, but it was quickly replaced by something deeper, heavier. An ache that clawed at his chest, screaming at him to close the distance between them, to grab her, to never let her go again.

She hadn’t noticed him yet—too focused on her work, on jotting down notes. But when she finally looked up and saw him, her expression froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

You blinked, your lips parting slightly as if to say something, but then your gaze shifted to the woman he’d just helped, and something inside you seemed to harden.

Of course, you jumped to the worst conclusion.

He’s moved on.

Your mind supplied the bitter thought before you could stop it.

Four months.

Four measly months, and here he was, looking like he’d just stepped out of a magazine ad, escorting a pregnant woman like some kind of domestic god (and a good looking one at that)

And the worst part? He looked happy.

Your heart twisted painfully, but you shoved the emotion down. You didn’t have the right to feel this way. You'd made your choice.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice clipped as you approached them. “Is there something I can help with?”

Nanami turned to you, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“You,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’m looking for you.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N��� His voice cracked slightly as he said it, the weight of your legal name tumbling from his lips with a reverence that made your chest ache. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Your clipboard slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t even notice.

Because in that moment, as he stood there, staring at you like you were the last thing keeping him tethered to this earth, a part of you wanted to hope.

But hope was dangerous.

Wasn’t it?

A/N: gosh i love angst, but i love a happy ending. I hope this wasn't too meh, and i hope i didn't completely missunderstand your request anon, i didn't know if you wanted a happy ending or not. Yes the last part i was writing in "she" then went to "you", yes it's on purpose.

Masterlist

:)

[jasmines-library]

Hi love <3!

I was wondering if you’d feel comfortable with writing something with the bat-family finding out that the reader has like, the abilities to transfer injuries to themselves.

Like, one of them is hurt and reader just rips their gloves off mid mission and drops to their side, transferring the injury to themself. Bonus points if they automatically transfer some psychological trauma as well? And maybe reader avoiding talking about it and stuff, the family finally seeing the countless scars that reader got because of their power.

(This is has been stuck in my head for forever and I’ve never seen anyone write the bat-family as good as you do, so <3)

Heal

Note: I've literally wanted to write something like this for ages! thank you for requesting ❤️ also tumblr was throwing a tantrum and not letting me put the image I wanted as a header so you get a GIF instead :(

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Scars.

Word count: 1.7k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

“Robin!”

The scream ripped itself from your throat as you saw him drop to the ground. The crook stood over him, removing the dagger that dripped with crimson red from where he had plunged it into Damians thigh. You practically launched yourself across the street as he fled, dropping to his side. He clutched feebly at the wound, eyes screwed up in pain. Your hand hovered over the wound as he cried out in pain gawping at the open wound. Blood gushed from the deep wound staining the concrete.

“Hold on Robin, you’re gonna be fine.” you told him as you tore off your gloves and discarded them on the ground. 

Then, pressing your hand firmly over the wound and wincing at his shout of discomfort, you began to heal the wound. It was a strange sensation that no matter how many times you felt, you never seemed to get used to. The tingling ran up your arms but quickly replaced by an agonising burn as Damian’s wound began to heal on his skin and began to appear beneath your thigh beneath your suit. You bit your lip to hold back the cry as you watched the gaping wound close leaving behind nothing but shiny new skin and another hole in his suit for Alfred to patch up.

Damian pushed himself up onto his forearms to regain his composure when he felt the pain dissipate from his body. Around you, the rest of the vigilantes were still battling the criminals who seemed to be flanking in from every possible angle. You helped him to his feet, asking if he was alright as you pulled on your gloves. He gave you a brief nod of thanks before dashing off with his katana in hand to help his family. You staggered behind him trying to hide the limp that you had developed from the wound. You could already feel it healing; one of the many perks of your abilities, but it still hurt like a bitch. But you pressed forward anyway, gripping your weapon tightly to help with the fight.

You had had much worse. Much much worse. Like that one time that Joker had captured Tim…you took all of his injuries. But the thing is, with injuries come memories. Each cell carries its own story. And every time you take on a wound, you take on some of the trauma that comes with it. It's not your own, but it feels so real. The images play inside your head on loop like a movie often cropping up at the worst times. The worst time was when Jason died. Although when he returned he was physically healed, he was still struggling; scarred by the memories that haunted him. So, when he started recklessly patrolling and you had offered to heal him, you took away as much of it as you could. 

Sometimes it was the memories that hurt more than the actual wounds themselves. To see and feel what they had been through broke you completely. The torment that Jason had been through that you had seen was something you couldn’t even muster up the words to describe. You couldn’t imagine what he went through and you would never be able to heal him completely, but you were glad you could help him as much as you could. Glad you could take away any of their pain even if it meant that you had to feel it for them. 

They didn’t know this. You had kept it somewhat hidden from them. The vigilantes knew you could heal wounds, but they didn’t know that you took on the injury. And you wanted to keep it that way because you knew that if they found out they would just stop you from doing it and you would be left feeling useless on the sidelines. 

Nightwing dropped down beside you, noting your slight limp as you fought against the criminals. They seemed to be thinning out now with the five of you fighting them. They either fled or dropped to the ground like flies.

“You alright?” He asked, swinging a right hook and sending a guy wielding a crowbar. You winced at the sight of it, hit with Jasons memories again.  

“Fine.” You grunted out as you blocked another oncomer. 

“You sure? You’re favouring your left side.” 

God damn you, Grayson. 

“Fine. Just took a hit is all but it’ll heal quickly. You know me.”

He eyed you uncertainly. He knew you were lying but he dismissed it. Dick had always had a suspicion that more happened to you than you let on but he had never pressed you to talk about it. Though, he was going to find out much sooner than you had hoped.

~

You stared at the scab on your thigh in the mirror; it would soon become a new addition to the tapestry of scars that covered your body. It was ragged, torn and an ugly reminder of the blade that stuck out of the young Wayne’s leg. Some of the scars that marred up your smooth skin were yours, though most of them once belonged to the boys. 

The scars flecked almost every inch of your body, all varying in size and shape. Some were small and round, others long and jagged and some in between. And though the scars saved your boys, you couldn’t sometimes help but wish that you weren’t left with them. Sometimes, it all became too much. For example when you healed a wound that had been forced upon them in such a brutal way that you would lie awake for hours with your eyes squeezed shut tight as you curled up on your bed waiting for the haunting memories to pass. Although your abilities meant that you healed quicker, sometimes you were still left managing the wound for days as it healed whilst still trying to hide it from the boys. You suffered in silence, often pondering if you should just tell them… but you never did. And it was worth it because seeing them okay put a smile on your face. 

You didn’t like to talk much about your abilities and how they worked, no matter how much they pressed you. Everytime the topic was brought up you would go quiet, or quickly change the subject, trying not to let the feelings resurface. You buried them deep to keep your secret.

“You okay, kid?” Jason frowned as you walked into the library, poorly disguising the last of your limp. He was lounging on one of the couches as he delved into one of Bruce’s many hardbacks. 

“Yeah I’m fine.” you dismissed, running your finger over the spines as you scanned the shelf for something to read to try and give yourself something to do for a few hours while your leg continued to heal. 

“You said that earlier.” Dick poked his head around the door, noting the way you tilted most of your weight onto your left foot as you stood on your toes to grab a book. “Your leg still bothering you?”

“A little, but it’s healing.” You shrugged, taking your book over to the couch and settling beside Jason. 

The eldest Wayne frowned, forcing wrinkles onto his forehead. “Shouldn’t a hit have healed by now?”

You cursed mentally. “It was a nasty hit.”

“You know, thinking about it didn’t Damian take a knife to the thigh?” Jason asked. 

“Yes.” Damian appeared in the doorway with Tim. “Y/N healed me though.”

“Strange.” Dick noted, tilting his head to look at you. The four of them had had a suspicion for a little while that something was going on. The way you avoided the topic was like having a sign waving above your head. 

“... it’s just a coincidence.”

“Just like the time you injured your arm training after healing my broken one?” Tim had you stuck. 

You bit your lip in the silence of the room. 

“Fine. Maybe I haven’t been totally honest with you all.”

Jason sat up and leaned forwards in his seat “Go on.”

You took a deep breath, preparing for their onslaught as you revealed the truth. “When I heal a wound, it doesn’t just…vanish.” The four of them watched you intently and you could feel a sheen of sweat try to break out across your forehead. “It transfers to me instead.”

Damian stared at you agape “But…”

“You’ve healed us so many times.” Dick said. “That's gotta be…”

Tugging your hoodie over your head, you revealed the scars to them for the first time. Tim had to hold back his shock. 

“Oh y/n/n…” The vigilantes all looked at the countless scars that covered your skin. 

“They’re not all yours.” You tried to lighten the mood, albeit it seemed to have little effect. 

“How have we been letting you do this? We should have know-”

“Stop.” You shut Tim down. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Healing you is… special. Making sure that you guys get to live another day is more important to me than anything.”

“But you’re hurting yourself…” Damian said shyly, feeling incredibly guilty.

“It doesn’t hurt bad. My accelerated healing means I can get rid of wounds that would take weeks for you to heal in a number of days. Sometimes hours. I like helping you.”

The boys narrowed their eyes at you. They were sceptical however they could see the truth behind it. You were selfless; always giving to others in need. They didn’t like that you were being hurt because of their recklessness, and they were angry with themselves that you felt you couldn’t tell them the truth, but they could see the reasoning behind it.

“Besides” You added. “I think the scars are pretty cool. Like a piece of artwork. And I can use them to blackmail you in the future.” You grinned.

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes. “They are pretty cool though…”

There was a nod of agreement. 

“Thank you. y/n/n.” Dick said. “I honestly don’t know what we would do without you.”

“Bleed out and die probably.” You joked and he hummed with laughter.

“On a serious note,” Dick added “We have seriously got to stop getting hurt so much.”

🦇 Batfam Taglist:

@mamapucket

@xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys

@aestheticdaisies

[foxyaries]

My Shifting Story That Keeps Me Motivated To This Day

Well hello again! I think it is time I share my own "almost" success story. I know a lot of you might not be interested in reading about my ALMOST success. But trust me... the more I tink about my own story the more I realize how silly it was of me to procrastinate actually doing it for so long. It's almost funny. But let's get into it, shall we?

As I have already mentioned it in my previous posts (please do read them if you haven't already to fill in any blanks that you may or may not have). I have been at a very dark place at that time. And I didn't wanna live the way that I had for as long as I could remember, because I simply wasn't happy.. with my life or my family. And I felt like I was a good kid. And I was! So when I discovered the subliminal world.. I saw it as my escape and a way to finally become happy. And that's when the subliminal "Wake up in your desired family" came into picture.

Like I mentioned before, there were only a couple success stories under that subliminal, but at that time our community was even smaller compared to what it is now. And those 10 - 14k views was more than enough for me to believe that it was a real deal. It's a bit funny to think about it now because these days we tend to pick subliminals that has thousands and thousands and thousands of views? Am I right? :) That's how we decide whether the subliminal works or not.

Anyways.. back to my storytime. I have already mentioned in another post of mine that those success stories that I did see all said the same thing. That for them to start feeling the results it took them a couple months. And if you remember as well as I do. Back then everyone set a limiting belief that for a subliminal message to start working you need to listen to it for at least 21 days. Even tho that wasn't true, I didn't know much about shifting so I believed it. And I also wasn't desperate enough, so since the stories told me it took THEM 1 - 2 months, I figured it'd take me the exact amount of time. And I thought it was nothing compared to the future I was gonna have.

So all that I did for those couple months was listen to that subliminal at least 1 hour a day and sometimes if I could overnight with the idea that I could wake up in my desired family any given moment. Pay attention to that. I didn't set a deadline or put pressure on myself for doing anything wrong. I just listened and knew it was going to happen. When exactly? No idea. How exactly? Not a clue, but I didn't care. Because knowing less was actually more of a blessing than I thought. I had no limiting beliefs. All it did was awaken my inner child and that whole journey felt magical to me and I really looked foward to my results.

Probably a month passed by when I started getting tired around the same time, every single day so I'd take naps. At a time a half an hour nap was more than enough to make me feel rested and I'd get in the state of being awake yet asleep at the same time. You know what I am talking about. The state during which it feels like you are in and out of sleep. When the sounds feel like they are far far away and then they dissapear. It almost sounds like I was close to tapping in the void state, no? :)

So whenever I'd feel tired I'd just have one earbud in my ear and lay in whatever comfortable position I wanted to lay in. It usually was on my side. And I had no intention to shift because I KNEW it was gonna happen either way. So I'd lay down and just have myself doze off listening to my playlist (I had a couple boosters too but then I'd just loop the main subliminal). And then I started feeling unusual sensations and feelings I have never felt before. All I did was just lay there and day dream about how I was gonna wake up in my desired room and I tried imagining it in detail. How I was gonna walk out of my room and see my best friends that I was going to shift there with. And literally all I did was just loop that scene because it made me happy :')

I keep rambling haha I'm sorry. Back to what happened. I was probably a month in when I started to get tired and naking naps around the same time and suddenly my naps were different? I would just mind my own business, think about my future when suddenly I would feel this insanely strong sensation that I was being lifted off of my bed and that my body was turning and flying somewhere?? But because I didn't know exactly what it was it'd freak me out and my body would flinch. That's when I'd recover the feeling of my body back and it felt like I'd literally fall back into my bed. And I mean LITERALLY get slammed back into my body. And this wasn't a one time thing. Same thing kept happening every single day for like 2 weeks (until I got insecure and shifted my focus somehwere else as I've mentioned in another post). What's funny is that I didn't even realize what was happening. I was just like "Oh? That's a new feeling" I was just curious and wanted for it to keep happening so I could understand it better. I only realized what it was when it stopped happening all together and for that I blame myself.

But you know what? It's okay. I've learnt so much since then. And it's insane how all I did every day was look for other success stories to convince myself that this was real. When I had my own very real success story. I KNOW all fo this is real because I experienced it. And I am done looking for a confirmation from other people. I know the truth and that's enough. And you should too. You don't need any of these methods. All you need is to do whatever makes you feel comfortable and happy and that you know works for YOU. Cause what actually matters is that YOU KNOW is gonna work for you. That's all that ANY of us really need.

I know this is a lot, but if you actually read this I hope it helped and made you realize something... anything really. Be your own success story and make your dreams come true.

I believe soon you will hear about my own final success story:) Goodbye for now. Next post will be more about my fairy companion. Do look forward to that!

Much love,

Foxy ♡🦊

[admiringlove]

persuasion. the way writing this was kind of hurting me too ugh. anyway here it is, another part of my @angstober event this year. again, sorry for the delay. and please watch out for some very slight nsfw themes. masterlist of the event can be found here.

you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.

this endless teetering back and forth. like a newton’s cradle, every action meeting an equal and opposite reaction, but never any resolution.

the first time you left was harrowing. painful in ways you hadn’t thought possible. your chest had burned, your hands had trembled, and every step away from him felt like you were leaving parts of yourself behind. the arguments echoed in your head long after, looping endlessly, even though all you’d truly wanted was his arms around you.

toji’s arms.

but he never gave you that, not when it mattered most. he always seemed so far away during those moments, like his mind was locked in some impenetrable place you could never reach. and next to him, you felt small. you felt like a child fumbling for answers, even though there wasn’t much of an age difference between you.

when you left that first time, you’d told him you’d come back for your things later. you couldn’t bear to stay long enough to pack your life away from his. instead, you’d grabbed the clothes scattered across his apartment—an afterthought of intimacy you thought you’d had—and left.

your place wasn’t a home; it was a shell. the silence there was too loud, suffocating in its starkness, reminding you with every passing second what you’d walked away from, and who you hadn’t yet been able to let go.

your room had become a husk, hollowed out of the life it once held. the absence of him pressed against the walls like a shadow, suffocating and stark. his things weren’t strewn across the floor in that careless, maddening way he always managed, nor did that strange, musky scent linger in the air; the one that clung to his clothes and skin, a scent you once loathed but came to crave. he wasn’t sprawled on your bed, that half-smirk pulling at his lips, looking at you like you were the only thing worth devouring. he wasn’t there to drag you down with a grip that bordered on desperate, kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

no, now the room was just a room. the furniture remained, untouched, like a stage after the curtain had fallen. the fake vines tangled along the walls, the band posters clung stubbornly to their place, and the photographs on the desk smiled back at no one. the bookshelves loomed overhead, brimming with stories you didn’t have the energy to revisit. everything was exactly where it should be, and yet, it all felt wrong. lifeless.

the man you loved wasn’t there. fushiguro toji wasn’t there.

that night, you sighed into the darkness, and when the weight in your chest became unbearable, the tears came. quiet at first, then relentless, soaking into your pillow until it felt like drowning. you woke up to the salt of it still clinging to your cheeks and the heavy dampness beneath your face. the idea of going back to his place—to face him, to gather the pieces of the life you’d left behind—was unbearable. a week passed. seven days of silence so loud it fractured you. no rough hand reaching for yours in the dark, no shared laughter echoing from your phone’s glow. no wild thrill of butterflies thrumming beneath your ribs.

without him, the world dulled, fading into muted shades of grey. the sharpness of living—the chaos of loving him—had bled out. and you were sure he was fine. you could give him that much credit. he was always good at holding you just far enough away that he wouldn’t feel the sting if you left. replaceable. that’s what you must’ve been to him.

but he wasn’t. he could never be.

he was a fever, an affliction, something that sank into your bloodstream and burned. without him, there was nothing but withdrawal. the ache, the longing, the torment of wanting something you knew would destroy you.

and so, after a week of circling the inevitable, you found yourself standing at his door again. he opened it halfway, leaning lazily against the frame, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face like it belonged there.

"finally came back, didn't ya?"

you didn’t rise to the bait, your expression deadened by days of sleepless nights and the hollow ache gnawing at your chest. "i came back to get my shit, loser," you muttered, rolling your eyes as you pushed past him. you kicked off your shoes at the door, out of habit more than anything else, and made a beeline for the bathroom with your bag in tow. he followed close behind, trailing after you like a shadow, until he propped himself against the bathroom doorframe. his arms crossed loosely over his chest, that insufferable smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you.

"yer really takin' everything, huh?" his voice was low, a little rough around the edges, as his gaze flickered to the toiletries you were gathering. you spared him a glance—brief, cautious, like looking at the sun too long might burn you—and quickly looked away. you couldn’t give him more than that. your heart had been steeling itself for this moment all week, and even then, you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

he didn’t have to do much. the way he leaned there, the way his voice curled around the words, the sheer nearness of him was enough to unravel you. you kept an arm’s length between you, refusing to let him cross that invisible line.

you dropped the shampoo and soap bottles into the bag with a heavy sigh, your hands trembling just slightly. "yeah, that’s what people do when they break up," you said, your voice flat, though the weight of the words nearly crushed you.

for a moment, the air stilled, heavy with unspoken tension. then you heard it—soft, deliberate footsteps closing the gap between you. you didn’t turn. you didn’t need to. you felt him before he reached you, his presence looming in the small space like a storm cloud.

his reflection joined yours in the mirror, his dark eyes fixed on your face. he could see it. your defeat, the way your shoulders slumped, the resignation etched into every line of your expression. you’d known, hadn’t you? you’d known exactly how this would go, as if it were scripted, as if you’d walked willingly into his hands.

his arms slid around your waist, slow and deliberate, pulling you into the warmth you’d been trying to escape. his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath soft, his voice softer.

"come on, we aren’t really broken up. are we?"

you swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink as if it could anchor you. "yes, we are—"

"i apologized, didn’t i?" his words were gentle, deceptively so, the kind of tenderness you’d begged for in last week’s shouting match. but he hadn’t given it to you then. no, toji saved that tone for moments like this, when you were already teetering, already crumbling.

his ego was insufferable. a goddamned egomaniac, that’s what he was. fushiguro toji, the man who knew exactly when to break you down and when to scoop up the pieces, holding them just tight enough that you didn’t slip away.

just like that, you ended up in his bed again. the grey hoodie you’d worn lay discarded on the floor, forgotten, as cold unrelenting air seeped through the open window. it didn’t matter—not when he moved the way he did, reckless and punishing, slamming into you like he was trying to shatter something inside you.

as if he knew exactly what he was doing. as if he knew he was breaking your mind beyond repair.

and you’d gone back. over and over, swearing each time would be the last. it never was, though, was it? the only difference between you and toji was that you loved him for all his broken pieces, while he only cared for moments like these—animalistic, primal, and starving.

how many times had you come back to him? how many times had he been conveniently nearby when the weight of your breakdowns became too much to bear? you’d stopped counting after fifteen—somewhere between your pride and his grin, the numbers blurred together.

and now here he was again, in your room, in your bed. the very bed where you’d spent sleepless nights imagining him after you left. it was almost poetic, in the cruelest way.

you looked down at him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you straddled him, your breaths still uneven. his grunts had quieted now, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his arms wrapped around you with a familiarity that made your stomach twist. you were bare to him in every way that mattered, as you always were.

"we can’t keep doing this," you sighed, slipping off of him and onto the bed to lay beside him. your chest rose and fell heavily as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning.

he tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he rolled his eyes. "ya say that, but then ya call me in the middle of the night for a quick fuck."

his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you turned away, pulling the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from his gaze. "i mean it this time," you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

he scoffed lightly, a sound that grated against your nerves, but you didn’t look back at him. instead, you closed your eyes, letting the silence stretch between you.

"when you leave this time," you said quietly, "you won’t see me again."

your words hung heavy in the air, the finality of them sinking in even as you felt the mattress shift under his weight. but whether he believed you or not didn’t matter anymore—you were done trying to convince him, or yourself.

"come on, seriously, not this again," he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, the exasperation in his voice palpable. "we had such a good time, and now you wanna dampen the mood with this shit—"

"fushiguro," your voice cuts through his complaint like a blade, sharper and more commanding than it’s ever been. it makes him pause, his spine straightening on instinct, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious.

but you are. more serious than you’ve ever been. "i can’t keep doing this with you. it might be amusing for you, but it’s killing me. yeah? we had a good run."

those words—we had a good run—hit you as hard as they hit him. the taste of them feels foreign in your mouth, bitter and heavy. you never thought you’d say that to him. not to toji, not to the man you still loved with a depth you couldn’t articulate, more than you’d ever admit, more than he’d ever understand. your heart fractures as you sit there, each crack spreading deeper when you see his face harden.

he doesn’t say anything. not right away. instead, he gets up from the bed, the mattress shifting as his weight leaves it, and strides toward the desk chair where his clothes are piled in a careless heap. His movements are brisk, almost robotic, but the slight clench of his jaw betrays the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

"i’ll wait for yer text," he mutters, tugging on his tight black shirt in one swift motion. the fabric clings to his frame, the same way it did hours ago when you first saw him, but now it feels suffocating.

you turn your gaze away. you can’t watch him like this—not when the sight of him could undo everything you’d just resolved. "i blocked your number, remember?" you remind him, your voice flat but steady. "it’s why you came here today."

he freezes for a fraction of a second, the realization dawning on his face. "oh," he mumbles, his tone subdued. "okay. i’ll wait for you to unblock me, then."

"no, you won’t," you reply firmly, forcing yourself to look at him now. every word feels like dragging glass through your throat, but you press on. "this was the last time. it’s not happening again."

his eyes flicker, a brief flash of something you can’t quite place—irritation? disbelief? something deeper he’d never admit?—before he scoffs, shaking his head as if dismissing your declaration entirely. "whatever you say, doll."

"toji." his name falls from your lips with a weight that makes him stop. you sigh, sitting up straighter on the bed. the loose shirt you’d thrown on clings to your body in awkward folds, and your cheeks burn with an unwelcome warmth. you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to hold it this time. "close the door on your way out, yeah? and leave the spare key."

he blinks at you, as if processing the words takes more effort than it should. for a moment, his posture stiffens, his jaw tightens, and you think he might argue—but he doesn’t. instead, he nods. a single, awkward bob of his head, so uncharacteristic of him that it leaves you momentarily disoriented.

you watch as he moves toward the door, his steps slower now, almost uncertain. his broad shoulders seem to hunch slightly, his usual confidence replaced with something hesitant. when he reaches the corridor, his hand hovers over the gold-colored doorknob, suspended in mid-air.

he pauses there, turning his head to glance at your living room. it’s the same space he’s been in countless times, but now, it feels foreign to him—as if he’s unsure where to place himself, unsure if he’s allowed to linger any longer.

then he looks back at you, his dark eyes locking with yours. there’s something in them you don’t want to decipher, something too raw and too late. your mouth goes dry, but you manage a tight-lipped smile, awkward and full of finality.

he doesn’t say goodbye. doesn’t say anything. he just turns back to the door, his movements slow and deliberate as he opens it, the faint creak of the hinges cutting through the silence.

and then, without a second glance, he steps out.

the sound of the door clicking shut feels deafening. final. like the last note of a song you wish you could replay but know you never will.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[prettyinpwn]

I know I'm gonna sound like a crazy old broken record... but hear me out. Lots of speculation as to the true purpose of the thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com thing beneath the cut.

So... does anyone else feel like the ARG website is... odd? Like it's leading to something more coming? And before anyone screams, "Well, ackshully, Hirsch said he doesn't want to do a Season 3-"

YES. I KNOW. He said no Season 3 a million times. I was there when he told us Season 2 was it for the first time. But what he didn't say, however, was, "No more Gravity Falls anything... EVER.". Hence why we've gotten Journal 3, Lost Legends, and now The Book of Bill. Hirsch is veeerrrrry comfortable making more GF stuff.

And as someone that studied programming in college, I can tell you, this website does not seem like it was easy or cheap to make. It's effectively a single screen point and click game in a browser. Looking at the code, it seems they did use a framework called Bridgetown, lacing in looped animated MP4 files with clickable assets on top that make up the interactive elements (e.g the computer), with a lot of content made for the website itself from image files and text for each prompt a user might type. Sure, it's not the most difficult thing to program, but it's a lot more complex than, say, the searchfortheblindeye site back in the day.

That, and as someone who has worked in the corporate world, I'm sorry, but you don't pour this much effort/money into something that is just "lol cool things after product for funsies". If this was just for The Book of Bill, the smart marketing decision would have been to make the lofi album and the website, tease fans with both of them, and let them lead to an announcement of the book itself to tempt them into buying it, not the other way around. Like... Disney ain't gonna do that just out of love for fans. It's Disney, come on. They do things for money.

It's possible that Hirsch paid for it himself just for the fans, but I doubt it. Wanna know why? Because of the website's security certificate and ownership. Let's take a gander at this:

There are two odd things here. One, the range of the expiration. Most security certs last 1-2 years, at least they did at one of my previous places of employment (and we had like 50+ of them). This one expires November 7th, 2024. Odd, but maybe they only want the website up for a few months? Anyways, as an aside, everyone keep an eye out for November 7th, 2024. Could be nothing, could be something.

The other weird thing is the domain holder. Looking it up on ICANN, it gives this address:

Look that up on Google Maps, and it takes you to a company called Dun and Bradstreet. Long story short, the company does a bazillion things, but the main thing we're talking about here is:

Oh gee, Sales and Marketing. And their Sales and Marketing tools? Basically, they use data to tell companies who their audience is, so that they can market to them. Now, why would Disney care about this for a fandom for a show that's been done for almost a decade, just for a book that was released before said website (so we know they're not gathering marketing data for the book)?

Well, if I were to guess... long story short, all this stuff is a tactic to gauge who the Gravity Falls audience is now. Release the book, make some dough and fans happy, tie in a secret marketing data collection gimmick (AKA the website) using D&B as a vendor to hook the data into your CRM, send fans to a website to collect marketing data, and shabam. Now you know who the target market is all this time after.

And why in the hell would a company care about that? You tell me. Why care about who a target market is if you're not planning on marketing something to them later?

It could be that Disney is planning something similar to Gravity Falls and wants to gauge if there'd still be a market for that kind of show. Or... it could mean that Disney is planning on something more substantial related to Gravity Falls or Hirsch pitched it, and they were like, "Well, wait, let's collect data on this, first, so we'd know if it'd be a good business decision.". Not sure.

I mean, maybe I'm crazy, but doesn't this seem fishy to anyone else? If anyone else has any hypotheses as to why Hirsch and Disney have a Gravity Falls website owned by D&B, let me know, but to me... this smells... very... marketing oriented. And Hirsch doesn't seem like the guy to pour his own money into hiring an outside company to gather marketing data, that seems more up Disney's alley.

[bruh-myguy-what]

Hello! Could I possibly ask for a Echo/reader (Gn)

Setting could be 79’s maybe some angst with someone calling out echos “missing parts” after he rejects their advancements, and he feels a bit dejected about it. The reader (after insulting the other person) would take him back to the Marauder and comforts him (it can be smut or fluff either is fine)

Thank you! Have a nice day <3

He's More Than That***

Pairing: Echo x GN!Reader Warnings: Smut (my first so you must forgive any issues), Twi'lek woman being mean to our beautiful cyber-clone, cursing, filthy nonsense at some point, oral (Echo receiving), intercourse/sex, fluff Word Count: 5K Summary: Hunter, Wrecker and Echo waned a temporary reprieve from their constant stay in the Mauarder and decided you should be their babysitter for the night at 79's. Reluctantly you join and overhear a conversation Echo had with a Twi'lek who doesn't seem to take being rejected by him very well. After defending him and convincing him he deserves more, he shows you exactly what you deserve from him. A/N: When you requested this, anon I absolutely had just admitted- the same day!- that I was basically now an Echo girlie. I hadn't ever really noticed how adorable he was or how much I actually loved him until after the finale. Like I've always loved him, but I was never a girlie until now and now I simp. Also, I've never really written GN or smut so the two together really threw me for a loop lol so I hope this is alright for you! I do really appreciate you sending in a request, feel free to send in whenever you'd like!

Requests are open if you have anything you'd like to send in!

____________________________________________

The atmosphere of 79's was as smoky and dingy as ever, the blue/green lights of the neons hanging around illuminating faces and bodies as they moved about the bar. It hadn't been your idea to be here tonight, usually opting to stay back on the Marauder with Tech and Crosshair for the sake of serenity, but when the other three boys begged you to come along so that they have a designated babysitter who wouldn't get wasted, you couldn't deny them. Hunter wanted to get away from the ship to what he labeled "loosen up" which you knew meant he needed to get laid before the stress made him strangle his brothers. Wrecker wanted to drink some regs under the table and joke about how 99 was better in every aspect while listening to good music.

Echo, on the other hand, didn't give you a reason why he decided to join in on the outing. It wasn't his usual scene. Not anymore, anyway. As far as you were aware he also preferred the relaxed atmosphere of the ship; the two of you spending your time playing a game or watching a bad holomovie you'd downloaded on one of the datapads the Batch kept aboard for entertainment. It wasn't really like him to want to drink all that much, not since he joined Clone Force 99. He'd told you a few stories of him and his twin, Fives, trying to pick up a few women here and there while hanging around the clone bar back in the day but you never thought you'd actually see him here.

You peeked to the corner of the club, seeing Hunter cozied up with a pretty green Twi'lek woman- her legs draping over his lap as he kissed along her neck. At least he'd be less snappy on your next mission. Then you heard Wrecker laughing boisterously over the music as some reg tapped out, his squad mates dragging him away from the table. He'd be content too and it's almost as if you could already hear him hollering at Crosshair to regale his win over the regs. Resting your eyes back on the pale clone sitting at the bar independently, you watched from across the hazy atmosphere wondering if you should approach him or leave him to his thoughts.

You and Echo had a relatively close relationship. His reserved yet courageous demeanor was always something you had admired about him, and whenever he'd joined 99, you were among the first to buddy up with him. You knew exactly how it'd felt not to be "one of the brothers", even with how close you'd become with the Batch. So, it seemed easy for the two of you to cling to that shared understanding. You felt a smile reaching your lips at some of the memories you'd shared with Echo, a familiar ache settling in your chest and you determined that joining him at the bar was the best idea- even if not for him, but for yourself.

You made sure to clock him in the spot he was settled in before tearing your eyes away and descending the stairs to the main floor, losing sight of him through the dense crowd. Weaving through, apologizing to a few couples who were dancing or going about their "business" on the floor, you managed to emerge from the mass of people to find an empty bar stool- entirely devoid of your companion.

"What the-" you muttered to yourself under the loud music, "He was just here." Swiping a glance up and down the span of the bar, the friendly sight of a pale clone adorned by blue neons captured your attention. He seemed to be speaking to someone, though you couldn't quite see who it was from your current position so you stepped up closer to casually join the conversation when you overheard Echo decline whatever they had offered.

Curiosity got the better of you and instead of being a good friend, leaving the man alone to hopefully find some solace for the night, you stood just close enough to eavesdrop a little more. "I appreciate the sentiment, and you're stunning, don't get me wrong." His voice was as sweet as ever, a little solemn you could tell, but only if you knew him well enough.

Was she really all that pretty? Were Twi'leks the type of person Echo was into? Against your better judgment, you leaned forward onto the bar to glimpse the woman he had complimented, and your heart sank at how her pretty eyes glimmered against the neon lights.

Then you heard her laughter. It sounded as if she were laughing… at him. "Oh, honey," her accented voice cut through the music with its patronizing tone. "You can't honestly be refusing me when you look like," and you watched as her pretty eyes scanned the clone before her, gesturing lazily with her manicured hand, "that."

Maybe you'd heard her wrong. You'd definitely heard her wrong… right? There was no way in the galaxy that she was insulting him about his looks just because he told her no… right?

Echo stammered in shock, momentarily caught off-guard by her comment. It wasn't as if he'd not been used to people making remarks about his… unmistakable condition. He just hadn't anticipated the Twi'lek to be so hostile at his decline. "Well, I-"

"I mean, seriously? Look at you, you're a mangled mess." She let out an irked breath as if she were, suddenly, too good for the current conversation. You noticed her lean away from Echo, surveying the rest of the room full of clones, "I bet you don't even have all of the right parts to please anyone anymore, do you droid?" The Twi'lek's snide grin as she huffed out another laugh made your blood boil.

Droid?

Did she actually have the audacity to call a man of war, who kept her safe from the rising Separatist threats, a droid? She couldn't even begin to understand the horrors of war Echo had seen.

You heard a disparaging laugh bubble up from your friend, noting how his shoulders sank only a fraction, head inclining to the cup in his hand. His back had been facing you, turned completely to the attention of the Twi'lek in front of him, so you couldn't entirely make out his expression- though you'd felt as if you'd known him well enough to imagine the rueful smile etching his features about now. "Ah, yeah," he breathed with a soft, somber chuckle, "I guess I am a freak at this point, eh?"

"It isn't about that anyway," you finally chimed over his shoulder.

Echo's eyes widened at your raised voice, his hurried voice muttering your name in surprise. "What are you doing?" His brown eyes glanced between you and the Twi'lek nervously as you walked around to place yourself between the two of them.

"I don't think he'd have trouble pleasing anyone that had the decency to see past a few war scars. But clearly, that isn't you, you'd only be a waste of his time." The knuckles of your fingers began to ache because of your clenched fists and only at Echo's gentle touch did you relax.

The soft voice you'd come to rely on whispered past the music into your ear, "Cyare, please, it's not that big of a deal, really." Though his tone was even you could tell he'd been embarrassed that you'd overheard the conversation.

"It is though, Echo. You don't deserve to be spoken to that way just because you don't want to whore around for the night." You defended sharply, throwing a look back at him then quickly pinning the Twi'lek to her spot once more. "He has plenty of satisfying features, I'll have you know. He's funny, loyal, protective. He loves his brothers fiercely. He doesn't shy away in the face of danger. He's the first to answer when help is needed, he's reliable, and a wonderful man who deserves more than what most people give him."

Condescending giggles rippled over her pink lips as she covered them, a manner of mischievous glee sparkling in her eyes as she watched the protective display. "You defend him as if you two fuck."

A burn crept up your neck and into your cheeks at the allegation but you couldn't slow your words quickly enough before you said, "I'd be damn lucky if we did."

Echo's grip on your arm flexed at your statement, tentatively pulling you back toward him to de-escalate the rising frustration in you. "Cyare, maybe that's enough." He whispered again.

"You two are cute. No wonder he didn't want to sleep with me. Whatever," the Twi'lek waved you off noncommittally, then pushed herself off of the bar. "There are other handsome men around who need my attention." And with a subtle flip of her lekku, she merged with the swaying crowd.

Frustration simmered beneath your surface as you watched her disappear, more nasty remarks popping into your mind after the confrontation was over. "Stupid, nasty-"

"Cyar'ika," Echo's warm voice broke your hostility, his fingers raising your chin to meet his eyes, "what was all that about?" The pale brown hues narrowed in concern as if you had just been in a serious altercation on his behalf and were injured in some way. "It's not like that doesn't happen all the time, what with the regs calling us defective," his laughter dying as he noticed your soured expression.

You crossed your arms over your chest indignantly, "Just because people insult you, Echo, doesn't mean it's okay. You don't deserve to be treated that way. By anyone." The reassuring brush of his hand- passing from your chin to your shoulder- made you even more upset as if he were okay with being so dehumanized by someone. You pushed his hand away, not because you were offended by his touch- far from it- but because you needed him to take your words to heart. "And stop with the Mando'a, you know I don't understand what you're saying. I'm being serious right now, ya know? You're not a droid. You're you. You're Echo."

The slight tilt of his head made your heart lock up as he smiled at you. He didn't say anything, he just stood there, the pale brown of his eyes highlighted by greens and blues from the bar. It was something you two often did, communicate with just a few looks, something that Crosshair had hissed and griped about, witnessing it on multiple occasions. As the two of you stood there silently for a moment, you began to notice his smile shift and the color of his cheeks showed a little darker. "A-About what you said to her-"

Your entire world came raging back, the music suddenly too loud for you to think properly. "O-Oh right! The...uh-"

"F-Feeling lucky if the two of us-"

You hummed in agreement, with his sentence, not your earlier sentiment. Not that if you thought about it long enough you would've disagreed with your truthfulness brought on by impulse. In fact, you had thought about it quite a lot since meeting the Arc Trooper. You couldn't help yourself, really… he was quite literally amazing at nearly everything he did. He was fluid on the battlefield, quick to make decisions, soft, and compassionate when someone needed comforting. He walked around as if the horrors of his dreams didn't haunt him, opting instead to care even more for those around him. Echo was a man of honor and you marveled at how he carries himself. Not to mention being in close quarters with him, or any of the Batch really, only heightened your ever-growing desire toward him. It was practically inescapable to see someone either in their blacks, partially dressed, or completely naked while on the Marauder. You had seen Hunter and Wrecker shirtless on more than a few occasions and even once seen Tech remove his blacks to use the fresher, and nothing was really wrong with any of those instances. Though the one that lingered in your mind, that just kept nagging at you when you were particularly desperate to reach out and have his pale hand touch you, was when you'd walked in on Echo after he'd finished in the sonic. You thought Crosshair had been the last one to use the fresher and hadn't seen anyone else take a turn, but when you pressed the button revealing the cybernetic clone with just a towel hanging around his waist you froze. You could've acted normal about it, muttering an apology and turning around but you'd only stood there floundering.

And that was how you reacted in this very same instance- dumbstruck and speechless- as your cheeks and ears burned desperately.

Clearing his throat, jolting your attention back to his face, Echo rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Well, we can just forget about it. I'm sure it seriously threw her off when you said that, so that was a good tactic." He joked kindheartedly, eyes closing in that familiar charming, laid-back smile of his.

He honestly thought you were joking. Or just trying to defend him by saying anything that sounded good.

Maybe that was okay.

Maybe you could get away with not making anything awkward between the two of you. Maybe he saw how anxiously you reacted when he brought it back up and was gracious enough to drop it for your sake.

But was that fair?...

He deserved to know how handsome he was, just as much as any of his brothers- 99 or otherwise.

"Besides, like she said- whether it was meant as an insult or not- I'm a mangled mess. We can't have you wasting your good looks on me, now can we?" Echo tapped the tip of your chin with his hand gently, winking mirthfully at you.

He was being serious.

He didn't have any clue how desperate you were some nights to call out to him. Echo genuinely thought he was unwanted and he harbored it like a man devised for loneliness.

Never reciprocating his humor or obliging him in his self-deprecation, you remained stern, eyes locked with his handsome pale face. "I would fuck you right now in the middle of 79's if I knew we wouldn't get banned from the only clone bar on Coruscant."

Disbelief filled the clone's expression, eyes dilated to the size of Tech's goggles, his cheeks flushing a red bright enough to rival the neon lights. It was a terrifying leap to take, conveying these tight-lipped secrets you'd been carefully preserving but if it made Echo understand that he was just as desirable as any other man- clone, Jedi, or otherwise- then you'd shout it at every single person in the bar tonight. Your name fell from his lips in an airy exhale, frantically his eyes searched for any sign of banter or sarcasm but he was only met with decisiveness in your returning stare. "You..." he breathed again, deliberately slowing his racing heart, "You're being serious." At your resolute nod, brows furrowed and eyes stern, Echo looked down at himself critically. "B-But, I-"

"Do I need to prove it to you?" you provoked.

Echo's bewildered stare snapped back to your face, brows raised high in astonishment. "Pro-Prove it?"

Again you nodded with resolve. "You deserve it just as much as Hunter. I'll prove it to you right-" and before you could finish your sentence you were yanked forward away from the bar, weaving through the crowd. Echo's pale hand gripping your upper arm tightly enough not to lose you amongst the moving bodies. Confused but curious, you followed his lead.

Pulled to one of the single restrooms you felt yourself being slung inside, Echo behind you now, locking the door. The dingy lights were also a staple in the small room, the most of the illumination coming from the neon lights outside the high window. "Echo, what in the galaxy-"

"Say it again." His voice rushed as you turned to meet his urgent but dangerously narrowed eyes, the low tone startling you.

You knew he was referring to what you had said by the bar, but which part, in particular, left you timid to respond. "Say what again?" You finally managed, anxiously fiddling with a loose string on your pants.

The clone across the room looked positively possessed as he took only a single step toward you. "Tell me you want me." Echo pressed, the gravel to his voice making you shiver. "Please," his whispered demand nearly lost to the bass rumbling the walls.

This was certainly not where you had envisioned the night to go when you agreed to come out with your squad mates, but as you took a breath, you dove right into the dream. "I want you, Echo." And with the speed of an Arc Trooper, the man descended on you, pressing you into the wall. His body crowded around you, leaving no room to breathe in anything but him as his lips furiously pursued yours. Though he seemed desperate in his actions, there was a hesitation you felt in him. He was leaning against the wall by his arms, keeping himself just a hair's breadth away, afraid to touch you. Pulling back enough to speak against his lips, your hand found his cheek. "Touch me, Echo, please," your own plea a whisper.

His breath shook against your mouth as he faltered, "I-I'm afraid of ruining this…" His sincerity was the fear of a desolate man. "It's been so long… way before I looked-"

Reaching up beside you where his arms lay against the wall, gently guiding his hand and scomp-link to your body. "You can't ruin anything for me, I promise. I've been wanting this for so long, just touch me." A breathy exhale that sounded like a soft chuckle washed over your face at himself and to keep him from overthinking anymore you surged forward to press yourself against him fully- lips connecting.

The kiss you shared this time, was less desperate and hasty, instead imbued with passion and certainty as your tongue came out to greet his bottom lip. Mandalorian curses escaped under Echo's breath, voice trembling as he did, welcoming the dance you challenged. "I can't believe you want me… How could you want me?" Disbelief greeted you as you kissed him again trying somehow to get your affections across.

"How could I not?" Your simple reply caused him to look at you squarely, again searching your face as if he could find some hint of sarcasm or deception- but he found none. With a warm smile, you started unstrapping your armored chest piece and undressing from your standard issue GAR clothes. "Like I told the Twi'lek," you started as you set the clothes on a bar beside you, trying to maintain your composure with intense brown eyes observing you eagerly. "You're loyal, and kind. Funny as hell, adorable when you get embarrassed, charming when you aren't feeling too tired to banter around with me or your brothers," the last one made him chuckle a bit but it died off when the last of your clothes fell away and you stepped back up to him. "And no matter what's going on down here," you glanced down to where his codpiece sat, "I know you'll satisfy me completely."

"Kriff..." Echo stammered softly at the warmth of your hands reaching to unclasp his armor, a questioning look in your eyes. He grinned timidly, "I didn't think at this point you'd even feel the need to ask, cyare," to which you went at undressing him, yourself. Upon lowering yourself to the floor to undress his lower half, even with him imploring you to not get on the bathroom floor for him, you marveled when his blacks were pulled past his thighs.

"Well, color me surprised," your wistful voice made the clone groan in embarrassment as he covered his mouth with his hand, looking away bashfully. "Looks like you won't be disappointing anyone, will you, Echo?" You teased, glancing between the adorably sheepish look on his face and the solid cock that greeted you. Nothing amiss whatsoever. How could he be so insecure when he harbored this under his blacks?

Echo shifted on his robotic legs, anxiously, "There's no need for the commentary, cyar'ika," he complained, his voice deeper than usual as he stole glances at you between his legs as if he were caught watching something he shouldn't.

Smirking, you shrugged nonchalantly up at him, "Guess I'll just have to keep my mouth busy then." Your tongue splayed out over your bottom lip to experimentally lick at the head of his cock, reveling in the shaking gasp that escaped the clone.

"Oooh, k-kriff," Echo groaned helplessly, eyes screwing shut at the feeling blitzing through him like a barrage of blaster fire. The way his husky voice stretched out your name made your body ache for his touch.

You wanted more.

All of it.

All of him.

Your tongue danced along from the base to the tip a few times, placing delicate kisses here and there over his pale skin. It was sweet, watching him enjoy himself with such a small form of affection. The way his eyes fluttered every time your tongue swiped over the tip, how his teeth found purchase on the skin of his bottom lip to keep himself from making too many sounds. "Y-You gotta stop t-teasing me, mesh'la, please..." Echo breathed desperately, hand falling to the back of your head.

"Please, what, handsome?" The naïveté in your tone betrayed the way your eyes twinkled dangerously up at him and made him groan again, hand coming around to thumb your bottom lip, mesmerized by you.

"Please suck my cock." Desire finally blossomed in his eyes, the adorable timidness dissipating and giving way to a man who hungered for more. "I want to feel your mouth around me… I've wanted that for so long."

The admission surprised you, but you couldn't focus on it for too long before you acquiesced and took his cock into your mouth as far as you could before he hit the back of your throat. Echo choked out a moan at your motion, feeling the way your mouth warmed his skin, your tongue lapping around him. "S-So long… oooh, kriff. Wanted to feel your pretty mouth suck me off."

The filth murmuring from his pale lips was only fueling your lust as you hollowed your cheeks and started to bob your head back and forth on him. "I-I can't believe this isn't one of my-my dreams, oh fuck," Echo whispered as he looked down to meet your gaze, groaning at the hazy look in your eyes and whispering an astounded 'look at you' as his hand pressed into the back of your head. His hips thrust, against his better judgment, shoving himself further into your throat provoking a moan from the both of you simultaneously. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you relaxed, allowing him to fuck into your mouth at his leisure, the sounds he makes stirring you up more.

You pull back to catch your breath, a string of drool trailing from your tongue to his soaked cock. "You've dreamed of me sucking your dick, have you?"

"I've dreamed of many sinful things concerning you, cyare." Echo's voice was solid as he pulled you up by your arm, crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His tongue tasted yours for a moment, scomp pressing into your lower back so you were flush with him. The large expanse of his hand explored your body, mapping every scar and dip of skin to commit to his memory. "Your body is even better than I could've fantasized it; much softer, stronger." He whispered against your neck, placing warm open-mouthed kisses along it.

"Echo," you breathed out his name, his mouth dizzying you. "Show me what you've dreamed… I want to know."

The chuckle that escaped through his lips and fell over your skin sounded dangerous as if you asked him to show you his crimes. "Bend over for me then," the drawl of your name spurred a whine from you that made him grin and you spun around in his arms to place your hands steadily against the bar drilled into the wall. "Kriff, and I thought the sight of you sucking my dick was going to make me cum..." Echo muttered from behind you, his hand brushing down the curve of your spine, admiring the way goosebumps chased after his fingertips. "This view is sure to ruin me."

"Echo, please," you whined over your shoulder at him. The sudden change in power lost on you as you shifted your hips back to meet his, yearning for some sort of relief. Teasing him had done a number on both of you and you needed him to relieve you somehow.

"Looks like I can't deny how badly you want me now, can I, cyar'ika?" The cybernetic clone chuckled from behind you, leaning his tall body over your back to whisper, "Not when you beg for my dick like that." The warmth of his breath tickled the back of your neck and you moaned at the feeling. Without any more taunting, Echo finally leaned away from you to watch himself slip inside of you. "Shit… look at how you take me," he sounded nearly astonished by how his cock disappeared inside, appreciating the sight before him- second only to how you choked his dick.

"Stars, Echo," you moaned desperately, wincing at the stretch of him inside of you, panting as you took more as he pushed deeper inside. "M-More, please, fuck me Echo, please."

"Greedy, aren't you," Echo teased lightheartedly, chuckling at how you begged for him to take you. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he sank into you fully, his typical jovial attitude returning. It wasn't even as if he were teasing you in an expected sexy way. He was teasing you as if he caught you with your hand in the ration box, looking to take extras. The feeling of his cock dragging inside of you as he gradually pulled out to just the tip and then just as slowly pushed himself back in nearly made you sob at the burning fixation for him to shatter you. "I love feeling you like this. I can't believe you want this as much as I do. Kriff, you are stunning. Everything you do floors me." You continually whined his name as he spoke, moving in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace then you felt his hand brush up your back and grip your shoulder tightly as if bracing himself. "You're the reason I said no to the Twi'lek. I just want this, only this," he moaned as he pulled out one last time before stopping, whispering, "Only you," then hammering into you at a fracturing pace.

"Oh fuck, Echo!"

"That's it," Echo praised in his warm encouraging tone, your name falling from his lips like a tribute as he drives his cock into you over and over until you were almost screaming. His stamina was devastating, the force behind his thrusts calamitous as your body rocked against his. "What a breathtaking sight you are taking me like this, kriffing hells. I'm gonna cum," Echo stammered as his hips faltered narrowly.

You'd hardly been able to process anything he'd been saying, too deafened by the passion though you felt his hips shift a bit, slowing their pace and you begged, "Inside, inside please."

"Maker, y-you can't say it l-like that," Echo chided with a choked moan, "I-I," and with a shocked gasp, Echo's hips stilled as they pressed into you. The Mandalorian praises that intermingled with your name, the way his mouth fell to your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses, everything coalesced to a white flash shooting through your body. A sob of his name reverberated off of the bathroom walls, echoing around the two of you as your release hit you. The force seemed to hit your knees and you faltered on your feet but were caught quickly by Echo's scomp-link arm, reeling you back into him.

"Careful there," the smile in his voice evident as he nosed at your temple, pressing a few gentle kisses along your cheek. "Just relax, I gotcha." The gentleness of his touches weaved around you, lulling you against his firm body and the mechanical parts cool against your hot skin. "Sorry, I know some of the pieces might be prodding you." He winced at the thought abruptly.

You shook your head in response, steadying yourself against him by wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling closer. "Perfect… You're cool, it feels good, don't move."

Echo was once again left silent by your unconditional favor of all of him. "You continually amaze me," his chuckle affectionate as he hugged you closer. "Now, let's get dressed and get out of this filthy place. I've been thinking about another holomovie we could watch."