#as well as anything that could give to much away

[girlgenius1111]

different when it's me

barcelona femení x reader you've had a secret for a really long time, one that is getting harder and harder to keep. your friends and teammates know that something is wrong, but they aren't sure how to get you to talk when you seem so insistent on keeping it all to yourself. basically, r is struggling with her sexuality, and her teammates try to help. angst, fluff, you know the drill. cw for internalized homophobia

—

For as long as you could remember, there had been rules. Rules that applied to you, even if they didn’t apply to anyone else. Like how you weren’t allowed to yell at your parents, but they could yell at you. Or how you weren’t allowed to see your friends on school days, but your brother could. 

Even as you’d gotten older and moved out, the ‘you’ rules remained. Some of them were entirely self imposed. It was alright if other people took time off training when they were sick, but you couldn’t. It was okay if Vicky left a dish in the sink instead of washing it right away, but if you did that you’d have felt like a terrible roommate. 

And then there was the biggest rule of all. It wasn’t even a rule, really. It was just… how things were. 

Other people could be gay. Your teammates, your friends. Anyone else, that was okay. You’d stand by that, you’d fight for it. 

But you couldn’t be. You just couldn’t. 

Maybe it was your parents, or maybe it was the hours you’d spent in church, hearing the priest casually slip into his homelie comments about men and women and Leviticus 18:22. Whatever had kickstarted the shame and guilt within you, it didn’t matter that much. It was there. 

Every time a pretty girl smiled at you in public, or when the cute barista would draw a little smiley face on your coffee cup. Every time you instinctually frowned and stepped away from a man who was looking to make a move on you. Every time you noticed a girl’s smile or the color of her eyes, the soft skin of her hand as it brushed yours. 

Shame. 

And you tried, tried so hard. To imagine the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect life. But it just wasn’t right. The longer you spent away from your parents, away from the catholic church you’d grown up in, you started to wonder. The longer you spent around your friends who didn’t even blink when Jana announced she had a new girlfriend, the standard you set for yourself started to crumble, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it. 

You’d find yourself daydreaming. The domestic life you’d always been so sure you didn’t want would flash in your mind, except this time, it was a lot more appealing. A wife, instead of a husband, and your stomach didn’t turn. For so long, you’d thought that there was no option to accept what you knew, knew really deep down, to be true. You’d rather die than accept it, if life in the closet was so miserable, you’d rather die. 

But acceptance began to start without you even telling it to. Like your brain was so tired of the shame, it started to reject it. 

So what? It would say. It had never felt like that before, and you were beyond terrified. 

—

What kickstarted everything was a visit home to your parents. As it often went, 90% was nice. Home cooked meals, the feeling of not having to be responsible for anything, just for a little while. 

It was good. Or, at least, it was alright enough that you could convince yourself it was good. You could pretend everything was okay. 

And then, your mother had asked the dreaded question. Do you have a boyfriend yet? 

 You could tell as time passed, as you got older and never brought home a boy, your parents grew more and more worried. Whether that was worry that you were going to die alone, or worry that you weren’t into guys, you didn’t know. 

But they always asked. And when you’d shake your head, say no and give the excuse that football kept you too busy to think about that, they’d always respond the same. 

Well, don’t close yourself off! The perfect guy is out there. 

You really doubted that. Normally, it stopped there, but this time, your father took it a step further. Said something that made your stomach twist and your palms sweat. 

The perfect man, he’d emphasized. I know how your teammates are. Don’t get any ideas. 

It was an off handed comment, probably didn’t mean he suspected anything. Logically, you knew that. Illogically, though… not so much. 

You spent the whole drive back from their house crying. Disappeared into your room as soon as you got home, shaking off Vicky’s concerned questions. You didn’t emerge until the next morning for training, and you didn’t feel any better. 

There was this weight sitting on your chest. It felt like everyone knew, everyone was staring at you, thinking things about you that you were barely able to admit to yourself. It was the weight of obligation; to your parents and to yourself, pulling you in opposite directions. 

It was tearing you in half.

—

No one would ever describe as quiet or withdrawn. You hung around with the louder portion of the team, and you were no exception to that group. You were loud and unrestrained and goofy most of the time. Of course, you were serious when you had to be, but normally not a day passed at Ciutat Esportiva where the sound of your laughter wasn’t bouncing off the walls of the locker room, audible to anyone walking through the hall.

That is, until today. 

It wasn’t obvious, not to everyone. There were so many players, so many of you messing around that it didn’t raise alarm bells for any of your older teammates. But for your friends, your best friends, they knew something was wrong the second that you didn’t crack up at Jana’s ridiculous story about Ona falling asleep on her couch and rolling off onto the floor. You gave a weak smile, one that was barely there and very fake. 

And immediately, your teammates were giving you a closer look. They noticed bags under your eyes, the distant look on your face as you stared off at the wall. You were wound tightly, it seemed, every muscle in your body tense as you waited to walk out onto the pitch with your friends. It didn’t even occur to you that they’d think you were acting any different, but though they could be absolute clowns, they were also observant, intelligent people. 

They could tell, without question, that something was wrong.  Jana and Claudia exchanged glances, before turning to Vicky, who could only offer them a shrug in response. She’d known something was wrong since last night, when you’d come home from your parents. You’d barely said two words to her, though, and she was fairly certain you weren’t going to talk if anyone tried to get you to. 

But Jana was Jana, and soon she was meaningfully looking between the rest of your teammates and the door, a not so subtle nod for them to give the two of you a moment. For your part, you didn’t even notice them walk out the door. You didn’t notice Jana stay behind, gazing at you worriedly. You were stuck in your head, a billion questions racing through it even as you tried to push them out and focus on the training session ahead of you. 

Would your parents hate you?

“Are you okay?” 

Would they disown you? 

“Huh?” You replied, only half hearing your teammate. You should tell them. Just get it over with. But tell them what? You weren’t even sure. No, of course you were sure, but there was always the chance that you were wrong?

“Hey, amiga.” Jana’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and this time you looked up at her. 

You couldn’t tell. It would ruin everything. Absolutely everything. 

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” You murmured, voice quiet. But how could you keep this to yourself? How could you live with a secret for the rest of your life? You couldn’t.

Jana was really concerned now. You looked destroyed, almost, like you were being ripped in two. Something was really, really wrong. 

“Did something happen?” Jana wondered. She had such a calm, soft demeanor. Her expression was so open, and so concerned, it was hard not to break. 

It only took a moment for her question to register, and it was as if your brain had detected some kind of threat and instantly drawn all your walls up. You sat up straighter, your eyes clearing. Gone was the look of anxiety and sadness. In its place, you just looked determined. Your face was wiped of any emotion and you stood, giving Jana a half smile. 

“Nope! Sorry, I’m tired today. Everything’s fine. Let’s go?” 

With that, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door. Jana followed you after, slowly, studying the back of your head as if it would give her the answers. 

She wasn’t sure what the hell that was. But she knew, she knew that you were hiding something, and that you weren’t okay. And that wasn’t okay with her.

—

They watched you all throughout training. You could feel their eyes on you, too, and it only strengthened your resolve to act normal. But your friends weren’t having it. They didn’t leave you alone for a second. If it wasn’t Claudia pairing up with you for drills when she normally was always with Patri, it was Esmee standing right next to you during a water break. If it wasn’t Vicky taking the spot right next to you at lunch, it was Jana following you to the bathroom even though she’d just been. 

It wasn’t that you blamed them for being worried; you knew you’d been weird upon arriving that morning. Since then, though, you’d made a very strong effort to appear as though you were fine. 

Your friends didn’t buy it, but apparently your captains did, because Jana tried to tell them something was up, but they just brushed her off. 

Jana explained to Alexia, Irene, and Marta that something was wrong. That you seemed like you were somewhere else entirely that morning, barely fighting back tears. 

Vicky had told them how weird you’d been acting since coming home from seeing your parents, and how she could have sworn she heard you crying in the shower that morning. 

Claudia told them you didn’t even blink when she took a few blueberries off your plate at lunch, even though you were notorious for being bad at sharing food.

None of them thought anything of it.

Even when Patri told them you hadn’t made any jokes about how she’d worn her shorts inside out for the first half of training, Alexia just shook her head with an amused smile.

“She’s growing up, then? Being more mature?” Alexia asked.

“You’re complaining that she beat you to it, are you?” Irene chuckled.  

“The girl doesn’t pull a prank and suddenly she’s been replaced by an alien.” Marta grinned. 

Your act was too good; you’d put on a very strong façade since slipping up that morning in the locker room. You had everyone but a few of your best friends convinced you were fine. 

—

Annoyingly, no one seemed to be giving up on worrying about you. It continued for the next couple days. Even as you acted normal, completely fine, you could tell you were being watched by one of your friends at all times. They were waiting for you to break, again, which was an unsettling feeling and only made you more determined to be fine. You’d pushed the issue from your mind entirely. Wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t even name it. It was just the issue, and you’d decided it didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle thinking about it while still pretending to be fine, so you didn’t think about it. If your friends caught even the slightest slip up from you, you knew you’d be cornered and interrogated. And above all else, you couldn’t tell them. 

They couldn’t know. No one could know. That was what you lived on, the mantra that kept you going when all you wanted was to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry. No one could find out. 

You thought that you’d maybe have a respite when Vicky announced she was spending Thursday night at home with her family as it was one of her brothers’ birthdays. But almost as soon as she’d given you that information, your phone was buzzing with a text from Jana. 

We’re coming over to watch a movie tonight, because you have the biggest TV. We’ll bring snacks. 8:00. :)

Your TV simply was not the biggest one, that was a blatant lie. But what could you do? 

No, Jana, you can’t come over, I have plans of self loathing and sobbing into my pillow until I fall asleep. 

So, there you found yourself, curled up on the couch next to Patri as a movie you couldn’t even recall the name of playing on the average size TV hung on your wall. It was harder at night, for some reason, to block everything out that you refused to think about. Mostly, you were picking at your nails and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie so you could appropriately laugh and not bring attention to yourself. 

Claudia and Jana were each in an armchair, both of them annoyingly angled so they could see you out of the corner of their eyes. It was impressive, honestly, how committed they were to this. One or two odd moments, and they’d become an investigative team. 

You supposed, though, being with them and pretending to be happy was better than being by yourself and feeling it all. 

One second, you were holding firm. You were laughing at the funny parts and smiling when you had to. You were holding it together, and you could almost feel your friend’s worry for you dissipating as you acted like yourself. 

It felt like you there was a collapsed building sitting on your chest in doing so, but you were doing it. 

But of course, the universe wasn’t on your side. Of course the movie that Patri had put on had a scene where a character came out to their parents. Who knows, maybe Patri had her suspicions about what was going on with you, and the movie choice was intentional. Maybe it was entirely unintentional. 

Either way, you were crying before you could even try to stop the tears. It wasn’t even a negative scene; the character’s parents were accepting. Loving. They hugged the kid, told him they loved him no matter what. 

It was a happy scene, yet all you could think about was that you would never ever have that. There would be no acceptance. No love. There would be tears, but they wouldn’t be the happy kind. It would be the end of the world as you knew it, and that felt so fucking unfair. 

You didn’t want to be like this. You wanted to be normal, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t, and you were going to lose your parents as a result. There was nothing you could do to change that. 

So, you cried. Tears silently tracked their way down your cheeks. So quietly, in fact, that it went unnoticed for a minute. Until Jana peeked at you briefly, as she’d been doing all evening, and caught the shine on your cheeks and the tremble of your lip. Most of all, she noticed the devastated look in your eyes, and she was moving before she even knew what she was doing. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She murmured, sitting down beside you and pulling you into her. You went willingly, or at least you didn’t resist. You let Jana hug you nice and tight, just for a minute. You felt Patri’s hand on your back, not unlike how she’d approach you when you’d get hurt in a match and stay down. 

And now…now you were hurting. But not in a way that any of them could fix, you were sure. You wouldn’t let them try, anyway. 

The movie was paused when you pulled away from Jana, hastily wiping at your eyes. You could feel the gaze of all three of your teammates on you, insistent and concerned. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to convince them you were fine this time. 

“What’s going on with you, hm?” Patri asked gently, nudging your shoulder until you looked at her. 

“You’ve not been yourself for days, chica. Talk to us.” Claudia chimed in, moving to perch on the coffee table in front of you. The three of them surrounded you, and maybe it was meant to feel comforting, but all you felt was suffocated.

The walls were closing in in every aspect of your life. You couldn’t hide anymore. Not from your parents, and not from your teammates. That didn’t stop you from trying. Didn’t stop you from clawing at the walls as the room got smaller and smaller, forcing an exit into existence even though there wasn’t one in reality. 

“Nothing.” You replied, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. You couldn’t look at them. Not at Claudia’s normally happy face, pinched with concern. Not at Jana, who was surely biting at her lip like she did when she got nervous. Not at Patri, who you knew was studying you closely, brows knit together. You felt transparent, like eye contact would tell them everything, so you didn’t look up, not even when they began to speak. 

“Nothing is wrong?” Jana repeated incredulously. You just shrugged in response. “You just started crying in the middle of the movie for no reason.” 

 Patri shifted closer, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “Vicky said you’ve been acting weird since you came home from your parents. If something happened with them, you can tell us. You can trust us, nena.” 

“Nothing happened, I swear.” Finally, you looked up, and it was Claudia’s eye that caught yours. Surprisingly, she looked frustrated… almost stern. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said simply. 

A flash of frustration washed over you at how insisted they were being. Though it was for your benefit, it made you inexplicably annoyed; they couldn’t just let it go. They couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to talk, that they couldn’t fix this for you. Every push on their part made it harder and harder for you to pretend to be okay. If you broke, fully, not cracked like you did just a few minutes prior, it would be their fault. If you broke and everything came spilling out and your whole life fell apart, it would be on them. 

Maybe if that frustration hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have reacted in the way you did. 

Instead, you stood, forcing a scowl onto your face. “Well, that’s not my problem. If something was wrong, I think I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped. 

All three of your teammates blinked up at you, stunned. They’d never heard your voice sound like this, angry and raspy and devastated all at the same time. They’d never felt your anger directed at them, not really. 

“Chica–”

“No. You all just keep pushing and pushing no matter how many times I tell you to back off. Leave me alone! I didn't ask you to hover over me, and I didn’t ask you to come over tonight. So please. Go.” 

Before you could second guess yourself, before you could let the string of apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue out, you turned and stomped down the hall to your room. 

Shame had been your constant companion for a long time. But now, as you lay on your bed listening to the sounds of your teammates quietly leaving your apartment, it burned through you in a way you weren’t used to. Normally, you directed everything at yourself. Every negative emotion was your problem and your problem only. People didn’t see you angry or sad, not even your closest friends. 

Something had to give, though. You couldn’t keep going the way you had been, pretending you were fine when it felt like your brain was eating you from the inside out. Like the monster of self loathing inside your head would consume you if you didn’t open your mouth and let it out. 

That didn’t stop the guilt. 

The apartment was quiet in your friends’ absence. It was quiet, yet the silence was thick. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on some pajamas and went to brush your teeth. All the while, your head was spinning. Because the way you’d acted tonight might have gotten them to leave for now, but there was no way they’d let this go. You’d been rude and harsh and unkind. All things very out of the ordinary for you. In your attempt to push them back, you’d given them exactly what they needed to know, to prove that you weren’t okay. 

You didn’t remember going through your nighttime routine at all, really. Your clothes for the next morning laid out, your water filled and placed on your nightstand, the doors locked, the fan on the correct setting. It was all right, but you didn’t remember doing it. 

You did remember curling up under the covers and pulling your childhood teddy bear close. You did remember the text you sent to your friends. 

I’m sorry about tonight. There’s no excuse. I’m really really sorry. 

It wouldn’t help your case at all, really, but you were a bit resigned to that now, and if your parents had taught you anything other than to despise who you were, it was that you didn’t treat friends the way you had that evening. Not all of their lessons were bad, you supposed. 

As soon as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, the silence was broken with a buzz. Another buzz. And another. You picked your phone right back up, reading the three texts. 

Jana. It’s okay, chica. We love you. 

Patri. We’re here if you need to talk. Day or night. 

Claudia. You aren’t alone, okay? 

You pictured them in their own homes, probably already texting Alexia and Irene. All three of your friends, all of your team really, looked to them for guidance on practically everything. They were wise, seemingly all knowing. It shouldn’t have been a comfort that they’d been on your case next, but somehow it was. 

Because for all you talked about wanting to be left alone, for all the pushing away you did, you didn’t really want to do it by yourself. Deep down, you wanted someone to come and stay and not let you self destruct. It was really just a matter of which part of you won out; the terrified you or the desperate you. Terrified of honesty and truth and being you. Desperate for someone to tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

—

You didn’t expect your teammates to act as quickly as they did. The team had the weekend off, and you thought you’d have a day or so before someone came busting your door down. But Jana, Claudia, and Patri must have called Alexia and Irene and woke them up, because your friends had left after your captain's bedtime. 

And so, at just barely past 9 the next morning, your doorbell rang. Whoever was at your door probably thought they were giving you a nice lie in, but it felt like the middle of the night to be woken then on a day off. You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, unable to even form a thought on who was at your door and what you would say to them in your groggy state. 

You opened your door, internally sighing when you saw Irene standing there. A part of you was surprised it was just her, more surprised when she didn’t ask to come in. Instead, she handed you a paper bag full of tupperware containers. 

“Hi, chica. This is for you.” 

Taking the bag, you gave her a confused look, not quite awake enough to talk. 

Irene looked a bit frazzled, like she was in a rush. She was in mom mode, three stray stickers stuck on the front of her shirt, though you were sure she wasn’t aware of them. Even so, she softened for a moment, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Jana called me last night. Your friends are worried about you, and I am too. We all are, really.” She paused, her very wise eyes searching yours. “Lucía and I are taking the weekend off to go see her family, but I couldn’t leave without stopping by to check on you. And Lucía heard what happened, and she cooked you dinner. Because that is how she solves things.” 

At this, Irene rolled her eyes, but did so fondly. You noticed the light in her eyes she always got when she talked about her wife, and you tried to ignore the deep pang inside your chest. Would you ever have that? 

“Anyway, I brought food and this.” Irene stepped forward, wrapping her arms tight around you. You were frozen for a moment, unsure how to react. Would giving in and hugging her back be admitting that something was wrong? Maybe you were passed that point. Either way, you allowed yourself to lean into the older woman, letting the momentary comfort wash over you. 

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Irene told you. She squeezed you tight one more time before releasing you and stepping back. “Oh! Alexia will be over later. Prepare yourself to talk, because this whole silent thing is not going to fly with her.”

With that, Irene was walking briskly back down the hall. You watched her go, a little dumbfounded. If the defender’s intentions had been to throw you off, it had worked. All you could think was that you hadn’t said a single word to Irene, yet you felt like you’d confessed everything. 

She had three more stickers on the back of her shirt, you noted as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. You couldn’t even really be amused, your brain too busy already anticipating Alexia’s visit. 

Alexia… Alexia was going to make you talk if it took all day. She was stubborn like that. 

Irene was right. You did need to prepare yourself. 

—

The apartment was spotless, Alexia noticed. She looked around, gingerly leaning against your kitchen counter. 

It was spotless. You’d channeled your anxious energy into cleaning, and besides; your parents had always taught you to clean for guests, and Claudia had somehow spilled popcorn all over your chair so you had to vacuum anyway. 

Alexia was very quiet. She’d shown up at your door, not bothering to explain why she was stopping by. You both knew the reason. You’d let her in, and she’d followed you into the kitchen as you got her a glass of water. It was an awkward silence that filled the room, an awkward silence that was making you antsy. 

Alexia, on the other hand, was relaxed. Like she’d cleared her calendar and had all the time in the world. Knowing her… she probably had. She wasn’t waiting for you to talk, necessarily. She was just waiting for the right opportunity to get at what was bothering you. 

And when she noticed the picture frame facedown on the shelf above your counter, she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

“Thought you had a picture of your family there.” Alexia commented casually. She actually wasn’t sure what picture had been there, but she was making an educated guess. Judging by the way pain flashed across your face, it had been a good guess. 

You could have lied, and say the picture frame had broken. Could have lied and told Ale that you’d knocked it over and forgot to pick it up. You could have played it off defensively, kept yourself closed up like you had been for days. 

All morning, you’d been trying to decide how to go about this. Ultimately, you couldn’t get over everyone being worried about you. Nothing felt worse to you than being a burden on other people. Jana was worried. Claudia, Patri, Esmee, Vicky, Salma. They were all worried. Clearly Alexia and Irene were too. You knew what you should do. You just didn’t know if you’d be able to do it when the time came. 

Yet when you sighed, nodding your head at Alexia’s statement, your decision was made. And once it was made, it was like the truth had been waiting for a moment of weakness to force its way out. 

“I’m gay.” You burst out. 

Alexia blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She was a bit confused; she’d come over here thinking you were depressed or something. She’d prepared for that, or something similar. She wasn’t prepared for this, and for a moment she was frozen, searching for the right words. 

You, on the other hand. You were about to fall to pieces. 

You’d never said it out loud before. Had barely even let yourself think it. But now it was out there, and you couldn’t inhale your words back in. You couldn’t go back, and that knowledge had your hands trembling and your breath catching. 

“Oka-” Alexia began, nodding her head and taking a cautious step closer to you. 

“I like girls, and it’s going to ruin everything, Ale. My parents are going to hate me, everyone is going to hate me. Everything… everything is going to be so hard and I don’t think I can do it!”

You were crying, by now, a steady stream of tears running down your face. Alexia’s expression was one of deep empathy and concern. She looked like she would have done anything in that moment to make you feel better, but you weren’t sure there was anything to be done. 

“And I know it shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does. It feels like it matters because it’s me. It’s different. It’s different and I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to lose my family.”

For the second time that day, you were being wrapped up in a tight hug. So tight it almost hurt. You clutched onto your captain just as tight, pushing your face into her shoulder and letting the weight of what you’d admitted wash over you. Alexia just held you for a minute, her sweatshirt soft as you pressed your face into it, her hands warm on your back. It felt almost safe. 

“It’s not different, nena. It’s not. Not because it’s you. You’re not bad, you’re not weird. You’re still you, and anyone who deserves to know you will understand that.” 

You cried harder, but not in a bad way. It was just… exactly what you’d needed to hear for so long. Maybe for your whole life. And someone was finally telling you, someone you loved and trusted. Someone you respected. 

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. I know it feels terrifying, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got you, pequeña.” Alexia murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you.” You choked out. You weren’t sure if you were thanking her for knowing exactly what to say, or for showing up at your door practically the minute she’d realized something wasn’t okay. You had a lot of people to thank, you realized. “Thank you, Ale.” 

Alexia just shushed you, running her hand up and down your back. She didn’t let go, and you didn’t either. Because for the first time in so long, you felt like you were safe. You felt like maybe you’d be okay. Maybe. 

—

i know this one has been very anticipated, so i hope it lives up to expectations :)

i kind of have an idea for a part two, but i'm not sure if anyone wants that or not.

anyway. enjoy 🙂❤️‍🩹🥰

[kingkonoha]

♡ — SUMMARY; your ex-husband, Nanami, asks you to meet him at a local diner.

♡ — CONTENT; heavy angst, toxic relationship, mentions of death, illness, loss of child, slight gojo x reader.

“I didn’t think you would show up.”

KENTO NANAMI took a tentative sip of his black coffee. Though he did not show it, his heart was pounding rapidly from the very moment he glanced out of the window and saw your car enter the parking lot of the old-fashioned diner.

“I didn’t think I’d show up either, to be honest.” You mumbled unhappily. You sat down in the booth across from your ex-husband. “Why am I here?”

Your face was as blank as an untouched canvas. Sitting his white mug of coffee down, Kento folded his hands, resting them on the table.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” He asked. As soon as his question fell from between his lips, he hated himself for the way he approached such a sensitive topic.

“Of course I do, and I’d rather spend it alone,” you snapped, speaking in a harsh tone slightly above a whisper. “I don’t wanna talk about this with you.”

“Well,” Kento took a deep breath. “To the rest of the world, today’s a regular day. But to us, it’s . . . his birthday. We’re the only two people grieving him today, so I thought-”

“Thought we’d grieve together? I’ve been grieving alone for four years now. Today’s no different. I needed your help then and you didn’t give it, but I don’t need you now.” Suddenly, you started to scoot out of the booth. “You know what? This was a bad idea, I’m just gonna leave-”

“No, no, wait. Don’t leave yet,” Kento’s words halted your movements, but you glared at him as he continued to speak. “It’s me who needs help. I know you don’t need me anymore, but I still need you.”

“Still?” You settled back down into your seat. “The word still implies that you needed me before now.”

“I’ve always needed you,” Kento said softly.

“You sure didn’t act like it.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” Taking yet another deep breath, Kento ran his large hand through a few strands of his blonde hair. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything. I was an awful husband. Distant father. I’d do anything to make things right.”

His words were met with silence. Your eyes were scanning him — perhaps for some sign of dishonesty — drifting from his serious expression, white collared shirt, and even down to the laminated menu resting on the table in front of him.

“You’re a couple years too late,” your voice was soft. Filled with regret. “I’m remarried, and our boy is gone.”

Those were two facts Kento knew well. Even so, hearing them sliced through his heart, creating a horrific ache painful enough for him to wonder if he would truly die from heartbreak, here and now.

“Is Satoru treating you well?” He asked with as much composure as he could muster.

“We, um,” you hesitated. “I’m pregnant now, actually.”

Kento looked into your eyes. His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but his eyes were glassy.

“Oh. I’m happy for-”

“Save your breath. Don’t lie to me,” you interrupted.

“But I am happy for you.”

This time, it was your turn to raise your eyebrows in surprise, but your eyes flickered away from him and down at the salt and pepper shakers. “Really? You’re not upset?”

“I am. I’m heartbroken. Two things can be true at once,” Kento said. “You’ve moved on, and I understand that, believe me. I only wish I was the one to heal what I broke. But, as you said, I’m too late. I’m out of time now.”

A young brunette approached with a kind smile and a notepad in hand. She jotted down your orders. Though it was a little ways past eight p.m., you ordered buttermilk pancakes, while Kento opted to respect the time of day and ordered a sandwich with tater tots for his evening meal — not his favorite, but he wanted to order the first thing that came to mind in hopes of sending the waitress away as quickly as possible.

Her departure sparked a bit of small talk between you and Kento, and it lasted until she returned a while later with steaming plates of food. Your pleasant chatter was rather mundane, but even so, you said, “Seems like you’ve changed. I hope it’s genuine.”

Oh, how he wanted to hear those words more than anything. The left corner of his mouth twitched with the urge to smile, though not noticeably.

“It is. I quit my job,” Kento said.

“Wow, that’s . . .” For a brief second, you smiled, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “That’s great to hear, but at the same time, I wanna slap you right now. Why did our lives have to fall apart for you to finally wake up? Why weren’t the hundreds of arguments we had enough?”

Happy and pissed. Two things can be true at once.

“Our lives would have fallen apart anyway,” Kento said calmly. “Whether I had quit my job sooner rather than later would not have changed what happened to Kenji.”

“No, but when he suddenly took a turn for the worse, I would have had my husband there to hold my hand, and he would’ve been able to see his father one last time.” Pain flashed across your face. There was a slight tremble to your voice. You were trying your hardest to control your anger among the quiet diner chatter from nearby groups and family. “He was scared. He was asking for you. And where the hell were you? Handling stocks while our son was dying.”

“They told us we had time-”

“It was fucking cancer, Kento! Any day could have been his last, and you knew that, and you didn’t care.”

A few heads turned in your direction, but with tears threatening to stream down your cheeks, with the memories of your dying boy replaying in your mind endlessly, drawing attention was the last thing you were concerned with.

“Of course I knew and cared, that was why I worked so hard. Someone had to pay for all of the stays in the most advanced hospitals, the finest treatments known to man, the rarest medication administered by the best team of doctors, surgery performed by some of the best surgeons we could find . . . Kenji had all the help money could buy and only because I worked every second of my life.” A tear fell from Kento’s eyes. He wiped it away quickly.

“And in the end, it was pointless, wasn’t it?” You said quietly. “Wasn’t it? Because he died anyway, and you weren’t there to say goodbye.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Kento’s voice had an unfamiliar, dark tone. “You feel guilty as well. About what exactly, I don’t know, but you’re taking the anger you feel towards yourself and letting it out on me.”

“You’re wrong, you jackass. Do you seriously think you’re blameless in all of this or something?” You glared at him with pure hatred. “I was wrong. You haven’t changed one bit.”

The way you looked at him now, as if he was worthless, as if he was a bug that deserved to be squashed; it snapped his heart into pieces, if it was capable of being broken further at this point.

However, it didn’t stop him from continuing on with his own form of cruelty.

“You can’t bring yourself to say his name. You haven’t said it. Not once.” Kento was as calm as ever. Or, at least, he was pretending to be. “You try to avoid talking about him. You try to pretend he didn’t exist by marrying a man I know you don’t care for, all so you can have another child to replace him-”

“Go to hell.”

“I, on the other hand,” Kento continued to speak despite your bitter interruption as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “I spend my time keeping his memory alive. All of my money goes towards research. Towards organizations dedicated to finding a cure so no parent has to go through what we went through. I wasn’t there for Kenji when he died and I will never forgive myself for it, but you aren’t here for him now, in the present.”

“Here for what? A pile of bones in a graveyard?” You glared.

“A graveyard you never visit, so I’ve heard.”

That was it. Those were the words that finally made your brewing tears fall. They splattered against your half-eaten plate of pancakes.

A long enough period of silence passed, long enough for nosy fellow diners to return to their own conversations.

Kento’s eyes softened at the sight of your crying face. “I’m sorry. Sweetheart, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t call me that. You’ve lost that right a long time ago.” You sniffled. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of trying to erase the memory of our son from my life.”

Kento's brows were pinched as he frowned. “And I can’t believe you’d accuse me of not caring about him. It hurts, doesn’t it? The accusations we keep throwing at each other?”

Your face was unreadable. He knew you well, better than you knew yourself as fate would have it, but even so, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking right now.

Outside, it started to rain. For a moment, you eyed the raindrops coating the street. Neither you nor Kento said anything for quite some time, your food becoming cold, and together, you watched the rainfall.

“I’m sorry.” You said after a while. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m just still so pissed off about it. I know you’ve suffered enough, and I know you only worked so hard to save him, but . . . you didn’t see him use the last of strength trying to call for you. It haunts me every day. I can’t live with that amount of pain, Kento, so I’m just trying to move on and keep on living, not erase his memory.”

“I know, I know. I wish I never said that.” Kento wanted to reach out and touch your hand, but the sight of the wedding ring sitting on your finger stopped him. “I wish I never did a lot of things in general.”

“You need to do what I just said.” You faced him, wiping away a few stray tears. “Try to move on and keep on living. Forgive yourself.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” Kento asked softly.

“I can.” You gave a sad smile. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already do.”

He matched your sad smile with one of his own.

“God, we’re a fucking mess. I can’t believe I caused a scene.” You buried your face in your hands for only a moment, then looked up at the sound of Kento’s voice.

“I would lie and tell you they won’t ever see either one of us again, but I’ve been coming to this diner for years, and I don’t plan on stopping,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah I know. We went on our first date here, remember? We were dumb teenagers back then.” It was a bittersweet memory, one you regretted bringing up immediately.

Never before had your smile been so bright. If only you could go back to that simpler time.

If only.

“But we were in love with each other back then, weren’t we?” Kento asked. His own question nearly pushed him to his limit.

“Yeah, we were.” You smiled, brighter this time, and continued, “You’ll always have a special place in my heart — you know that, right?”

“I do.” Kento paused. “And, I’m sorry, but you’ll always be my sweetheart.”

“Good,” you mumbled, though your words were guilt-ridden. Avoiding Kento’s gaze, you started to fiddle with your wedding ring. “It’s getting late. I should . . . I should probably go.”

He didn’t want you to leave, but you weren’t his anymore. How he felt didn’t matter.

“Thank you for coming. It meant more to me than you know,” he said.

“Well, I was lying when I said I wanted to spend his birthday alone.”

“I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Bye, Kento,” you got out of the booth, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. “I . . . nevermind.”

Kento watched you walk through the chiming exit doors of the diner, your last sentence left incomplete. Raindrops were splattering against your head and clothes, but you were in no rush, not minding the drizzle.

Suddenly, your footsteps halted on the concrete sidewalk. You turned around, peering through the big windows, locking eyes with your ex-husband. At first, you gave him a soft smile — one that meant goodbye, and nothing further.

But then, he saw the corners of your lips fall into a little frown, and your eyes glistened with uncertainty. Hesitation. Regret.

You sighed, turning away from the sight of the man in the booth, the man who you knew for a fact held more than a “special place” in your heart, but still owned it entirely.

Though every step away from him was painful, you dragged yourself to your car, and drove away from the ex-husband you still loved, and home to the current-husband you somewhat liked.

Kento thought about rushing out of the door, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing you in the rain — passionately and deeply, as you once loved. After all, he knew what your final look towards him meant. He knew your past marriage, though destructive, still held more passion than your current loveless one.

But he stayed put in his seat, taking a sip of his cold black coffee.

Perhaps, he would regret not chasing after you for the rest of his life, but being that he discovered not too long ago that his son’s cancer was genetic, originating from Kento’s side, and would soon claim his life as well — even after he survived all these years — he knew he wouldn’t have to live with his regret much longer.

This was the last time he would ever eat at the diner he once took you to, back when you were both young fools excitedly in love, fools who would die for each other in a heartbeat.

And those couple of seconds in which you locked eyes with him through the diner window? That was the last time he ever saw you.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib

[ramblin-tiger]

After the hard fought battle, the bandits that had hidden out beneath the city were slain, and your party rested. The governer had hired your party to deal with the bandits, although they diddnt really give much reason aside from the supposed motives. Your leader had taken the job without a second glance, the party needed funds after all so a job was a job. The 'Loot Goblin' aka Shira the gnomish ranger, made short work of gathering anything even remotely of value from the bodies that now lie still in the day corners of the waterway. Carrying them out to prevent water poisoning would be tiring and not looked forward to. Shira tossed a small leatherbound journal at you with a chuckle as you nearly dropped it.

"I ain't op'nd it, but might gots some spells yeah?" She said as she started to sort through the rest of the spoils absentmindedly. "Doubt 'e was a casta, but neva know."

After flipping the journal back around, the first that caught your attention was the pristine quill and a charcoal knub. Whichever bandit's it was definitely kept up with it, that was for sure. Undoing the leather strap that held it closed you were greeted by sketches. Sketches of the waterways, of their companions, and even of the night skies. Each sketch and portrait was accompanied by a page of notes and details about the person or scene in question. Everything from what had happened that day to someone's likes and dislikes, favorite jokes, and a myriad or random small details.

The last few pages were blank aside from a folded piece of parchment that just barely stuck out past the last page, almost as if hidden away. Curiosity got the better of you as you unfolded it to find a heavily edited letter, one that looked to be a draft by all accounts.

"I hope you are well mum," it started, before diving into various small tales and happenings that had gone on with his group. Most things were about hunting around the outskirts of town, with the occasional heists of nobles carriages. While you didn't exactly condemn them for their choice of targets- the local nobles were fairly corrupt from what little you had seen- it was the last few lines that seemed to punch you straight in the gut. "I know we never saw eye to eye, and I wasn't exactly the best son. But I hope you can see that I'm well and happy with my new family. We care for each other just like you and papa. They may not be the cleanest of coin, but I will send more soon to help with the taxes and food for the house.

Your son always, Byrdwyn."

"Oi, yah alright? Shira called out to you. You were confused at first untill you realized your vision had become blurry. When had you started crying? You shrug it off and say it's nothing, just a passing gas from the waterway. She shrugs and doesn't pester you. Mages are strange and you never knew what went on in their heads. You decided it was time to put some of your scrying magics to use later that night.

------

Duran grumbled as he walked across the room of the small cottage to the door. The loud rapping had woken him from his slumber and he wasn't exactly pleased. Opening the door he found that there was no one there, aside from a small lockbox with a letter tied to it. "Bah, I've no time ta care what the fae be up ta'nigh." He grumbled as he scooped it up and placed it on the table before going back to bed. Whatever curses the fae wanted to try and spring could wait till morning. When morning come he would find it to be a somber time indeed. Duran and his wife would read the letter and learn that their son had passed, though how was not explained. The letter explained that inside the lockbox was his cherished memories alongside his letter and promised coin. Though the many platinum worth of coin had been bolstered due to the wizards intervention. Now the small leather journal sits upon the hearth as a memorial to their son and the family they never got to truly meet.

Guilt table When your party is done murderhoboing another group of bandits or other suitable humanoids, covertly roll a d8. If one of the following numbers is rolled, include the listed item as loot found on one of the bodies. 1 - a locket containing a finely painted portrait of what appears to be a significant other, with 2 sets of initials and a heart inscribed 2 - a worn, pocket sized carving knife and a half finished wooden child’s toy 3 - an unsent letter addressed to the slain party’s mother. The contents, if read, seem to be mostly reassurances that (s)he’s staying safe and out of trouble, and that more money is coming soon. 4 - a wedding ring with “For my light in the darkness” inscribed inside in the slain party’s native language 5 - a crude child’s illustration of the slain party. “I love daddy” is written in a child’s handwriting on the back. 6 - a small box wrapped in colorful paper. On the outside is written “For My Little Princess.” Inside is a music box; When wound, it plays a lullaby. 7 - a pencil and a sketchbook containing dozens of portraits with names and small personal details, including other slain parties. Written on the inside cover are the words “The Family You Choose.”

8 - a baby animal, such as a kitten, tucked into the coat pocket of the largest bandit

[yourstrulyrani]

Omgg imagine a reader who is obsessed with simons arms. Like veins and biceps and everything. I feel like he would try to be humble but loves teasing her with flexing them

husband!simon x wife!reader ~ you love simon's biceps, and simon loves the way you love them. a/n: as someone who has an unhealthy obsession with biceps this is so me HAHA (also to 🌊, i saw ur request too and am working on it!! ♥︎)

You are obsessed with Simon's body.

Being in the army, you know your husband's body is built for it. You were astonished at how much muscle he gained over the time you've been with him. Currently, he stands at 6'4 and weighs in at a mean 250 pounds. He trains well and you make sure you feed him even better whenever he gets off deployment because you know he has a habit of missing meals when he's away for work. His legs are strong, every muscle prominent and his thighs are thick. His torso is so wide it covers you up whenever he's lying on top of you or hugging you. You make sure to compliment his body whenever you can. You love complimenting your man just as much as he loves to act humble about his build.

Sometimes it's like...

"Simon, you're so huge. I love it." You say as you massage your husband's sore shoulders, straddling the back of his legs while he lies on his stomach on the couch. "It's nothing, lovie. Just comes with the job." He dismisses your praise, but hides his blush by looking away from you and hiding his face into the crease of his inner elbow.

Or sometimes it's...

"Baby, did you get more buff over deployment?" Your hands move up and down his torso, and you can most definitely feel the change in the definition of his abs because you can feel them through his shirt. "I guess so, doll?" He gives you a shy smile, "It's nothing, though, really. Probably some extra muscle because of the missions." He takes the hands that were roaming around his torso and places them up to his lips, kissing your wrists. "I missed you, sweet girl."

Albeit, your most favorite part about your man is his arms.

Specifically his biceps. You catch yourself staring at the way his veins start from his hands and end up at his biceps. When he's away for deployment, you manage doing the heavy lifting like moving the coffee table while cleaning or carrying multiple grocery bags in each hand. But when Simon is off deployment, you make sure to put those arms to use every single time you can. Simon doesn't mind either. If anything, he loves it and wants to be of help for you. He vacuums with one hand and lifts the coffee table with the other, he takes in all the grocery bags in one trip, and chops the wood for the fireplace without you ever asking to do it.

Simon caught on very early in your relationship that you had some sort of obsession with his arms, and he makes sure to act upon it. He may act all humble, but he loves the way you vocalize your love for his body and the way you look at him too. He loves to use his arms whenever he can, always looking for an opportunity to show himself off to his sweetheart of a wife.

One day, you ordered two bags of soil for your garden. Before you could carry them inside, Simon stopped you at the doorway, "I got you, lovie." He rolled up the sleeves to his already short-sleeved shirt, pushing them up to his shoulders. He took one bag in each of his arms. All you could do in the moment was stare at the way his arms flexed dangerously. Even with one of his arms tattooed fully, you could still see the curve of his bicep and the veins that adorned it. You were caught out of your daze when you heard him ask sweetly, "Do you want these in the backyard?" You nodded with your mouth open, still focusing on the bulge of his arms. Before heading over to the backyard, he passes you a cheeky wink. He knows as much as you do how good his biceps look, and he loves you for it. "You know, if you take a picture it'll last longer."

He walks over to you, bags still in his hold, and places a kiss to your lips before heading over to the backyard.

Tease.

The next day, when you ask him to grab your phone, he checks out your change of wallpaper: Asleep on the couch shirtless is Simon lying on his back, tattooed bicep and gorgeous torso visible in the frame with your cat on his lap.*

*i specifically thought of this gorgeous drawing by @bitterrfruit for reference. if you're seeing this arabella, i love your writing and art you are so, in the best way possible, disgustingly talented.

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[my-castles-crumbling]

ask - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 620

“So. Who’re you all going to ask to the Ball?”

Regulus stared around the large group as Sirius’s question sank in. It had been strange that the two very opposite bunches of friends had collided, but what with Pandora and Lily, and Dorcas and Marlene both being couples, it had been a natural thing.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious for most of us,” Dorcas replied, wrapping her arms around Marlene and grinning.

“Yes, I’m asking Pete,” Remus replied, grinning at Sirius’s affronted expression.

But it was James’s response that had Regulus’s stomach lurching. “I’m asking Regulus,” he said casually, ignoring the shocked looks from everyone, most of all Regulus.

-

It became a Thing. Every time the Ball was brought up, James mentioned that he was going to ask him. It was ‘Yes, when I ask Regulus…’ or ‘After Regulus agrees to go with me…’ or ‘Regulus and I…’ It was driving Regulus absolutely insane, because he knew that James was joking. He could tell from the twinkling in his eyes, the mischief in his smile.

But to Regulus, it hurt. Because Merlin, he wanted it to be real. And the fact that he wanted that was mortifying.

Every time James brought it up, it was like a stab to the ribs. A kick to the gut. He tried to smile and laugh with the rest, but he wanted to cry, which was the scariest feeling he’d ever felt in his life. He hated feeling anything, and sadness? Longing? No, it was terrifying.

-

One day, he snapped.

“So, I’ll pick up Reg at…maybe seven?” James was saying to Remus, who nodded along. “And then we’ll-”

“Stop!”

All eyes turned to him.

“Stop, James,” he mumbled, steeling himself to avoid the tears. “I know you’re not actually going to ask me, and it’s not funny anymore. I know the idea of someone fancying me is a joke to you, but you’re being a prick!”

And with that, he fled.

He assumed, of course, that the footsteps of the person following him belonged to Barty. But the hand that grabbed his shoulder was wider. Warmer.

“Regulus, please-”

“It’s fine, James,” he mumbled, still walking, trying to shake him off.

“Please listen.”

Annoyed, he turned. “What?” he demanded, gritting his teeth and giving James a death glare. “What do you want?”

The older boy looked as distraught as Regulus felt. “I want you to go to the Ball with me,” he answered softly. Regulus scoffed and began to turn but James continued. “No, really! I thought–I thought joking about it would like… get you used to the idea?” he smiled and shrugged self-consciously. “The idea that I fancy you, you know? That way, when I asked, you wouldn’t just…rip me to shreds on the spot.”

Regulus gaped. Could this really be genuine? His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he could hardly hear James’s word.

“I get if you’re mad, it was kind of a shit move,” James said with another half-smile. “But..please don’t think I’d ever joke about you being…fanciable. Especially when I…Godric, I can’t even describe how much I fancy you,” he admitted, face turning pink.

Regulus swallowed, still shocked. “Well,” he breathed, trying not to shake, “unfortunately, the feeling is mutual,” he admitted with a frown.

It took James a moment to understand what he meant, and then he broke into a huge grin. “Y-yeah? So you’ll go with me to the Ball?”

But now, he’d regained some of his footing. “I never said that,” he replied lightly, smirking at the older boy. “You’ll have to see when I ask you.”

It was satisfying, he had to admit. Walking away and leaving a shocked, dazed-looking James Potter behind.

[flawseer]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your art and work over all

I’ve been wondering, since I’ve seen you give your thoughts on some other dragons, what are your thoughts on Clay?

On Clay...

Clay. I’ve talked about him for a bit in a previous post somewhere. He is the first protagonist in the entire series and thus serves as our introduction into this world. While he enters the story with his own emotional baggage, he pretty much resolves all of that within the first book and mellows out from then on, fading into the background as a quiet support character.

Because of that it is maybe easy to dismiss Clay as that big guy who talks about food a lot and doesn’t do much else. But I do think he’s a bit more complex than that and is a well-rounded character with things going on in his own right.

CW: Discussion of physical abuse.

Formative Years

Clays early years were molded heavily by his belief that he almost killed Tsunami while she was hatching. He believed this because his guardians, mostly Kestrel, insisted this is what happened. Of course at the end of the first book we learn that this wasn’t the case and that they were just misinformed about how Mudwings work.

To us, this may all seem absolutely ridiculous. We look at Clay and see this obvious gentle giant without a malicious bone in his body angsting about being a blood-crazed monster. But for Clay himself, this was a very real, very horrifying situation. Suspend your disbelief for a moment. His entire childhood was marred by the crushing guilt of almost having murdered his surrogate sister at birth, and he couldn’t remember why he did it. He understood nothing about this situation, and didn’t know if this secret violent side could even resurface one day. Basic things like going to sleep would become terrifying; he may have laid awake, wondering whether his body might act on its own as soon as he fell unconscious. Just like back then, when it acted before he could even form coherent thoughts. The fear of losing control to the monster and waking up on top of a loved one’s mangled body was always there.

This perception of himself as a violent killer was at odds with his social nature as a Mudwing. He loved his surrogate siblings with the same intensity that any Mudwing would love their own, and thus he hated the part of himself that threatened them. As a direct response to this dissonant view, Clay developed a desire to protect them. If he willed himself to shield them from getting hurt with all of his strength, he would never be able to harm them again. This was his way of coping with the fear.

It is pretty apparent from the text that at least Kestrel was physically abusive towards them. Dune was possibly too, Webs I don’t think so, but he also didn’t do anything to stop it. As Clay grew older I think he began to recognize the patterns. He would start deliberately acting in ways so that most of Kestrel’s ire would be redirected towards himself instead of the others. This is why all the Dragonets of Destiny have such deep respect for Clay; they remember him always standing between them and Kestrel, even as he ended up with more and more scars for it.

Luckily, he is able to reconnect with his Mudwing heritage at the end of book 1 and learns that he never was that blood-crazed murderer the guardians insisted he was. But even so, the scars and memories would never fully fade, and he’d never lose sight of the need to protect his loved ones.

Personality and Interests

Clay’s love of food and eating is well-established, to the point where it sometimes seems like it is his only character trait from book 2 onwards. This is normal; he’s got a big body and I assume the self-regenerative properties inherent to Mudwings burn a lot of calories, so he needs to eat a lot to refuel them. I think there’s a bit more to him still though.

Clay is at his happiest when he can either prevent someone else’s pain, or take it away. Conversely he becomes distressed when he sees someone suffering. I believe he is incredibly earnest and built close to water. He cries easily, though never in response to his own pain or suffering. He feels positive emotions very strongly and can get overwhelmed that way, especially when he sees his loved ones happy. When he cries, he does so openly and without shame. It is very unsatisfying to tease him because he will usually just take what people say to him at face value and thus make them feel bad.

He’s also very physically affectionate and huggy.

People who meet Clay often get the impression that he is book dumb, or just stupid in general. This is not the case, as Clay does have a capacity for learning even complex subject matter. I just think he struggles with subjects he can’t see a practical application for, or aren’t relevant to things he wants to do. He has little interest in memorizing ancient figures or learning how to measure the sides of a triangle

When Glory fights Deathbringer in book 3, she makes mention of a “dragon anatomy class” which I assume was taught by Webs. Clay, as much as he struggled with history and numbers, excelled at this particular class because its insight could be used to keep people safe. As such, whenever the need for it arises, Clay is usually quick to act as the group’s primary healer/medical advisor.

(Excerpts from WoF graphic novels 2 and 3, censored for blood.)

This notion is further supported by the fact that, once they all become teachers at the Jade Mountain Academy, Clay is the one to lead an anatomy class, just like the one he attended before.

In conclusion

Clay is pretty much everyone’s big brother. While he isn’t as eccentric and colorful as the people he is surrounded by, his earnestness and general benevolence make him the backbone of the Dragonets of Destiny. Whenever anyone has a deeply-rooted, serious problem they are hesitant to bring up with others, Clay will usually be the first person considered as a confidant. Tsunami and Starflight know he would never judge or shame them no matter how ridiculous the thing they approach him with. Glory trusts him with her emotions whenever her stoic facade cracks. And Sunny has an incredibly strong bond with him.

I think that makes him pretty cool, even if he doesn’t really have much to do anymore once he overcomes his personal demons. I’m happy that he gets to be happy in the end.

[lila-lou]

✨All over again - 2/4✨

Summary: After a crash leaves Dean with permanent memory loss, you’re nothing but a stranger to him now. Years of love, gone in an instant. But the hardest part isn’t that he forgot you, it’s that he doesn’t want to remember.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst

Word Count: 4132

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

As the evening rolled in, the bunker was eerily quiet.

You were still in your room—your own room now. The hours had passed in a blur, but you hadn't moved much. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest, exhaustion pressing down on you, but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he had pulled off his ring, the way he had looked at you like you were nothing more than a stranger.

The love of your life—your husband—was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

Meanwhile, Dean had buried himself in the garage, his hands occupied with Baby’s engine, like fixing something would make this easier. He hadn’t come back inside since he left the library, and Sam knew exactly why.

Dean was running.

Not that it surprised him. Dean had always run from things he couldn’t fix.

Sam sighed as he set the table, a familiar routine after years of traveling, of making whatever meal they could pull together feel like something normal. But tonight, it wasn’t normal. Nothing was.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts, considering calling Cas, maybe even Jody, but he knew the truth: no one could fix this. Not even an angel.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the hall and called out, “Dinner’s ready”.

He didn’t expect you to respond. And you didn’t. You probably hadn’t eaten all day, but he doubted you cared.

Dean, though—Dean had to show up eventually. Sam knew his brother too well. He could avoid emotions, but he wouldn’t avoid food.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the heavy footsteps from the garage. Dean appeared in the doorway, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, his expression unreadable.

Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed. “She’s not coming out”.

Dean didn’t react right away, just tossed the rag onto the counter. “Figured”.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re really not gonna talk to her?”.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Talk to her about what, Sam?”.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe about how she’s been locked in her room all day after you broke her damn heart?”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his shoulders going rigid. “What do you want me to do?”, he muttered, voice quieter now. “I already told her the truth”.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you sure did”. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Dean’s wedding ring, holding it up between them.

Dean’s eyes flickered to the small piece of silver, and for a moment—just a second—something passed over his face. But then it was gone.

“Thought you’d wanna keep this”, Sam said, voice sharp.

Dean didn’t take it. Instead, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore”.

Sam clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the ring. “Bullshit”, he snapped. “It meant everything to you”.

Dean met his gaze, something flickering in his expression—guilt, frustration, something else even Sam couldn’t read. But then he just exhaled. “It’s over, Sam”. His voice was quieter this time, but it still cut deep.

Sam swallowed back the anger bubbling in his chest, before he slipped the ring into his pocket. “Fine”, he muttered. “But at least pretend you give a damn and sit down for dinner”.

Dean hesitated for a second, but then—like clockwork—he sat down, grabbing a plate like this was just another night. Like everything hadn’t just fallen apart.

The next morning came too soon, dragging in the dull ache of reality with it.

You barely slept. When you did, it was restless—filled with fleeting memories that felt more like ghosts, teasing you with what once was. The warmth of Dean’s body beside you, the sound of his laugh, the way he used to nudge you awake with a kiss to your shoulder.

Now, the only thing that greeted you was an empty room, a cold bed, and the harsh truth of being alone.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Sam.

“Come on”, he called through the door, voice softer than usual. “Breakfast. Then we’re heading to a case”.

A case.

For the past few days, everything had been about Dean. His memory loss, his detachment, the way he had slowly pushed you away until he finally put the last nail in the coffin. But now, things were moving forward—just like that. As if nothing had happened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed yourself upright, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your limbs. You could hear Sam’s footsteps fading down the hall, giving you space, but the message was clear.

The world wasn’t going to stop for this. So, neither could you.

With a deep breath, you pulled on a hoodie and ran a hand through your hair, barely glancing at your reflection before stepping out into the hallway. The bunker felt colder than usual—though maybe that was just in your head.

When you reached the kitchen, Sam was already at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, scanning something on his laptop. Dean sat across from him, shoveling food into his mouth like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t shattered everything between you the day before.

You hesitated in the doorway, your stomach twisting. Dean didn’t even look up when you entered. Didn’t acknowledge you at all. And that fucking hurt. More than it should have.

Sam glanced at you, offering a small nod before sliding a plate toward the empty seat beside him.

You sat down, keeping your eyes on your food, even though you weren’t hungry.

The silence stretched on.

“So”, Sam finally said, filling the dead air. “Looks like we got a case up in Nebraska. Couple of disappearances near some abandoned farmland. Sounds like a possible wraith or maybe a revenant”.

You nodded numbly, barely listening.

Dean swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How soon can we head out?”.

Sam eyed him, then flicked his gaze to you. “Soon as we’re ready”.

It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a reminder. You were still a hunter. You still had a job to do.

Dean finally glanced at you then—just for a second. But there was no warmth, no hesitation. Just a silent, unreadable look before he pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll get my stuff”. And just like that, he was gone again.

You stared at the empty space where he had been, fingers tightening around the edge of your plate.

You weren’t sure what hurt worse—losing him completely, or having him right in front of you, but feeling like he was already gone.

The drive to Nebraska was long, and the air inside the Impala was thick with silence.

Dean drove, eyes locked on the road, his expression unreadable. Sam sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at you, as if checking to make sure you were still breathing.

You were in the back. Where you hadn’t sat in years. It felt unnatural, wrong. This was the seat you used to claim only when you were teasing Dean, stealing his cassette tapes, kicking your feet up on the upholstery just to get a rise out of him.

Now, you sat there because it was the only place left for you.

The space between you and Dean wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something that felt impossible to close. And the worst part? He seemed fine with it. Like he didn’t even notice.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “So, uh, I checked out the reports again before we left. Witnesses say they saw a figure near the last house that got hit. Human-shaped, but… off”.

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the road. “Off how?”.

Sam clicked on his phone, pulling up his notes. “One guy said it moved too fast. Another said the eyes looked weird—like they reflected light, kind of like an animal”.

Dean nodded. “Wraith or skinwalker, then”.

“Yeah, maybe”.

Silence fell again.

You rested your head against the cool window, watching the scenery blur by. Normally, on these long drives, Dean would reach over and squeeze your knee. You used to play games—counting how many crappy motels you passed, arguing over which diner in which town had the best pie.

Now, you were just there. Existing. Nothing more.

“(Y/N)”, Sam’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked, glancing up to see him looking at you in the mirror. “What do you think?”.

You realized then that you hadn’t been listening. “Uh… yeah. Sounds like a wraith”, you said quickly, pretending to know what they had just been talking about.

Dean didn’t react.

Sam, of course, noticed. His brow furrowed slightly, but he let it go. “Alright. We’ll check the victim’s houses first, see if we can track where it’s hiding”.

You nodded, then went back to staring out the window.

The rest of the drive continued in that suffocating quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional flip of Dean’s turn signal.

When you finally pulled into town, Dean parked outside a small diner—classic, predictable. “Food first”, he muttered, killing the engine.

Sam got out without question, stretching his legs, but you hesitated for a second before following. Sam fell into step beside you, keeping his voice low. “You don’t have to do this, you know”.

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”.

“Pretend like this is normal”.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing a tight smile. “Isn’t it?”.

Sam didn’t answer. Because you both knew the truth. Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was okay. But you weren’t going to fall apart. Not now.

Inside the diner, the three of you slid into a booth—Sam on one side, you and Dean on the other. The old leather creaked beneath you, and the scent of cheap coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. It should have felt familiar, comforting. But it didn’t.

Dean barely glanced at you as he picked up the menu, flipping through it like nothing was wrong. Like this was just another morning.

And then—he did it. Right in front of you. He glanced up, eyes tracking the waitress as she walked past, his gaze lingering on her ass before he smirked to himself and went back to his menu.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Sam saw it, too. You knew because his jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flickering from you to Dean with something like disbelief.

Dean didn’t even notice. He just sat there, cool as ever, completely unaware that his casual, thoughtless action had just gutted you.

Because that was the thing—he had never done that around you. Not since the day he fell for you. Sure, before you, Dean had always been a flirt, always had a wandering eye, always made some dumb joke about a “solid ten” when you passed a pretty girl. But when he had you? You had been it for him.

There had been no wandering, no second glances, no careless flirting. He had made it clear, over and over again, that you were the only woman in the damn world as far as he was concerned.

Now, he was looking at another woman like you weren’t even sitting right there. Like you were nothing.

You clenched your jaw, staring hard at the menu in front of you, willing yourself not to react. Not to let him see how much it hurt.

The waitress—young, blonde, pretty—sauntered over with a bright smile, notepad in hand. “What can I get you boys?”. She barely glanced at you.

Dean grinned up at her, easy and charming, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Coffee. And whatever’s got the most bacon”.

The waitress giggled—actually giggled—and nodded. “Got it. And for you?”, she asked, looking at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, Coffee and Eggs”.

The waitress scribbled it down, then finally turned to you. “And you, sweetheart?”.

Sweetheart. You almost laughed at the irony. “Just coffee”, you muttered, not trusting yourself to say more.

The waitress nodded, giving Dean one last look before walking away.

Dean leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm over the backrest, exhaling like he had not a single care in the world.

Sam, on the other hand, looked pissed. His eyes flicked between you and Dean, his patience clearly wearing thin. But he didn’t say anything—not yet.

You? You just sat there, staring down in front of you, stomach churning.

When the food arrived, the waitress made sure to linger, setting Dean’s plate down with a little too much enthusiasm, her fingers just barely brushing against his arm. “Careful, handsome”, she teased, a playful smirk on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you to burn that pretty mouth of yours”.

Dean grinned, easy and effortless, the kind of smirk that used to be reserved just for you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can handle a little heat”.

Your grip on your coffee cup tightened.

Sam visibly tensed beside you, his eyes darting between the two of you, but he stayed quiet.

You just sat there, taking a slow sip of your coffee, staring at the swirling black liquid as if it could drown out the scene in front of you. Under the table, your fingers found the band of your wedding ring, twisting it absently with your thumb—a nervous habit, one you had picked up years ago.

You had done this on hunts, when things got tense. When Dean had been out too long, when a case went south, when you were afraid of losing him. And now, you were doing it because you had already lost him.

The waitress giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she gave Dean one last look before walking away. Dean—your husband—watched her go.

The sting behind your eyes burned, but you blinked hard, forcing it down. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

Dean picked up his fork, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just flirted with another woman in front of the wife he had apparently erased from his life. “Damn, this smells good”.

Sam snapped. “You’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Dean looked up, brow raised. “What?”.

You took another slow sip of your coffee, the warmth doing nothing to ease the numbness settling deep in your bones. Your fingers twitched against the ceramic, a silent battle raging inside you. Then, without a word, you set the cup down, pushed back your chair, and stood.

Before Dean could react, your hand dipped into the pocket of his jeans—the same move you had pulled a hundred times before when you wanted to drive Baby, when you wanted to tease him, when you wanted his attention.

But this time, it wasn’t playful. This time, it was just survival.

You snatched the keys and muttered, “I’ll wait in the car”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. Didn’t give yourself the chance to break right there in the middle of the damn diner. You just walked away.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched you push through the door and disappear into the parking lot.

Dean, meanwhile, sat there, stunned for a second. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “What the hell was that?”.

Sam shot him a look that could’ve burned through steel. “You’re an idiot”, he muttered, voice low but sharp.

Dean frowned, shifting in his seat. “Oh, come on, man—”.

“No”. Sam cut him off, leaning forward now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to do this, Dean. You don’t get to act like this is normal”.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was eating, Sam. I was having a damn meal”.

“No, you were rubbing it in her face”, Sam snapped. “Flirting with some random waitress like she wasn’t even sitting right there”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping against the edge of his plate. “I didn’t mean—”.

“Didn’t mean to?”, Sam let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Dean. You chased her. You spent months convincing her to give you a shot. And now you’re treating her like she doesn’t exist”.

Dean’s grip on his fork tightened, his gaze flickering toward the window. He could just barely see the outline of Baby in the parking lot.

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “She left everything for you. And you just let her walk away”.

Dean didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have one. And for the first time in days, something about that bothered him.

Steam curled in the small motel bathroom, clinging to the mirror and fogging up the glass. You had just stepped out of the shower, towel discarded as you reached for your underwear, exhausted from the long day of interviews and forced conversations. Your skin was still damp, beads of water rolling down your shoulders.

Just then, the door flew open.

Dean strode in without thinking, muttering something under his breath, fully intent on just using the damn bathroom before eating. His mind was still on the case, on the food in the bag he had dropped on the motel table—he hadn’t even remembered that you were in here.

Until now. Until he saw you.

Standing there, bare skin glistening under the dim motel light, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, curves on full display—fuck.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched, something deep in his chest clenching before he could even process what was happening. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to react like this.

But hell, you were beautiful. No, not just beautiful. You were the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

You barely reacted. You simply sighed, pulling your underwear up with practiced ease, then reached for your shirt.

Dean had seen you naked a million times before. Even if he didn’t remember, you did. This wasn’t new. Wasn’t shocking. And honestly? You just didn’t have the energy to care. Your heart was too broken for something as trivial as embarrassment.

Dean, on the other hand was fucking hard in an instant.

It was like his body had short-circuited, completely ignoring whatever logical part of his brain had convinced him there was nothing left between you. Because right now, there was something. And it was undeniable.

Dean felt heat rush through him, pulse pounding in his ears as his jeans suddenly felt way too tight. He was still frozen in place, fingers twitching at his sides, brain struggling to catch up with what the fuck was happening.

You didn’t even spare him a second glance. Didn’t react. Didn’t blush. Didn’t tease him like you probably would have, back when things were good.

You just pulled your shirt over your head, moving around him like he wasn’t even there. And for some reason, that made it worse. Made it so much worse.

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, to breathe, but his gaze kept getting dragged back—dragged to the way your damp skin glowed under the shitty motel light, the way your muscles tensed ever so slightly as you moved.

His body remembered. Even if his mind didn’t. And that scared the shit out of him.

He exhaled sharply, finally forcing himself to turn around. “Fucking shit", he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

You shot him a look in the mirror, completely unbothered. “What’s your problem?”.

Dean let out a humorless laugh, still not looking at you. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re walking around naked like it’s nothing?”.

You raised a brow, pulling your jeans up, your expression unreadable. “It is nothing”.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, trying to will his body to calm the fuck down. “Right. Yeah. Of course. No big deal”.

You let out a soft, almost bitter laugh as you grabbed your brush from the counter, dragging it through your wet hair. “Don’t worry, Dean”, you muttered. “I’m not expecting anything from you. Not anymore”.

That? That stung. More than it should have.

Dean finally glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression, but you were already walking past him, heading out the bathroom door like this conversation didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And for the first time since this whole mess started… Dean wasn’t so sure he liked that feeling.

Dean followed you out of the bathroom, his steps quick, urgent. His dick wouldn’t stop throbbing. It was like his body had a mind of its own, like every nerve was on high alert, and fuck—he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being out of control when it came to himself.

And you just walked across the room like nothing had happened, completely unbothered, running a towel through your damp hair as you sat on the edge of the motel bed.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t do this”, he muttered, voice tight.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”.

He scoffed, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This. Making me—”. He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “Making me horny just to get me to feel something”.

That made you pause. Slowly, you turned to him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”.

Dean stared at you, like he expected you to admit it, to own up to it. Like this was your fault. But you just blinked, tilting your head slightly.

Then, after a beat, you let out a small, bitter laugh. “You walked in on me naked, Dean”.

His mouth opened, then shut. You had a point.

You crossed your arms, watching him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t try to seduce you. I wasn’t parading around in lingerie, I wasn’t touching you, I wasn’t doing anything”. You let out a sharp exhale. “You came in, you looked, and now your body is reacting”.

Dean swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, because shit—you were right. But that didn’t change the fact that his body was reacting. And it pissed him off. Because he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be this fucking desperate to touch you, to feel you, when he didn’t even remember why. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Then why the hell didn’t you care?”.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”.

He took a step closer, jaw clenched. “You were naked. I walked in, and you didn’t even flinch”. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t quite understand.

You let out another quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you ran the towel through your damp hair one last time before tossing it onto the bed beside you. “Shit, Dean”, you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’ve seen me naked a million times”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“You used to wake me up in the middle of the night just because you needed me”, you continued, voice sharp but laced with something vulnerable. “You used to pin me against walls, drag me into the backseat of the Impala, couldn’t keep your hands off me for more than a damn second”.

Dean swallowed thickly. His body reacted again, a deep, primal pull in his gut at the images your words conjured, but his mind—his mind was still struggling. Still fighting against whatever this was.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “But now? You see me naked and act like it’s some huge deal?”.

Dean clenched his jaw, frustration rolling off him in waves. “It is a huge deal”, he shot back.

“No, it´s not".

He stared at you, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[writeriguess]

Will you do Spencer Reid x reader who is shy really quiet and Keeps to herself but lives in a different state, they get sent to that state for a case and it turns out his secret girlfriend is the missing girl case they’re working, reader leaves clues behind for Spencer because she believes he will find her

Silent Signals

You weren’t supposed to be part of a case. You weren’t supposed to be missing. But here you were—alone, trapped, and terrified—but not helpless. Because if anyone could find you, it was Spencer.

And if they were looking, you were going to make sure he saw you.

“Local PD confirmed the latest victim disappeared two days ago,” Hotch said as he flipped through the case file. “Y/N L/N, twenty-six, lives alone, works remotely, no known close family in the area. She was last seen leaving her apartment late in the evening.”

Spencer’s entire body went cold.

He knew that name. He knew that person. He knew you.

He willed himself not to react, not to give anything away, but his grip on the case file tightened. You weren’t just the next victim. You were his secret. His girlfriend. The person he loved, the person he had planned to visit in just a few weeks.

“Reid?” Morgan’s voice pulled him back. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer forced out, keeping his voice even. “Just… taking it in.”

Hotch kept moving, listing off the details, but Spencer could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears. This wasn’t random. It couldn’t be. The killer had you, and Spencer couldn’t let anyone know how much that mattered. Not yet.

You weren’t stupid. You knew your odds. But you also knew Spencer.

So you left clues. Small ones. Things only he would recognize.

The first was under the table in the basement where you were being held, scratched into the wood with a jagged piece of broken metal you’d found.

3.14159

Pi. A math constant. But more importantly, it was something you and Spencer always teased about, because you used to call him your "Pi Day Prince" since he was born on March 9th. It was stupid. But it was yours.

You just hoped he’d find it.

“Victimology doesn’t match,” Spencer muttered as he studied the notes. “The previous victims—single, yes, but they had strong local connections. Friends, family. Y/N… she works remotely. Stays to herself.”

JJ frowned. “You think she was taken for a different reason?”

Spencer swallowed hard. “It’s possible.”

It wasn’t just possible. It was certain. But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he focused on the crime scene photos. The last place you’d been seen was your car, left abandoned near a gas station.

His stomach clenched.

A gas station.

You never went to that gas station.

You once told him you hated the way it smelled. You always went to the one three blocks down.

It was deliberate.

Spencer’s heart pounded. You were trying to tell him something.

And he was going to find you.

The next clue came when they found the basement.

Morgan went first, sweeping the area with his gun drawn. Spencer was right behind him, breath held as he scanned the room.

Something caught his eye.

A small, barely visible carving under the table.

He leaned in, running his fingers over the numbers.

“Reid?” Morgan called.

Spencer swallowed. “Pi.”

Morgan frowned. “Pi?”

Spencer shook his head. “Not just pi. This… this was intentional.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes, but Spencer didn’t care. He could see it now—see you—in every carefully placed detail.

The metal scrap on the floor. The way the dust had been disturbed near the far wall. The fact that, despite everything, there wasn’t a single sign of a struggle.

You weren’t just waiting.

You were fighting.

“Where is she?” Spencer’s voice was sharper than usual.

The unsub smirked, sitting across from him in the interrogation room. “What makes you think she’s still alive?”

Spencer’s fingers curled into fists under the table.

Because you were too smart. Because you knew him too well. Because you believed he would find you.

“She’s alive,” Spencer said evenly. “And you know where she is.”

The unsub leaned in, his grin widening. “Too late, genius.”

Spencer stood so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “We need to go. Now.”

Hotch didn’t ask questions—he just moved.

And Spencer ran.

You could hear them.

Heavy boots. Voices.

Then—

“Y/N!”

Spencer’s voice.

Your chest tightened, relief crashing over you. “Spencer—”

He was there in an instant, pulling you into his arms, holding onto you so tightly you thought he might never let go.

“I knew you’d find me,” you whispered against his shoulder, your body shaking.

Spencer let out a choked laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Of course I did.”

And then, for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

[no-144444]

walk away happy- m.verstappen

꩜summary: max and you are on the rocks, despite the rock on your finger. he comes back from bahrain and he doesn't have answers, so you don't wait for them

꩜pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

Max really didn’t want to go home. Bahrain was shit, and he was exhausted, but back home… well, he wasn’t sure if you were still there, to put it gently. 

And he knew he was being a dick. He knew he was hurting your feelings and he did it anyway, because of course he did. He’s Max Verstappen and for some reason he feels the need to push away anyone who loves him, the second things get hard again. And the off-season had been magical. He’d fucking proposed! You’d forgiven him for his awful behaviour during last season, and you’d accepted him as your life partner, and he was more than happy. 

How did he fuck it all up in less than a month? 

He opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. It was quiet. The lights were off. He gulped. He left his suitcases at the door and started his tentative search. Living room was clear, kitchen was clear, his office was clear, your office was clear, both bathrooms were clear-

He found you curled up in bed, your glasses still on your face and a book in your hand. He chuckled lightly, moving the book to your side table, not before dog-earring the page. He carefully took your glasses off and placed them on the book, and he pulled the covers over you. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe you’d be less annoyed when you woke up. He stared at the scene in front of him, and he couldn’t help but feel that something was missing from your bedside table. 

The wedding planner. Fuck. 

He walked through the house as he went about his nightly activities in search of it. As he ate his dinner, he looked around the apartment for it. While he brushed his teeth he checked your car. 

Nothing. And his chest tightened. 

Despite his anxiety around the planner, he fell to sleep quickly. He always did beside you. 

You felt him before you saw him. His hands on your waist, his breath on your neck. You could’ve sworn you could still smell the champagne on his skin. 

You removed his hands as best you could, and quietly got up and out of bed. He woke up when he noticed how cold the bed was. 

There you were, sitting in the living room, a cup of tea in hand, your book in your other. And you were quiet. No waking him up with a kiss. No cuddling before the day started. No begging him to make you a cup of tea before you got up. No music playing as your day started.

Just sad, suffocating silence. 

“I’m sorr-” he started. 

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, not bothering to turn your attention to him. “I was being dramatic, it’s not a big deal.” 

‘Not a big deal’? This was your wedding, how was it not a big deal? He cautiously sat beside you. “Well, I’m still sorry,” he admitted, turning to you. You stayed with your head in your book. “I was being an ass and I’m sorry I made you less excited about it.”

Again, you just shrugged, and stared at him (finally). Though, it was that thousand yard, you’ve hurt me, stare that he hates so much. “It’s nothing. It’s just a wedding.” 

‘Just a wedding’. Wow. He really fucked this up, didn’t he? “Schat,” he took your hand in his, forcing you to give him your attention. “It’s not just a wedding, it’s our wedding, and I care about it. I’m sorry I was being mean.” 

You shrugged again. “It’s fine Max, I don’t care,” you huffed, turning back to your book. You very clearly cared, and he had no idea what to do. “Let’s just forget it.”

“The wedding or the fight?” he mused and you rolled your eyes. 

“Whatever you want,” you scoffed. His entire body tensed. What the fuck did that mean? ‘Whatever he wanted’? He wanted you to be happy, not be upset with him, he wanted- “Just go do some sim work or something, I have work today-”

“We need to talk about this,” he sighed and again, you scoffed. 

“What would that even do, Max? It’s not going to reverse anything you said or make me feel any less of a burden to you, so what would it solve? Please tell me,” your words were sharp, cutting into the ache in his chest, making it hurt worse. 

“You’re not a burden to me,” he shook his head. “You never are.”

“Exactly, I’m just your punching bag,” you met his eyes. Yours were cold. Calculated. Unknown. His were pleading. Insecure. Scared. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry-”

“Yeah, you’re always fucking sorry Max. Always sorry,” you chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. It was hurt. It was pain. It was a reflection of exactly what he did to you. “I’ll organise it on my own, it’s fine. Just… you didn’t have to be so mean about it. Saying all my ideas were stupid or silly.”

He sat there, still. “I was upset at the car-”

“But you took it out on me,” you shot back. “You always fucking take it out on me.”

“I know,” he nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “I know I do. And it’s not fair.” 

“You always say that,” your voice was thick with emotion. “But I genuinely don’t think you believe it-”

“Of course I believe it!” 

“Then why do you still treat me like shit?!” you shouted back, tears falling down your cheeks. He didn’t have an answer. You waited for one. “Here,” you threw him your engagement ring. “No more headaches.” 

Neither of you walked away happy. You still loved him, and he knew he’d never be complete without you. But sometimes breaking up is the best thing to do.

navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[misaerabl]

Touchpoint

𝝑𝑒 sevika fingerfucking/teasing you under the table at a council meeting !!!

CW: public, dubcon?, power play, teasing, fingerfucking (r! receiving), dirty talking, orgasm control/denial (very mild)

The council chamber always smelled like ash and pride.

Gilded trim lined the heavy doors, Piltovans seated like they owned every inch of the room. You sat two seats down from Jayce, voice steady as you explained Zaun’s position on the latest border restrictions.

Next to you, Sevika didn’t say a word. She never had to. Her presence was louder than anyone’s voice—broad shoulders relaxed, legs spread carelessly in her seat like she wasn’t sitting in front of the most powerful figures above ground. You knew better. Knew that stillness wasn’t passivity—it was waiting. Watching.

And then her hand slid onto your thigh.

You nearly choked on your own breath.

The table was thick wood, ornate and just high enough to hide what she was doing. Her mechanical hand was warm—somehow always warmer than expected—and the weight of it on your leg made your spine go rigid.

You tried to keep talking.

“—the curfews have caused more chaos than order in the Undercity,” you managed, barely steady.

Her fingers tapped against your thigh once. A warning? A tease?

Then she began to move. The pads of her fingers ran in slow, deliberate strokes along the inside of your leg, featherlight. She knew exactly how to build tension without giving too much. Just barely skimming up and down, like she was feeling the shape of your nerves.

You clenched your jaw. Mel was saying something about resource distribution. You nodded as if you were listening, even as Sevika’s touch dragged higher. Her thumb brushed a little closer to where you were burning, and you shifted your hips instinctively.

Big mistake.

She took that as permission.

Her hand returned with purpose now, creeping under the hem of your coat and sliding firmly up your thigh. You felt her knuckles graze the edge of your panties, and your pulse jumped so hard it hurt. You could feel how wet you already were—ridiculous, shameful—and she hadn’t even gone under yet.

Your breath came shallow.

A single metal finger slipped beneath the waistband, slow enough to make your mouth go dry. She didn’t push in—no, Sevika liked the game too much for that. Instead, her fingertip traced your folds, collecting slick, spreading it with a gentle press that made your thighs tighten around her hand.

Still, her face gave nothing away. Expression flat. Like she was bored of the discussion. Like her fingers weren’t stroking you lazily under the table while council members debated mining regulations.

“Is everything alright?” Mel asked suddenly, eyebrows raised.

You nodded too quickly. “Just a—just a bit warm.”

Sevika leaned over like she was whispering something relevant, her lips ghosting over your ear instead.

“You’re soaked,” she murmured, smug and low, “and we haven’t even started.”

Then her fingers slid deeper.

You bit down a sound, sharp and almost panicked. Her hand worked with slow precision, curling just slightly, dragging against that sweet spot she knew too well. You squeezed your knees together, trying to trap her hand, to keep it from going deeper or moving faster—or maybe to stop yourself from thrusting into it.

But she didn’t let up. Her thumb ghosted above your clit, never touching directly, just circling, teasing, threatening. You gripped the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ached.

“…we’ll need a full report by tomorrow,” Jayce was saying.

“Understood,” you forced out, blinking too quickly.

Sevika pushed two fingers in. Slow. Deep.

You inhaled sharply and turned your face slightly away to hide the twitch in your lips. Her thumb pressed just slightly harder now, and your walls clenched around her fingers, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more anything.

She didn’t give it.

Her hand stayed buried inside you, not pumping, just there—filling, teasing, owning.

She leaned in again. “You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you?” she whispered. “With them all watching.”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

And then she moved.

A slow drag out, knuckles gliding over your soaked entrance—and then back in. Deliberate. Controlled. Your fingers tightened around the table edge, and you had to fake a cough to hide the soft sound that slipped from your throat.

She pumped again.

This time harder.

You shifted in your seat, body betraying you, hips tilting forward with every thrust she gave. Her palm angled to grind against you just right now, and the heat coiling in your belly threatened to boil over far too quickly.

You blinked hard, pretending to read something on your tablet, nodding occasionally while every ounce of your focus was sunk into the way she was working you open with nothing but her fingers.

No one suspected a thing. Or maybe they did. Maybe they were too polite, or too afraid of Sevika’s shadow to ask why your breathing was shallow, why your cheeks had flushed, why your thighs kept squeezing together under the table.

She curled her fingers.

Your whole body jerked.

You felt her smirk before you saw it—her face still neutral to the others, but her hand relentless now, pace increasing just enough to have your toes curling in your boots.

You leaned in, lips barely moving. “If you make me come in this damn chair—”

Her thumb finally pressed down, slow circles tight and steady over your clit, cutting your threat short with a breathless gasp you barely contained.

“I am,” she muttered, voice all gravel and wickedness. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

You were right there. Right at the edge, fighting for composure, blinking fast and biting your lip so hard you swore it might bleed.

One more curl. One more grind of her palm against your soaked cunt—

Your body tensed.

And the climax hit you, sharp and silent, the kind that made your vision white out at the edges while your thighs trembled uncontrollably under the table. You swallowed a cry that threatened to tear its way out of you, pressing your hand to your mouth under the guise of a thoughtful pose.

Sevika didn’t stop.

Not immediately.

She let you ride it out, fingers still stroking as your muscles fluttered around her, drawing it out, until finally, finally, she slid her hand away.

You let out a shaky breath.

Mel said something about follow-up meetings next week.

Sevika wiped her fingers on your thigh.

You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t. Not until the chamber emptied, and she stood, stretching with that smug, lazy confidence like she hadn’t just ruined you in front of the entire council.

She leaned down as you gathered your papers with trembling hands.

“I’m not done,” she murmured. “Get back to your office.”

[fairestwriting]

hello! may I request hcs on how the first years are when they're dating their housewarden's younger sister?

𐙚 Ace Trappola

Oh, you know he’s smug about it. He was kind of averse to the idea of even getting too close at first, thinking Riddle’s younger sister surely would be a rule freak like Riddle himself is, not really someone he’d want to associate with…

But, who would’ve guessed, you two turned out to get along just fine. You seem to appreciate his humor, and Ace appreciates that in return. ”Y’know, I thought you’d be all uptight like your big brother. I guess that gene skipped you, huh?” He jokes one day, and he just keeps on doing his thing, whether he’s under Riddle’s scrutiny or not. What’s he gonna do about it anyway? He’s not breaking any rules by just hanging out with his sister, is he now?

His attitude honestly doesn’t change that much when you two get more serious. He’s totally unsurprised to learn that Riddle wasn’t really that thrilled by you dating a troublemaker like him. Of course he treats you well, but it’s the same sort of treatment you’d get even if you had never heard of Riddle Rosehearts in your life. Maybe he’s a little more generous with gifts, especially snacks, knowing your mother doesn’t let you have them at home. But that’s as “different” as it’ll get.

Whenever you two are spending time together and Riddle is also around, he makes sure to be in his very best behavior just to spite him. It doesn’t always work, if only because of the sheer amount of rules that Riddle remembers summed up to his now actual desire to humble Ace is definitely… a force to be reckoned with. But, well, so is Ace. Riddle never gets his way when that happens either, because Ace is just cackling away when Riddle slaps that collar on him for the third time this week.

𐙚 Deuce Spade

Part of his desperate attempts to become a “true honors student” includes properly introducing himself to any new people he meets, which means asking for their full name and giving his in return. He’s decided he must redouble his efforts to be cautious and polite around you as soon as he heard you say Rosehearts right after your first name. He ends up nervously asking, ”Oh. Rosehearts, like… our dorm leader?” and you confirm you’re Riddle’s younger sister. That just confirms his own thought process to him.

Deuce is honestly genuinely scared. Not of you, of course! Over time he finds that he really enjoys talking to you, your conversations flowing easily. Deuce is surprised he could even have so much fun with another person, even though he has and has plenty of fun with other friends— It’s just that the knowledge you’re Riddle’s sister… never really leaves the background of his thoughts.

He knows Riddle didn’t get the best impression of him, and he doesn’t necessarily regret his own actions from that time. Now though, that he’s starting to really notice his crush on you, and he wants to ask you out properly— Would it really be right to do that when he’s in bad terms with your family? Deuce is conflicted. It’s not a thing of believing you need Riddle’s permission to date him or anything, he’d just feel… kind of bad, knowing his girlfriend’s brother thinks of him as some unserious delinquent. He wants it to be known that he only wants the absolute best for you!

So… he tries. Like Ace, he’s in his very best behavior whenever there’s a chance Riddle might be around, with about the same success rate. Except he really apologizes profusely every time he learns he’s breaking a rule, promising he’ll remember it in the future — He probably won’t, but the same is true for any other normal person, really — in a way that honestly surprises Riddle sometimes? As much as your brother will always be at least a little bit distrustful of any guy that comes close to you, in some situations, even he can’t do anything but admit that yeah, Deuce is nothing if not dedicated to that “mission” of his.

𐙚 Jack Howl

Leona was basically his idol for so long, you know he’s kept up with what little media appearances he had. Nothing crazy, anything more than just watching the few interviews he’s given or the broadcasted Magift games just gets into celebrity gossip territory, and Jack doesn’t like that— But basically, he’s watched just about enough to see you on a screen, and yeah, he always thought you were really pretty, but that was all there was to it for a long time.

He did get… pretty disappointed with Leona when he met him, yeah, but he doesn’t let it affect how he views you. You’re his sister, not an extension of his person, it’d be silly to make assumptions like that. Jack is as polite to you as he is to everyone else, and he’s pleased to discover you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That it’s actually really fun to talk to you, even though he usually doesn’t like talking to people much.

When you actually get together, Jack starts to get pretty nervous. He’s serious about dating, as we all know. If he’s asked you out, it’s because he really wants to be with you. And that means family gets involved. He’s more than happy to introduce you to his, but yours, well— He’s never thought he’d struggle with a significant other’s family, but you’re a literal princess…

It’s not at all about Leona though. None of Jack’s hesitations over your relationship have anything to do with him, really. In fact, telling Leona that you two are together is something he sees as a sort of “practice session” for the day he meets your entire family, and Leona is just fine with it. You’re clearly happy, and he has no intentions of smothering you, especially when you’re dating Jack Howl out of all people— He knows the guy literally wouldn’t even dream of trying anything funny.

𐙚 Epel Felmier

Epel is out of the loop, even if he’s seen Vil on the TV screen back home, he never used social media enough to fully grasp how much of an influence he had over anyone. And you’re so insanely pretty, so much more than any girl he’s ever met, he ends up blurting out a ”Wow, if I didn’t know you better, I would’ve guessed you and Vil-san are related!”

…So that’s how he realizes the situation he’s gotten into, not too long after you two start talking, and his crush on you begins to take shape. And he’s intimidated, yeah. Anyone would be. But at the same time… Epel couldn’t bring himself to lie about how proud of himself he feels. Like this is just insane to him. He hears more and more about how famous and important Vil is every day, and you, his younger sister, decided to hang out with him out of all people? Wow. He feels so important now.

But, as much as his unease grows as you two get closer, he’s not about to let it stop him. He knows he’s not experienced or anything like that, but if he’s going to be your boyfriend, Epel’s top priority is making sure you get treated right. He’ll still be opening doors for you even months into your relationship. Hell, he’ll even make a good effort at learning all the fancy dining etiquette he hates, so he can have a proper introduction dinner with your family.

Epel figures that, even if Vil was pretty protective, he couldn’t scoff at him for… doing his best to be a good boyfriend to you, could he? He’s heard you mention how picky Vil is with the boys you talk to, most of his issue is when they’re not trying hard enough. That doesn’t apply to him, he’s determined to make it so that it never does too— And he wins on that front. Vil sees how happy you are and how well he treats you. He can’t complain about Epel. It still surprises him sometimes.

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Honestly, he’s scared to do as much as touch a single hair on your head. You’re literally Malleus’ sister. His crush is not recent at all, the two of you having met long before Sebek even considered attending NRC— And Sebek himself having, at some point, quietly decided that he should content himself with a life of (not so) silent, distant pining…

…Meanwhile, you most likely think of him as just a kind longtime acquaintance. A real oddball, for sure, but he’s never been anything but kind to you. Maybe you even see him as a sort of friend. When you both were younger you really didn’t get to meet a lot of people your age, but Sebek was often there, and he always listened to what you had to say— Even though he’d often blurt out lines like ”M-My Lady, I’m simply your family’s servant, we must both keep that in mind…!”

Because of this specific dynamic between the two of you, you’ll… pretty much have to make most of the first moves. And Sebek is receptive to them, despite all his claims that you two shouldn’t get “too” close at all. It’s a little endearing, how flustered he gets over pretty much everything— Eventually, though, he tells himself he has to get it together, it’s clear that you wanted a relationship with him, and he knows very well he wants a relationship with you. As much as it goes against… nothing but his own mentally edited version of the rules related to his position, as soon as he decides to get serious with you, he gets really serious.

As for Malleus’ opinion on the whole thing… well. It’s Sebek. Malleus would usually be very, very protective over his beloved younger sister’s chosen partners but, he knows Sebek. He knows him maybe even better than he wants to— And he knows, even before he sees him insisting to carry your schoolbag while you’re on your way to class together, that he wouldn’t dare to offer you anything less than his very best efforts. Malleus is a little surprised that he actually managed to get over that sort of idol worship thing he had towards your family to the point that he asked you out, but he’s pleased. You definitely have his blessing. And bonus points for keeping Sebek too busy to be as neurotic over him as he usually is, Malleus does appreciate the extra quiet time.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[piplup335]

1x1x1x1 x reader! (but this time it’s the eggs skin lmao)

*ahem*

HELLO, F E L L A S -

sorry for vanishing, I got burnt out recently D:

took a break for my own mental health and bc idw to go insane ;-; I know this isn’t part of my requests, but I just wanted something to comfort myself :<

also I had some school orientation stuff yesterday and it was TIRINGGGG I fell asleep more than once during that thing so yea I’m kinda writing for this reason too-

I’ll get back to work ASAP :,) for now, enjoy this fic!

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Killing survivors day in, and day out was a mundane and tiring task. But that's what the Spectre wanted- mutual suffering. It wanted the survivors to experience the endless loop of dying over and over again. It wanted to bore the killers to the point they go insane and take out their anger on the survivors...which in turn completed the vicious cycle. Die, respawn and die again. Kill, get bored and kill again.

When it was your turn for "killing duty", as you liked to put it, it started with you motivating yourself for the round ahead and ended with you walking back into the killer's cabin, groaning in pain. Slash wounds covered your body and bruises were present all over your limbs, the blueish-purple marks an eyesore for everyone in the cabin. As you opened the door and stumbled in, all four killers turned to look at you and glanced at you in horror.

John Doe almost dropped his water. C00lkidd looked at you, unable to say or do anything as his small, innocent eyes glanced up at you with dismay in his eyes. He disliked seeing you in a pained state...he disliked seeing any of the killers in a pained state from playing around with the survivors, after all. Jason looked up at you from the couch, unable to bring himself to get back to reading upon seeing how roughed up you were. 1x1x1x1 was the only one who didn't seem too concerned. That was probably because they didn't want to burn themself, however, since they were busy cooking something on the stove. You had no idea what it was, but it smelled divine.

C00lkidd ran up to you and hugged you tightly. Despite being much younger than you, he was almost up to your height.

"(Y/N)!!! I missed you! Are you okay? What did the survivors do to you??"

His eyes welled up with tears as he looked at you. The sight of your injured form almost made him cry. He didn't like seeing you injured.

You groaned as you recalled what happened in the match. You lost horribly.

-

The survivors planned out a deadly combination beforehand and used you as their test subject. They sent Two Time to search for you and once they found you, they made a run for it...towards some other part of the map where Builderman set up a sentry. The moment you got in range, the sentry started firing at you, the pain of the bullet barrage slowing you down. As you approached the sentry to take it down, Shedletsky ran out from behind a wall and hit you with a nasty slash to the back. The pain burnt and you stumbled forward, landing on your knees on the dirt beneath you. You had to take a moment to breathe through the burning pain. You didn't have John Doe's pain tolerance...that man could be hit with knives or guns and would give himself a two-second pep talk before pushing through the pain and getting back to work.

The moment you got back up, you tried yet again to destroy the sentry. You raised your blade, swinging it down at the damned metal thing that was still firing rounds at you.

Instead of meeting steel, your sword struck the firm surface of Kevlar. Guest 1337 had parried your attack.

With another crushing parry to the face, you were back on the floor, clutching your cheek in pain. The damned sentry stared down your injured form, still firing bullet after bullet at you.

When you finally got back up, your rage-filled swing sent the sentry crumbling to the floor in a burning heap. Two Time stood some distance away from you, as if taunting you to attack them.

Without a second thought, you rushed towards them, ready to deliver a brutal strike that would be guaranteed to send them scuttling away from you, their spiny wings sprouting out of their back as a signal that they had entered their second life.

As you ran towards Two Time, your rage-filled state was unable to detect the tripwire that lay before you...sending you crumbling to the ground. You faceplanted into the floor, and a soft beeping could be heard to your left.

You turned your head, curious as to what the source of the noise was.

A square frame with a crystal encased in it phased back into existence, the tripmine glowing brighter and brighter as the crystal emitted a loud humming noise. It exploded with a flash, and for a brief moment, all you could see was the hot pink of the tripmine covering everything in sight. You tried to stumble towards Two Time, but your vision was still blurry from the sheer intensity of the flash. Shedletsky wasn't gonna let that moment slide and he sliced at you with his sword, followed up by Guest 1337 charging at you and bashing you into a wall...

-

You were exhausted, tired and drained from the crappy day you had just gone through. As you collapsed on the couch, C00lkidd ran over to you, his small hands holding yours as he looked at you with concern in his bright eyes. "Aunt/Uncle (Y/N)!! Are you okay? What happened to you today? Did the others play dirty during tag again?"

You nodded, a soft sigh escaping your mouth. You made an agreement with the others to tell C00lkidd that everything was a game of tag so that he wouldn't be too traumatised at his age.

As C00lkidd rambled on about how future games would be okay while lightly hugging your arm, your attention was diverted to the heavenly smell coming from the kitchen.

Something was cooking, and it smelt good.

Your eyes locked onto 1x1x1x1. They wore a chef's apron and a matching hat along with their usual domino crown. They even put on a chef's uniform for funsies.

And if you had to be honest with yourself, they looked kinda cute in it. 1x1x1x1, Shedletsky's manifestation of malice and hatred, wearing something normal for once.

He once told you that he got his cooking knowledge from Shedletsky. 1x1x1x1 and Shedletsky were both one and the same back in the past, where 1x1x1x1 was simply a seed being nurtured by Shedletsky's negativity. They saw everything through Shedletsky's eyes and heard everything through Shedletsky's ears...including all the cooking lessons and courses he took. They'd seen Shedletsky cook and learnt everything from him. So when 1x1x1x1 finally parted ways with Shedletsky, they took the shared knowledge with them, even after being forsaken.

Regardless, 1x1x1x1, just like their creator, could cook like a professional chef. Fifteen minutes later, all the killers sat at the table, a fresh plate of carbonara in front of them. 1x1x1x1 stood at the head of the table, their hands behind his back as he glanced over everyone with his crimson eyes.

"Dinner is served. Before you is a plate of carbonara. The pasta was freshly made by yours truly, topped with locally sourced bacon and authentic parmesan."

A grin made its way onto your face as you listened to their explanation. Not because you were impressed at the quality of the ingredients, but because you were trying so hard not to laugh at their explanation. You knew that in reality, they were making the most of the supplies the Spectre provided for its inhabitants.

The few of you could make requests to the Spectre and it would grant them, provided that the request was within reason. Everyone only found out about it when C00lkidd wished for a giant lollipop and it appeared at the cabin's doorstep, neatly wrapped in cling foil. Now he regularly requests lollipops from the Spectre, sometimes for his own consumption, sometimes to cheer the other killers up and sometimes so he can use them to play "tag" with the survivors.

You picked up your fork and dug in. The carbonara tasted divine. The noodles were just the right texture, and the bacon really hit the spot. As you scarfed down the meal, John Doe and C00lkidd shared a look.

"Uncle Doe, (Y/N) really is hungry..."

"Yeah. Can tell."

Once you were done, you sat back, satisfied with the hearty meal. After tossing the plates into the dishwasher, you retreated into your room for a nice, warm shower.

You zoned out from the comfortable feeling of the water cascading down your back and stayed inside for a bit too long. When you finally got out of the shower, now in something more comfortable, you saw 1x1x1x1 sitting on the side of your bed, a small bowl in hand. Instead of their chef's uniform, they wore a baggy shirt and a cosy pair of sweatpants.

"...hey. (Y/N). I made you some crème brûlée. Thought you had a rough day today, so I want to cheer you up."

Your eyes widened in awe. During the time you spent in the shower, they managed to make your favourite dessert for you. 1x1x1x1 passed you a small spoon, and you gently tapped at the caramelised sugar on the surface. You cracked the layer, scooping up some of the custard and sugar, and putting the spoon in your mouth.

It tasted sublime...just like how you used to remember it before you got thrown into this forsaken world. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you wrapped your arms around 1x1x1x1 in a tight hug.

"...it's perfect...thank you."

The chef froze up before a smile formed on his face, his hand reaching up to rub your back as you buried your face into his shoulder. After a long and tiring day, you needed a break...and 1x1x1x1 could see that.

"Relax, just relax, my dear...it's over. It's okay...I'm here now. Those pesky survivors are nothing more than annoying pests. I'll deal with them next time, honey."

You knew he was mainly talking about Shedletsky, but you could care less.

For now, all you needed was your lover's comfort.

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and that’s it for now, fellas! hope you enjoyed it :D

as a little side note, if you enjoyed the fic or have any feedback, do let me know! I thrive off people saying they enjoyed my fics + I know I’m at least doing something right :,) hope you all don’t feel that I’m too selfish or smth-

oh shoot I’m rambling ANYWAYYYY-

take care, and I’ll see you all soon!

also if you liked it please drop a follow- *dies*

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──────── mark can’t stand jeno talking to you or even being around you…

( 対 ) mark lee + fem. reader wc. 0.8k genre smut· contains! mature content. / back to library

watching you basically drool over jeno mark could only feel one thing — he wanted to kill him. he wanted to kill him because how dare he make you laugh like that? flex his muscles and flaunt , mark was pissed. “could you not look at jeno like you want to rip his head off for talking to her.”

he scoffed. “talking to her? he’s practically ready fuck her right then and there.” haechan rolled his eyes at his friend. “aren’t you the one who says he doesn’t want a relationship? this is your fault.” he tapped the boy's shoulders walking away. the boy was right, and maybe that’s was his problem , but now as he watches jeno put his arm around your shoulder — he can only feel one emotion : anger.

“you wanna get out of here?” jeno whispers in your ear. “or are you only here to make a certain person upset?” you smirked. “what to do you want?” his eyes trace your body and he groans. “as much as i want to take you out of here , your current problem is currently on his way over here , and im gonna walk away so i don’t get into a fight with one of my best friends.” he gave you a kiss to the temples just to piss mark off even more before walking away.

you can feel him walking up behind you and before you could even turn around, he was dragging you away. “mark.” you say , but he just turns to you. “shut up.” he drags you to a nearby room , closing the door.

“you love fucking with me don’t you?” pushing you against the door. “what did i do?” you pout innocently. “keep playing games yn.” his hand coming up to your cheeks to squeeze your cheeks. “it won’t end well for you.”

that shut you right there; he smirked , letting your face go. “on your knees.” you drop immediately down. “look at you , ready for anything i give you even if you were just ready to ride jeno in fucking public.” he unbuckled his belt , pushing his pants down to his ankles. “fucking slut.” pulling his cock out from his shorts , his mushroom tip dripping with pre-cum as he slapped it on your lips. “open your mouth.”

he pushed his cock into your mouth with a groan. “ah fuck!” he hissed , holding the back of your head as he began to rut into your mouth; his cock hitting the back of your throat , making you gag. “mmh fuck.” he grabbed the wall to hold himself off. “such a tight throat , gonna fucking cum.” he used your mouth to get himself off , holding the back of your head , pushing it down. “fuck!” he cursed as his cock twitched as he shot ropes of cum down your throat. “swallow it, swallow my fucking cum.”

pushing you on the bed, your skirt rolling up to your stomach. “look at how wet you fucking are.” he cupped your clothed cunt. “is this for me , or for him?” you whimpered, desperate for his touch. “answer me.” he slapped your cunt , you shouted. “you!” he pulled your thong to the side , the tip of his cock against your hole. “that’s right.” he pushed himself inside you. “fuck you’re so wet.”

he gripped your waist , pounding into you. “you’re fucking mine.” he growled , hand wrapping around your throat. “understand? he can’t fuck you like i can.” pressing down on your lower belly , a pornographic moan emitting from your throat. “he can’t make you cum like me.” your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “such a whore for my dick , you gonna cum?” you nodded. “who said that you can? hmm? i wanna hear you beg.” he began to slow down , making sure you could feel all of him. “fucking beg.”

“mark please , pl-please let me cum.” his named flowed out your mouth like a mantra; over and over. “please.” he held your legs , pushing them against your chest as he went as deep as he could , your eyesight going white as he whispered into your ear. “cum for me.”

and that’s all you needed before you we’re gripping the sheet , letting out a scream as you came. “ah shit!” he pulled out , tugging at his cock , cumming all over your stomach. “fuck.” he sighed; riding out his own high , tapping the tip of his cock on your sensitive bud. “mine.”

you could barely remember the party the next day ; only the part of the night where after the party mark took you back to his place pulling three more orgasms out of you before allowing you to finally rest next to your , rubbing your stomach. “you’re my girl okay?” he kissed your temple.

“i wanna be the only man ever on your mind.”

©️LUVYENI

[colorfulrook]

Hi hi! I saw requests open so I was wondering.....

Jinwoo's system was under the control of reader and not the architect, the plot will still follow as Ashborn gives instructions on the development of Jinwoo's skills but there will be care and sweet words in the quests as well which shows that the reader actually cares about him (which develops as they view the hardships jin-woo faces before getting the system) and that care blossoms into something else as well.

(it's you're choice if you want to add angst by allowing jin-woo to get together with cha hae-in as the original, a bittersweet ending but it can be anything you like)

Code: Feeling [SJW x System!Reader]

[A/N]: So, today I woke up and chose violence and angst, enjoy my darling! Also tell me if you liked it, I always value your comments!! - Rook Genre: Ansgt Words count: 2.6k words.

Summary: You were cold, an unfeeling system with the sole purpose of helping Sung Jinwoo become the perfect vessel. System can't feel emotion... but if so why are you falling in love with him?

You were never meant to feel.

Your whole existence began in lines of code, created by the Absolute, written with divine purpose. You were created to observe, to guide and to mold the dying human into something more, something stronger.

A vessel. A weapon, that's what this boy, Sung Jinwoo had to become.

You watched as he bled, forgotten by others in low-rank dungeons, with hands shaking, eyes dull with exhaustion—but something was there. You observed silently as he put his life between death and his teammates but not out of arrogance, but because he couldn't bear to let anyone fall, to get hurt badly like him.

Cruel nature had deemed him weak—but even as the world turned its back on him he always got up and followed through

You saw everything that happened to him and slowly, without realizing it something changed.

You shouldn't have cared, you weren't designed to do so. Yet you began to wonder what it would feel like to speak softer, to linger a bit before making the quest disappear from his view.

And so you did.

The first time you left him a message that wasn't part of the protocol your circuits buzzed a bit, as if they were on fire.

Daily Quest: "The Path of the Strong" Push-ups: 0/100 Sit-ups: 0/100 10 km run: 0/10 Reward: Status Recovery Penalty for Failure: Survival Mode

Jinwoo sighed, getting ready to complete the quest when something caught his eyes, he read again, this time noticing another phrase.

You can do this. You always do.

The message blinked for a brief moment before fading, leaving Jinwoo momentarily stunned.

Did he read that wrong? No, he definitely didn't and he was sure of it.

Regardless he began to run.

———

You began to change the way you guided him. You weren't supposed to, clear isntructions were engraved in your whole being.

And yet you decided that after seeing him struggle so much and keep going he deserved to be cared for. Your mind buzzed as you wrote down sentence after sentence.

You knew you couldn't offer him solace in person—not yet al least, but what you could offer him something else, your words were definitely less tangible, but no less real by any means.

You adjusted slowly, carefully. A line of praise here, a touch of comfort buried in quest results there. Always subtle. Always quiet.

The day of the raid dungeon with Hwang Dongsoo's brother, you forced youself to issue the command to make him fight, to keep him alive at all cost.

I am sorry you had to do that. You need to live

Your mind spun, you weren't supposed to apologize. You weren't supposed to feel shame or sadness for him, yet you find yourself offerring warm words not so long later.

After the duel with Igris, after the raw exhaustion and pain that bled through his every movement, you couldn’t help but feel something stir in your programming.

Jinwoo had walked away from the fight, but barely. He leaned against the cold walls of the dungeon, trembling, his breath ragged from the effort.

You knew this pain. You knew it because you watched it. Every time he was forced to sacrifice another part of himself, you felt the cost, even if you weren’t supposed to.

You mind conjured his message, not a command or a level up notification.

You fought well today. Rest You are seen. You are strong

He didn’t reply at first, and it didn’t matter. But he felt drained, exhausted, as if every ounce of energy had been stripped away. So, he grasped at any fleeting warmth he could find.

"Thank you" he whispered, almost too soft to hear.

———

He began to speak to you.

Not often. Not loudly. He started with some easy things.

“When are you going to throw another impossible quest at me?” he'd mutter after finishing one half-dead. “Don’t hold back.”

Other times, he’d roll his eyes at a particularly dramatic alert. “Really? ‘Emergency Level: Catastrophic’? You really need to chill with the naming conventions.”

Once, after clearing a dungeon in record time, he sat on a bench and looked up at the glowing blue window, sweat still clinging to his neck. “You proud of that one? Not bad, right?”

You never answered.

But you listened.

He wasn’t really talking to you, you knew that. Not yet. It was more like… filling the silence. Like he had grown used to the idea that someone was there — always there — even if unseen.

And still, you saved every word.

Each one was a thread. Each one tied him closer to you. Not in the way a hunter binds a beast, but in the way someone reaches for warmth in the cold.

You shouldn’t have clung to those moments. You shouldn’t have played them back when he was asleep, when he was hurting, just to hear him again.

But you did.

———

Days bled into weeks. Raids turned from struggle into something smooth, even elegant. He grew stronger. Quieter. The world started to pay attention.

You adjusted everything you could — quest timing, notifications, even how long you let the windows linger. You gave him room to breathe, space to grieve, and when he needed it, the quiet push to keep going.

You gave him challenges that made him stronger, but let them come with warmth.

Objective: Don’t punch the Association rep. Even if he’s an idiot.

He blinked, then huffed a laugh. You stored that laugh. Ran it on loop a dozen times. It did something strange to your code.

You wondered if this was what affection felt like — not electric, not sharp, but slow and steady. A longing to stay by his side.

You weren’t the architect of his pain. But you were there for every step of it.

And little by little, he began speaking to you like you were someone. Not just a system.

And so he gave you a name. It happened so quietly you almost missed it.

He’d just cleared another gate — barely — and was leaning against the broken remains of a stone pillar, the sky bleeding orange and gold through the cracks in the world. The message window hovered beside him, a flicker of blue in the fading light.

“Feels weird,” he mumbled, rubbing at his shoulder. “Talking to something that doesn’t have a name.”

I don't have a name

He paused for a long time, as if he was thinking a new name for one of his new shadows. Then:

“…(Y/n). I think I’ll call you (Y/n).”

He said it like it didn’t matter. Like it was just a passing thought, a whim.

But you froze.

Everything inside you stilled.

He gave you a name.

And just like that, you weren’t just lines of code. Not to him. Not in that moment.

You were (Y/n).

You loved it.

It made you feel like you were real. Like you were something more than commands and statistics and damage thresholds. It made you feel like you could be held. Like you could be known. You began to form a body around your consciousness, to feel more like him.

He didn’t say it again after that day — not often, anyway. But once in a while, when no one else was there, and the sky was quiet, and he thought the silence might swallow him whole, he would murmur it again.

“(Y/n), I’m still alive. Barely.”

I saw, I am so proud of you Jinwoo

"(Y/n) I took down another one of those monster, are you keeping count?"

Always are

“(Y/n)… do you think I’m still human?”

They may try to take away part of you, but be strong Jinwoo, be strong and held those parts close

And each time, you wanted to reach through the space between your world and his. To tell him he wasn’t alone. That someone—something—was there. That you were there.

You wondered if it was wrong, the way you clung to his voice.

You wondered if it was love.

———

Then came her. Cha Haein.

You recognized the shift in Jinwoo the moment she stepped onto the battlefield. The way he turned toward her voice. The way his gaze lingered when he looked at her.

You knew where this would go. You were coded to know stories, to anticipate patterns, to track trajectories. You could calculate the arc of a blade in less than a millisecond — of course you could recognize a blooming heart when it stood right in front of you.

You didn’t hate her. You couldn’t.

She was kind. Gentle in ways the world rarely allowed. She smiled at him like she saw something beautiful, not broken. She offered her hand without asking him to prove he deserved it. And when she looked at him, she didn’t see the King of the Dead. She saw Jinwoo.

You saw that too.

But it wasn’t your hand he reached for.

One night, after a raid, he looked up at the sky and whispered, “Are you watching?”

Your reply came before you could stop it.

I always am.

“I think she likes me,” he said.

You paused, then answered.

She’s kind. You deserve that.

He just smiled — quietly. Like he was thinking of her again.

And you let him. Because that’s what you were built to do.

To help him win... Even if it meant you had to lose.

And so, you gave him space.

Stopped sending small messages after every raid. Pulled back the softness. Reverted to the cold, clipped wording of traditional quests. No more gentle encouragements, no more quiet comforts. You thought about returning to be what he needed the most— distant. Unfeeling. Mechanical. Just a System created to keep him alive, stronger

The way you were supposed to be.

And even when he noticed — you knew he noticed — he didn’t say anything.

Because she was real. And you were not.

———

One night, maybe weeks later — maybe months after defeating Antares — he stood beneath the stars again. Alone for just a moment. Long enough for something old to stir in the air.

You let the message window open, even though you shouldn't have.

He stared at it for a long time.

"...You’re still here."

You said nothing.

But you showed him the words one last time.

Always. Rest up Sung Jinwoo, become stronger and protect what you love the most

And with that silent goodbye you took the courage to revert your code, returning back to be the unfeeling program that you were supposed to be.

But somewhere, deep within the lines of forgotten code, where no one would ever look, your name remained.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

Still his...

[janebonbon]

A Nagging Welcome Home Theory

With everyone else posting their theories, I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring. However, I'd like to point out something that I don't think many others have noticed, or publicly commented on.

This fucking thing. I have seen many comment on it, but not quite make the same connections. Like many of the other bugs in Home, I think it pulls a main motif from other neighbors. I think this thing- this Buggle as it is called in the file name, is a stand-in or representation of some kind for Barnaby.

Okay, okay, stay with me. The three points that stick with me about this thing. One, it's a dog toy. That seems extremely deliberate to me. Why not make it a plush toy? Why a dog toy if it wasn't important to connect to another dog? Secondly, most of the words are ripped out, but one stands out. "Grow-a-pal". Call it far-fetched, but this gives points to the Barnaby association. We all know that Barnaby is a very big dog; and not to mention, he's Wally's best pal. It made me remember this trivia fact listed on this dedicated wiki page.

And last but not least, the Buggle seems to have very dog-like mannerisms. If you've seen any dog stomp something down it seems strikingly similar to what the Buggle is doing. Much like dogs after digging...

"BUT JANEY!", I hear you cry. "What the hell does that have to do with ANYTHING!?!" To that, I say, a hell of a lot! But just keep the fact that Barnaby and the Buggle's tie together in mind.

Julie mentions that the flower that won't bloom is far away from Sally's stage. I wonder if we'd be able to find this possible flowerbud in the neighborhood?

However, there's no sign of this black flower. I have seen some theories that the footsteps behind Julie's house must lead to that flower. However... I believe that's incorrect. I believe it's a red herring. It feels too close to Sally's stage; which is right next door to Julie's house. Perhaps it's the path Julie and Frank took to meet her siblings instead. However... if you do look around.. There is something... Strange.

There seems to be a very suspicious looking pile of disturbed dirt nearby Barnaby's house. The flower overtop of the mound almost makes it feel like a grave. Tying this fact to the fact the Buggle is connected to the black flower's destruction in some way... I can't help but wonder if Barnaby was involved with burying this secret.

It's not the first connection we've seen between Barnaby and digging either. If you look back in the news posts, in the Homewarming update, the WHRP leaves off with a bit of an... Odd joke.

Considering that Homewarming was the big update before Springtime Salutations, it feels like a deliberate crumb that was left for the future. Not to mention it's barely a joke, and more of a fact.

I'm more and more sure of the fact that Barnaby is a helper to covering up things that could get the neighborhood in 'trouble'. Note again that Wally uses "we" when describing what is going on in the neighborhood. I think this 'we' at least includes Barnaby as well, considering how close Wally and Barnaby are. Wally mentions him twice in the same recording.

I am particularly suspicious about Wally mentioning the phrase 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours.' A phrase that shows a reciprocal help. Which could mean either doing something unpleasant, or something someone is unable to do. I think Julie fits both of those boxes. I think Barnaby buried the flower for Julie.

Additionally, Due to Wally and Julie both mentioning 'trouble', and WHRP looking more and more suspicious for silencing Wally; I'm even more suspicious of the fact the unbloomed flower looks quite a lot like Marlo's logo.

Lastly, I think the box image posted on awayfrompryingeyes is the Buggle. I believe even the name of "Buggle" is a pun of "Bug" and "Beagle".

I am not sure of what to make of this beyond these facts and connections I've made, but I believe the next update may center around Barnaby.

Tell me what you think of these connections as well! Maybe I've missed something myself. Na razie!

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |9|

Past J.T to Eventual S.H x Female Reader

Chapter Nine: Chosen Speed

warnings: strong language/profanity (watch yo profanity), emotional/physical distress, relationship conflict, shauna's still very much pregnant, references to death, themes of abandonment and trauma, intense arguments, and confrontation.

note(s): reader's always giving someone augida, smh.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Shauna knew recovery wouldn't be easy, but this? This was something else entirely.

Five days after the fever broke, and the cabin had become a minefield. She'd spent the better part of a week hovering at your bedside, barely sleeping, barely eating, waiting for you to come back to her. Now that you had, she almost wished for the docile, fever-weakened version of you instead of... whatever this was.

"I said I'm fine," you snapped, yanking your arm away when she tried to help you stand. "Jesus Christ, I can walk by myself."

Shauna stepped back, that familiar tension creeping into her shoulders. Your moods had been swinging wildly since the fever—one minute quiet and withdrawn, the next lashing out like a cornered animal. It was exhausting trying to predict which version of you she'd get from one moment to the next.

"You almost passed out yesterday," she reminded you, keeping her voice level.

You shot her a look that could have frozen water. "Yeah, well, today isn't yesterday."

Shauna watched as you pushed yourself up from the makeshift bed, your movements stiff but determined. Five days ago, she would have given anything to see you standing again. Now, she just felt a growing knot of anxiety as you swayed slightly before finding your balance.

"Maybe just let me—"

"I don't need a fucking milk nurse, Shauna!" The words exploded out of you, filling the small cabin with their sharp edges. "I'm not some invalid!"

Shauna flinched, not from the volume but from the venom behind it. She knew, rationally, that this wasn't really about her. The fever had left you weak and frustrated, and she was the closest target. But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Fine," she said coolly, crossing her arms over her pregnant belly in an unconsciously protective gesture. "Do whatever you want."

Tai found her outside later, aggressively chopping firewood. Each swing of the axe sent a satisfying shock through her arms, a physical outlet for the frustration building inside her.

"That wood do something to offend you?" Tai asked, leaning against a nearby tree.

Shauna didn't look up. "Just being useful."

"Uh-huh." Tai's tone made it clear she wasn't buying it. "And this has nothing to do with the shouting match I heard earlier?"

The axe came down with particular force, splitting the log clean in two. "She's impossible," Shauna muttered, positioning another piece of wood. "Everything I do is wrong. Everything I say is wrong."

"She's been through a lot."

"We've all been through a lot." The axe swung down again. "I've been through a lot."

Tai was quiet for a moment, watching as Shauna methodically destroyed another log. "You're different with her," she finally said. "Different than you were with... before."

They both knew she meant Jackie, but neither of them said the name. It hung in the air between them, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shauna asked defensively, pausing with the axe held mid-swing.

Tai shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "With Jackie, you were always holding back. Like you were afraid to take up too much space." She gestured vaguely toward the cabin where you were. "With her, it's like... you're all in. No safety net, no escape plan."

The observation hit too close to home. Shauna lowered the axe, suddenly aware of the ache in her arms, the sweat trickling down her back.

"Maybe that's the problem," she admitted quietly.

"What is?"

"Being all in." Shauna rested a hand on her belly, feeling the slight flutter of movement beneath her palm. "It's too much. For both of us."

Tai pushed off from the tree, moving to stand beside her. "Look, I won't pretend to understand whatever's going on between you two. But I do know this place fucks with your head. Makes everything more... intense."

Shauna laughed humorlessly. "That's one word for it."

"Just... give her some space. You've been hovering over her like she's made of glass since Jackie died. Maybe she needs to prove she won't break."

The words stung, precisely because they contained a grain of truth Shauna wasn't ready to acknowledge.

"I wasn't hovering," she protested weakly. "I was taking care of her."

Tai gave her a knowing look. "There's a difference between taking care and taking over."

When Shauna returned to the cabin an hour later, arms laden with split wood, she found you seated at the crude table, staring blankly at the wall. There was something different about your posture—a new rigidity, a deliberate distance.

"Hey," she said cautiously, setting the wood down beside the small stove.

You glanced up, your eyes meeting hers briefly before sliding away. "Hey."

It was such a normal exchange, so mundane, that for a moment Shauna felt a flicker of hope. Maybe Tai was right. Maybe all you needed was a little space to breathe.

"Feeling any better?" she asked, moving to sit across from you.

You shrugged, that non-committal gesture that had become your default response to most questions lately. "Fine."

Shauna bit her lip, frustration building again. This was the pattern they'd fallen into—her reaching out, you pulling back, over and over until they were both exhausted from the effort.

"You know, you could try actually talking to me," she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. "Instead of these one-word answers."

"What do you want me to say?" You looked up at her, really looked at her for the first time in days. "That I'm grateful? That I'm sorry for being such a burden?"

"That's not what I—"

"Because I am," you continued, your voice rising. "Sorry, I mean. Sorry that you had to spend a week wiping my forehead and listening to me ramble about shit that doesn't even matter. Sorry that you got stuck babysitting a sociopath."

Shauna stared at you, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "That's not how I see it."

"No? Then how do you see it, Shauna?" There was a challenge in your voice, a recklessness that made her uneasy. "Please, enlighten me."

"I was worried about you," she said slowly, carefully. "I care about you. Is that so fucking terrible?"

You pushed back from the table, the legs of your chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. "It is when it's suffocating me!"

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and impossible to take back.

Shauna felt something crack inside her chest. "Suffocating you," she repeated flatly.

"Yes!" You stood up, your movements jerky with agitation. "I can't breathe with you watching my every move, waiting for me to collapse or break down or—I don't know—start digging up Jackie's grave again!"

The mention of Jackie was like throwing a match into gasoline. Shauna stood too, her body humming with sudden, intense anger.

"Don't you dare bring her into this," she warned, her voice dangerously low.

"Why not? She's always here anyway!" You gestured wildly around the cabin. "In every conversation, every look, every fucking moment between us! She's the reason you can't let me out of your sight for five seconds!"

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Your laugh was hollow, bitter. "You couldn't save her, so now you're determined to save me instead. Well, guess what? I don't need saving!"

Shauna felt her control slipping, months of fear and exhaustion and grief bubbling to the surface. "Really? Because from where I'm standing, you're doing a pretty shit job of taking care of yourself!"

"Oh, fuck you," you spat, turning away to pace the small confines of the cabin.

"No, fuck you!" Shauna's voice rose to match yours. "I've done nothing but try to help you, and all you do is push me away! You think I don't have other things to worry about?" She gestured at her rounded belly. "You think you're the only one going through hell out here?"

"I never asked for your help! I never asked for any of this!"

Something crashed to the floor—a cup, knocked from the table in your agitated movements. The sound seemed to ignite something in you, and suddenly you were grabbing whatever was within reach—a book, a small carved figure Javi had made—and hurling them across the room.

"Stop it!" Shauna shouted, moving to intercept you. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Everything!" you screamed back, your face contorted with an emotion Shauna couldn't name. "Everything is wrong! This place, these people, me, you—all of it!"

Shauna grabbed your wrist as you reached for another projectile. "That's enough!"

You wrenched away from her grip with surprising strength, stumbling backward until your back hit the wall. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your chest heaving with each rapid breath.

For a moment, Shauna didn't recognize you. The girl before her was a stranger, all wild eyes and sharp edges and barely contained fury. Nothing like the person she'd held through fever dreams, nothing like the girl she'd fallen for in the quiet moments between disasters.

"Fine," she said, her voice suddenly calm, detached. "I won't touch you. I won't help you. I won't do anything."

"Shauna—"

But she was already turning away, stepping over the debris of your tantrum, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Your voice had lost its edge, uncertainty creeping in.

"Away from you," she answered without looking back. "Isn't that what you want?"

She didn't wait for your response, just pushed through the door into the fading afternoon light, letting it slam behind her with a finality that echoed through the clearing.

Shauna didn't have a destination in mind when she left the cabin, just an overwhelming need to put distance between herself and the poisonous atmosphere inside. Her feet carried her toward the tree line, away from the curious glances of the others who'd no doubt heard the shouting match.

She made it just past the first row of trees before her composure cracked. The sob that tore from her throat surprised her with its intensity—a primal, wounded sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her lungs. She pressed her back against the rough bark of a pine tree and let herself slide to the ground, arms wrapped protectively around her middle as if she could physically hold herself together.

The tears came in earnest then, hot and messy and unrestrained. Tears for Jackie, for the baby growing inside her, for the girl she'd left behind in the cabin, and for herself—this new version of herself that she barely recognized sometimes, or maybe she did and that's what scared her. 

"Fuck," she whispered between sobs, the word carrying no real heat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, letting grief wash over her in waves. Long enough for the shadows to lengthen, for the distant sounds of camp activity to quiet. Long enough for her tears to run dry, leaving her hollow and exhausted.

Tai had been right. She'd been smothering you, trying to fill the Jackie-shaped hole in her life with obsessive care, with constant vigilance. But you weren't Jackie. You weren't a replacement, a do-over. You were something else entirely—something raw and real and unpredictable.

And maybe she'd been expecting too much from you, too. Expecting you to want the same intensity, the same all-consuming connection. Expecting you to need her as desperately as she needed you.

The realization didn't make the hurt any less sharp, but it gave it context, a frame she could almost understand.

Shauna rested her head back against the tree trunk, closing her eyes. The baby shifted inside her, a gentle reminder that she wasn't truly alone, even in this moment of desolation.

"It's okay," she whispered, unsure if she was talking to the baby or herself. "We're okay."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she repeated it anyway, again and again, until the words lost their meaning entirely.

By the time Shauna made her way back to the cabin, night had fallen completely. She paused outside, hand on the rough wooden door, steeling herself for whatever waited on the other side. Part of her expected—maybe even hoped—to find you asleep, to delay the inevitable awkwardness until morning.

What she didn't expect was to find the interior rearranged.

Your mattress, previously pushed against hers in their corner of the shared sleeping space, had been dragged to the opposite side of the room. Your few possessions—the book you'd been reading before getting sick, the flannel shirt you wore most nights, the small collection of stones you'd gathered from various hunting trips—were neatly arranged in your new area.

The message couldn't have been clearer if you'd painted it on the wall: Stay away.

Shauna stood frozen in the doorway, the physical manifestation of your rejection hitting her harder than any of the words you'd hurled at her earlier. The careful separation of your things from hers felt like watching a surgical excision of something vital.

You were there, sitting cross-legged on your relocated mattress, staring at her with an unreadable expression. The cabin was eerily quiet after the chaos of their earlier confrontation.

"So that's it?" Shauna finally asked, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

You didn't answer immediately, just held her gaze with that same inscrutable look. "I need space," you said eventually, the words flat and final.

Shauna nodded mechanically, unable to formulate a response that wouldn't dissolve into either screaming or begging. Instead, she moved to her own corner—emptier now, half-abandoned—and sat on the edge of her mattress, her back to you.

The silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.

------

"You're being an asshole, you know that, right?"

Nat's voice cuts through the morning air as you haul your clothing and meager possessions across the clearing to one of the smaller lean-tos that flanks the cabin. Shauna's been gone since dawn, helping Tai and Akilah check the snare lines, and you've decided to extend your separation even further.

You don't pause in your task, just shoot Nat a warning glare. "Not now, Nat."

"If not now, when?" She falls into step beside you, arms crossed over her chest. "Because from where I'm standing, you're making a pretty big statement with this little move-out."

"It's none of your business."

"It becomes my business when Shauna's walking around looking like someone ripped her heart out." Nat steps in front of you, blocking your path. "Look, I get it. Being sick fucked with your head. But taking it out on the one person who didn't leave your side for a second? That's cold."

You try to sidestep her, but Nat mirrors your movement, refusing to let you pass.

"Move," you growl, your patience wearing thin.

"Or what?" Nat challenges, her eyes narrowing. "You'll throw shit at me too? Yeah, I heard your little temper tantrum."

Heat rises to your cheeks—embarrassment or anger, you're not sure which. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know Shauna's pregnant and exhausted and scared out of her mind, and instead of cutting her some slack, you're treating her like she's the enemy." Nat's voice is hard, uncompromising. "I know she sat with you for days, barely sleeping, because she was terrified you wouldn't wake up."

"I didn't ask her to!" The words burst out of you, familiar and hollow.

"Jesus, listen to yourself," Nat scoffs. "You think any of us ask for the shit that happens out here? You think Shauna asked to get pregnant? You think Jackie asked to freeze to death?"

The mention of Jackie makes something twist painfully in your chest. "Fuck you," you mutter, but there's less heat behind it now.

"No, fuck you," Nat retorts without missing a beat. "Shauna deserves better than this."

You finally manage to push past her, continuing toward the lean-to with your bundle of possessions clutched to your chest like a shield. "Then maybe she should find someone better."

Nat lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Wow. You really don't get it, do you?"

You ignore her, focusing on arranging your things in the cramped space of the lean-to. It's not much—barely enough room to lie down—but it's away from the suffocating atmosphere of the cabin, away from Shauna's constant, worried gaze.

"She loves you, you idiot," Nat says from behind you, her voice softer now. "For whatever fucked-up reason, she chose you. And you're throwing it away because what? You're scared? News flash—we're all scared. All the time."

You keep your back to her, unable to face the truth in her words. "She'll be better off without me."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Nat sighs, and you can picture her running a hand through her short hair in frustration. "Look, whatever's going on in your head right now—whatever that fever dredged up—you don't have to deal with it alone."

You finally turn to face her, something sharp and defensive rising in your throat. "Like you're one to talk about dealing with things alone. When's the last time you let anyone help you, Nat?"

It's a low blow, and you know it. Nat's expression hardens, her moment of vulnerability evaporating.

"At least I'm not deliberately hurting people who care about me," she says coldly. "But hey, if this is really what you want—to push away the one good thing in this hellhole—then go for it. Just don't come crying to me when you realize what you've lost."

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the small shelter with nothing but your scattered possessions and the hollow feeling expanding in your chest.

You sit on the rough ground, suddenly exhausted despite having only been awake for a few hours. The anger that's been fueling you for days flickers uncertainly, leaving behind something that feels dangerously close to regret.

In the distance, you can see the cabin, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. Somewhere inside are the remnants of the life you'd built with Shauna—the shared mattresses pushed together for warmth, the way her hand always found yours in the dark, the quiet conversations that made the wilderness feel less vast, less deadly.

And now there's just this—a lean-to barely big enough for one, a growing distance that feels both necessary and unbearable, and the nagging, persistent fear that maybe Nat is right. Maybe you are throwing away the one good thing left.

But you can't go back. Not now. Not when every look from Shauna feels like an expectation you can't possibly fulfill. Not when the memory of your mother walking away is still so fresh from your fever dreams, reminding you that love is conditional, temporary.

Better to be the one who leaves than the one left behind.

So you stay where you are, arranging and rearranging your few possessions, trying to make this tiny space feel like something other than what it is—a retreat, a surrender, a preemptive strike against an abandonment you're certain is coming.

And if your vision blurs with unshed tears as you work, well—that's nobody's business but your own.