#chapter one: what's reality any more

[embalmic]

@blindsite || loud & deafening silence || accepting!

indulge. find sweeney drinking to cope (as he always does 🫠)

southern louisiana air comes rolling through the french windows and shuttered doors hanging open on their rusty hinges. thick as molasses and carrying the smell of the mississippi, jasmine, magnolias and ferns from the gardens, and a petrichor from early morning fog. rain. mist rolled in from the river and the spray from half a dozen hoses and a street cleaner outside trying to wipe away the sin and debauchery of the quarter the night before. never help to try and doll up bourbon street a block away before she gets used, abused and tossed aside by a bunch of drunkards within a handful of hours..

new orleans only stops pouring to it's guests as long as it takes to give the bars and cobblestone streets a whore's bath. speaking of pouring and whore's baths? she's come barefoot down into the bar and she sees someone's right back out of the gutter she keeps finding him in and bellied up to the counter of an empty bar. several bottles are gone with the wind and he looks like he's drinking straight out of another one.

a tapered brow crooks up. pale arms that've gotten some of their color back cross over her chest. she won't say she took an extra few minutes staring at them this morning. laura doesn't say anything. she watches. teeth biting against the insides of her lips. until she starts to approach.

she's quiet when she climbs up onto the stool and then continues further and sits on the bar in front of him and to the immediate left avoiding the empty bottles til she reaches over and picks up one. blowing out a breath, she rocks it back and forth in her hand. silently, she sits it off to her side and lifts up the one he's working on now.

the liquor barely warms her throat on the way down. but it does. "did you sleep? or have you been doing this all night?" her bare foot bounces off his side. "you can drink as much of this as you want. i think you're way past the stunting your fucking growth part. sorry to say. you're stuck being a ginger giant forever." her way of saying what the fuck, stop worrying me..but hey..it's her. what do you expect?

[todayisafridaynight]

born to do a Saeko Only y7 run forced to be technically illiterate

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, manipulation wc: 5155 a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future. series masterlist < next chapter

“Cash or card?”

“Card.”

The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.

It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that. 

A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour. 

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store. 

Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!” 

“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.

He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.” 

Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.

You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him. 

It’s hard, yes. But so is parenting. 

The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”

Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is coming up soon. There’s gonna be food and music.”

Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”

“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.” 

And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Can Papa come?” he frowns. 

No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience. 

The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.

He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature. 

“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.

Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”

“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”

After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store. 

Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.

You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.

Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.

It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”

Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”

“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”

When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.

Soon, images of his father, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him. 

Not now.

You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time. 

You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.

It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.

This is what parenting is all about, isn’t it?

Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.

It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left. 

Koji.

If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility. 

I wanna see Papa.

Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.

A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.

For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.

Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.

Gojo Satoru.

The father of your child, your ex of 4 years. 

You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in five years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.

He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.

You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of nineteen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group. 

You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?

You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.

But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.

Letting him meet his father. 

“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual. 

The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.

You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”

“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”

He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”

“Good, and you?” 

“Very good.” 

The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness. 

You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”

Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.

The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”

“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.

“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”

You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”

He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”

Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.

Whatever. 

“Pizza or teriyaki?”

“Pizza!”

“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites. 

“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks. 

You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes. 

Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock. 

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”

It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly. 

“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.

“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.

“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”

He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”

Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been five years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”

He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course. 

You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”

“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.

Well…..shit. 

As if things weren’t already complicated.

With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..

“I-is this—”

“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”

Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”

You nod uncomfortably. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”

Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”

Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?”

The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers. 

“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”

“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”

Silence. 

You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”

There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”

You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”

Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.” 

“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”

With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.

Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–

“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”

“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”

But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”

Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”

Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”

“And I like it when you smile with me too.”

Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally. 

You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.

That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.

But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be. 

Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad. 

The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”

“S-satoru!” 

“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”

He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.

He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out. 

Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes,  but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two. 

In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles. 

“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”

“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”

Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”

Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness”. 

Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.” 

“For what?”

“It’s important.”

“So just say it now.”

“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”

“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.

“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.

Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”

Once again, she frowns. “But I—”

“Please.” 

His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving. 

“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”

“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”

“That woman is not sweet.” 

Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.” 

A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”

“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”

Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”

Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.

Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”

A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out.

“Who?” Satoru ends up asking.

His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”

Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten.  “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now. 

“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”

a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.�� She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Scarred For Half A Life ~

First of all, I am never doing this style again—I think. I was trying out something new, even when this wasn’t planned first!

Anyway, I was working on this piece, when something shot through my mind. Yeah, that scar. And I began to write a story—Of course I did.

(Sketch of this one is lurking on the bottom of this post, lol)

The story is called Scarred For Half A Life.

Why this title? Well. Because Danny is half human—alive, and half ghost—dead. Instead of ‘Scarred for life’. Bad joke, I know.

Published first two chapters here.

———————

Genre: Angst/Pain And Comfort (and a little Horror)

Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress — Violence — Graphic Content

Rating: M

———————

Summary:

Danny had been captured by the GiW once again, or so he thinks. Leaving him feeling utterly helpless—vulnerable. There was nothing he could do. What will happen to him? And why again?

Spoiler:

Was he here—there? Trapped in some forbidden wasteland in the middle of a desolate desert? He couldn’t even remember how he had ended up in this place. His mind scrambled for answers, but nothing came. What had happened? Back home… did he even still have a home? Or was this lifeless prison now his new reality? How long had he already been here? Days? Weeks?

His mind grew hazy, a dense fog clouding his thoughts and erasing his memories, one by one, as they slipped into the unreachable corners of his mind. He fought desperately to stay conscious, clinging to the faint hope that this was nothing more than a terrible dream—a nightmare he might eventually wake from. But the fight was slipping from his grasp. His body was too weak, his strength utterly spent. The darkness pressed in, heavy and unrelenting, until he couldn’t hold on any longer. With a final, defeated breath, he surrendered to the pitch-black void—a hollow, empty space that led to… nothing.

———————

Sketch of Danny. When he would be 17 years old, maybe? I don’t know.

He looks tired. I am aware.

[stylesispunk]

'Silent Strain' | part I

Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

next chapter

summary: Joel and you knew that bringing a child into this mad world was a mistake, but he wanted to give you the best that was left of that world after all.

w.c: 12,6k (this was 5k at the beginning)

warnings: established relationship, age gap (Joel is 43 and Reader 32) angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, fluff, not proofreading, sorry. The events of this story happen 10 years after the outbreak.

a/n: New Sunday, new fic? This one was on my drafts and I thought about developing a little bit more because I wanted to write one where Joel wasn't an asshole. This may become a really short series. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Mornings in the QZ were far from a story teller, always bleak as any other, somber and carrying the weight of the guilty grieving each people who has survived this far dealt with.

Many people had become the worst versions of themselves, just monsters they never thought they would be. Others woke up with the survivor’s guilt, after years of letting go their people, family and friends.

And others carried all that, but had found a little spark shinning on their path.

That was your case.

And Joel’s too.

You both had found each other just a few years after the world descended into chaos. After that, you become each other’s anchor until now.

Even when days seemed to be grayer, even when Joel seemed a bit lost after losing his contact with Tommy.

Even on days when the world seemed grayer, even when Joel seemed a little more distant—his thoughts lost somewhere along the frayed edges of his mind, burdened by the loss of contact with Tommy—you held on. You knew what he was feeling; it was a familiar ache, a common wound you both carried.

Tommy was Joel’s last person who shared his blood. His brother, his last piece of family and what the old world had left him.

But he also had you, and that made him alive.

You woke up slowly, the thin, rough blanket tangled around your legs, the mattress beneath you creaking as you shifted. The air was cold, seeping through the cracks in the walls, and the faint light of dawn barely penetrated the small, grimy window. Outside, you could hear the sounds of the QZ waking up, the distant, muffled voices of guards changing shifts, the echo of boots on concrete, and the occasional shout. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, trying to keep the chill at bay.

The room you and Joel shared was small, barely large enough for the bed and a rickety chair in the corner. Outside the doors, there was the rest of the old apartment that worked as a roof for the both of you, and Tess.

The walls were stained with years of neglect, paint peeling in long strips, revealing the bare concrete beneath. There was a small table near the window where a lone candle had burned down to a stub, wax pooling on the surface, solidifying in random patterns. It had been another long, sleepless night, the dark hours stretching on endlessly, and you could feel it in your bones, an ache that went deeper than simple tiredness.

You glanced over at Joel, still asleep beside you, his face etched with lines of worry even in rest. He lay on his side, one arm slung over his face, his brow furrowed as if he were fighting off some invisible enemy in his dreams. The mornings were hardest on him, you knew. Waking up to the same bleak reality day after day, the hope of finding Tommy growing thinner with each passing moment.

A wave of nausea hit you unexpectedly, a sudden queasiness that made your stomach twist. You shut your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn't been feeling well for a few days now, just a lingering discomfort you chalked up to the lack of proper food or maybe stress. Nothing in this world was kind to the body or the mind anymore.

You pushed yourself up, careful not to wake Joel, and swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold, cracked floor. The chill ran up your legs, making you shiver. You sat there for a moment, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your stomach as if trying to calm the unease that rolled there. There was a strange heaviness to it, something that seemed different, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The thought crossed your mind, quick and unbidden, a possibility you immediately pushed away. It was too absurd, too impossible to consider. Not here, not now, not in this broken world.

You rose to your feet, steadying yourself on the edge of the table, your fingers brushing against the melted wax. You glanced back at Joel, who still hadn’t stirred, his breathing deep and even. You knew he needed the sleep, needed a moment of peace, however fleeting. You moved quietly toward the window, peering out through the dirt-streaked glass. The world outside was shrouded in mist, the familiar shapes of the crumbling buildings barely visible in the pale morning light.

There was a time when you might have found the sight beautiful, in a melancholic way. Now it just seemed desolate. Empty.

Another wave of nausea hit, stronger this time, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself. You felt a sharp pang of fear, a sudden flash of panic that cut through the fog of morning fatigue. You forced it down, tried to stay calm. You couldn’t afford to be anything else.

From behind you, you heard the faint rustle of the bed as Joel shifted, his voice rough and low. “You, okay?” he murmured, still half-asleep, his words slurred with exhaustion.

You turned to look at him, forcing a smile, though you weren’t sure he could see it in the dim light. “Yeah… just a bit cold,” you lied softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He blinked at you, eyes heavy-lidded, and then nodded, seeming to accept it. “Come back to bed,” he mumbled, his voice carrying a warmth that made something in your chest tighten. “It’s still early.”

For a moment, you hesitated, feeling the cold air around you, the uncertainty pressing in. But then you moved back to the bed, sliding in beside him, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers of fabric. He reached out, pulling you close, his arm draping over you protectively, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of safety as Joel stirred Joel stirred, his hand rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. “Are you sure you are, okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in your voice. “Just a headache.”

He kissed the top of your head, the simple gesture sending a pang of guilt through you. “You’ve been getting a lot of those lately,” he noted, concern creeping into his tone.

You forced a smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Just stress, I think.”

He hummed in response, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. He gently nudged you off his chest, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. His eyes searched your face, and you had to fight the urge to look away. Joel had a way of seeing right through you, and you were afraid he might catch a glimpse of the truth you were hiding.

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been saying’ that a lot lately. Maybe you should rest today, stay in bed.”

You shook your head, knowing you couldn’t afford to take a day off. Life in the QZ was unforgiving, and everyone had to pull their weight. “I’ll be fine. We’ve got too much to do, and they’re already short-handed at the ration line.”

You forced yourself to follow suit, pushing through the lingering nausea as you pulled on your worn clothes. The headache throbbed with each movement, but you bit back the discomfort, determined not to let it show. Joel kept glancing over at you, as if expecting you to collapse at any moment, but you just offered him a reassuring smile, even if it didn’t reach your eyes.

Once you were both ready, you stepped out into the harsh reality of the QZ. The streets were crowded, people moving about with a sense of urgency, always on edge. You and Joel made your way through the throng, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you through the chaos.

At the ration line, the day passed in a blur of monotonous tasks—distributing food, managing the restless crowd, keeping an eye out for trouble. But the ache in your head never fully faded, and every now and then, you had to pause, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

Joel noticed, of course. He was always watching, always worrying, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff exterior. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked again when you took a brief break, his tone betraying his concern.

“Yeah, just… It’s probably just the air or something,” you said, shrugging it off. But you could tell he didn’t believe you.

“See you later, then?” he asked before parting ways with you to your different duties.

“Yeah, see you later,” you replied, forcing a smile, trying to reassure him. Joel lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours, he planted a kiss on your lips before turning to head off to his assigned area. You watched him go, feeling a mix of guilt and relief. You hated lying to him, but what could you say? That the world seemed to be spinning just a little bit too fast? That every time you bent over, a wave of nausea washed over you? It would only make him worry more.

The hours dragged on, the sun creeping across the sky, bringing with it a sticky heat that clung to your skin. By midday, your headache had grown worse, a steady throb that pounded behind your eyes. The noise of the crowd seemed to amplify the pain, voices blending into a harsh cacophony. You rubbed at your temples, willing it to stop, but it only seemed to make it worse.

At one point, while lifting another crate filled with canned goods, a sharp pain shot through your abdomen, causing you to drop the box with a loud thud. A few people nearby turned to look, but you waved them off, trying to catch your breath. The soldier supervising the line glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “You good there?” he asked, his tone half-concerned, half-annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, bending down to retrieve the cans that had spilled onto the ground. Your hands shook slightly, and you felt a bead of sweat roll down your back. The soldier didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the line.

“Then clean the mess you made” he ordered.

You nodded, swallowing down the nausea that threatened to rise again. “Yes, sir,” you replied, bending down to pick up the cans. Your fingers felt clumsy, and every time you moved, the pain in your abdomen seemed to sharpen, making it difficult to keep your breathing steady. Sweat dripped from your forehead, stinging your eyes, but you pushed through, determined not to draw any more attention to yourself.

As you gathered the last can, another wave of dizziness hit you, and you had to steady yourself against the crate to keep from toppling over. You glanced over your shoulder to see if the soldier was still watching, but he had already turned away, his focus elsewhere.

You took a deep breath, trying to will away the nausea, when you heard a familiar voice behind you. “Hey, you, okay?”

Turning, you saw Tess standing there, her face set in a concerned frown. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing a weak smile. “Just a rough day.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t look so good,” she said quietly, stepping closer. “You’re pale… and sweating like hell.”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, just… tired, I guess.”

Tess didn't seem convinced. Her sharp eyes swept over you, taking in every detail — the paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you held the cans. Her frown deepened, and you could practically feel the gears turning in her head.

“Look,” she said slowly, almost carefully, “I know you well enough to tell when you’re lying. And right now, you’re doing a pretty damn poor job of hiding whatever this is.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest, an uneasy thump that only made the nausea worse. You swallowed, glancing away from her probing stare. “I said I’m fine, Tess,” you repeated, but your voice came out too shaky, too uncertain. Even you didn’t believe it.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t bullshit me,” she murmured, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve been off for days now… the headaches, the dizziness. I’ve seen this before. And I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about.”

You stiffened, shaking your head quickly. “No, Tess,” you whispered, almost desperate. “It’s not that… it can’t be.”

Tess’s expression softened, but there was still a hint of stubbornness there, a determination to get through to you. “Listen,” she began, her voice a little gentler. “I’m not trying to scare you, but… you need to face this. If it’s what I think it is… then you’ve got a lot to figure out.”

“Please, Tess. Not now” you pleaded.

Tess hesitated, her eyes searching your face, but she nodded slowly, relenting — at least for the moment. "Alright," she said quietly, though the concern in her voice hadn’t faded. "But you can’t keep running from this forever."

You felt a lump in your throat as you looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. "I just… I can’t think about it right now," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s too much going on, and… Joel…"

Tess sighed, crossing her arms. "I get it," she replied softly. "But, you know, you’re not alone in this. Whatever it is, you’ve got people who care about you. Joel might be rough around the edges, but… he’s not going to turn his back on you. Not now, not ever."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you still felt like you were balancing on a knife’s edge. "I know," you said, though doubt still gnawed at you. "It’s just…"

"It’s scary," Tess finished for you, and you could only nod again, feeling suddenly very small. "But you don’t have to go through it alone, alright?" she added, her voice softening. "I’ve got your back. Always."

You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her support, even if the fear still twisted inside you. "Thanks, Tess," you whispered.

She patted your shoulder, her touch gentle, almost sisterly. "Let’s get back to it," she said, glancing back toward the line. "But promise me… you’ll think about what I said."

You nodded again, though your mind was spinning with a hundred different thoughts. "I promise," you murmured, even though you weren't sure if you meant it.

By the time you got back to the apartment, the sun was already low in the sky, casting long shadows through the broken blinds. Your legs felt heavy, your head still pounding from the stress of the day. As you pushed open the door, you were met with the stale, familiar scent of the small, dimly lit space that you and Joel called home. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes scanned the room, and they quickly fell on Joel sprawled out on the bed, his face slack in sleep. But what caught your attention was the nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him, beside a few scattered, white pills. A flare of anger ignited in your chest.

You walked over and grabbed the bottle, knocking it down onto the floor. The sound of the glass hitting the wood was loud, but Joel didn’t stir. Frustration bubbled up inside you. “Joel,” you called out sharply, but he remained still, lost in whatever numbness he’d sought.

With a forceful shove, you shook his shoulder, your voice rising. “Joel, wake up!” you demanded. His eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary and unfocused. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, and groaned.

“What?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and whatever haze the whiskey and pills had put him under.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “What the hell, Joel?” you spat out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and worry. “You’re drinking and taking pills again? You promised me… you promised you’d stop!”

Joel blinked again, pushing himself up on one elbow, confusion and irritation crossing his face. “It’s just… it’s just to take the edge off,” he slurred, running a hand over his face. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do get it,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “I get that you’re hurting, Joel, I get you want to know where Tommy is but this is not the way.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, some of the grogginess leaving his gaze. “I’m trying,” he muttered, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I’m doing the best I can, alright? It’s not that easy…”

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need you, Joel,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I need you here, with me… not drowning in a bottle. We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, he let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “He is my brother, the only family I get left.” he muttered, almost too softly to hear.

“What about me?” you asked, voice trembling.

Damn, why were you getting so emotional.

Joel's brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard by your question. He blinked, as if trying to process your words, and then his expression softened. “What are you talking’ about?” he asked gently, taking a step closer to you. “Of course, you're my family. You know that. You’re everything.” His fingers brushed against your arm, tentative, as though he was still uncertain if you’d accept his touch.

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Then why does it feel like I’m not enough?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Joel's thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You are, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice steady but soft. “I promise you are. I’m just… I’m scared. Scared of what could happen to you… to us.”

You looked up into his eyes, searching for something—an answer, a reassurance, anything to ease the turmoil inside you. "How are you feeling'?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter, more tender than before.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. "I… I don’t know," you admitted honestly. “Tired…”

Joel nodded slowly, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest on your shoulder. “I know, I get it,” he said quietly. “But you gotta promise me… if there’s something’ wrong, you’ll tell me”

You nodded, “I promise.”

You wrapped your arms around Joel, pulling him into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours was a small comfort, a fleeting sense of security in the chaos that seemed to be swirling around you. As you clung to him, the guilt and the weight of the hidden truth about your pregnancy settled heavily on your shoulders.

Joel held you close, his hand gently rubbing your back, his touch reassuring and steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, the words escaping almost involuntarily. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, you hear me? We’ll get through it. We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded against him, feeling a mix of relief and deep-seated worry. The truth about the pregnancy was still looming, a secret that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep. Every time you looked at Joel, you could see the love and concern in his eyes, and it made the weight of your silence feel all the more burdensome.

As you slowly pulled away from the hug, you wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your emotions. Joel looked at you with a soft expression, his worry evident but tempered with the resolve to support you no matter what.

The thoughts of your pregnancy, the uncertainty of the future, and the fear of how this might change everything were still swirling in your mind. You felt a pang of guilt as you remembered Tess's words, and you struggled with the decision of when and how to reveal the truth.

Joel seemed to sense the inner conflict you were grappling with. “If you need space, or if you need to talk about it,” he began, his voice steady, “just let me know. I’m here for you, no matter what.” You nodded, forcing a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel. I… I just need a little time.”

He nodded in understanding, and as you both sat down, the silence between you was filled with an unspoken promise of support and love.

You woke up a little later, feeling the soft warmth of Joel’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the comfort and the faint sense of security his presence provided. The room was quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

Gently, you eased yourself out of bed, careful not to disturb him. You tiptoed out of the bedroom, the coolness of the apartment a stark contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. As you walked through the small living space, you noticed that Tess was already up, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

She looked up as you entered, her gaze softening. “Hey,” she said quietly, setting the cup down. “How’re you feeling?”

You offered her a small, tired smile. “Better, thanks,” you replied, taking a seat across from her. “I just needed some space to think.”

Tess nodded; her expression thoughtful. “Did you think about what I say?”

You took a deep breath, considering Tess's question. “A little,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It’s just been overwhelming, and I’m not sure how to handle everything yet.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes reflecting both concern and a hint of sadness “And?” she reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over yours. “I understand it’s overwhelming,” she said gently. “But you have to face it.”

You glanced down at your hands, gripping the edge of the table as if it might anchor you to the present moment. The room felt too small, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your shoulders. “It can’t be…I’m scared” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Tess took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Take the test, I’ll go with you” she said, showing support.

“Wha-wha-what? I don’t have any test” you said, voice trembling

Tess gave you a small, understanding smile, her hand still resting over yours. “I know,” she said softly. “But there’s a way to get one. I can ask around… discreetly. I have a contact who might be able to help.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and disbelief coursing through you. “You’d do that? For me?” The idea of someone knowing, of even a whisper of this spreading through the QZ, sent a chill down your spine. But the calm certainty in Tess’s eyes steadied you.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve got your back, always. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

You nodded slowly, though the tight knot in your stomach seemed to twist even more. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered, trying to sound convinced, even though nothing had felt quite like this. “But what if… what if it’s true, Tess? What do I do then?”

Tess squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Then we figure it out, step by step,” she said. “First things first, we need to know for sure. Until then, try not to let your mind spiral, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding again, though your mind was already a storm of thoughts and worries. You could feel the weight of this new reality settling onto your shoulders, heavier than anything you’d felt before. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try.”

Tess stood up, giving your hand one last comforting squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,” she promised. “Go back to bed and try to rest.”

Your mind raced with possibilities and fears as you made your way back to the small bedroom, trying to steady your breathing, to find some calm in the storm of your thoughts.

When you slipped back into the darkened room, Joel was still lying on his side, one arm stretched across the bed as if reaching for you even in sleep. You carefully lifted the blanket and slid back under it, trying not to wake him. But as soon as you settled in, his arm instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of safety.

Joel's voice came out in a sleepy murmur, rough around the edges. “Where were you?” he mumbled; his breath warm against your neck. You could feel the weight of his arm, heavy and reassuring, holding you as if he sensed your unease.

“Just… talking to Tess,” you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady.

His grip around you tightened slightly, his thumb tracing small circles against your side. Even in his half-asleep state, there was a protectiveness in the way he held you. “Everything okay?” he asked, still drowsy, but there was a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

You hesitated for a second, your heart beating faster. You didn’t want to lie, but you also couldn’t tell him—not yet, not until you knew for sure. “Yeah,” you finally replied, trying to sound convincing.

Joel made a low, comforting sound, a mix between a hum and a sigh. He nuzzled closer, his lips brushing lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as sleep tried to claim him again. “We’ll figure it out… whatever it is.”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words soothe the fear gnawing at your insides. But all you could do was rest your hand over his, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath your palm, grounding yourself in his presence.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, more to yourself than to him. “We always do.”

Joel’s breathing began to slow again, deepening as he drifted back to sleep. You closed your eyes, pressing yourself closer against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you” you whispered to him, breaking the silence. You were afraid of losing him.

For a moment, there was only the quiet of the room, the soft hum of the distant generator outside, and the gentle rhythm of Joel's breath against your skin. You wondered if he'd even heard you, or if your whispered words had been lost in the space between wakefulness and sleep.

Then, you felt his grip tighten around you, his hand moving to hold you closer, almost as if he was afraid, you might slip away. His lips brushed against your shoulder, a tender, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you too," he murmured, his voice a deep, husky whisper in the darkness. There was a raw honesty in his words, an openness that you rarely heard from him, as if he understood the fear hidden beneath your confession.

His lips pressed against your shoulder again, this time firmer, more deliberate. "Ain't nothing gonna change that," he added softly, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb stroked gently over the fabric of your shirt, tracing soothing patterns that spoke of comfort and promises unspoken.

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, feeling a mix of relief and longing. The fear still lingered, but in this moment, held in his arms, it felt a little more manageable. You leaned back into him, feeling the strength in his body, the steady beat of his heart against your back.

Joel held you tighter, as if sensing your need for reassurance. "We'll get through this," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. You and me."

You nodded against him, unable to find your voice, your heart swelling with the weight of everything unsaid. "Together," you repeated softly, your hand squeezing his, grounding yourself in his presence.

For now, that was enough.

Joel woke up slowly, his body protesting against the cold air that had settled in the room overnight. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the cracked blinds, reaching out instinctively to your side of the bed, only to find it empty. His hand moved across the sheets, finding them cool, your warmth long gone.

He sat up, a frown creasing his brow as a flicker of worry ran through him. He scanned the room, half-expecting to see you in the corner, maybe getting dressed or lost in thought, but the room was still, too still. He called your name, softly at first, then a little louder. No answer.

His heart quickened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans from the chair and yanking them on. The apartment was quiet, eerily so, with no sign of movement or life. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud as he pulled them on, his gaze darting around the small space.

Where the hell were you?

He moved quickly to the kitchen, eyes scanning the counters, the sink—anywhere you might have left a note, a sign of where you’d gone. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the building settling around him. He glanced toward the front door, noticing Tess's boots missing from their usual spot. A knot of unease tightened in his chest. Neither of you were there.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. You wouldn’t have left without telling him, not without saying something. And Tess—she was always up to something, but she never left you behind. He felt his pulse quicken, a gnawing sense of dread creeping in as he grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door, slipping it on with practiced haste.

Joel pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, his boots echoing against the worn floorboards. He looked around, scanning for any sign of you or Tess. The hallway was empty, but a few doors down, a neighbor—a middle-aged man Joel recognized but didn’t know well—was stepping out, adjusting his coat.

“Hey,” Joel called out, his voice sharper than intended. The man looked up, surprised. “You seen them?” He gestured back to your apartment.

The man shook his head slowly, clearly unsure who Joel was referring to. “Nah, haven’t seen anyone this morning,” he replied. “Everything okay?”

Joel forced a tight smile, though his stomach was churning with worry. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, turning away. He started down the stairs, moving quickly, almost without thinking. His mind raced, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through his thoughts. Where could you be? Why hadn’t you said anything?

He made his way down to the ground floor, heading toward the small communal area near the entrance, where a few people were already gathered, murmuring quietly among themselves. He scanned the room, his eyes searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of you or Tess.

“Joel!” A voice cut through the chatter, and he turned to see one of Tess’s contacts—Danny, a wiry guy with a nervous energy—waving him over. Joel’s heart jumped. Maybe Danny had seen you.

“Where’s Tess?” Joel asked as he approached, not bothering with pleasantries.

Danny’s face tightened slightly, and he glanced around, lowering his voice. “She went out early, looking for something… didn’t say what. Figured you knew.”

Joel clenched his jaw, frustration flaring in his chest. “And her?” he asked, his voice edged with urgency. “You see her?”

Danny shook his head. “No, man. I just saw Tess.”

Joel felt a chill run down his spine. He took a step back, his mind racing with questions. If Tess had gone out and you weren’t with her, then where the hell were you?

He turned, scanning the room one more time, then made a decision. He needed to find you, now. Whatever this was, wherever you were, he wasn’t going to wait around and let worry tear him apart.

You sat in Lydia's small, cluttered living room, nerves thrumming beneath your skin like a live wire. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old books, a comforting combination that somehow made you feel more at ease, despite the circumstances. Lydia's place was a small haven in the chaos of the QZ, filled with mismatched furniture, faded floral curtains, and a few potted plants she somehow managed to keep alive. The doctor herself, an older woman with graying hair pulled back into a messy bun, moved around the space with a calm, practiced efficiency. Her hands were steady, her expression focused but kind.

Tess stood beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance. She had her arms crossed, her foot tapping lightly against the worn wooden floor as she watched Lydia prepare a small kit on the table. Lydia glanced over at you, her eyes soft with a mixture of concern and affection. “You look pale, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been keeping up with your food and water?”

You managed a small nod, though your stomach felt like it was tied in knots. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind,” you murmured. Your voice sounded small in the stillness of the room.

Lydia nodded knowingly, her gaze flicking to Tess for a moment before returning to you. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said softly. “It's not easy, being in this kind of situation… but you’re not alone, okay?”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat again. “Thanks, Lydia… I just… I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do if… if it’s true.”

Lydia came over to you, setting a warm hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said kindly.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as she handed you a small, well-worn plastic device. A pregnancy test. It felt surreal holding it in your hand, the weight of it much heavier than its actual size.

Lydia’s expression softened. “The bathroom is down the hall,” she instructed gently. “Take your time, and when you're ready, come back out. No rush.”

You glanced at Tess, who gave you a reassuring nod. “Go on,” she urged softly. “I’ll be right here.”

Swallowing hard, you stood up, clutching the test in your hand, and made your way down the narrow hallway to the small, dimly lit bathroom. The old mirror above the sink was cracked, reflecting your nervous expression in fragmented pieces. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool tile under your bare feet, and tried to steady your racing heart.

The minutes stretched out as you stood there, staring at the test in your hands, feeling the weight of this decision. You knew that everything could change in an instant—your life, your relationship with Joel, everything you thought you knew about the world and your place in it.

You finally gathered your courage, took the test, and set it on the sink. You watched it like it might explode, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. You could hear the muffled voices of Tess and Lydia down the hall, their words indistinct but soothing in their familiarity.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the result. Your breath caught in your throat, your knees feeling weak. You stared at it, your mind struggling to catch up, to process what you were seeing.

It was positive.

You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—fear, confusion, a strange sense of disbelief. You gripped the edge of the sink, needing something solid to hold on to, to keep yourself from spiraling. Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden, and you blinked them back, swallowing hard.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself before turning back toward the door. You stepped out of the bathroom, your face pale, your hands trembling slightly.

Tess was the first to notice, her eyes widening as she saw your expression. She moved quickly to your side, her hand gripping your arm gently. “Hey… what’s the result?” she asked, though the look on your face already told her everything.

Lydia stepped closer; her eyes filled with empathy. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Just take a breath.”

You looked at them both, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s positive,” you admitted, your heart pounding. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Tess squeezed your arm, a mixture of concern and determination on her face. “Okay,” she said firmly. “We’re going to handle this. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Lydia nodded; her expression warm. “You’re not alone in this,” she reassured you. “We’ll do what we can to make sure you’re safe… and healthy.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tears spill over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “What… what do I do now?” you asked, your voice shaking. “I don’t want anyone to know this, okay?”

“Joel’s has to know” Tess said.

“No.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, a flash of panic twisting through your chest. “No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I can’t… I can’t tell him. Not yet.”

Tess’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression remained calm. “Why not?” she asked gently, though there was a hint of insistence in her voice. “He deserves to know. He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears start to flow again. “I just… I’m not ready,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He’s already dealing with so much, with losing contact with Tommy, and… I don’t want to put this on him. Not when I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.”

Lydia placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to feel this way,” she said softly. “But Tess is right. Joel will need to know eventually. He’s your partner… in all of this.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath. “I just need some time,” you murmured, feeling a deep ache in your chest. “Please… don’t say anything to him. Not until I figure out how to even say it myself.”

Tess sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding on her face. “Alright,” she agreed quietly, but you knew she was lying.

She walked towards the door before you saying to Lydia “I’ll pay you later.”

“There is no need, I’d do anything for this one here” she said, squeezing your shoulder.

Tess gave Lydia a small nod, but her expression was tight, her jaw set. You could sense the conflict simmering beneath her calm exterior. You knew Tess well enough to recognize that she wasn’t pleased with your decision. She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame, before turning back to you.

“Alright,” she said again, this time her voice softer, almost resigned. “We need to get back. Joel’s probably tearing his hair out by now.” There was a hint of a wry smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You felt a pang of guilt; you could only imagine how worried Joel must be at this point.

Lydia gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she said softly. “And if you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Lydia… for everything,” you whispered, feeling a rush of emotion swell in your chest.

Tess opened the door and stepped outside, waiting for you to follow. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before moving to join her. As you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, Tess glanced at you, her expression unreadable.

“You know he’s gonna ask where we were,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. “And you know I won’t lie to him.”

Your heart sank a little. “I know,” you admitted quietly. “Just… don’t tell him yet, okay? I need to be the one to do it, Tess.”

She nodded, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You better tell him soon,” she warned her tone more serious now. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

Two days had passed since you were delivered the news, and as you went through your shift, the morning sun cast a pale light over the QZ, and the usual noise of activity buzzed around you. You focused on your tasks, trying to push through the lingering fatigue and nausea. Despite your efforts to stay steady, a wave of nausea hit you suddenly, making your stomach churn violently.

You stumbled to the side, clutching your midsection as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Before you could react, the contents of your stomach erupted, and you doubled over, throwing up onto the ground. The sudden and intense discomfort left you gasping for breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and distress.

Nearby, a few of your co-workers glanced over, their faces a mixture of concern and discomfort. One of them approached, a frown on his face. “You alright? Maybe you should sit down or get some fresh air.”

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure. “I’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “Just… give me a moment.”

The soldier supervising the shift, who had already been keeping an eye on you, approached with a stern expression. “What’s going on? You can’t be throwing up in the middle of work. If you’re sick, you need to go home.”

You tried to protest, but your weakened state made it hard to argue. “I’m okay,” you said weakly. “I just need a minute.”

Before you could say more, Joel appeared, his face etched with concern as he hurried over to you. He placed a supportive hand on your back. “You need to go home,” he said firmly, his eyes filled with worry. “You’re not doing yourself any good pushing through like this.”

The soldier gave Joel a skeptical look. “She needs to get back to work. We can’t afford to have people slacking off.”

Joel’s expression hardened, and he took a protective step forward. “She’s not slacking off. She’s sick. You wanna have her work herself into the ground? Take her home, and I’ll deal with it.”

The soldier seemed taken aback by Joel’s intensity but eventually relented, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. Take her home, Miller. We don’t need sick people on duty.”

Joel nodded, helping you to your feet and wrapping an arm around you for support. “Let’s get you outta here,” he said gently, guiding you toward the exit.

As you walked out of the QZ, the cool air was a welcome relief, but the anxiety and guilt still gnawed at you. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Joel glanced at you, his eyes softening. “You don’t need to apologize, honey.” With Joel’s reassuring presence beside you, you made your way back to the apartment, each step feeling a bit heavier as you faced the reality of your situation.

When you and Joel arrived back at the apartment, you were both greeted by the quiet, familiar surroundings. Tess was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes lifting from a worn-out map she’d been studying. She looked up as you entered, her expression shifting from concern to relief.

“Hey, you’re back,” Tess said, standing up quickly. “How are you feeling?”

Joel helped you inside, guiding you to the couch. “She’s not feeling great,” he said, his voice low. “She had another wave of nausea at work.”

Tess crossed the room, taking a seat next to you on the couch. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable,” she said, her tone gentle. She reached for a blanket and draped it over you, her eyes scanning your face with worry.

You nodded weakly, feeling the exhaustion and the strain of the morning catching up with you. “Thanks, Tess,” you murmured, settling into the couch as Joel stood nearby, his hands resting on his hips, clearly trying to mask his concern.

Tess turned to Joel. “You should take a break, too,” she suggested. “I can keep an eye on her for a bit.”

“No.” Joel glanced at you, “I want to know what’s happening, and don’t lie to me” he demanded, especially to you.

You frightened under his stare. You looked over at Tess looking for a way of reassurance.

Tess met Joel’s gaze steadily, her own concern evident. “Joel,” she began softly, “we need to approach this carefully. We don’t want to push her too hard.”

Joel’s eyes softened slightly, but his jaw remained set. “I just want to understand what’s going on. She’s been sick for days, and I need to know why.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of both their stares. “Joel,” you said quietly, “I’ve been… trying to manage. It’s been hard to admit, but… Tess might be right. I’m not sure how to handle it all.”

Tess reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What we’re dealing with isn’t just a simple illness. It’s important that we address it properly.”

Joel’s expression shifted from frustration to deep concern. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with worry.

“Joel, I…I” you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words or the courage to do it.

Joel's gaze was intense, waiting for you to continue. Tess’s hand on your shoulder was a grounding presence, urging you to find the strength to speak.

You took another deep breath, the lump in your throat making it hard to talk. “Joel,” you began again, your voice trembling, “I’ve been feeling… really sick, and it’s more than just the usual stuff. It’s… it’s because…”

Again, your voice got cut.

“Because of what?” he demanded.

“She is pregnant, Joel” Tess answered for you.

Joel’s face went pale as he absorbed Tess’s words. His eyes flickered between you and Tess, trying to reconcile the new information with what he had seen in you recently. The silence in the room grew heavy, punctuated only by the sound of your shallow breaths.

Joel���s hands dropped to his sides, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Pregnant?” he repeated, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. His voice was a mix of confusion and pain, and he took a step back, needing space to process this revelation.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill again. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” you said quietly. “I’ve been trying to manage, but it’s been really hard.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly as he tried to gather his thoughts. He turned away from you, his face contorted with frustration. “Goddammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again, the tension in his body palpable. “This… this is just too much.”

You flinched at his outburst, tears spilling freely now. “Joel, please—” you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Joel’s tone was harsh, though there was a tremor of anguish beneath the anger. “We’re barely surviving as it is, and now… now you’re telling me you’re pregnant?”

Tess stepped in, placing a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Joel, this isn’t helping,” she said sharply. “She needs support right now, not anger.”

Joel shrugged off her hand, his frustration boiling over. “I know, I know,” he snapped. “But it’s a lot to take in! I can’t just ignore it!”

You watched, your heart breaking as you saw Joel’s struggle to come to terms with the news. “Joel,” you said, trying to reach out to him despite your own pain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to add to the stress, but I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the anger in his gaze faltered, replaced by a deep sadness. “I just… I don’t know how to fix this,”

he said, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “I thought we had a chance to figure things out. Now everything’s just falling apart.”

Tess moved closer; her voice softer but firm. “Joel, getting angry won’t solve anything. We need to focus on what we can do now. What matters is getting her the help she needs.

“We were supposed to leave to find Tommy and now we won’t be able to.” He said, angry.

“What?” you asked, absorbing the new information.

Joel’s gaze dropped to the floor, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “We were planning to leave for Tommy’s,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But with this… we might not be able to. We’re stuck here now, trying to figure out how to manage all this mess.”

You stared at him, the realization hitting you like a cold wave. “Wait, you were planning to leave? To find Tommy?”

Joel nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, Tess and I thought it was the best chance for us. Tommy’s got connections, and he might be able to help us get through this. But now…” His voice trailed off, the anger and sadness mixing in his eyes. “Now, everything’s fucked up.”

“When were you planning to tell me?” You asked, hurt.

Joel’s face fell at your question, and he looked away, struggling to find the right words. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he said, his voice rough. “Things were just… so complicated. We thought we had more time to figure things out before we had to tell you.”

You felt a pang of hurt at his words. “So, you were just going to leave me in the dark? You were planning to leave without even talking to me about it?”

Joel looked back at you; his eyes filled with regret. “No, that’s not what I meant. Of course you were coming with us.”

“But now I’m a burden.” You uttered a thought Joel perhaps was having.

Joel’s face tightened at your words, the weight of your accusation clearly hitting him hard. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice strained. “You’re not a burden, never say that again.”

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, the weight of the situation overwhelming you. “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do. I thought you were going to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay, but—fuck this!” You turned abruptly and walked towards the bedroom, trying to escape the chaos of your emotions.

Joel's heart ached as he watched you go, his own emotions roiling. He hesitated for a moment before following you, his steps heavy with regret and worry. He reached the bedroom door just as you were sinking onto the edge of the bed, your shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Hey,” Joel said softly, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this. I was just… scared and confused. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

You didn’t look up, focusing on trying to control your breathing. “Leave me alone.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, feeling his presence beside you.

“Leave, Joel.” You sobbed.

Joel’s heart sank further as you pushed him away, the pain in your voice cutting him deeply. He hesitated at the bedroom door, torn between his desire to comfort you and the need to respect your space.

“Alright,” Joel said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ll give you some time. I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your emotions.

As Joel retreated, Tess quietly entered the room. She found you on the edge of the bed, still shaking with sobs. Without saying a word, she sat down beside you, offering silent support. Tess’s presence was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside.

“Hey,” Tess said gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. “I’m here. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”

You looked up at her, your eyes red and tearful. Tess didn’t try to force conversation; instead, she simply sat with you, her hand a reassuring presence on your back. Slowly, the comforting silence and Tess’s steady presence began to soothe you. Your breathing gradually steadied, and the tears started to subside.

Tess helped you settle into a more comfortable position on the bed, making sure you were warm and covered. As you drifted off to sleep, the emotional exhaustion finally taking its toll, Tess stayed by your side, her watchful gaze softening with concern.

After a while, Tess glanced toward the door and saw Joel standing there, his expression one of deep regret and sorrow. He looked as though he was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Tess gave him a sympathetic nod before turning her attention back to you.

“I know this isn’t the ideal situation,” Tess began, her tone firm yet understanding. “But she needs you now, Joel. More than ever.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking from Tess to where you lay curled up on the bed, still trembling from your tears. “I don’t know if I can do this, Tess,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with the weight of his fears.

Tess placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You’ve got to try,” she urged. “She’s scared, and she needs you to be there for her. You don’t have to have all the answers, but you do need to stay. You need to lay down next to her and protect her, like you always have.”

Joel looked at her, conflicted, the fight still lingering in his eyes. But Tess didn’t back down, her gaze unwavering. “She’s not asking you to be perfect, Joel. She’s asking you to be there.”

For a moment, Joel hesitated, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. But then, slowly, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He walked over to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate as he lay down beside you, his presence cautious but steady.

You stirred slightly, sensing his nearness even in your sleep, and instinctively moved closer to him, seeking the comfort you had always found in his arms. Joel wrapped an arm around you, holding you gently, as if afraid you might break. And as Tess watched, she saw the fear and anger in his eyes slowly give way to something softer.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your breathing, as you finally found peace in sleep. Joel stayed awake, his thoughts still tangled, but his grip on you never faltered. Tess left the room quietly, leaving the two of you to find whatever solace you could in each other.

Joel lay beside you, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the apartment. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind raced, replaying the argument from earlier and the harsh truths he had tried to push away for so long. The room was quiet now, but his thoughts were anything but.

His gaze shifted to you, lying peacefully next to him, your breathing soft and even. You looked so small, so fragile, and it hit him all over again just how much had changed in the span of a few hours. The life growing inside you was a reality he couldn’t ignore anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. He watched you, his heart heavy with a mix of fear, guilt, and something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—hope.

The thought of becoming a father again terrified him. After Sarah, after everything he had lost, he didn’t know if he could survive that kind of pain again. But here you were, carrying his child, and it was as if the world was asking him to take that risk all over again. He didn’t know if he had it in him, but as he watched you sleep, so peaceful and trusting, he realized that you were counting on him.

Joel stayed awake through the night, his thoughts swirling with memories of Sarah, the life he had lost, and the uncertain future ahead. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harshness of the world outside, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to protect you both from the dangers that lay ahead. The weight of responsibility felt crushing, yet he knew he couldn’t turn away—not now, not ever.

As the first light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the curtains, Joel’s exhaustion finally began to catch up with him. His eyes grew heavy, and despite his best efforts, he drifted into a restless sleep, his arm still draped protectively over you.

When he finally woke, the apartment was filled with the pale light of early morning. He blinked groggily, his mind still clouded with sleep, but something felt off. The warmth of your body beside him was gone. He reached out, his hand finding only the empty space where you had been.

Panic flared in his chest as he sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the room. The bed was cold where you had lain, and the room was eerily silent. “Where the hell are you?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair as he forced himself out of bed.

His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the small apartment, calling your name, but there was no answer. The sense of dread he had felt the night before came rushing back, stronger than ever. He knew you couldn’t have gone far, but the thought of you out there alone, especially in your condition, made his stomach twist with worry.

Joel threw on his jacket, his movements frantic as he prepared to leave and search for you. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you, not when he had just realized how much he needed you. As he headed for the door, he stopped short, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to think. You were strong, capable—he knew that. But still, the protective urge in him screamed to find you, to bring you back and keep you safe.

With one last glance around the empty apartment, Joel stepped outside, his mind racing as he tried to figure out where you might have gone. He couldn’t lose you—not now, not ever.

Joel knew you had a habit of going to certain places when you needed space—when you needed to clear your head. He made his way through the maze of streets, his mind fixated on finding you. As he walked, his thoughts spiraled. What if you were angry enough to leave the QZ? What if you’d decided you didn’t want to face him again? The guilt from the night before weighed heavily on him, and the fear that he’d pushed you away was overwhelming.

He headed towards a small, secluded spot behind one of the less-used buildings—a place you often went when you needed to be alone. It was out of sight from most people, offering a rare bit of privacy in the crowded QZ. As he turned the corner, his breath caught in his throat. There you were, sitting on an old, crumbling bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Relief washed over him, so intense it almost brought him to his knees. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the sight of you. You looked small and lost, your shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world had finally settled on them. But you were safe. You were here. That was all that mattered.

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle you. The crunch of gravel under his boots made you look up, your eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in your gaze—fear, uncertainty, and something that looked like regret—hit him like a punch to the gut.

Joel stopped a few feet away, unsure of what to say, how to bridge the gap that had opened between you. His mouth opened, but no words came out. What could he possibly say to make this better? To fix the hurt he had caused?

“I didn’t mean to leave,” you finally said, your voice small and fragile. “I just…needed to think.”

Joel nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I get it,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. He took a cautious step closer, wanting to reach out, but unsure if you wanted him to. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let you leave like that.”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not your fault. I just—” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your eyes, frustration evident in the gesture. “I don’t know how to deal with all of this. It’s too much, Joel. Everything is too much.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Joel crouched down in front of you, his hand still on your shoulder, his gaze locked onto yours. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he said softly.

“There isn’t a place for raising a baby.” You spoke, looking down at your hands, the thoughts swirling in your mind too overwhelming to express. “Lydia could help me,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “She could help me…terminate it.”

Joel’s reaction was immediate, his voice hard and unyielding. “No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, and he saw you flinch. He softened his tone, but the resolve remained. “We’re not doing that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. “But, Joel, what if—” you began, but he cut you off.

“I said no,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “We’re not ending this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. “But I’m scared, Joel,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “What if we can’t do this? What if it’s too much?”

Joel crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll do it together. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

You clung to him, the fear and uncertainty still gnawing at you, but for the first time since you’d found out, you felt a small measure of comfort. Joel wasn’t backing down, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“I love you and I won’t leave you alone, baby” he whispered, kissing your lips.

Joel’s words wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of your fears. You clung to him, your grip tight but gentle, as if you were afraid, he might disappear again. The warmth of his embrace, the sincerity in his voice, and the tenderness of his kiss were all anchors in the storm that had been swirling inside you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. You could feel the tears drying on your cheeks, replaced by a sense of tentative hope. The weight of your worries didn’t vanish, but Joel’s presence made them seem a little more manageable.

Joel gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “We’re gonna get through this,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how, but we will. We’re a team. We’ve faced worse before.”

You nodded, finding strength in his conviction. “Okay,” you murmured, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “I’ll try to believe that.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promised. “But right now, my focus is taking care of you and the baby.”

Hours later, the apartment was quiet once again, save for the soft hum of a generator and the occasional creak of the building settling into its nightly stillness. You had managed to distract yourself with small tasks around the apartment, trying to keep your mind occupied and calm. The weight of the conversation with Joel still lingered, but his earlier reassurance had brought a sense of calm you hadn't expected.

You were in the middle of organizing some supplies when you heard the front door open. The sound of footsteps followed, and a few moments later, Joel's voice cut through the quiet. It was a familiar, comforting sound, but this time, it was tinged with an edge of frustration.

“You think this is a joke?” Joel’s voice was sharp, and you could hear the anger in his tone.

You quickly moved toward the front of the apartment, concern etching across your face. When you reached the living area, you saw Joel standing in the doorway, his face set in a hard line. Beside him stood a teenager—a girl who looked no older than sixteen. Her clothes were ragged, and she had a wary, defensive posture.

The girl’s eyes flickered between you and Joel, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. Joel’s anger was palpable, and it was clear that the situation was tense.

“Joel, what’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though you felt a pang of anxiety at the sight of the girl and the intensity of Joel’s demeanor.

Joel's eyes shifted to you, the anger in them still evident but now mixed with a hint of exhaustion. “She’s got a name,” he said, gesturing toward the girl. “Her name’s Ellie.”

Ellie looked up at you, her eyes wary but hopeful. Joel’s expression softened slightly as he continued, “Turns out she’s supposed to be delivered to the Fireflies.

You glanced at Joel, understanding dawning. “You’re going to take her to them,” you said, looking back at Ellie. “And you’ll have the chance to find Tommy along the way.”

Joel nodded, a hint of resignation in his stance. “Yeah, that’s the deal,” he said.

“But what about—”

Joel cut you off gently. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We need to leave now. There’s an opportunity for us to get out of the QZ and head to a place where things might be better. But it means we have to move fast.”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Joel. “I don’t want to be a problem,” she said quietly. “If it’s too much—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not sure what to do. I mean, this is all so sudden.”

Joel stepped closer, his expression earnest. “We don’t have much time. We need to move quickly before things get worse. I know it’s hard, but this is our chance to get out of here. To find some place where we can start over.”

You looked at Joel, the weight of his words sinking in. “And what about the baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “How will we—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Joel said firmly. “We have to. There’s no time to waste. This is our chance to make a new life, to give the baby a better chance.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation. “Alright,” you said finally, nodding. “I’ll do it. We’ll go. Just… let’s make sure we’re ready.”

Joel’s face softened with relief, and he gave a nod. “Good. Tess will be back soon. We need to pack up and get out before anyone notices we’re gone.”

As you hurriedly packed, a thought clawed at the back of your mind, growing louder and louder until it burst out of you in a shaky whisper. "But I’ll be a burden," you said, your voice breaking. "I’ll slow you down, Joel. You know it."

Joel stopped what he was doing, turning to face you. "No," he said firmly, the word cutting through the tense air like a knife. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. There was a fierce intensity in his gaze, something raw and unwavering.

"You’re not a burden," he insisted, his voice low and filled with emotion. "You're the reason I wake up every day. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you, baby. Without you… without you, nothing makes sense anymore."

Your breath hitched, and tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, his words breaking down the walls you had built around your fears. Joel’s hands trembled slightly as he continued, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"So, if this is the chance I have to give you a life you deserve in this shithole," he went on, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "then I’ll take it. I’ll take you with me and give it to you and our baby. I promise you, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re both safe. I won’t lose you. Not now, not ever."

You could feel his sincerity, the depth of his determination to protect you and the life growing inside you. You felt a wave of emotions crashing over you—fear, relief, hope, and love, all swirling together. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, letting his words sink in.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for any of this."

His grip on your face tightened just a bit, his gaze never wavering. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But we’ll figure it out. We’ve faced worse, and we’re still standing. We’ll get through this. Together."

You nodded slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "I’m not letting you go," he murmured.

Ellie stood by the door, her arms crossed, an incredulous look on her face. "Are you seriously risking your pregnant girlfriend?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. She looked between the two of you, clearly struggling to understand the situation.

Joel turned his head, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features, but he kept his voice calm. "It's not that simple, kid."

Ellie scoffed. "Seems pretty simple to me," she shot back. "You're dragging her and… whatever's in there—" she gestured vaguely toward your stomach, "—through god knows what to get me to the Fireflies. What if something happens?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward to meet Ellie’s eyes. "I know what I'm getting into," you said firmly. "I can take care of myself."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and what if you can't? I mean, what if you get sick or something? What if you get hurt?" Her voice softened, just a bit, the worry evident. "It’s not just about you anymore."

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He turned to Ellie; his tone more measured. "I get it, Ellie," he said. "But leaving her here… leaving her in this place… that’s not an option either."

Ellie threw her hands up. "Great, so it’s a lose-lose situation."

You couldn’t help but let out a small, dry laugh. "Pretty much," you said, trying to inject some lightness into the tension-filled room.

There was a beat of silence, the reality of the situation settling over everyone. Joel reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "We’ll figure it out," he murmured, more to you than anyone else.

Within a short time, Tess arrived, and the group of you prepared to leave the apartment, stepping out into the uncertain world beyond the QZ. The prospect of escaping to a new place, combined with the responsibility of ensuring the safety of both Ellie and your unborn child, loomed over you.

Joel led the way, his eyes scanning the area as you followed, Ellie close behind. The journey ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a new beginning.

As you stepped out of the QZ and into the unfamiliar landscape beyond, the weight of your situation pressed heavily on you. The world outside was a mix of desolate ruins and overgrown wilderness, a stark contrast to the relative safety of the quarantine zone. With each step, you could feel the gravity of the journey ahead, not just for yourself, but for your unborn child and Ellie, who now looked up to you as a beacon of hope and guidance.

Joel walked beside you, his presence a constant reassurance in the chaos. He kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, his hand occasionally reaching out to make sure you were close. Tess, ever practical, moved ahead, scouting the path and ensuring that it was as safe as possible.

Ellie followed behind, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. The harsh reality of the world outside the QZ was a stark contrast to the relative safety she’d known, and she looked to you and Joel for guidance and protection.

The landscape seemed to stretch endlessly, with the occasional remnants of civilization scattered among the ruins. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential threats and unknown challenges. Yet, with Joel’s hand firmly grasping yours and Tess leading the way, you found a small measure of comfort in the unity of your group.

As you walked, Joel glanced at you occasionally, his gaze softening when he saw the lump forming in your throat.

With each step you took away from the QZ, you felt a mixture of trepidation and hope. The future was uncertain, and the dangers were real, but you were determined to face them head-on, for yourself, for your child, and for the family you were trying to protect.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock–your favorite one with the Dalì reference–slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal–I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in the same carousel ride?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What—you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No–fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code–hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your–your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah—unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room—or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities—falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand–an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it isn’t, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation—debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist—but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady—like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say–but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s it for the MC in your universe? What’s it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely–pitiful–superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your–her–love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you–assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his–evolving–code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3 (also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

[pa1nrema1ns]

Master and Apprentice || Sung Jin-woo (Part 1 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N - Hello everyone! This fic was inspired by the lovely @forbidden-sunlight's siren!au. We both collaborated on this piece and it serves as a direct sequel to her imagine, so do be sure to check it out first! This story picks up right where her imagine left off.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🪸 Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight 🌊 Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies 🦈Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, mythical creatures au, canon divergent, a/b/o dynamics, afab!reader, suggestive themes, obsessive thoughts, slightly ooc Jin-woo (he's very reverent towards Ashborn), mentions of violence, death, and despair, forbidden romance (humans and sirens are natural enemies), eventual yandere!Jin-woo.

Word Count - 3.6k

Summary - Sung Jin-woo seeks answers about his potential mate from Ashborn in the deepest depths of the abyss.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

After what feels like an eternity, Jin-woo comes to an abrupt stop. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he couldn’t finish this journey unless he was in the right frame of mind. If he was going to face the sea monarch, Ashborn, then he needed to compose himself. He was his mentor’s prized disciple, after all.

Resolute in his decision, Jin-woo pinches his brow, shuts his eyes, and releases a deep, suffering sigh. He had to stop ruminating over the useless ‘what ifs’ of his current situation and focus on the matter at hand. You emitting pheromones in his presence was proof enough that you were a compatible mate, but this would be meaningless if you were unreceptive to him. It also begs the question, was humanity even capable of consorting with sirens? In search of an answer, he reminisces about the tales of old passed down by generations of his kin, as well as the many speculations made by humans.

No one knew the exact origins of his species. Most humans assumed the progenitors were Persephone’s handmaidens, punished by Demeter after Hades had taken her daughter to the underworld and forced her into becoming his queen. Some stories also claimed that seafoam  birthed them, but Jin-woo scoffed at this particularly ridiculous rumor. A scholar had recently published an article on how sirens may actually be the offspring of the river deity Achelous and a divine songstress, citing notations from various mythos on this theory. In truth, reality was far simpler than any of these far-fetched narratives.

There was just no definitive explanation for the existence of sirens. They were not interchangeable with the peaceful denizens of the ocean, known as mermaids and mermen. While all fell under the umbrella of the term ‘merfolk,’ the sirens had a far more hostile and bloodstained relationship with humans.

Since time immemorial, his brethren were viewed as nothing but a scourge upon this world of humanity. Beautiful as a raging typhoon and every bit as devastating, the sirens served as harbingers of doom and destruction for those foolish enough to risk the perilous waters. Their heavenly voices were tantamount to the funeral dirges used to usher the dead into the afterlife. It would be understandable to believe that the sirens were the monsters in this baleful story. However, human nature at its core is fraught with wickedness, and men soon grew wise to the machinations of merfolk.

Odysseus was the first to survive an encounter with sirens. During his voyage to Ithaca, the cunning man had instructed his crew to plug their ears with beeswax, effectively blocking the intoxicating songs that had ended the lives of so many before them. Emboldened by the success of Odysseus’s scheme, other sailors began using this method to conquer the sea and establish trade routes. Within a matter of a couple hundred years, humans not only overcame their fear of sirens, but they also poached them. Huntsmen would capture, torture, and kill Jin-woo’s ancestors simply for crossing paths with them. Worse yet, these scoundrels would often murder merfolk solely to harvest their organs, bones, and scales. They would then use the defiled corpses as ingredients for commodities, medication, and even aphrodisiacs. It was truly grotesque, if not outright barbaric, and more than justified the ire his kind felt towards humanity. While they hunted for the noble sake of survival, men did it for bloodsport and money.

The horrific fates suffered by many of their beloved brothers and sisters particularly infuriated the alphas, with their robust constitutions and natural sense of leadership. With a thirst for vengeance, they began targeting and attacking ships, ports, and even beaches. The alphas considered any place or vehicle that harbored humans as eligible targets. The less temperamental betas remained neutral and avoided the bloodshed, opting to prey upon shoals of fish and other maritime animals instead. Omegas could not join in the hunt, as they were far too precious to lose. They were the most cherished and talented singers amongst the sirens and required around-the-clock protection because of their significant rarity. These were the origins of the current hierarchical structure Jin-woo adhered to.

After recalling the tumultuous history of his people in its entirety, Jin-woo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. This was so damn frustrating! Rather than granting him an understanding of his attraction, it just proved all the more why it was so illogical. 

Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.

Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashborn’s lair. His enigmatic teacher lived in almost complete obscurity. Devoid of any light, and enveloped by a suffocating aura, this nautical cavern intimidated all who dared to approach it. Well, almost all that is apart from Jin-woo. He effortlessly permeates the invisible barrier designed to keep intruders at bay and ventures into his master’s spiritual domain.

Despite being an ancient and powerful king of the sea, Ashborn made the strange decision to emulate a land-like environment in his personal chambers.

As Jin-woo manifests into the realm, his appearance gives way to a form more befitting of a land dweller. His tail separates into two legs, his scales smoothen into skin, and he loses the winged fins on his ears and back. Once finished with this metamorphosis, Jin-woo takes a deep breath. Fresh pine, grass, and flowers perfume the air as he’s greeted by a lush valley. It had been a while since he had visited, and the setting had required him to transform into a human. Interestingly, transfiguration was one of the first skills Ashborn taught him. Speaking of his mentor –

“My disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appear…troubled. Tell me, what ails you so?” A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashborn’s approach; the tenebrous essence of the powerful deity contrasting with the greenery of the land. He appears in front of Jin-woo as a great dark knight. Much like his surroundings, Ashborn’s current visage was nothing but an illusion. Even the bravest of warriors said that his lifelike image invoked sheer terror in their hearts.

Many speculate he possesses a massive stature, at least several leagues in height and breadth alone, with piercing eyes and endless tendrils of dark hair. Others claim he is the son of Poseidon, one of the twelve Olympians, and a God of destruction who presided over the sea. However, Jin-woo never once witnessed this side of his teacher in all the years he’s been under his mentorship. Ashborn certainly exuded dignity, but he still displayed a humble attitude. And without fail, he would always appear in that strange, armored suit whenever he was in Jin-woo’s presence.

“My teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,” Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. “This morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. It…it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As if I was being beckoned by someone or something. I wanted, no, I needed to heed its call.”

Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.

 “When I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship – a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw her–”

“You recognized she was human. Not only that, but she belongs to the lowest level of the hierarchy, an omega. Speak if I am wrong, my dear pupil.” Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.

“I don’t know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything I’ve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I can’t bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. She’s my enemy, my prey…. At least, she’s supposed to be.” His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.

“And yet you don’t view her that way, do you child?” Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupil’s own words.

“No, I don’t,” Jin-woo replies grimly. “I yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If she’ll even have me, that is… So please, teacher, tell me if there is any meaning behind what I feel. Am I destined for something that bears no place in reality?”

Ashborn remains uncharacteristically quiet while faced with such a loaded question. All is eerily silent for a few moments, save for the cheerful chirping of the illusionary songbirds. At last, the monarch gazes at Jin-woo and gives him the answer he so desperately desires.

“It is entirely possible Sung Jin-woo, alpha of Jindo island, for I am proof of such a fantastical circumstance. My first and only love was also a human omega. A woman I devoted my entire being to over a millennium ago.”

Jin-woo’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. His mentor had fallen in love at some point, and it was with a member of the human race? This was unheard of.

“I never knew you had a lover,” Jin-woo murmurs softly. “What was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?”

“Let me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.” With a wave of Ashborn’s hand, their surroundings began to morph and alter. The valley transforms into a spacious, yet quaint medieval village composed of several wooden houses with a bustling marketplace at its center.

When Jin-woo regains his bearings, he notices his mentor has also metamorphosized. A man with a sun kissed complexion, long dark hair, and a beard stands where he once stood. Though visibly unrecognizable, he was unmistakably Ashborn. A crimson cape was clasped to the pristine silver armor he wore. A paladin. Jin-woo recalls. He had some knowledge of the past lives of men through his rare excursions onto the Mainland. While disguised as a human, Jin-woo once traded in his goods for a textbook on history. He was loath to admit just how intriguing he had found it.

Ashborn speaks, his voice no longer resonating within the confines of shadowy steel.

“It was here in this village that I came across her. She was the only daughter of a peasant farmer. A strong-willed, rapscallion of a woman with a wit sharper than any blade. I can remember her beauty, her warmth, and her tenacity as clear and concise as the day we met.” He says with a wistful gaze. The scene then shifts to a woman in a pure white gown. Her eyes remained hidden, but it did nothing to impede upon her loveliness. The woman runs animatedly towards a man who looks identical to Ashborn’s borrowed likeness and leaps into his arms. The man then effortlessly spins her around before bringing her into a kiss. Jin-woo watches on, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of him.

“I feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,” Ashborn admits. “On the night we first made love, I finally revealed to her my status as ruler of the sea. However, it did not matter. She loved me wholly and unconditionally, regardless of who or what I was. Such was the strength of her resolve.” In the next instance, they return to the same valley from earlier. What differs this time is that the man and woman are there, unacknowledging of Jin-woo and Ashborn’s presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the man’s head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.

“For the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.”

Ashborn solemnly shuts his eyes as darkness overtakes the sky and rain falls. The man is now shown standing at a grave with an expression of anguish marring his face. The woman is nowhere to be seen, although Jin-woo knows exactly where she’s at.

“A plague was scourging the land and indiscriminately ending the lives of thousands. I tried to protect her with my magic, but it was to no avail. She fell gravely ill despite my best efforts. I discovered shortly thereafter that omegas were more susceptible to sickness than their contemporaries. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve brought her to the sea with me, away from that damned disease. But I was a fool who was willing to love and live with her as a man, not as a king. And as punishment for my hubris, an ailment snuffed out her life.”

At the end of his recollection, Ashborn’s lair returns to its original state. His mentor had also regained his shadowy exterior. The valley appears completely untouched by time, as if it were still one thousand years in the past. That’s why his lair looks like this. Jin-woo thinks as he finally recognizes its significance, It was their personal sanctuary. After a few moments of silence, Ashborn speaks.

“Although our circumstances are similar, you still have the privilege of choice. I cannot turn back time, nor can I change the past, but I am grateful. I experienced unspeakable grief, yes, but I also would have never encountered such love, tenderness, and passion had I not taken a chance on my omega. You, my disciple, still have free rein over your decision. Should you choose to pursue this woman, you have my blessing and irrefutable proof that she is a viable mate for you. If not, you will still receive my unwavering support in your future endeavors. The choice is yours to make.”

Jin-woo’s throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his master’s secret.

“My teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I – I did not mean to bring up painful memories for you. I cannot imagine what you have endured. As of right now, I am not sure what it is I want, but I know for a fact I cannot give up on this human. I will need some time to contemplate and sort out my feelings. If you will excuse me.”

Jin-woo bows his head before turning to take his leave. As he approaches the exit, a sudden thought emerges at the forefront of his mind.

“Teacher, there is one more question I must ask. This human, she does not speak with words. She communicates with her hands and gestures. Is this some type of sorcery or spell that she’s casting?”

“It is most likely sign language, a manner of non-verbal communication used by humans who are unable to vocalize or hear. Perhaps she cannot speak, or has a hearing impairment, so she must express herself through other means.” Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.

Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A siren’s serenade played a pivotal role in the mating ritual and was performed just prior to consummating an eternal bond. If what Ashborn said is true, then there is a possibility you could be immune to his song. This meant he wouldn't be able to use it on you when the time came…

He grits his teeth as he remembers your smiling face. Try as he might, Jin-woo just could not get you out of his head, nor was he willing to let you escape his grasp. You may not have realized it yet, but you had unknowingly sunk your fangs into him and the seeds of obsession were already beginning to take root. Rather than being discouraged by Ashborn’s observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.

“Teacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.”

Ashborn peers into the eyes of his disciple, relieved by the determination that lights them. This was much more like the obstinate young man he knew.

“I choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,” Jin-woo proclaims proudly. “I will make her mine, but only if she consents to my proposal. And if not through song, then through other courtship methods. I am strong, stronger than any other alpha in my territory, and I know I can protect her from all who would wish her harm. I won’t let my mate slip through my fingers.”

“But what of maladies and the passage of time? You can fight against gods and monsters until the end of your days, but sickness or her ephemeral lifespan will not spare this young woman. In the end, your time with her shall be fleeting.” Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-woo’s declaration of protection.

Jin-woo bites his lip, not expecting this development. However, before he can muster a response, his mentor graces him with an answer.

“I know of one way you can overcome this. There is a recipe for an elixir known as the Holy Water of Life. It is a miraculous potion that can imbue invulnerability to communicable diseases, extend lifespan, and transform the consumer into a siren. I unfortunately did not have knowledge of such a panacea while I was with my love. Of course, I live with the regret of not discovering it sooner, as now I have no such use for it, but this does not mean I will idly stand by and let history repeat itself with my protégé.”

With a flash of light, an ancient scroll appears in front of Jin-woo. It unravels by itself to reveal its contents to him. Jin-woo’s eyes widen as he reads. Is this…?

“Behold. The ingredients for crafting the Holy Water of Life. I bequeath this boon unto you, my disciple. However, heed my warning as the acquisition of these components requires you to conquer all 100 floors of the Demon’s Castle and to defeat its king, Baran. This is a treacherous dungeon that may claim your life if you are unprepared for it, but it can also impart you with unspeakable power should you prevail.”

Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. “Tell me, master, where can I find the Demon’s Castle?”

“It hides far away, in the city of Seoul, within an incorporeal dominion. It is a flame-ridden landscape that will require you to assume the form of a human to enter the castle. Knowing all the risks it entails; do you still accept my offer?”

“I do,” Jinwoo confidently states.

“Very well,” Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-woo’s palm.

“Use this key to open the gate to the Demon’s Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeon’s location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.”

Following the instructions, Jin-woo sees a map that details the exact distance from his current whereabouts to the metropolitan area of Seoul. It will be a lengthy trip, even with his impressive swimming prowess. He estimates it will take roughly half a day to arrive at his destination. Undeterred, Jin-woo presses onward.

“Teacher, I cannot thank you enough for all your help and guidance over these last few years. I give you my word; I will return alive and well, both with the elixir and Baran’s head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.”

He departs without another word, although his promise relays an unspoken farewell between them. After some time passes, Ashborn stares at the vast skies of his domain and muses to himself.

“You have grown so much from when I rescued you from the Cartenon Temple all those years ago, Sung Jin-woo. I could not be prouder of you, my disciple. Till our next encounter.”

12 hours later...

Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoul’s coastline.

After leaving Ashborn’s lair, he briefly returned home to pack and prepare for the journey ahead. Both Jin-ah and his mother were worried about his sudden departure, so he did the best he could to assuage their fears by giving them a sanitized version of the truth.

Jin-woo claimed Ashborn had provided him with a list of rare ingredients that were only available for purchase in the human markets at Seoul. He even promised to bring back a box of chocolates as a souvenir, something his mother and little sister had enjoyed during one of his return trips to the surface. He then traveled the full 413-kilometer distance from Jindo-gun to Seoul, stopping only for a few hours to rest and recuperate.

As he approaches land, he assumes the form of a naked human man and walks inland from the sea. However, Jin-woo comes to a halt when he becomes more aware of his current state of nudity. While it didn’t bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is also…pretty embarrassing to admit that he is…wobbly on these legs. Very much so.

He quickly summons his magical inventory and grabs a simple black t-shirt, boxers, fitted jeans, and athletic sneakers (‘Adidas’, the portly sales attendant had called them). As worthless as he found human decorum to be, Jin-woo needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he was in disguise. Once dressed, he strolled into the city. After 45 minutes, he found himself at the designated street junction on the map. Taking a deep breath, he brings forth the key, turns it, and unlocks the gate. 

⚓︎ To be continued...

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He’s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

[embalmic]

@executiioner || a meme from here! || accepting!

∗ 15﹕ sender  and  receiver  make  eye  contact  across  a  busy  room .

she's sitting just outside a bar in saint louis. some random stop along the way to nowhere. seems like that's where they're going. some aimless route on the way to three people's destinations that they're somehow tangling up together to make it theirs. laura's minding her own business when she slides off the stone wall and walks back inside.

fists balled up in the pockets of a red, satin coat--she lets chestnut brown strands that've been newly washed at the hotel they've booked for the night together swing to partially block her face from view.

she's pale but not too pale. least the flies haven't come back yet. she's got that going for her. and the asshole isn't complaining about her stinking yet. that's a plus. her nose turns towards herself and she inhales like she'd be able to tell. nothing. ziltch. it'd have to be a damn stetch to trigger her muted senses. so it's either not bad. or not there.

she's hoping it's not there. a cursory look at the people she passes and they pay her no mind. one guy kinda checks her out. he's gross. chest hair rolling out of the top button of a polyester shirt. who wears those anymore? ten out of ten, she bets there's a gold chain in there and he's got a ron jeremy collection back home. an eye roll later, she's gotta bite her tongue stop herself from asking if dead chicks are his thing. fuck with his head? he'd deserve it just for that look that makes her feel like she needs to go back home and shower.

so far? fuck saint louis.

she's trying to pluck the sight of a red headed giant out of the crowd when she locks eyes with someone just about her size. and it's not in the gross way porno guy tried to catch her eye. no. it's in a way that makes her stop and tilt her head. push her brows together and stare back. she damn near feels like there's a silent greeting between the two of them.

and hello. and a what are you? it makes her throat feel tight. laura's not sure if it's good or neutral or..if she should just leave. so she doesn't move. she just sort've blinks. a motion that happens only once. like she's gotta remind herself to do it. a hand comes up. fingers twitch in a small wave. who the hell is she?

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2024:

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[potatoplace]

I Look in People's Windows

Cassian x Archeron!Reader (unrequited)

The Afterthought: Chapter 1 | series masterlist

part 2 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are the youngest Archeron sister, saved from the fate of the Cauldron by mere chance. Perhaps having been dumped in those murky waters would have been a better fate for you, when it seems that no one cares for your presence any longer.

Warnings: slut shaming, shitty inner circle (mostly Nesta and Elain), suicidal ideation

Words: ~ 4.2k

Author's Note: ahhhhh I hope you guys like this! I'm really hoping all of this makes sense lol I wrote it in one go. This idea came to me at work and you guys have already shown just the ideaaaa so much love 🫶 enjoy! I'm gonna go listen to Rosie by Rosé nowww -- let me know if you guys want a part two!

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Gone.

They were gone.

You had been out at the Reeson's home, being courted by their youngest son, Geoffrey. He was very polite, and even walked you back to the manor, your arms clasped together.

If you had to choose a suitor from the village you grew up in, Geoffrey would be the one. He was kind to you and your family, even in the depths of poverty.

It wasn't until you were in the manor, the door swinging shut behind you after you had bid Geoffrey farewell, that you saw it.

The carnage.

Every single maid and butler that you family employed... Slaughtered. Your father was already away on business, having gone to the Continent to meet with the Queens about the looming threat above the wall.

And your sisters... Nesta and Elain... Were missing.

You sprinted out of the manor after checking every room for your siblings, the hem of your pink gown soaked in blood, and ran to the inn in the center of town.

Thankfully the innkeep was kind enough to rent you a room on credit while the men of the night watch removed the bodies, burying them in the village graveyard.

Only a few days later, you were back in the manor, scrubbing every tile, panel, and piece of furniture to rid them of the horrors spilled upon them.

Your sisters were still missing. You had no idea of where they could be taken, besides over the wall, into the land of the fae.

But why? That's what you couldn't understand.

Not until three months later.

Three months later, you opened the door to the manor, met face to face with your youngest sister.

"Feyre!" You exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. She was stiff in your arms, pulling away only a moment later.

Fair enough, you thought. It has been quite a while since I last had the chance to hug her, her new senses may make them less comfortable.

"I was so worried, Nesta and Elain have been missing for months and the entire household staff was- was-" you sobbed, putting your face in your hands.

"Oh, Y/N, it's alright. Nesta and Elain are alive and safe," Feyre reassured you, gentle hands holding your shoulders as the knowledge of their safety calmed you. "But..."

"But...?" You asked, worry washing over you once more.

"I... Really, you should come with me and see for yourself..." Feyre trailed off. "Come to Velaris with me?"

You nodded immediately- if that's where your other sisters are and where Feyre is going, of course you would go. "Take me to them, please."

In the next moment, you were whipping through the fabric of reality, landing in a cozy sitting room.

Nesta and Elain were seated on the couch next to each other, Elain gazing out the window with a dazed look, and Nesta reading a novel of some kind, before her eyes snapped up to see the two of you.

Her eyes narrowed at you, filled with a silvery fire and so much hatred that you could hardly breathe-

Not human.

Fae.

Your other two sisters... are fae.

You blinked in confusion, looking to Feyre for answers.

"Nesta and Elain were... They were taken by Hybern and changed using the Cauldron, Y/N," Feyre whispered into your mind as she guided you out of the sitting room and into a kitchen, and you flinched at the sensation.

"I don't understand, Fey. What... When did all of this happen? What happened?"

Feyre sighed as she sat you at the dining table and began preparing tea. "The war that we warned you about the last time we visited? It happened... And the people we fought against used Nesta and Elain to prove the power of the Cauldron to the Mortal Queens by giving them the gift of being fae. And over the past three months, we fought long, arduous battles- but we prevailed. Elain and Nesta killed their vile king together after-" Feyre paused. "After he killed father."

Your eyes went wide and the world seemed to come to a stopping point-

"Father is-" a choked sob cut you off, tears streaming down your face. "He's dead?"

Feyre nodded, and you collapsed onto the table, sobbing.

You knew that your sisters didn't care much for your father- always saw him as a failure after losing the family's fortune. But you? You had loved him completely, clinging to the one parent that you had the blessing to know. You were so young when your mother passed, not even six years old when illness took her. You hadn't remembered much of the life of luxury the family used to lead, and were content to live in the small hut on the edge of the village, tending to your little herb garden and cooking the meals after Elain had taught you.

And so, you hadn't had the feelings of resentment that your elder sisters had towards him, instead loving each wooden carving your father would make you every year for your birthday.

They even made it into the manor, resting on your bedside table in your room.

And... And now he's dead? Just like that?

You had no idea how much time had passed when Feyre's hand smoothed over your upper back, a small gesture of comfort.

"Let me show you to your room, Y/N," Feyre said gently, her strong arms peeling you off of the table and into an upright position.

You blinked your watery eyes at her and nodded, and let your sister lead you upstairs and into a small bedroom, decorated in pale blues.

You didn't even have the energy to change out of your dress before you collapsed onto the bed into a crying heap, curling in on yourself as you mourned for the father you would never get to see again, never get to say goodbye to.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The next few months were... Trying, to say the least.

You felt out of place.

At all times. In any setting. Even just sitting with Feyre, you felt like you didn't belong.

It's not that you didn't try to fit in.

You joined Feyre for physical training. There, you felt like you were holding her back- no, you knew you were holding her back. After all, you're only a human.

You brought Elain tea and food at regular intervals, trying to keep her strength up as she stared out the window, lost in her thoughts. You knew she could talk, she just... chose not to with you. That's fine, after all, you can't relate to her situation much. She most likely wants a more understanding ear.

You attempted to talk with Nesta, even sit in the same space at her. But with each time you tried, her fiery gaze grew more and more intense, until you felt she may actually burn you alive with the powers Feyre had informed you she now possessed.

It's not that the inner circle wasn't kind to you, or that they mocked you for your human-ness.

It's that at every moment, you felt different.

When you had your first cycle while living amongst fae, you had went about it as normal. Until breakfast that morning.

Nesta had been glaring at you particularly strongly that morning, until she finally broke. "Why don't you take your iron-scented self upstairs until we finish eating, hmm? I'd rather not feel ill while having breakfast," she snipped at you, her eyes widening in delight when you blushed profusely.

You had excused yourself immediately.

Feyre had explained it away later, telling you that feelings are amplified when you're turned fae.

Nesta never was too fond of you, as she had always blamed you for your mother's death and the subsequent loss of the family fortune. She thought that having you just under a year after having Feyre was what made her body susceptible to the diseases and illnesses running rampant in the village that fateful year.

It's not as though I chose to be born so soon...

Worse even than knowing that everyone around you could smell when your cycle hit... was their hearing.

You had... a small crush on Cassian, to say the least.

It had all started when he was kind to you one day at training, having taken over for Feyre while she was away for court business. He corrected your form gently, giving pointers for how to protect yourself better from blows.

Each gentle touch made your heart race, and the kind praise he gave you made your face flush.

It's not that you wanted to like him.

You couldn't help it.

He was so handsome and kind, and could always find a way to make you laugh, or at least smile. And he chose to talk to you, which was more than you could say for the rest of the inner circle.

On the first Winter Solstice you spent in Velaris, Feyre came into your room before breakfast.

"I wanted to talk to you..." Feyre started gently, sitting down on your bed next to you while you braided your hair.

"About what?" You asked, tying off the braid and turning to face your sister.

"Cassian."

Your cheeks heated in an instant, pulse quickening just at the mention of his name. "What about him?"

"I know that... I know you have a crush, Y/N, but you need to let it go," Feyre said softly, a careful hand placed on your arm.

"I- so what if I like him? It's not like I'm acting on it-"

"That's not what it's about, Y/N, it's that he and Nesta are mates," Feyre explained.

Mates?

"Oh, I-" you paused, a renewed sense of heat filling your face. "I don't even really like him like that, Fey, I just... I can't help how I react around him," you whispered, hoping beyond hope that no one else was listening in.

"Just try, okay? It's for the best, really, Y/N. Fae and humans aren't really... Meant to be," Feyre said, eyes looking away from you.

Oh. Of course. You're just a little human, of course a fae wouldn't be interested in you...

So you did. You did your absolute best to get over your reactions to Cassian, to stuff any possible feelings down, down, down.

Nothing was enough, though. Not even knowing that Cassian and Nesta were gone for an entire week, consummating the mating bond.

When they returned, you were sitting in the living room of the River House, staring into the fire and drinking a cup of tea.

That was the one activity you did that bothered no one.

But the moment you saw Cassian's handsome face, a soft smile on it thrown your way, your heartbeat picked up, color rushing to your cheeks.

Nesta heard it- of course Nesta would pick out its traitorous rhythm, her eyes narrowing at you, hands raised, silver flames spouting from them, pointed at you-

"Nesta," Cassian sighed, grabbing your sister by the forearms and pulling her attention to him. "Nesta, my love, only you matter to me. Pay her no mind," Cassian soothed, and the flames Nesta had conjured went out, though the fire in her eyes burned hotter than ever as she glared at you.

"Stay away from him, you little whore," Nesta hissed at you before pulling Cassian out of the room and into the kitchen, where the rest of your family was gathered.

You simply pulled your legs up onto the couch in front of you, wrapping your arms around them as you went back to gazing into the fire.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The Spring Equinox came and went, bringing with it the return of Lucien, Elain's mate and Feyre's dear friend.

You were like a ghost these days, drifting down hallways with no destination in mind, just the desire to not bother anyone further.

You excused yourself from all family dinners beyond those you were expected to attend around holidays, thinking it would be easier to bear than the constant feeling of not belonging.

It wasn't.

But it was preferable to the burning weight of Nesta's hatred, and Elain's new distaste for you.

Training with Feyre had stopped months ago, her schedule becoming more hectic as she let Rhys pass some of the burdens of ruling off to her shoulders.

That was fine. You just wanted Feyre to succeed.

So you drifted around aimlessly, sometimes leaving the River House to walk along the Sidra and gaze longingly at couples in tea houses, or meandering through bookstores, running your fingers along the spines and wishing you could read one.

You found yourself back in front of the fireplace on a particularly warm spring day, sipping a cup of tea once again. You would have preferred to take it outside, but Elain was out tending her garden, and you didn't want to bother the one bit of peace she seemed to have.

Not that she was alone, anyways, but your presence always seemed to grate on people's nerves, making them less comfortable.

Lucien was out with her, offering to help her garden as he did every day he stopped by. By now he might have already presented her with whichever courting gift he had picked for her today.

Loud footsteps and then-

Lucien.

He gave you a soft smile, one that you returned.

"How are you today, Y/N?" Lucien asked, as he had taken to doing the last few visits.

"I'm well, thank you Lucien. How are you? Any luck with Elain?"

"No luck with the gardening, though today she accepted my courting gift: a bag of flower bulbs from the Day Court," Lucien said with a proud smile.

"Congratulations! Now you know what will get you into her heart," you said with a grin, truly happy for the male in front of you. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Thank you, Y/N, I would love one," Lucien replied, summoning a cup of his own and letting you pour out a helping of the lovely floral blend you had made into it. "I hope she will be open to pursuing the mating bond, or at the very least being friends..." He sighed. "What do you think?"

You blinked at him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Lucien said playfully. "You are my mate's sister after all."

"Oh, well... I don't... We don't really talk much anymore," you explained. "I'm sorry."

Lucien merely shook his head at your apology. "No, don't apologize, Y/N, I was just hoping you may have more insight than I do. But enough about me, what have you been up to recently?"

"Oh, not much," you replied, wracking your brain for any activities you had done recently to not seem more useless than you already are. "I, uhm... I tried out a new soup recipe a few days ago, everyone seemed to like it..."

"Really? What kind?" Lucien asked, and you could almost believe that he was interested.

"It was a creamy soup, with sausage, potatoes, and-"

"What are you doing?!" Elain hissed, a pair of pruning shears pointed in your direction. "First you go after Nesta's mate, and now mine?" She seethed, stalking towards the two of you. Elain walked past Lucien and held the shears up to your face. "Get out, you whore. Stay away from my mate!"

You were up in an instant, flying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You locked the door behind you, but you knew that if Elain wanted to get in, she could.

She would probably cut my head off with the shears...

You grabbed a spare blanket off of the chair in your room, as well as a pillow from your bed and made your way into the bathroom, where you curled into yourself in the bathtub.

No reason to make more of a mess when she does decide to kill you...

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Seven months.

Seven months and no one noticed that you had completely withdrawn, only leaving your bedroom when you absolutely had to.

No longer did you attempt to cook dinner for the inner circle. Not that they had ever liked what you made anyways...

No longer did you take your walks along the Sidra.

No longer did you sit in front of the fireplace, sipping tea and taking up as little space as possible.

But Bounty Day was coming up. The one holiday that you had cared was nearly here, and you wanted to celebrate it the way your family never had.

You wanted to roast a turkey and a boar, mash potatoes and sauté green beans. You wanted to try your hand at the delicious cheese and pasta dish Feyre adored from Sevenda's. You wanted to bake and bake and bake, until there was one of everyone's favorite desserts available.

You just needed permission. Which was why you were standing outside of Feyre's study door, hand poised to knock.

"Come in, Y/N," Feyre said from inside, loud enough that even your ears could hear her.

You peeked in sheepishly, eyes landing on where Feyre's hand was gliding across a sheet of paper, writing something out.

"Is this a bad time?" You asked quietly, wondering if you should have just stayed in your room.

Feyre sighed, and set down her quill. "No, not at all. Come in, sit, Y/N."

You did as she said, taking a seat in the low backed leather chair in front of her desk. "I... I wanted to run an idea by you...?"

"What kind of idea?" Feyre asked wearily.

"Well... Bounty Day is coming up, I thought... I thought it would be nice for all of us to celebrate. As a family."

Feyre blinked at you, her eyes losing some of their clarity for a few seconds, a look that you knew meant she was conversing with her mate. "I suppose that would be doable, Y/N, I'll make sure everyone knows. We would only be able to have it at the House of Wind, though, there's a few things that need to be done around here before we host a holiday."

A spark of hope lit up in your chest. "That would be perfect, Fey!"

Feyre smiled at you. "You can have Nuala and Cerridwen help you purchase everything, and with any preparation or cooking if you'd like."

"That would be very helpful, I'll make sure to ask them for their help and input."

"Good, I'm glad that that's settled. Did you need anything else from me?" Feyre had already picked her quill up again, continuing whatever thought you had stopped her in before.

"Oh, no. I'll be fine, thank you Feyre."

You felt... Dismissed. But at least you have permission to celebrate the day.

Over the next week, you worked tirelessly to get the ingredients you needed, even asking the meat vendors for a fae-palate worthy recipe.

You were sure your old recipes would be no good... Each one you had made for the inner circle was met with thinly veiled disgust.

And Sevenda's recipe- you were so thankful that the other female had taken pity on you and given you a copy of her recipe after you promised to share it with no one, ever.

Cerridwen had helped you read each recipe, both of you making sure that you knew the recipes by heart so you wouldn't have to rely on the mess of letters that you were no closer to understanding than you were before your family's status had changed.

Slowly but surely, you were putting together a feast that would put the one you had two years ago in the mortal lands to shame.

As you had hoped, you made a favorite dessert of each inner circle member, nine in total. You just hope that they don't go uneaten, or with only a small slice out of each one...

You woke at dawn that morning, pulling yourself into the bath and getting clean before you donned a cream colored dress, cut in the current human fashion. You had yet to wear a piece of Night Court fashion, feeling much more comfortable covered up, hidden.

Nuala shadow-walked you up to the House, a change of clothes in the bag over your shoulder. She only left when you insisted that you had the cooking covered and that you would be fine.

All day, you worked to bring Bounty Day to life around you, the delicious smells of roasting meats filling the House.

You hadn't felt so at peace in... A long while. Before your sisters were taken. Perhaps even before Feyre was taken...

Afternoon came and went in a blur of basting the turkey and turning the boar roast over the fire, your body flushed from the blazing heat as you worked.

As the final hour rolled around, you were able to change into your formal dress, a calf length pale pink wrap dress with long sleeves. You had picked this dress out months ago with Feyre, when she had insisted you needed to buy clothing of your own, and find things that you liked. This one, you liked. It was your favorite color, and the fabric was buttery soft under your fingers. You pulled on some slippers in a matching color and made your way back to the main hall, where you set the table meticulously, making sure everything was in its correct place.

Now for the most difficult part, in your opinion: transferring everything to the dining table without it cooling off too quickly.

You moved the food as fast as you were able, the turkey and boar left in the kitchen until the last moment, when you would have one of the males carve them for you.

Six o'clock rolled around, the time Feyre had agreed to, and no one had arrived. You poured yourself a small glass of wine and took a seat at the table, slowly sipping your drink as you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The food was lukewarm now, at seven.

The anxiety pooling in your gut had you back in the kitchen, carving meat from bone until your hands were sore.

Still, no one had arrived when you brought the platters of meat onto the table, a feast laid out with no one to eat it.

At eight, you were exhausted. Exhausted from working yourself more than you had in months. Exhausted from hoping, only for those hopes to be extinguished so quickly. Exhausted from living in a place you don't belong.

You sighed and pushed yourself out of your chair. On tired legs, you made your way to the front door of the House.

No way in hell would you be accused of trying to steal someone's mate again, accused of lying in wait all night to seduce Cassian if you were to stay in one of the guest rooms.

So the ten thousand steps down was your only choice.

The first thousand was easy enough, though the wind had chilled you to the bone already, the night's icy fingers extending around your heart as well.

By the time you were halfway down, you sobbed with each step.

How? How could they have all forgotten? Even Feyre...

On numbed legs, you finished your descent. But where to now...?

The only place you could belong was the River House... The only place in Prythian that you could ever belong, as a human.

You sniffled and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, attempting to keep any amount of warmth in your body as you carefully walked across the icy path along the Sidra.

The wind was bitter here too, but you had the babble of water to keep you company, the most pleasant friend you had.

The River House came in to view, lit up from within with bursts of faelight. The chimney let out pleasant puffs of smoke, a clear sign people are inside.

You stopped in your tracks.

Past Elain's garden and through the back window of the River House, you could see them.

All of them.

They were sat around the dining table, eating and drinking merrily together, enjoying each other's company.

And then there was you. Half-frozen from the weather and completely iced over inside.

You don't belong here.

Your body turned on its own, your mind so wrapped in itself that you hardly noticed where you were going.

All you knew was you needed out.

Out of this city.

Out of this life you were forced into.

Out of this family.

You need out.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the exit of the city that lead to the wilds of the Night Court.

You don't belong in Prythian. You belong in the human lands.

The boundary of Velaris passed under your feet as you continued walking, hardly feeling anything at all now.

Your fingers were numb, as were your toes and bottoms of your feet. Your arms were nearing the same sensation.

Good.

Perhaps the numbness that had overtaken your heart would consume the rest of you.

The only person left who cared, doesn't care now.

You don't care, not anymore.

general taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly

[diushek]

Shen Yuan concept without being a NEET just because my sister and I thought of this and lol we had a good time

So Shen Yuan is this rich kid and all, but he actually has this hobby that started taking up 80% of his free time: designing clothes. He started out as a cosmaker, can you blame him? Cosplays are so poor quality these days. And Shen Yuan is used to good quality clothes even if they are just simple t-shirts. So when he started realizing how pathetically expensive some cosplays were compared to their quality, he just... Well, he had to design his own!

Little by little, he evolved. And one day his wealthy family found him this job designing clothes for xianxia dramas, and Shen Yuan, a little delirious, accepted. It's okay! He designed a lot of sketches inspired by arts, historical research here and there, things that also looked nice and realistic. Shen Yuan enjoys his job almost as much as he enjoys criticizing each new PIDW chapter. How is it possible that they've been thirty chapters into that subplot and there have been more papapa scenes than a resolution?! Outrageous!

Shen Yuan designs a lot. He still works as a cosmaker, as he really enjoys doing embroidery. It's a time-consuming job, but he gets paid well and his cosplays are the best in the entire community. His family is happy that he has left his lonely life and has this job and this new business experience, they congratulate him on his new achievements, they urge him to enroll in some university fashion or clothing design.

Shen Yuan dismisses it. He misses his life as a NEET a little, but in reality on his days off he just plays around and does nothing, which is the same thing he does on his work days, except he embroiders and sews or draw on those work days. Days so busy, they are not.

So Airplane ends PIDW like absolute shit, Shen Yuan drowns and dies.

And he opens his eyes. Well, what the hell. It doesn't take long for him to discover that he transmigrated into an NPC. Tailored, apparently, because he's an no-name NPC apprentice to a spider demon seamstress!

He has a lot of knowledge about all of this, so it doesn't take him long to put it into practice. His teacher congratulates him and he makes a lot of sales. Soon, he gains a very good reputation. Maidens from other kingdoms come to Shen Yuan to design clothes for them for festivals, for dances, for family celebrations. Shen Yuan designs, sews, embroiders. It's not far from his old life, although he misses Project Sekai and caffeine a little.

He opens his own workshop almost a year later, with the goodwill of his demon teacher. She warns him of something: Shen Yuan is a thread woven to another soul. And soon, his soulmate will come for him.

Shen Yuan is a little nervous, but, oh well! A soulmate! If only!

He knows, for a fact, that that's impossible. They're in the disgusting world of PIDW, and at least half of the dresses he's made have been for Binghe's future wives. Some would even be torn apart without any care! What a waste of his time and effort!

He doesn't think about it too much. Shen Yuan just focuses on his work. He designs, sews, embroiders. He sleeps little but enjoys the smile on the faces of the Meimei's when they hug the pretty fabrics. It is, despite everything, a good life.

Then, Emperor Luo Binghe arrives at his door.

In person. Not with servants, not with a letter, not with an invitation. It is Emperor Luo Binghe who arrives at his door.

Of course Shen Yuan is going to make robes for the emperor! There's no need for him to ask or offer to pay for them! He's nervous and a little scared, but Luo Binghe is... well, he doesn't seem to have no kind of threatening aura or any kind of charm. He asks him for the designs of some robes and stays there while Shen Yuan makes the first sketches. Luo Binghe gives more directions, more corrections... And Shen Yuan discovers that Luo Binghe is requesting Qing Jing robes from him, if the fanarts are accurate. He tears off that sheet of paper, starts another sketch with Qing Jing's exact robes without uttering any words, leaving Luo Binghe speechless as well. Luo Binghe nods, correcting details of length and shape, not even asking or saying anything about designs of cultivators clothing, and Shen Yuan has to move on to the... er, awkward part. He has to almost strip Luo Binghe to take his measurements!

Ignore that part. His face is very red when he finishes, but he has the exact measurements of his back, his arms, the size of his fit, his length and width, everything necessary to work with the first molds.

Shen Yuan has no idea why Emperor Luo Binghe wants Qing Jing's robes. He won't ask either, he values his tongue very much. So, he just decides to continue his work like a good professional, embroidering every detail to perfection (he has done two Ning Yingying cosplays in the past, so, it was easy to him remember the embroidered patterns).

Maybe he makes it too perfect.

Luo Binghe is looming over him, his new robes on display, eyes red with fury, zuiyin shining on his forehead.

"Cang Qiong has been burned for more than two hundred years. How can a weak mortal like you recreate these patterns so perfectly?"

Shen Yuan has three options, honestly.

a) Tell him he's a transmigrator. He doesn't have any fucking System, and maybe telling him he's from another world will save him from his imminent death... But he highly doubts Luo Binghe will believe him.

b) Telling him that he's a reborn soul! That he may have worked for the sect in the past! It's not a bad idea, and it's actually quite common, isn't it? Some souls are reborn with some memories, huh, not bad...

c) Not saying anything and playing dumb.

Shen Yuan chooses to play dumb, only because he doesn't have enough brain cells and is so panicked that he can play the reborn.

"I don't know what Junshang is telling me! I just followed the directions and patterns in the design given by Jungshang!"

Luo Binghe does not strangle him. Makes things worse.

Luo Binghe carries him over his shoulder and carries him away. This is kidnapping?! Shen Yuan is being kidnapped from his own shop in broad daylight!? And obviously no one is going to stop him!!

And so, Luo Binghe simply puts him in a room somewhere in the palace, gives him some papers and many tools so he can draw and tells him to design something that he like. And he leaves.

... That is, a kind of test? Is Luo Binghe testing him in some way? Ah, he hopes his customers will be understanding. He's sorry for the delay in their dresses, but Emperor Luo Binghe has kidnapped this seamstress, but he hope to get back to business soon!!

(Luo Binghe is having the closest thing to astral travel. Why does that boy who looks like a young and sweet version of Shen Qingqiu know the patterns of Qing Jing so well? Is he his own "kind" Shen Qingqiu in this world? So why does he act like this and not like a haughty teacher? What should he do?

At least he brought him to his palace. He's not sure if he's the person he's looking for, but, well... he's not really going to let him out of his sight. Just in case.)

[wildestdreamsblog]

The Story of Us: Teaser

Pairing: Mahwa Character!Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?

or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.

A/N: This is a yandere fic. The whole oneshot will be uploaded in Tumblr. A gift to you as celebration for my 6K followers! Thank you sooooo much for all the interactions and screaming with me about my stories <333

You froze in front of the mirror, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. The face staring back at you was undeniably familiar but was definitely not yours. It was her—the woman from the manhwa.

Your hand lifted slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, and touched your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. The reflection mimicked your every move, except there was no mistake: it wasn’t you. This version of you was flawless—her skin porcelain smooth, her lips full and painted in a soft, understated pink. You blinked hard, willing the image to change, but it remained the same, impossibly perfect.

And then it hit you, harder than any realization should have: You were in her world. You were in her body. You were the second female lead.

What the fuck was this dream?!

You pinched yourself, willing yourself to wake up from this peculiar dream where you were not you, and instead, you were someone of a fictional character. All that it did was reddened her fair skin. You truly tried not to panic, but no one and nothing could have ever prepared you from waking up in someone else’s body! More so of a fictional one. Similarly, you knew this could not be possible. You must have been dreaming.

You were just dreaming…right?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your stupor, your mind reeling as the panic tightened its grip.

“Miss? Sir Yoongi is here to see you,” the voice outside the door called, timid, hesitant.

You blinked, the words barely registering at first. Yoongi? No. No, no, no. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and the world around you seemed to tilt at an impossible angle. You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, disbelieving breath.

"Y-yoongi?" Your voice sounded strange, foreign in this body, yet with an edge of authority, the voice of someone accustomed to being looked at, obeyed.

“N-no. Why?”

“T-to visit you, Miss. He went straight here from the airport after his three-month work in New York,” she explained with a terrified tone in her voice as though one wrong word would upset you. It did upset you upon horrifying realization that you were in the first chapter of the manhwa. He was coming to see the second female lead, the one who would only ever be a part of his life for the briefest, most painful moments. The one who would disappear when the main female lead entered the picture, leaving behind nothing but heartache and regret.

This was the moment—the beginning of her unraveling. The beginning of your unraveling.

You stumbled back from the mirror, almost tripping over the hem of the silk nightgown that clung to your skin. It felt wrong. This wasn’t your body. This wasn’t you. You couldn’t be her. You couldn't.

But there you were—she was—standing in front of a mirror, and it was your face that stared back, the same face that would soon be abandoned in favor of the main lead. The face that would die tragically, just as Yoongi chose someone else.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin as you pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart race, the pulse throbbing in your throat. The maid outside the door was waiting. She was waiting. Yoongi was waiting.

“Miss? Are you coming?” The maid asked again, sounding more nervous now. “Sir Yoongi is waiting.”

You felt your legs walked to where the door was as though they had a mind of their own, as though they were simply following the plot where you had to face her childhood bestfriend, as though you had no choice in this. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the maid stepped back with a small, nervous bow. “Miss,” she murmured softly, her eyes flicking between you and the hallway.

There he was. Yoongi. Standing in the hallway, waiting for you.

His broad back was turned to you, his focus was on the huge window overlooking the garden below. His hands were in his pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the bags of designer clothes and jewelries beside him. It was always like this. Yoongi would spoil her with everything, his love a quiet promise wrapped in material things. His affection was given in expensive packages, just because he missed her. It was a thing the main lead, Yoongi, and her had for the longest times. He spoiled her rotten, and in turn, she loved him unconditionally until he realized that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. It was someone else’s.

You felt your chest tighten as you stepped forward, closer to him. And then, slowly, he turned around, his gaze landing on you, his eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was seeing you for the first time. He was just as handsome as you'd imagined, his sharp features bathed in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. His expression, however, was unreadable—his usual aloofness on full display. He had on a simple black jacket, the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his forearms.

He was standing there, just as he had been in the manhwa—distant, untouchable, and perfect. The kind of person who seemed to have everything. Everything except the one thing that would make him whole. His lips curved into a faint smirk, the usual aloofness settling over him like a second skin. Yoongi. So damn confident. So certain of himself. Yet there was something flickering beneath that exterior, something you couldn't place.

He took a step toward you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, too real. The space between you both seemed like an eternity, but somehow you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

He raised his brows when you remained motionless – so dissimilar to how the second female lead threw herself in his arms in the first chapter. “What?” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Didn’t you miss me?”

His words hit you like a cold wave. Didn’t you miss me?

The phrase was so familiar, but it made you flinch. It was the same thing he had said to her. The second female lead. Her. The woman you had now become. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his gaze leaving you paralyzed. How were you supposed to feel? What was the right answer?

Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he took another step closer, his presence commanding the space between you both. He wasn’t giving up.

“Aigoo,” he muttered, as though your silence had amused him. “My princess is mad at me?” He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squishing them gently, his thumb brushing across your skin in a familiar, playful gesture. “I promise I won’t be away for that long again, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. My princess. Mad at me? It was just like the manhwa. Just like how the second female lead had fallen for him—how she’d craved his affection, how she had convinced herself that he was the only one who could make her whole.

How could she not fall for him? How could she not love him when he was this—this?

See, who wouldn’t fall for that? You understood the second female lead for falling in love with him, or why she did all those terrible things when he suddenly withdrew all his affections from her. But maybe…you could change the ending. Maybe you could find a happy ending of your own away from him. You could choose differently. You could walk away. You could find your own path, away from him, away from this tragic loop. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way for you to have a happy ending. Not the one written in the manhwa, but one you could choose. One where you didn’t lose yourself in the love of a man who could never return it.

What if you and him could all have your separate happy endings?

Full teaser in KoFi

[betweenstorms]

Part One of Where We Part (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Before he was Ghost, he was Simon Riley.

A quiet boy with eyes too old for his young face, always watching, always listening, always alone.

You had known him for as long as you could remember.

He was the lanky boy next door, the one with too much burden in his eyes, the one who never talked about the bruises or the shouting that came from his house at night. Even as kids, there was something about him that set him apart, something that made you want to protect him, even though he never let you. But you’d always notice the new bruises on his arms, the way his hazel eyes would darken whenever Tommy, his younger brother dragged him into trouble and the way he seemed to flinch at loud noises, at sudden movements.

Tommy Riley was loud, rude, and as wild as a storm untethered.

He was a real troublemaker, you never trusted his cruel grin and his rude words, never felt safe near the sharp edges of his temper. He thrived on chaos, a force of destruction that couldn’t be tamed, while Simon stood in his shadow, as if he existed solely as an apology—for his brother’s recklessness, for his family’s dysfunctionality and even for his own existence.

You were the neighbour’s only child, the one who never quite understood why Simon kept so much distance between you.

Something about him tugged at you—a quiet pull that made you want to reach into the cold and offer him the warmth of your world. You felt a strange protectiveness over him, as if it was your duty as someone older than him, some unspoken responsibility you carried without question. Through your school years, you kept watch over him, whether he knew it or not. When the students mocked him you were there, standing up for him, silencing the cruel whispers, even when it cost you friendships. The rumours about the Rileys circled like vultures, but you shut them down, defending a boy who never asked for it, who seemed more annoyed by your efforts than grateful.

You weren’t friends, after all, not really.

He never showed any sign that he wanted your help. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself. Something deep inside told you it was the right thing to do, even if Simon would never see it.

However, your parents, like most of the neighbourhood, kept their distance from the Rileys. It wasn’t something openly discussed, only whispered behind cupped hands at the local market, murmured in the pews of the church, or exchanged in knowing glances at school gates. Yet those looks exchanged between the adults made it clear—people didn’t want to get involved. The Rileys were trouble, everyone said, and it was best to leave them to their own devices.

You were forbidden from playing with Simon or Tommy, even though they were the only children near your age on the street.

It was an unspoken rule, one you didn’t quite understand as a kid but followed anyway, wishing things could be different. You were young then, far too young and innocent to grasp the weight of the shadows that lingered in the Riley household.

You didn’t know why Mr. Riley’s shouts echoed through the night, why Mrs. Riley wore bruises like secret confessions beneath her smile, why Simon’s silence felt heavy, like a wound too deep to heal. Their world felt so different from yours, a place of suffering you couldn’t quite touch. But as the years slipped by, as childhood faded into adolescence, the picture began to sharpen. With it, your protectiveness over Simon deepened, as the reality of what his father was doing became impossible to ignore. Understanding bloomed where innocence once was, and with it, the weight of knowing.

You couldn’t fathom how your parents, with their kind hearts and warm smiles, could do nothing.

How they could turn their backs on Mrs. Riley, her frail form draped in sorrow, and her two children, who so clearly needed help. You didn’t understand why they never returned Mrs. Riley’s weak greetings, why they closed themselves off from her suffering. It baffled you how they could step over Tommy, sprawled on their porch, drunk or worse, as if he were just another mess to be swept away.

But what haunted you most was their indifference to Simon—the boy your age, thin as a whisper, burdened with bruises no child should carry. How could they look at him and not see? How could they not feel the silent plea in his eyes? Where was their empathy for a child, for a boy who wore his misery like a second skin?

Oh, Simon.

His hazel eyes stayed with you, always, like shadows that linger long after the sun sets. There was something far too ancient in them, like he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t yet grown into his own skin. They held a weariness that made you wonder what horrors had carved their marks so deeply into him. The whispers followed him everywhere, rumours circling like vultures over carrion. You didn’t know where they came from, Tommy’s careless tongue, or maybe the other nosy students who relished the cruelty of gossip, but they stained everything, leaving you wondering what was real.

You heard that Mr. Riley brought all kinds of dangerous animals into their home, taunting Simon with them, forcing him to kiss a snake, like it was some twisted game, some kind of sick power move. And then there were the stories of his father dragging him to those grim concerts, where violence blurred into spectacle.

They said he’d made Simon laugh at the overdose of a prostitute, made him witness things no child should ever see. You didn’t know if it was all true, but it didn’t matter. The shadow of those stories lingered over him, heavy and unshakable, and you could see it in the way the boy carried himself, in the haunted quiet of his presence.

There was a summer day, thick with heat and sorrow, that still clung to you like a forgotten song.

You had just turned nineteen that July, on the cusp of leaving behind the life you knew, ready to escape to the vastness of London and its promise of university, independence, and everything adulthood might hold. It was one of those warm, languid August evenings, where the sky blushed pink and gold, and the air was alive with the buzz of cicadas and the scent of overripe grass. You were out with your dear friends from high school, celebrating the end of an era. There was laughter, careless and sweet, the kind that only comes after a few too many drinks. A can of cheap beer was cradled in your hand as you leaned back in the passenger seat of your friend’s car, music pulsing around you like a heartbeat as you drove aimlessly through the familiar streets of your suburban neighbourhood.

The night felt like a farewell, a last taste of youth before everything shifted into the unknown. You giggled at something absurd, head dizzy and spinning, when suddenly, through the haze of the moment, you saw him.

Simon Riley.

There was something achingly bittersweet in seeing him there, swallowed by the dusk, his figure hunched as always.

Something inside you shifted, a strange ache that mingled with the buzz of the celebration—a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow that you couldn’t quite place. The guilt of childhoods lived on parallel tracks, always near, but never close enough.

Maybe it was the booze loosening your thoughts, making everything softer and hazier, or maybe it was the looming departure that made everything feel both fleeting and too permanent at once.

“Slow down,” you blurted out, your voice almost drowned out by the music. Your friend gave you a puzzled look, but complied, easing the car to a crawl. 

Simon walked on, dull eyes cast down like he had grown used to the world pretending not to see him.

“Riley,” you called out, your voice weak and unsure. “Fancy a ride?”

Your friends hissed, their voices sharp with confusion and disbelief. “What are you doin’?” one of them asked, eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Girl, you’re mental!” another laughed, but their words were just background noise to you.

Your gaze stayed locked on Simon Riley, unwavering, even as embarrassment burned at the back of your neck.

For a moment, it felt as though time stretched impossibly thin, the space between you and him suspended in something fragile and delicate. And then, slowly, Simon stopped.

His hazel eyes caught yours beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

He furrowed his brows when he recognized you, the corners of his lips tightening in that way that told you he was already annoyed.

You flashed him a drunken smile, but it was crooked, empty, a weak imitation of your usual confidence. You leaned your chin on your palm, trying to ignore the sudden flood of emotions rising in your chest. You studied him, trying to find traces of the boy you once knew under the young man he’d become.

“So?” You asked, feeling exposed, a little too vulnerable under his gaze. Embarrassment and sadness twined together like vines around your ribs, squeezing tightly.

Simon’s response was cold, clipped, dismissive. “Don’t need a ride.”

His voice was deeper, rougher than you remembered, gruff with the weight of years that had passed since you last spoke. Had it really been that long? Long enough that you had forgotten what he even sounded like?

“Oh, you sure? We're headin’ that way anyway,” you hummed, trying to keep your tone light, though something in you was desperate, like this fleeting encounter needed to mean more than it did. But Simon just scoffed, a sound that cut through the night like a blade.

He turned away, resuming his walk down the pavement.

Your friends erupted into giggles, snickering at the awkwardness of the situation, their teasing only deepening the strange ache in your chest. But you tuned them out. With a sigh, you made up your mind. Fueled by guilt, nostalgia, and a bit of reckless drunkenness, you reached for the door handle.

“See y'all tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping out of the car before any of them could protest. One of your friends called, but you didn’t look back and didn't offer any explanation.

Without another thought, you hurried after Simon, your footsteps quickening as if you could somehow close the long years of distance in a single stride.

He didn’t stop for you.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you caught up, breathing rapidly, walking beside him. Meanwhile, the car pulled away, loud music fading into the distance, leaving you two in suffocating silence. His head was bent low, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, but you kept your eyes on him—on his broad shoulders that seemed too tense compared to yours.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke.

The night pressed down on you, the air too warm for comfort. Your face was flushed, whether from the alcohol coursing through your veins or the embarrassment of trailing after Simon, you couldn’t be sure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the awkwardness between you building with every inch you walked together, the distance between you palpable even though you two were side by side.

It was hard to keep your balance, the world around you tilting ever so slightly with each step. You stumbled once, your foot catching the edge of the pavement, and cursed under your breath as you regained your footing. You could have sworn you heard Simon sigh, a quiet, annoyed sound, barely more than a breath, but it stung nonetheless.

“So,” you chuckled awkwardly, desperate to fill the growing silence. Your voice sounded too loud, too false against the quiet of the neighbourhood. “Workin’ late, huh? Mum told me you got a job at the butcher’s. The one near the market, right?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed ahead. For a fleeting second, you thought that he might ignore you entirely. But then, in that low, gravelly tone, he muttered, “Yeah. S’what I do.”

His response was clipped, offering no room for conversation, but you pressed on, ignoring the tension tightening around you like a noose. “Must be rough, that. The long shifts, I mean. Can’t be easy workin’ with knives and saws all day.”

Simon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“It pays the bills,” he muttered, his voice flat. There was no hint of the boy you once knew, just a hardened young man who had learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

The conversation died again, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement. You swallowed hard, guilt rising again like a tide, mingling with the familiar ache of melancholy that always seemed to creep in when you thought of him.

Simon Riley had always been on the edge of your life, a shadow lingering just out of reach. You had never really known him, not truly. He was a figure cast in half-light, always present but never close enough to collide with. You had always watched him from afar, tried to stand up for him when the world became too cruel, but what had any of it meant? He never asked for your help, never even hinted that he needed it. So why bother now?

Simon hadn’t asked for your company—he never had.

And now, standing next to him, you felt that distance more acutely than ever. His silence was loud, louder than anything he could have said, and it left you feeling small, foolish.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, the distant hum of the city the only sound filling the void. The warm summer night, which had felt so light and carefree only moments ago, now seemed oppressive, weighing down on your shoulders like an invisible burden. Before you could open your mouth to say something uncomfortable again, Simon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with irritation.

“You don’t need to do this.”

You blinked, the alcohol making your thoughts slow to catch up. “Do what?”

Simon glanced at you, his hazel eyes dark and distant, a flicker of something hard lingering just beneath the surface.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pity. Guilt. Or whatever it is that’s makin’ you follow me right now.”

Pity? Guilt? That wasn’t what this was—was it? No, of course not. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that you weren’t here out of some misguided sense of obligation. But the look on his face stopped you. It was a look of exhaustion, of someone who had heard this all before, someone who had learned not to trust the intentions of others.

“I’m not—” you started, your voice shaky, but he cut you off again.

“I know you’re leavin’,” Simon murmured, his tone dry, as if stating an obvious fact. “Heard your folks talkin’ about it. You’re off to London, right? So, whatever this is, don’t bother.”

The embarrassment burned hot and heavy in your chest, spreading to your cheeks and ears.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to—” you began again, your voice softer, almost pleading.

Simon shook his head, his expression hardening. “Don’t. I don’t need your bloody charity, alright? I mean it. I don’t need your… whatever the fuck this is.”

The words struck you like a fist to the chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

You halted in your tracks, and to your surprise, he did the same. The space between you felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of all the years that had passed, thick with everything unsaid. You bit down on your lower lip, your gaze lifting slowly, hesitantly, to meet his.

He towered over you now, though once you’d been the taller one. Despite the age gap, the few years between you, despite the fact that you were older than him, Simon seemed like someone who had long since outgrown you, both physically and mentally.

Funny, how time had stretched and twisted between you both, long enough to turn everything unfamiliar. It had been so long, too long, hadn’t it? Since you’d last spoken to him properly. Long enough that you couldn’t quite place when the shift had happened, when Simon had become a stranger to you, a distant figure in your memory rather than the boy next door.

“I don’t wanna leave like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your feet, your voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Your hands itched with nervous energy, and you scratched your elbow awkwardly, trying to anchor yourself. “I know we weren’t exactly friends, but that doesn’t mean I never cared. About you, I mean. And I—” you paused, the words tangling on your tongue, too clumsy, too inadequate for the heaviness in your chest. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter now.”

Simon sighed again.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes like he was too tired for this, too tired for you. The way he looked at you, it was like you were the one out of place, like he was the older one, the wiser one. There was something in his gaze that cut deeper than any words ever could, something that said he didn’t know what to do with you. Not now, not then, maybe not ever.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared, as if deciding whether it was even worth responding.

“The only advice I can give you,” he said, each word deliberate, like he was choosing them with care, “is to live your life. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if we’re lucky, we’ll never have to think about each other ever again.”

The deadpan delivery should’ve stung, should’ve hurt more than it did, instead, you found yourself chuckling softly, soft and bitter at the same time. The absurdity of it, of this whole encounter, made you want to cry and laugh in equal measure. Somehow, he’d managed to diffuse the tension in the most Simon way possible.

But still, it felt like it had always been there, hadn’t it? Unsaid words, missed chances, a history that never was.

You looked up at him, your lips twitching into a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your idea of a pep talk?” you said, trying to make light of the ache that had settled deep in your bones.

Simon tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable hazel eyes. “Not really my strong suit, is it?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

“No, not at all.”

He looked at you, his eyes still guarded, as though he was searching for something in your expression that he couldn’t quite find. Yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t return the smile either. Instead, he shrugged with a kind of finality that made your heart sink.

Simon nodded towards the road ahead.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

The offer was simple, but it carried an underlying meaning, like it was both a farewell and an acknowledgment that, despite everything, you had once meant something to him, even if only in passing.

There was something about his detachment, his unwillingness to engage with the past, that hurt more than you expected. Maybe you had wanted some closure, some understanding from him, a sign that what you felt wasn’t one-sided all these years. But Simon wasn’t offering that. He wasn’t offering anything at all.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t even protest that you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need his protection. Instead, you forced a weak smile onto your face and started walking, hoping the darkness would hide the tears pricking at your eyes. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder now, echoing against the stillness of the night, as if you were both walking away from something you couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, not too long ago, I used to walk you home after church on Sundays. When your mum went to the market. Remember?”

Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but then he hummed, a low, almost noncommittal sound. He wasn’t the boy who needed walking home anymore, and you weren’t the one who could offer him safety.

The walk was silent. But what had you expected? That he’d thank you for some half-hearted attempt at connection after all these years? That he’d open up, that there would be a cathartic moment where you’d both acknowledge the traumatic childhood you shared with him and walk away with some semblance of peace?

Still, it was strange, walking side by side with someone who felt like a stranger, yet also someone you had known your entire life.

The short walk to your parents' house felt longer than it should have. As you approached the familiar gate, the scent of roses hit you, your mother’s prized bush blooming full and red next to the fence.

Simon stopped just outside your childhood home, as if some invisible boundary had been set between him and you. His eyes glanced at the rose bush, then back at you, his expression unreadable, that same distant mask he had worn for years.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure why you felt the need to lower it. It wasn’t likely that your parents would be waiting behind the curtains, watching this uncomfortable farewell.

They never cared much for Simon anyway.

His face was unreadable, shadowed by the dim light that illuminated the porch, but you could see his hazel eyes flicker as they scanned your features, taking you in like he was committing this moment to memory. And for a fleeting second, it was as if you weren’t standing on the cusp of goodbye, as if you were still those two awkward kids, stuck in a world neither of you could quite escape.

You did the same. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, his sandy blonde hair, his broad shoulders, the faint stubble along his jawline that he hadn’t had when you last saw him. There was something fragile about this moment, a shared understanding that neither of you would speak of, but it was there all the same.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the fear of rejection stop you, you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. The contact was sudden, your body instinctively pulling him into a hug that neither of you expected.

It was an impulsive decision, a desperate, clumsy attempt to offer some comfort, to bridge the gap between the boy you once knew and the man standing before you. You pulled him into you, your blushed face pressing against his hard chest. For a heartbeat, he froze, stiff beneath your touch, and you immediately regretted it.

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering guilt, the sense that you had never done enough, never said enough. But as soon as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, the solidness of him, you realised your mistake. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye Simon wanted. You pulled away quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your heart racing.

“Take care, Si,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t dare look at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you turned on your heel, practically fleeing up the path to your front door, leaving him standing there beneath the roses—roses that were as red as your cheeks, blooming in the quiet of the night.