#even when they punch me in the gut and LEAVE ME HANGING FOR A WEEK OR MORE ODA IM LOOKING AT YOU

[stylesispunk]

Silent strain | part iv

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

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summary: Time passes by and Joel still doesn't come back. The baby arrives and you feel lonely.

w.c: 10,5k

warnings: angst, mentions of birth, fluff, mentions of blood, not proofreading. Paragraphs in bold indicate flashbacks & paragraphs in cursive indicate journal entries. Reader cries a lot in this one, we didn't have a good week.

a/n: chapter four is here! Thank you to everyone who take their time to leave comments and share this story, which was supposed to be only 3 chapters but became longer. I hope you like this one. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Happy reading. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Since you had met Joel, this was the first time you had ever been in a room without him. You were surrounding by walls in a safe place that it was foreign for you, sitting alone on the edge of a bed that you had just shared with Joel the night prior, now feeling impossibly lonely without him around. The weight hit you all at once, the quiet, the loneliness, the reality that Joel had left and you didn’t know if him and Ellie would be alright.

The weight of it hit you all at once, the quiet, the loneliness, the overwhelming reality that Joel had left. That you didn’t know if he and Ellie were alright. If they ever would be. A tight knot formed in your chest, pulling tighter with each passing minute.

Your mind raced, thoughts of where Joel might be gnawing at you. Were they already on the road? Were they safe? Had they run into trouble? You tried to push the thoughts away, tried to convince yourself they were fine, that Joel would protect Ellie like he always had. But the fear lingered, gnawing at you in the quiet of the room.

You stood abruptly, the need to do something, anything, to shake off the growing anxiety driving you to your feet. Pacing around the bedroom, your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to think, trying to breathe through the tightening in your chest.

But no matter how hard you tried; the worry wouldn’t leave. Each time you circled the room, it felt as though the walls were closing in a little more, trapping you in this unbearable uncertainty.

And then, as you turned again, your eyes landed on something that stopped you cold.

There, on the chair by the window, was Joel’s shirt. Not just any shirt—his favorite one, the one he always wore, the one that had become your favorite too. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stepped closer, almost as if in a trance, and your trembling fingers reached out to touch the fabric.

The scent of him still lingered in the material, that familiar mix of worn cotton, faint sweat, and the earthy scent that was unmistakably Joel. The tears that had been building in your chest all day finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as you clutched the shirt in your hands.

Life in the QZ didn’t leave much room for joy. Every day was a struggle, ration cards barely covering enough food, let alone anything extra. But you had managed to save up just enough to get him something special.

The shirt.

You had seen it hanging in the back of a small booth during one of your shifts at the QZ market. It wasn’t much—faded, a little worn—but it had a softness to it that you thought Joel might appreciate. He never said it out loud, but you could tell his clothes were becoming threadbare, the weight of the world making even the little comforts seem unattainable. You wanted to change that, even in a small way.

The look on his face when you handed it to him had been one of complete confusion, like he didn’t quite know what to do with kindness anymore.

“Why’d you get me this?” Joel had asked, his brow furrowing as he held up the shirt, inspecting it like he thought there was some kind of catch.

You shrugged, trying to play it off casually, but your heart was pounding in your chest. “I just… thought you could use something new. You’ve been wearing the same damn thing since I met you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes were still guarded, suspicious. “You used your rations for this?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable than you intended. “It’s no big deal. Just… thought you deserved something nice.”

Joel stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the shirt like he was afraid to accept it, afraid of what it meant. His gaze flickered to yours, and you saw something there, unreadable.

“Why’re you doing this for me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough, almost accusing, as if he couldn’t believe that someone would care about him enough to make such a gesture.

You took a step closer, your heart hammering in your chest. “Because I want to, Joel. Because you matter to me.”

His eyes darkened, the weight of your words settling between you like a heavy fog. You could see the battle he was waging within himself, the walls he had built so high, trying to protect himself from feeling anything. But the look in his eyes softened, if only for a moment, and something shifted.

Before you could say anything else, before you even had a chance to breathe, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hand cupped the back of your neck, rough but gentle, and then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft or slow. It was raw, desperate, as if he had been holding himself back for far too long. The kiss stole the air from your lungs, a surge of warmth flooding through you. He kissed you like he needed it, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and in that moment, you knew that this was more than just a Kiss, it was the first crack in his armor.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Neither could you.

“You shouldn’t be wastin’ rations on me,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, almost tender.

You smiled, your hands still clutching the fabric of his shirt. “Not a waste. Not at all.”

Joel’s lips twitched, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a small, real smile.

From that moment on, the shirt had become his favorite. He wore it often, and every time he did, it reminded you of that day, of the first time he had let you in.

From that moment on, you had become the most precious thing he had in the world.”

Tears blurred your vision as you sobbed into the fabric, holding onto it as if it were him, as if it could somehow bring him back. The ache in your heart was unbearable, the reality of his absence crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You whispered his name through your tears, wondering where he was, if he was thinking of you too. If he missed you, and of course he did, you thought. But what was really eating you was his safety. The fear clawed at you, the unknown hanging over you like a dark cloud.

"Please come back," you whispered to the empty room, your voice breaking. But the only answer was the silence, the vast, aching silence that now filled the space Joel had left behind.

+

At the same time, miles away, Joel lay on the cold floor of an abandoned house, his body limp, covered in sweat and blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, barely enough to keep him conscious. The world around him blurred, the edges of his vision darkening as pain coursed through his body. His grip on reality was slipping, but one thing remained constant in his mind: you.

He tried to focus, tried to stay awake, but it was getting harder. The wound in his side throbbed with every shallow breath, blood seeping through his clothes and pooling beneath him. The searing pain was relentless, but what hurt more was the thought of you, alone, without him.

Ellie was beside him, frantically trying to stop the bleeding, her hands shaking as she applied pressure to his wound. "Joel, stay with me," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, his gaze unfocused. He could hear her voice, but it felt distant, muffled, like she was speaking through water. His thoughts drifted to you—how you had always been the one to keep him grounded, to remind him there was something worth fighting for.

He thought of your smile, the way your eyes would light up when you laughed. He thought of the shirt you'd given him back in the QZ, how he hadn’t understood why someone like you would care for someone like him. He thought of the nights you spent together, wrapped in each other’s arms, and how your belly had grown your baby inside.

The thought of not having the chance of meeting his baby was pulling the string to life now.

"Joel, stay with me!" Ellie’s voice broke through the fog again, more urgent this time. She was crying now, her hands stained red as she tried to keep him alive. She had seen too much death, lost too many people, and she couldn’t lose him too. Not now.

Joel’s breath hitched as his body fought to stay conscious. He thought of you one last time, of the child growing inside you, the life he had left behind to protect Ellie. He had made a choice, but now, as the darkness threatened to pull him under, all he could think about was getting back to you.

His hand twitched, reaching for something—anything to hold on to—but all he felt was the cold, hard floor beneath him. His eyelids grew heavier, his body weaker, but somewhere deep inside, he clung to the hope that he would see you again. That he would make it back to you.

"Please," he whispered, though it was barely audible. He wasn’t sure if he was begging Ellie to save him or if it was a prayer to the universe to bring him back to you.

Ellie’s hands didn’t stop, her desperation fueling her as she fought to keep him alive. "I won’t let you die," she swore, her voice raw with emotion. "I won’t."

But as Joel’s world faded to black, the only thing on his mind was you, and the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch, everything that had kept him going. The thought of you was his last tether to the world, the only thing he could hold onto in the darkness.

And then, there was nothing.

you stirred awake to the soft light filtering through the window, your body still heavy with exhaustion and the weight of your sorrow. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of Joel’s shirt, the scent of him lingering in the fibers, a bittersweet reminder of his absence.

A gentle knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You sat up slowly, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, the reality of the past few days crashing back over you like a wave. “Come in,” you called, your voice hoarse from crying.

The door creaked open, revealing Tommy standing in the doorway, a worried expression etched across his face. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room. “I thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a small smile, but it felt fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. “I’m okay,” you lied, though the truth hung heavily in the air between you.

Tommy’s gaze fell to the shirt in your hands, his expression shifting to one of understanding. “You miss him,” he stated rather than asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, the tears welling up again, and you quickly blinked them away. “Of course I miss him. And I don’t know if he is okay.”

Tommy moved closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I wish I could tell you he is. But… we’ve been through a lot, and sometimes, we have to trust that they’ll come back to us.”

His words brought some comfort, but it was fleeting. “What if he doesn’t?” you whispered. “What if he and Ellie are hurt?”

You wanted to believe him, to cling to that hope, but the uncertainty gnawed at you. “I just want him back,” you admitted, the ache in your heart making your voice crack. “I want them both back, we were supposed to be a family.”

Tommy’s expression softened; the concern etched on his face deepening. “I know,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re right. You three are a family, and it’s not fair for you to feel this way.”

The raw emotion in your words hung heavy in the air. You could feel the tears welling up again, threatening to spill over. “It just feels so empty without him.”

He nodded in understanding, his gaze unwavering. “Joel’s a fighter, and so are you. Just hold on to that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that hope can keep us going even when things seem dark.”

“But what if hope isn’t enough?” you asked, frustration creeping into your voice. “What if he’s out there, and I’m just stuck here waiting?”

Tommy sighed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not just waiting. You’re doing something important right now by taking care of yourself and that baby. Joel would want you to stay safe and strong. You’re both his world.”

His words made you pause. You had been so consumed with worry that you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider what Joel would want for you, for the baby. You needed to honor his love by taking care of yourself, even if it felt impossible at the moment.

“I know you’re right,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It’s just hard to think of anything else when all I want is to be with him.”

Tommy reached over, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, you have to keep yourself strong for my baby nephew or niece there” he said pointing at your belly, “And I heard that there is a delicious breakfast waiting for you at my house.”

A small smile broke through your sadness at Tommy's words. The thought of food, especially something delicious, made your stomach rumble. “Breakfast, huh?” you said, attempting to lighten the mood. “Is it worth the trek over there?”

Tommy chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. “You bet it is. Maria’s been in the kitchen since sunrise, whipping up all sorts of goodies. You can’t say no to her pancakes.”

The mention of Maria made your heart feel a little lighter. She always had a way of brightening your day, and the thought of spending time with her and Tommy brought a hint of normalcy back into your chaotic world. “Alright, I guess I can be tempted by pancakes,” you said, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Just give me a moment to get ready.”

As you stood up and moved towards the small mirror on the wall, Tommy turned to leave, but not before he added, “And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you, and Joel will come back. You have to believe that.”

You nodded, feeling the flicker of hope ignite once more within you. “I will, Tommy. Thank you.”

As the weeks passed, life in Jackson continued to move forward, albeit without Joel. You immersed yourself in the routine of the community, trying to find solace in the familiar faces and daily activities. However, your heart remained tethered to the memories of him, each thought a bittersweet reminder of what was lost.

Paul’s presence became more pronounced during this time. His visits were frequent, and he often lingered a bit longer than necessary, his laughter ringing through your home, filling the silence left by Joel. At first, you welcomed his company, finding comfort in his kindness, but gradually you began to notice the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch was a little too warm, a little too intentional.

You were oblivious to his growing intentions, too consumed by thoughts of Joel. Every time Paul made a gesture that hinted at something more—like the way he’d offer to carry things for you or the way his smile seemed to brighten when he caught your eye—you brushed it off as friendly camaraderie.

But in the quiet moments, especially as your pregnancy progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder what Joel would say or do. You often imagined him here, by your side, offering his protective presence and the warmth of his love.

One afternoon, while you were resting on the porch, Paul joined you, bringing along a small basket of fruit. “Thought you might like a snack,” he said, settling down beside you. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

“Thanks, Paul,” you replied, taking a piece of fruit and munching on it absentmindedly. Your mind drifted, imagining Joel’s voice teasing you about how much you were eating, and you couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought.

Paul watched you, his expression softening as he leaned a bit closer. “You know,” he started, hesitating for a moment as if weighing his words. “You’re pretty amazing. I admire how strong you are, going through all this without—”

“Without Joel?” you interjected gently, your heart clenching at the mention of his name. “I don’t really feel strong. I just… I’m doing what I have to do.”

Paul nodded, a hint of disappointment flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “Right. Just know I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need.”

You offered him a grateful smile, but inside, the ache for Joel was relentless. You wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that Joel would come back, and that you could return to the life you had built together. But every passing day made the reality of that hope feel more distant.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow across the horizon, you felt the familiar pang of loneliness creeping back in. You were in Jackson, surrounded by people, yet the emptiness inside you was profound. No amount of comfort from Paul could fill the void that Joel had left behind.

February 15

It’s been weeks since Joel left, and I’m still struggling to accept it. I find myself waking up each morning, hoping that it was all just a nightmare, but the empty side of the bed reminds me of the truth. I miss him more than I can put into words.

Tommy and Maria have been amazing, and I’m grateful for their support. They try to keep me distracted, to make me feel like I’m not alone, but the truth is that every moment feels heavy without him here. Even the laughter we share feels tinged with sadness. I want to be strong, for my baby and for Joel, but some days, it feels like an impossible task.

And then there’s Paul. He’s kind and thoughtful, and I can see that he cares about me. I appreciate everything he does, but it feels wrong to let myself lean on him. My heart belongs to Joel, and nothing will change that. I’m still waiting for him to come back, to hold me again and make everything feel right.

I can’t shake the fear that I might never see him again. What if something happened? What if he’s in pain? My heart aches with every unanswered question. I wish I could tell him that I love him, that I’m thinking of him every second of the day.

But then, I think of the baby. The baby needs me to be strong. I need to focus on keeping myself healthy for them, even when it feels like my heart is breaking. I can’t forget about them in the midst of all this pain.

I keep reminding myself that I’m not alone. I have Tommy and Maria, and even Paul, though it feels complicated sometimes. I just wish I could feel whole again.

As I sit here writing, holding onto this shirt of Joel's, I hope that wherever he is, he knows how much I love him. I hope he’s safe and that he’s thinking of me too. I’ll keep writing until he returns. It’s the only way I know how to keep our story alive.”

It was one of those quiet evenings when the weight of Joel's absence seemed unbearable. You hadn’t seen much of Tommy or Maria that day, and Dr. Paul had stopped by as usual. This time, though, he lingered longer, suggesting he bring you dinner to keep you company. You hesitated, but the idea of eating alone in the house that felt more like a stranger’s shelter than a home wore on you. So, reluctantly, you agreed.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small table, plates of food in front of you, but you barely touched yours. Paul, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, making light conversation about the community, about his work. You nodded along, offering small smiles, but your mind wandered, as it always did, back to Joel.

After a while, Paul cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between bites. His eyes lingered on you, a softness there that made you shift uncomfortably in your seat. "You know," he began, his voice gentle but carrying a certain weight, "you won’t be able to do this alone forever."

You furrowed your brows, not quite following. "What do you mean?"

Paul leaned forward slightly, his expression serious, yet warm. "Raising a baby... it’s not something you should have to handle on your own. You’ll need someone by your side. Someone who can help you, take care of you and the baby."

Your heart skipped a beat at the insinuation, and for a moment, the room felt too small. The air thickened as you stared at him, realization dawning slowly. He wasn’t just offering help out of kindness. There was something more to his visits, to his attentiveness, something you hadn’t seen until now.

You swallowed hard, a flash of anger mixing with the ache of missing Joel. You pushed your plate away, your appetite completely gone now. "Joel’s gonna get back," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "He’s coming back."

Paul blinked, taken aback by your response. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out how to respond. "I understand that you care for Joel," he said carefully, his tone measured, "but he left, didn’t he? He made a choice."

Your jaw tightened, defensive walls going up. "I don’t care about Joel. I love him. I’m in love with him. He’s doing what he has to. He’s coming back for us. I know it."

Paul’s gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes—concern, perhaps, or frustration. “I just don’t want you to set yourself up for heartbreak. You deserve to have someone who’s here for you now, not just someone you hope will come back.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “You don’t know what we have, Paul. You don’t understand the bond we built, the things we’ve been through together.”

His expression shifted slightly, a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite place. “And I respect that. But you also need to think about your future—about your baby. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s...”

“Stop,” you interrupted, the word bursting from you like a shield. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I won’t allow myself to entertain that thought. Joel will come back for us and before the baby arrives.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the only sounds coming from the gentle crackling of the fire in the corner and the distant hum of life outside. You could feel the weight of the unspoken hanging between you, a chasm created by the gulf of your differing hopes.

Paul opened his mouth, clearly torn on how to respond. “Look, I’m not trying to come between you two. I just—”

“I know,” you interjected, your voice calmer now, but still firm. “You care. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, for the baby. But my heart belongs to Joel, and it always will. It’s not fair to me or to him to act like that connection doesn’t exist just because he’s not here right now.”

Paul sighed, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression. “Okay. I hear you. But just know that I’m here for you, no matter what. Whether it’s just as a friend or... more. Just think about it, alright?”

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he wanted to help. But every time you thought of Joel, a warmth spread through you that no one else could replicate.

“Thanks, Paul,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “But I think you should go.”

Paul's face fell at your words, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. The warmth that had been there moments before faded, replaced by a guarded expression. “I understand,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the obvious hurt. “I just wanted to help you, to be there for you in any way I could.”

You felt a pang of guilt for turning him away, but you had to be firm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Paul. Really. But from now on, I think it’s best if we keep things more... professional. I need to focus on me and the baby right now. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

He nodded slowly, processing your words. “Of course. I can respect that,” he said, though the disappointment lingered in his eyes. “I’ll check on the baby and make sure you’re both doing okay, but I won’t push for anything more.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved that he seemed to understand. “That’s all I need for now. Just someone who can help with check-ups and advice. No more dinners or flowers or anything like that. I need to keep my mind clear.”

Paul inhaled deeply, nodding again. “I get it. I really do. Just know that if you ever change your mind or need anything, I’m here.”

As he stood up to leave, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the air. You felt a mix of sadness and relief wash over you, knowing that you had made the right choice for your heart, but also recognizing the friendship that was slipping away.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softening again as he moved toward the door. “And take care of that little one. I’ll be around to check on you both.”

“Thanks, Paul,” you replied, forcing a smile even though your heart felt heavy. As he stepped outside, the door closing gently behind him, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You stared at the empty chair where he had just sat, the silence of the room settling around you. The reality of your situation loomed large; you were alone in a world where you were still waiting for Joel, still holding onto hope. The ache of missing him was as familiar as the beating of your heart, a constant reminder that some connections could never truly be replaced.

As you turned your gaze back to the window, you let your thoughts drift once more to Joel, the warmth of his memory wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You closed your eyes and whispered his name, hoping with all your heart that he was safe, that he was thinking of you too, and that one day soon, he would return to fill the void in your life.

You were about to give birth and Joel would be here by then.

The day had finally arrived, but as you lay in the infirmary, the pain of contractions rippled through you, sharper than you could have imagined. Each wave of discomfort was accompanied by a fresh wave of disappointment and anger, emotions that seemed to swirl together in a chaotic dance within you.

You gripped the edge of the bed, trying to focus on your breathing, but it felt impossible to push away the nagging thought that Joel should have been there. This was a moment that deserved his presence, his strength. You had envisioned him by your side, his reassuring voice guiding you through the pain, just as he had done so many times before. But instead, you were alone, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

“Just breathe, you’re doing great,” Paul said, trying to offer comfort as he checked your progress. His voice was calm and steady, but it did little to soothe the tumult inside you. You could sense his concern, but all you could think about was Joel, his absence a heavy weight on your chest.

“Where is he?” you gasped, the question slipping from your lips, filled with a mix of desperation and fury. “He should be here! He promised... he would be back.” The words came out more like a plea, the frustration boiling beneath the surface as you fought against the pain.

Paul exchanged a worried glance with the Tommy and Marie before looking back at you. “I know you’re scared. But you need to focus on the baby right now. You can do this.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to focus on the here and now, but every wave of pain brought Joel’s face to your mind, and with it, a sharp pang of grief. Tommy’s hand was on yours, a steady, reassuring presence. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, though his voice sounded distant, almost muffled. “Just a little longer.”

You barely heard him, your thoughts swirling. The pressure built, and a cry escaped your lips as another contraction tore through you. Maria was on your other side, her face tight with worry. "Just breathe," she urged. "You're almost there."

You squeezed Tommy's hand harder, your nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Finally, there was a moment of stillness, a pause in the storm of pain. You felt the baby slide free, and then there was a new sound, thin and high-pitched, cutting through the air, the cry of a newborn.

But instead of relief, a hollow feeling settled in your chest. Your breath hitched, and your eyes remained tightly shut, refusing to open, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened.

Maria moved quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft blanket, her eyes filled with tears as she turned to you. "It’s a girl," she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent. "A beautiful, healthy girl."

You didn’t look. You couldn’t. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head weakly. “I… I don’t want to see her.”

Maria hesitated, a look of confusion flashing across her face. “But… she’s your baby,” she urged gently. "She's right here. She's perfect."

Tommy glanced at Maria, then back at you, a look of worry crossing his face. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “what’s going on? You’ve been waiting for this, for her. She’s your daughter.”

You felt a sob catch in your throat, the words clawing to get out. "I can’t… I can’t do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not without him. I can't..."

The room fell into a heavy silence, Maria and Tommy exchanging a look filled with unspoken concern. Tommy’s face softened, his grip on your hand tightening. “He’ll come back,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Joel will come back. You know he would never leave you like this… not for good.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "He left," you murmured, your voice trembling. "He left, and I don't know if he’s ever coming back. I don’t know how to do this without him. I don’t want to… I can’t look at her."

Maria’s expression softened, and she gently handed the baby to a nearby nurse, who took the little girl away for a moment. "It’s okay,” Maria whispered, sitting closer to you. "It's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel lost."

Your chest tightened, a sob breaking free from your lips. “I just… I needed him to be here,” you confessed, your voice small and broken. “I needed him, and he’s gone.”

Tommy rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, his eyes filled with empathy. "I know," he said quietly. "I know it hurts. But you’re not alone, okay? We’re here, Maria and I… all of Jackson is here for you. And Joel… I believe he’ll come back. You have to believe that too."

You closed your eyes again, feeling the exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. "I don’t know how to feel," you whispered, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

Tommy sighed, nodding slowly. “Take your time,” he murmured. “We’re not going anywhere. And when you’re ready… your little girl will be here, waiting for you.”

Maria reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered softly. “And she needs her mom. But we’ll take care of her for now. We’ll make sure she’s safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You nodded, barely, a sense of numbness spreading through you. Somewhere, deep inside, you wanted to believe that Joel would walk through that door any second now, that he’d see his daughter, hold her, and everything would be okay.

But until then, all you could do was wait.

A few hours later, the room had quieted down, the dim light from a nearby lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. You felt a heavy exhaustion weighing down on you, a bone-deep tiredness that seemed to seep into every part of your being. The adrenaline from the birth had faded, leaving you with a hollow ache that was more emotional than physical.

The door creaked open, and you heard the footsteps before you saw him.

Paul stepped inside, a gentle smile on his face. “Hey there,” he said softly, his voice low to avoid startling you. “How are you holding up?”

You nodded slightly, trying to muster a smile despite the emotional weight in your heart. “I’m okay. Just... tired.”

He moved closer, clearing his throat, looking down at you with a polite but firm expression. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low in the quiet room. “I know it’s been a lot, and you’re tired… but your baby girl needs to be fed.”

You turned your head away, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the tightening in your chest. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He took a step closer, his voice growing softer, almost coaxing. “She’s hungry. And the sooner you start, the better it’ll be for both of you. I know this is hard, but…” He hesitated, a slight frown creasing his brow. “She needs her mom.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a spark of irritation at his words. "I can’t," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. “Not now.”

He sighed, moving to the edge of the bed, his eyes searching your face for something, understanding, maybe. “Look, I get it,” he began, his tone more insistent. “But you can’t just leave her to starve. You’re all she has right now. You’re her whole world.”

You shot him a sharp glance, your frustration bubbling up. "I said no," you replied, your voice firmer this time. “Get someone else to feed her.”

Paul’s expression tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "There isn't anyone else,” he pressed. “We don’t have a lot of resources here, and formula is limited. You have to do this, or she’ll suffer.”

The weight of his words hit you, but so did his tone. The way he seemed to be blaming you, as if it was your fault that you were too broken, too overwhelmed to even look at your own child.

Maria, who had been hovering nearby, stepped forward, placing a calming hand on the doctor’s arm. “Paul, give her a minute, okay?” she said softly but firmly. “She’s just been through a lot. Let’s give her some space.”

He nodded, reluctantly stepping back. "I’m just saying,” he muttered, his gaze flicking back to you. "She’s going to need her mother sooner rather than later."

He turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Maria watched him go, then turned back to you, her eyes filled with empathy. She reached out, gently squeezing your hand. “I know he can be a bit… pushy,” she said quietly, “but he’s right about one thing. She does need you.”

You swallowed hard, tears stinging your eyes again. “I just… I can’t face her, Maria,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “Not when I feel like this. Not without Joel.”

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get it,” she whispered. “But you’re stronger than you think. And that little girl… she’s a part of you. And Joel, too.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of them settle in your heart. You were afraid — of loving this child, of losing her, of losing another part of yourself if Joel never came back. But there was also a flicker of something else, something deep and primal — the instinct to protect, to care, to nurture.

“I’ll bring her in,” Maria offered gently, “just for a moment. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just… see her. That’s all.”

You hesitated, then slowly nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. Maria gave you a small smile, squeezing your hand again before leaving the room.

A few moments later, she returned with a tiny bundle in her arms. Your baby. So small, so fragile. The baby’s eyes were closed, her tiny mouth opening and closing in search of comfort.

Maria carefully placed her in your arms, and for the first time, you looked down at your daughter. Her face was so small, her skin so soft, and suddenly, without warning, a sob broke free from your chest. The sight of her, the feel of her warmth against you, tore through all the walls you’d built.

She was a piece of you. And a piece of Joel. And despite everything, despite the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, she was here, and she was yours.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the tears flow freely down your cheeks. “Hey, little one,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

The baby stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for the briefest moment, and in that instant, you felt a small spark of something in your chest, a tiny flicker of love, a tiny piece of you.

"Hi, baby Rosie," you whispered softly, naming her after the flowers you’d always loved, the ones that somehow still managed to grow even in the worst conditions. The name felt right, like a promise of something beautiful amidst all the harshness. Rosie shifted slightly, her tiny fingers curling against your chest, and a small, tender smile broke through your tears.

Maria’s smile widened, a warm, proud light in her eyes. "That’s a beautiful name," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Rosie… it suits her."

Just then, Tommy stepped into the room, his footsteps soft but purposeful. His gaze fell on you, cradling Rosie in your arms, and his face softened into a gentle, almost surprised smile. "Well, look at that," he said quietly, moving closer, his eyes never leaving the small bundle in your arms. "That’s my niece."

He came to your side, glancing at Maria for a moment, then back to you. There was something in his expression — a mix of relief, pride, and a kind of cautious joy. He looked down at Rosie, and you could see his eyes glisten just a little. "She’s beautiful," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

You nodded, your own emotions swirling, a strange mix of overwhelming love and the lingering ache of uncertainty. “She is,” you agreed softly, glancing down at your daughter. “She’s so… tiny.”

Tommy chuckled, his smile growing wider. “Yeah, they start that way,” he teased gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before his hand lightly brushed Rosie’s head. “Hey there, Rosie,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be just fine. Got your mama right here… and your uncle Tommy, too.”

Maria moved closer, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s waist. “We’re all here,” she added, her voice soft but firm. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it. You’ve got us.”

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, grateful for their presence, their support, and their love. It didn’t erase the pain or the uncertainty, but it made it a little easier to bear. Holding Rosie closer, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the warmth of this moment, to hope — even just a little — that things might be okay.

Rosie let out a tiny yawn, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, glancing up at Tommy and Maria. "For being here… for everything."

Tommy gave a slight nod, his expression tender. "We're family," he replied simply. "That’s what we do."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. Rosie began to fuss in your arms, her tiny mouth opening and closing, searching. You glanced at Maria, who gave you an encouraging nod. "It’s okay," she whispered. "She’s hungry."

You adjusted your position on the bed, feeling a mix of nervousness and instinct kicking in. As you began to unbutton your shirt to feed Rosie, you noticed Tommy standing awkwardly nearby, his eyes wide as he realized what was about to happen.

His face turned a shade redder, and he quickly looked away, trying to give you privacy. “Uh… yeah, I’ll just… I’ll, uh… step out,” he stammered, taking a step back toward the door. He paused for a moment, then added with a slight grin, “And don’t worry, I’ll never tell Joel I saw this.”

Maria burst out laughing at his awkwardness, shaking her head. “Oh, come on, Tommy. It’s just feeding a baby. You’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s smile widened, though he kept his gaze firmly on the floor. "Yeah, but Joel’s my brother, and I don’t think he’d appreciate me having a front-row seat to… this," he muttered, his voice light with humor but his discomfort still clear.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a bit of tension easing from your shoulders. “Thanks, Tommy,” you said, grateful for the attempt at levity in such a raw moment. “And yeah, maybe keep this one to yourself.”

Tommy gave you a playful salute. “You got it,” he said before slipping out of the room, leaving you with Maria and Rosie.

Maria moved closer, her smile warm and understanding. “You’re doing great,” she murmured. “And don’t mind Tommy. He’s just being… well, Tommy.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease. Rosie’s small movements brought your attention back to her, and you focused on the task at hand. You guided her to latch, feeling a mix of discomfort and wonder as she began to feed. For a moment, all the noise in your mind quieted, and there was just the steady rhythm of her tiny breaths, the rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth of her against you.

Maria watched with a soft smile, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding. "See?" she whispered. "You’ve got this."

You nodded slowly, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. Maybe, just maybe, you did.

A month had passed since Rosie was born, and the world outside felt heavier than ever. Each day, you rose with the sun, cradling your baby and navigating the delicate balance of motherhood in a world that seemed intent on breaking you. But the absence of Joel loomed larger than any other burden. His absence echoed through the quiet of your days, a painful reminder of the love you’d lost amid the chaos.

As you paced the small living space, the walls felt like they were closing in on you. The gentle cooing of Rosie contrasted sharply with the storm brewing in your heart. Every time you glanced at her, you felt a pang of anger bubble up — anger at the universe for taking him from you, anger at yourself for being so vulnerable, and anger at the endless cycle of survival that left little room for hope.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, Rosie cradled against your chest, her tiny fingers clutching your shirt. She was so innocent, so unaware of the weight that pressed down on you. You fought back tears as you watched her, the small signs of growth reminding you of everything you wished could be different. It felt unfair that she had to grow up in this world without her father, without the love and protection he could provide.

A knock at the door jolted you from your thoughts. You looked over, half-expecting to see Joel standing there, but when you opened the door, it was Tommy. His face bore the lines of concern, but you couldn't muster the energy to reciprocate his warmth.

"Hey," he greeted softly, stepping inside and glancing at Rosie, who had fallen asleep against you. “She’s getting so big.”

You forced a smile, but it felt like a mask over the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Yeah," you said, your voice lacking its usual warmth. "She is."

Tommy shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s been tough… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

You couldn’t hold back the anger any longer. “What I’m feeling? I’m feeling like a single mother in a godforsaken world with no sign of the man I love! He should be here with us, Tommy!” Your voice raised, the emotion pouring out like a floodgate unleashed.

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he replied, his tone gentle but firm. “But we’re doing everything we can to find him. You have to believe that.”

You shook your head, stepping away from the door, feeling the walls close in even more. “What’s the point? What if he doesn’t come back? What if he never gets to meet Rosie? I can’t keep living in this limbo, waiting for something that might never happen.”

Tommy’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “You’re not alone, you know? Maria and I are here for you. We want to help however we can.”

You huffed, crossing your arms defensively. “Help? You can’t bring him back. No one can.” You paused. “Maria is carrying your child, Tommy. You must worry about her.”

“I do. And I also care for my niece and my sister-in-law” he answered.

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, but your frustration bubbled just below the surface. “That doesn’t change the fact that Joel should be here. He’s missing, and I can’t just sit back and pretend everything’s fine while you and Maria are about to become parents. It feels… unfair.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious. “I know it’s not easy, but you can’t push us away. We want to be here for you and Rosie. And just because Maria and I are starting a family doesn’t mean we care any less about you. We’re all in this together.”

You turned away, staring at the wall, feeling the weight of his words. Part of you wanted to reject his offer of support, to wallow in your pain and anger, but another part craved the connection and the reassurance that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you felt.

“Why can’t you just understand how hard this is for me?” you said, your voice trembling. “Every time I look at Rosie, I see everything I’ve lost. I can’t bear the thought of loving her and then losing her too.”

Tommy stepped closer, his voice lowering to a gentle tone. “You’re not going to lose her. And you’re not losing Joel either. He’s out there, and we’ll do everything we can to bring him back. But you have to let us help you through this. It’s okay to be scared, to feel overwhelmed. You don’t have to go through it all alone.”

You met his gaze, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you found was unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, you let the anger fade just a little, allowing the vulnerability to seep in.

“Okay,” you said quietly, finally letting the walls you’d built start to crumble. “Maybe I don’t know how to be strong all the time. Maybe I do need help.”

Tommy’s face broke into a warm smile, relief washing over him. “Good. Let’s take it one day at a time. I’ll help however I can. We can figure out feeding routines, and I can take care of some chores around here. Just… don’t shut us out.”

You nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the past month’s isolation slowly lifting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help; it was that the fear of losing Joel had wrapped around you like a shroud, making it hard to see a way forward. But with Tommy’s support, a small crack of light broke through.

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggested, his voice lightening a bit. “How about I take Rosie for a bit while you get some rest? You look like you could use it.”

You hesitated, glancing at the tiny bundle in your arms. “Are you sure? I don’t want to overwhelm you with her.”

Tommy chuckled softly, a hint of warmth in his voice. “I promise, I can handle a baby. Besides, I want to get to know my niece. Just give me a moment.”

You reluctantly handed Rosie over, your heart fluttering with both anxiety and relief. Watching as Tommy cradled her, a gentle smile on his face, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in knowing she was with family.

“See? She’s in good hands,” he assured you, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “I’ll take good care of her. You just take some time for yourself.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease. “Okay. Just for a little while.”

As Tommy settled into the rocking chair with Rosie, you stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind you. The moment you were alone, you felt the remnants of tension seep from your body, leaving you a bit lighter.

You made your way to the small bathroom, splashing cool water on your face and letting the sensation ground you. Your reflection in the mirror was a reminder of the past weeks — the sleepless nights, the tears, the fear. But beneath it all, you also saw a flicker of resilience.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back into the living area, where the sounds of Tommy cooing at Rosie filled the space. It was a simple moment, but it felt monumental. You could see how much Tommy genuinely cared, and the thought made your heart swell.

As you joined them, settling onto the couch across from him, you watched the two of them. “What are you talking about?” you asked, a playful curiosity tugging at your lips.

Tommy looked up with a grin. “Just telling her all the stories about her uncle. I was quite the troublemaker, you know.”

“Oh really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine that.”

He laughed; the sound infectious. “You should have seen me. I could charm anyone out of trouble… except for Joel. He always saw right through me.”

You felt a small smile break through as you listened to him reminisce. It was a distraction you desperately needed, a chance to be reminded of the good things in life even amidst the chaos.

As the minutes passed, you began to feel a shift within yourself — a softening of the hard edges that grief had carved into your heart. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they once seemed. Maybe, with time and support, you could learn to navigate this new chapter alongside Rosie, surrounded by family who cared.

And as you watched Tommy bounce Rosie gently, you allowed yourself to entertain a sliver of hope. Perhaps Joel would find his way back to you, and until then, you had a new purpose to embrace, even in the absence of the one you loved.

A few days later, the air in the infirmary was thick with the familiar scent of antiseptic and the quiet hum of muted conversations. You sat on a worn-out chair, cradling Rosie in your arms as you watched Paul examine her. The little one was wrapped snugly in a soft blanket, her tiny features serene as she slept.

Paul, focused on his task, checked Rosie’s vitals, his brow furrowed in concentration. You could see the care in his movements, the way he gently examined her delicate limbs and listened to her heartbeat. After a moment, he straightened up, turning his attention to you.

“She’s doing well,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Gaining weight, which is a good sign. Just keep an eye on her feeding schedule.”

You nodded, feeling a swell of pride. “I’ve been trying my best.”

Paul offered a small smile before his expression shifted, becoming more serious. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Okay,” you replied, bracing yourself for what might come next.

Paul’s gaze dropped, and he took a deep breath before speaking again. “See, I told you he wasn’t going to come back.”

The words struck you like a blow, igniting a spark of anger deep within. “What do you mean?” you snapped, your voice rising. “You’re just going to give up on him like that?”

“I'm not giving up,” Paul said quickly, his tone defensive. “I’m trying to prepare you for the reality of this situation.”

“Reality?” you echoed, disbelief flooding your voice. “You think I don’t know what reality is? You think I want to believe he’s gone? I can’t just accept that!”

He held up his hands, trying to calm the storm brewing inside you. “I understand. But holding onto hope for too long can be dangerous. It can lead to more pain.”

“More pain?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You think I haven’t felt pain? You think it doesn’t hurt to think about him every single day, wondering if he’s, okay? Wondering if he’s thinking of us?”

Paul’s expression softened, but the seriousness remained. “I just don’t want you to be hurt even more when the reality sinks in.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks, frustration and sorrow bubbling beneath the surface. “You don’t get to dictate how I feel, Paul! You can’t just stand there and tell me to give up on someone I love. Joel is out there. I know he is. He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t abandon me and Rosie.”

“I wish I could believe that as much as you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you need to face the possibility that he’s not coming back. It’s not about giving up; it’s about being realistic.”

“Realistic?” you shot back, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “You think being realistic means I should stop hoping? That I should stop fighting for him? You’re wrong. If there’s even the slightest chance that he’s out there, I’m not going to let it go. Not now, not ever.”

Paul stepped closer; concern etched on his face. “You can’t do this alone. You need support, and right now, your focus should be on Rosie. She needs you.”

The mention of Rosie made the anger in your chest swirl into something more painful—guilt. “I know she needs me,” you said, your voice dropping. “But how can I be there for her when a part of me feels like it’s dying inside? How can I pretend everything is okay when I’m terrified of what the future holds without him?”

Paul’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you could see the struggle in his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m just trying to help you navigate this. You’re not alone in this fight, and we’re all here for you, ready to support you.”

Taking a deep breath, you felt the walls you had built around your heart beginning to crack. “I don’t want to lose him, Paul. I can’t. Not now, when I finally have a family of my own.”

“Then let us help you,” he urged, his voice earnest. “Let us be your family. We’ll do this together, one day at a time.”

You met his gaze, searching for a glimmer of hope, and found only sincerity. “I don’t know how,” you admitted, feeling the weight of your despair.

“Just start by being present,” he said gently. “For Rosie. For yourself. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. You’re stronger than you think, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You shook your head, “No. I will never going to feel love for you, Paul”

Paul’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and hurt flashing across his face. “I wasn’t asking you to love me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with disappointment. “I’m just trying to be here for you, to help you through this.”

“Help? You mean take Joel’s place?” you shot back, frustration bubbling over. “I can’t just forget about him, Paul. I won’t. I loved him, and I still do.”

“I get that,” he replied, his tone softening. “But you need to start living for yourself and Rosie. Holding onto Joel’s memory is one thing, but shutting everyone else out is another. You’re pushing away the people who care about you.”

You carefully shifted Rosie in your arms, holding her close as you locked eyes with Paul. “It’s her and me and Tommy and Maria; they are my family,” you said firmly, the protective instinct for your little girl rising within you. “You will never be part of that.”

Paul’s face fell, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. “I understand that you feel this way, but it doesn’t mean you have to shut everyone out,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“I’m sorry for being honest about it,” you continued, feeling a mixture of regret and resolve. “But having a daughter and being alone doesn’t make me a damsel in distress. I’m doing the best I can, and I won’t pretend to want something I don’t.”

His brows furrowed, and he took a step back as if your words had physically struck him. “I never thought of you as a damsel in distress. I see your strength, but it’s hard to see you pushing away those who want to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I appreciate that you care, Paul, but I don’t want help that comes with strings attached,” you insisted. “You may want to be there for me, but I’m not ready for that. My focus is Rosie, and I need to figure this out on my own.”

“I just want to be a part of your life, to support you both,” he replied, his voice softening. “I know it’s not easy, but I can be there for you without trying to replace Joel. I can respect that.”

You felt your heart ache “I said no.”

You felt your heart ache as the weight of his words hung in the air. “I said no,” you reiterated firmly, standing up from the chair, cradling Rosie closer to your chest. “I can’t do this right now, Paul. I need space.”

Paul opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but then he hesitated, the look in his eyes shifting from concern to resignation. “I get it,” he said softly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just want what’s best for you and Rosie.”

You turned away, the tears threatening to spill over as you fought to keep your composure. “What’s best for me is to be left alone to figure this out. I have to focus on my daughter.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. You could feel Paul’s gaze on you, a mix of hurt and confusion in his expression, but you steeled yourself against it. You couldn’t let the guilt of his disappointment sway your decision.

“I’ll come back for the check-up,” you said, your voice shaking slightly. “But I need time to breathe, Paul. Please respect that.”

As you moved toward the door, you felt a pang of regret and relief. You opened the door, taking one last look at him. His expression was concerned and sad, but you knew this was what you needed.

As you stepped back into your small, cozy home, the door closing softly behind you, the weight of the world seemed to lift, even if just for a moment. You looked down at Rosie, her tiny eyes fluttering as she began to settle in your arms. Her soft breath was a reminder that despite everything, there was love and hope right here in your arms.

“Shh, Rosie. We’re home now,” you whispered gently, brushing your lips against her forehead. “It’s just you and me, baby girl. We’re gonna be okay.”

Her little hand gripped your shirt, and the corners of your mouth tugged into a small smile. The bond you felt with her was something no one could break. As you moved toward the rocking chair by the window, the soft glow of the setting sun bathed the room in a warm light. You gently lowered yourself into the chair, cradling Rosie close, rocking her slowly.

"You're so beautiful, Rosie," you murmured, watching her tiny face relax into sleep. "Your daddy would love you so much. He'll love you so much when he gets back. He’s coming back, sweetheart. I know he is."

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that usually made your heart ache with Joel's absence. But tonight, with Rosie in your arms, that silence felt different—more peaceful, fuller. You hummed softly, rocking back and forth as Rosie’s breathing became steadier.

A melody drifted from your lips, a lullaby that Joel had once hummed to you on restless nights:

"Hush now, my darling, close your eyes,

The world is waiting, but not tonight."

Your voice trembled at the end, a lump forming in your throat as you pictured Joel. You imagined him here, sitting beside you, watching Rosie with that rare, soft smile he reserved for moments when his guard was down. He would hold her, kiss her tiny forehead, and tell you everything was going to be alright.

But as you sang, the warmth of Rosie’s little body against yours made you feel stronger than you thought you could be. She was the piece of Joel you held onto, the reminder of the life you were fighting to build, even if he wasn’t here now. You kissed her head, breathing in her soft baby scent, as you whispered the last words of the song:

"Sleep now, my love, you're safe in my arms,

One day you'll see all the world’s gleams.

But for today's, it's just you and me,

And we’ll wait for him, just wait and see."

Tears pricked your eyes, but this time, there was a sense of peace. You had your daughter, and she had you. For now, that was enough.

You rocked Rosie gently, her tiny body sinking deeper into sleep with each passing minute. Her soft breathing was steady, and her hand had finally relaxed its grip on your shirt. Carefully, you rose from the rocking chair, cradling her to your chest as you walked across the room to her crib.

“There you are, baby girl,” you whispered as you placed her down, tucking a blanket around her small form. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, her little face serene in the dim light of the room. For a moment, everything felt calm, as though the world outside didn't exist.

Just as you turned, a quiet knock came from the open door. You spun around to see Tommy standing there, a small smile on his face.

"Hey," he whispered, but the sound was still too loud in the quiet room.

You held a finger to your lips, motioning toward the crib. "Shh, Rosie just fell asleep," you murmured, stepping toward him.

Tommy nodded, lowering his voice further. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was just checkin’ in…”

Before you could respond, you noticed someone, standing behind Tommy, half-hidden by the doorframe. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat, your heart pounding in your ears.

It was Joel.

Your mind struggled to process the sight of him, standing there, looking worn and weary but alive. The moment stretched out as if time had slowed. His eyes, filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen in months, locked onto yours. It was as though the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Ellie was there too, just behind him. Her gaze seemed lost and weary.

Joel took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, but before he could come closer, you found yourself speaking, your voice sharp and surprising even to yourself.

“No.”

He stopped, his expression shifting from relief to confusion. Ellie, standing behind him, looked just as surprised, her eyes wide, and the exhaustion in her posture deepened. The room felt tense, charged with emotions you weren’t ready to face.

“No?” Joel repeated softly, his brows furrowing, unsure of how to respond.

You shook your head, taking a shaky breath. “You left,” you whispered, feeling the weight of months of fear, anger, and hurt bubbling to the surface.

Joel took another cautious step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any sign of rejection. When he saw none, he closed the distance between you in an instant, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame. The familiar warmth of his embrace washed over you, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

You buried your face in his chest, the weight of everything finally crashing down. His heartbeat was strong and steady, grounding you in a way you had been desperately missing. Joel’s arms tightened around you as if he were afraid to let go, his grip protective, comforting. He pressed his face against the top of your head, exhaling a shaky breath.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered against his chest, your voice breaking. The tears came then, spilling over as months of fear, anger, and loneliness poured out of you all at once. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with guilt. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

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[won4kiss]

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— CALL ME BABY !

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. boyfriend! nishimura riki x fem! reader. synopsis. after spending hours on getting ready for a date and riki then cancelling, you weren’t going to forgive him quite easily! genre. angst ,, fluff. wc. 1280. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ how i love riki!! schools done for a week omggg. <3 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

if you enjoyed reading,, please reblog & like!! <3

YOU SAT IN THE CHATTER FILLED CLASSROOM, staring blankly at the board while your thoughts were churned with a mix of anger and frustration.

yesterday was supposed to be a special day. you had planned a cute date with riki, one you had been looking forward to the entire week.

you had spent hours getting ready, picking out the perfect outfit, curling your hair, and even doing a special make up look!

but just as you were about to leave, your phone buzzed with a message from your boyfriend,

"sorry, something came up baby :( , i can't make it today."

the disappointment had been like a punch to the gut. you tried to brush it off, and telling yourself that things happen, but it still angered you.

today, in class, you could feel the weight of that disappointment hanging over you. you had avoided riki all morning, not trusting yourself to keep your emotions in check.

when the door to the classroom swung open and riki walked in, you rolled your eyes, not being able to keep your pettiness inside of you.

he looked around, his eyes searching for you. when he finally spotted you, he gave you a small, shy and hesitant smile. you averted your gaze over to your notebook, pretending to be caught up in your notes.

he approached your desk, his usual playful and loud demeanour replaced with an unfamiliar one.

"hey, baby.." he said softly, taking a seat beside you. "can we talk? we haven’t spoken all day and it’s already last block…"

you nodded, keeping your eyes fixed on your notebook. "what is it, riki?"

his eye twitched as he grimaced at the use of his name, a look of hurt flashing across his face.

"i... i wanted to apologize for yesterday. i know i disappointed you, and i'm really, really sorry. something unexpected came up, but it’s no excuse. i should have told you sooner but it slipped my mind."

you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "it's not just about yesterday, riki. it's about you not considering my feelings. i spent hours getting ready for you, and you cancelled last minute. it really hurt, and you didn’t even bother explain why."

riki reached out to take your hand in his, but you pulled away huffing. he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know, angel, and i feel terrible about it, i’ll punch myself if you want me to! i want to make it up to you. please, just forgive give me and give me a chance."

you finally looked at him, giggling at the use of his words, as your eyes meet his. there was genuine remorse and sincerity in his expression, and it tugged at your heart, feeling warm.

"how do you plan to do that, mmh?"

he brightened slightly, his eyes lighting up with a spark of hope, and it made you feel even warmer, how could he even have this pull over you when you’re mad? you thought.

"i have something planned for after school. it's a surprise, but i promise it'll be special. please, just come with me?"

you hesitated, the lingering feelings of wanting revenge still fresh in your mind. but the dedication in his voice and the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world made it very very hard to stay mad.

"okay," you said finally, breaking the silence. "i'll give you a chance, i guess.”

riki's face broke into a relieved smile. "thank you. i promise you won't regret it."

the rest of the class passed in a blur. you were curious about what riki had planned, but you kept your guard up, not wanting to let your hopes get too high. when the final bell rang, riki was at your side in an instant, his excitement radiating off of him.

"ready?" he asked, his eyes shining as he looked into yours.

you nodded, allowing him to take your hand this time. he led you out of the school and towards the park nearby.

as you walked hand in hand, he kept glancing at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. when you reached the park, you saw a blanket spread out under a large tree, a picnic basket in the center, with a bow wrapped around a teddy bear.

"i know it's not much," riki said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "but i wanted to do something special for you."

you looked at the picnic setup, your heart melting at the effort he had put into it. "riki, this is absolutely perfect."

his face lit up with joy. "really? i'm glad you like it, only the best for my princess."

he led you to the blanket and helped you sit down. the basket was filled with your favorite snacks and drinks, and there was even a small bouquet of flowers. as you started to eat, riki kept glancing at you, a nervous look in his eyes.

"are you still mad at me?" he asked quietly, almost whispering as he awaited your response.

you took a deep breath, feeling the last of your anger melting away. "no, i'm not mad anymore, riki. but you have to understand how much it hurt when you cancelled last minute."

"i do," he said honestly. "and i promise i'll do better. you're important to me, and i don't want to make you feel like that ever again, i love you."

you smiled softly, feeling the sincerity in his words. "thank you, riki.. i love you too.”

you said whispering as you caressed his face in adoration, your heart bursting with love.

he beamed, leaning closer to you. "does this mean i can hear you call me baby again? i really missed hearing you say it."

you gigged, the sound light and genuine, riki smiling at the sound he had oh so loved. "i don’t know if you've earned it..." teasing riki.

riki's eyebrows furrowed as he nudged at your arm. "please, say it. just once."

you rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. "okay, baby."

he let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing from the stress in his body. "you have no idea how much better that makes me feel."

the rest of the afternoon was spent with laughter and lighthearted talks. riki kept finding ways to make you smile, his usual playful self making a full return. as the sun began to set, casting a beautiful sunset over the park, he reached out to take your hand again.

"i'm really sorry for messing up," he said quietly. "i know i can be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but i really do care about you."

you squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "i know you do. just... don't forget our dates again, okay?"

he nodded vigorously. "never again. i promise."

“good” you replied, finally taking his face in your hands, kissing him softly.

you giggled into the kiss as you felt riki grinning as he let out a content sigh.

as you both sat there, two souls intertwined in love, watching the sunset with riki by your side, you felt peace settle over you.

the anger from yesterday had faded, replaced by the warmth of his love. you leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around you in a comforting embrace.

"i love you, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with love.

you smiled, feeling your heart swell with happiness. "i love you so much, riki."

and in that moment, everything felt right.

© won4kiss 2024

taglist open <3 @luvlyhee @sjyunnsworld @shawnyle

send an ask or lmk in the comments to be added !! ㅤㅤ(ꈍᵕꈍ)ㅤ

[rafeandonlyrafe]

w for wheezie

words: 1.5k

warnings: very wheezie heavy i stan her, established relationship, physical violence!, descriptions of blood, rafe vs pogues, cameron family drama

“what do you think?” you hold up two letters, each silver with diamonds encrusted in them. “w for wheezie or l for louisa?”

“umm…” wheezie looks at the charms, tapping her chin, eyes flicking back and forth between the two.”

“i would say both, but…” you shrug, leaving the decision up to her.

“i think w because everyone calls me wheezie.” she decides.

“perfect.” you smile, looking at the chain lengths next. you love spending time with wheezie, especially when its shopping days like today where you take her to the mall or whatever store she wants.

usually rafe would accompany you, always hanging back to allow you to gossip, even if it was about him and your relationship. he’d only appear when you headed to the cash register, supplying his credit card to pay for whatever clothes or accessories you got.

“we should stop by sephora next.” you say as the cashier rings up your jewelry, various bracelets and necklaces, along with a chain and ring you bought for rafe (or really he bought for himself as you hand the cashier his card, but at least you picked it out).

“i need a new foundation for the summer.” wheezie says. it makes you pout for a moment, thinking about how grown up she is. you’ve been friends with rafe since middle school and used to play barbies with wheezie and take her to the american girl doll store, and now you’re taking her to buy makeup and try on dresses for homecoming.

“maybe a tinted moisturizer.” you remark, walking with bags in your hand to sephora.

--

“i would call this a successful haul.” you giggle as you load up your car, having to put bags in the backseat as well once the trunk is full. you turn on a playlist of yours and wheezies favorite songs, having different playlists ready for whoever you’re with.

it’s practical to buy so much at one time since you made the almost two hour drive to norfolk to visit the mall, and probably won’t be back for a long time. you prefer staying in the outer banks to shop, but it’s not always possible with the limited number of stores.

“do you think you have time next week to take me to get my haircut?” wheezie asks, already looking a bit like a mini you, and you have no doubt she’ll ask for a similar haircut.

“of course, wheezie girl!” you nod before letting out a squeal when one of your favorite songs come on, you both belting out the words as you make your way back towards tanneyhill, driving through marshy swamplands, little towns and finally crossing over the bridge.

you pull up the driveway, surprised how eerily quiet it seems to be. usually rafe would be running out the door to make sure you didn’t carry anything in.

“stay in the car for a sec wheezie girl…” you have a strange feeling building, and you always trust your gut. you look back to make sure she doesn’t follow you as you walk into the house to hear muffled grunting.

“rafe?” you call out, your cautious footsteps turning into a run as you make your way further into the house until you see rafe being held up by john b, jjs arm pushing forward to punch him in the gut.

“stop it!” you shout, running in to push jj away, but the second rafe is out of john bs tight hold, he turns to attack them, bravely taking on both in a flair of fists.

“stop it, rafe!” you shout, pulling at his arm. he only pauses when he feels your gentle touch, but john b doesn’t quit, reaching out to hit rafe again, right in the nose as he instantly starts to bleed.

“sarah!” you scream, finally noticing her in the corner of the room, sat with a glazed look in her eye with her knees pulled up to her chest. “stop your freaking attacking dog boyfriend!” you step between the boys, all three of them panting heavily, rafes nose dripping blood down the front of his shirt.

“we are fucking rescuing her!” jj says, puffing his chest up.

“what?” you turn to look at sarah, waiting for an explanation.

“rafe tried to lock me in the house.” she finally says, seeming to shake out of whatever daze she’s in as she stands up. “he tried to stop me from seeing john b.”

“im just trying to do whats best for you, sarah.” rafe says, his voice sounding hoarse from the fight. “he’s a bad guy.”

“no he’s not!” sarah shouts, no doubt going to start in on tirade when you hold your hand up.

“sarah, go with john b. just…” you let out a deep sigh. “get out of here. be back by dark though.” you shoo her away. no way she’s going to actually listen to you and be back by sundown, but at least it gives you time to figure out what’s going on and tend to rafe.

you turn to watch them leave, frown appearing on your face when you see wheezie standing there, looking like a scared little girl you once knew.

“wheeze-” you call to her, but she runs up her stairs into her room, slamming her door loudly. a problem for later, you decide as you turn to rafe.

“come on, baby, lets get you cleaned up.” you say softly, trying to lessen the anger so visible on his features. you lead rafe into the kitchen, wetting a rag with warm water as you gently drag it over his face, feeling tears well up in your eye when you see his busted lip.

“how was shopping? did you have fun?” rafe asks, making you glare at him.

“don’t you dare try to change the topic, rafe cameron. what happened?” you sigh.

“john b and those pogues are fucking criminals. there’s someone who has been robbing houses, and i don’t doubt it’s those fucking-” rafe lets out an angry grunt when you press the washcloth against his cheek, a bruise already forming. “im just trying to protect my family.”

“sarah isn’t a kid anymore, you gotta let her protect herself.” you say softly. “besides, wheezie seeing you all beat up and bloodied isn’t-”

“it was only because it was two against one.” rafe counters.

“baby.” you shake your head. “you’re missing the point. you have no proof that they’re doing anything. trust sarah, alright? i’ll talk to her later.”

“what would we do without you.” rafe smiles, cringing slightly when it stretches his lip, but it doesn't stop him from pressing his mouth against yours, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you deserve the cameron last name more than sarah does.” rafe says, holding you tight against him, feeling your hands shaking slightly. “gonna marry you one day.”

“alright, buddy.” you giggle, making rafe roll his eyes as you pull away. he loves to talk about your future together despite still being so young. you can’t say you haven’t spent time imagining it yourself. “im gonna go talk to wheeze.”

“okay.” rafe gives you another kiss before watching you walk away.

you walk softly up the stairs, tapping your knuckles against wheezies door before opening it up.

“hey, everyone is okay.” you say softly, seeing her sitting on her bed, phone in hand, no doubt scrolling to distract from anything she’s feeling.

“i’m fine.” wheezie shakes her head. she may look fine, but you can see the look in her eyes. she’s just as shaken as you are, if not more.

“it’s okay to not be, though.” you sit down on the bed next to her. “you saw your brother getting beat up, you’re allowed to not be okay with seeing that.”

“its just…” wheezie sighs. “sarah has been so different lately since she started hanging out with john b. she even lied to me the other day.”

“im sorry, wheezie girl.” you wrap her in a tight hug. “your sister loves you. she’s just a teenager, going through a rebellious phase of life. she doesn’t realize that her actions have consequences and can hurt the people she loves.”

“will you talk to her?” wheezie asks. “you always know what to say.”

“of course.” you nod, pulling away from the hug, forcing a smile on your face. “but hey, let’s go get our shopping bags.”

“okay.” wheezie manages a smile.

you walk downstairs to see rafe has already brought everything in from the car, placing it all throughout the front entrance.

you smile as wheezie instantly goes for the sephora bags as you wrap your arms around rafe, pressing your head against his chest.

“its all gonna be alright.” you tell him.

“as long as you’re with me, you’re right.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head, his eyes bulging when he sees the dress wheezie pulls out. 

“you are not wearing that-” he begins to argue, finger wagging just like his dad would.

“it’s not for me, its for y/n!” wheezie argues.

“oh.” rafe looks down at you, noting the blush spread across your cheeks. “well, you can wear that but only for me.”

“rafe!” you squeal while wheezie makes a grossed out face.

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[shitsndgiggs]

Can you make a fic where kenan was out with his friends while reader is home and then she gets a message from "kenan" that he doesn't like her anymore and breaks up with her. But it wasn't kenan who said it, it was a friend of his whom had a crush on the reader. Kenan gets home and sees that the reader isn't there and her stuff are gone. So he checks his phone and sees the message.

BROKEN MESSAGES - KENAN YILDIZ

A message sent from “Kenan”

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I stared at my phone, heart pounding in my chest as I read the message over and over again. My hands trembled as I tried to process the words.

"I don’t want to be with you anymore. You’re suffocating me, and I can’t stand it. Don’t bother texting back. I’m done with you."

Kenan had sent that to me. Kenan, the guy who just this morning kissed me goodbye before leaving to hang out with his friends.

The guy who told me he loved me and asked me what I wanted for dinner tonight.

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. How could everything go so wrong in a few hours?

I tried calling him, my hands shaking, my chest tightening with each ring that went unanswered. Straight to voicemail. Again. Panic and confusion washed over me, choking the air out of my lungs.

What did I do wrong? Why would he end things like this, through a text?

My vision blurred with tears as I slammed my phone down and stumbled to the closet. I couldn't stay here, surrounded by all the memories, everything that reminded me of Kenan. The laughter, the love—had it all been a lie?

I grabbed a bag and started throwing clothes into it, not even caring what I packed. I just needed to leave.

My mind was racing, replaying every conversation, every moment from the past few weeks, trying to figure out when everything went so wrong. Was I really suffocating him? Was I too much?

Tears streamed down my face as I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. I didn’t even know where I was going, but I couldn’t be in this apartment any longer. The place we shared, the home that suddenly felt so foreign.

As I stepped outside and started my car, I felt numb. The streets passed by in a blur as I drove aimlessly, my thoughts spiraling into the darkest places.

How could someone who said they loved you just... end it like that?

Kenan’s POV - (trying something new)

I walked into our apartment, a soft hum of excitement still buzzing from the night out with the guys.

It had been a good night, but all I could think about was coming home to her, seeing her smile. I was tired, but there was no place I wanted to be more than with her.

But the second I stepped through the door, something felt wrong.

"Y/N?" I called out, my voice echoing through the unusually quiet space. No response. The lights were off, and her shoes weren’t by the door. I frowned, looking around. The apartment was eerily still.

I pulled out my phone, my stomach flipping with a sudden sense of dread. Something wasn’t right. I unlocked my screen, and my heart stopped.

There, staring back at me, was a text I didn’t send. My blood ran cold as I read it, the words sinking in like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t want to be with you anymore. You’re suffocating me, and I can’t stand it. Don’t bother texting back. I’m done with you."

No. No, no, no. I didn’t send this. I didn’t say that.

Frantic, I scrolled through my messages, my fingers shaking. When had this been sent? How had this... who could’ve done this?

One of the guys. It had to be. Someone had grabbed my phone when I wasn’t looking. My mind raced as I pieced it together. But why?

I dialed her number, my heart pounding against my ribs. Straight to voicemail. Again and again.

“Fuck!” I shouted, grabbing my jacket and running out the door. Where was she? What if she thought I actually meant that? What if she believed I didn’t want her anymore?

I sped through the streets, my mind clouded with panic and guilt. I should’ve checked my phone. I should’ve known something was off. She’d never leave like this without telling me where she was going.

The thought of her being out there, thinking I didn’t love her, thinking I wanted her gone—it tore me apart.

When I finally pulled up to the park we sometimes went to when she needed to clear her head, I spotted her car.

Relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by fear. I ran over, spotting her sitting on a bench, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaking down her face.

“Y/N!” I called, rushing toward her. She didn’t even look up.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, reaching out to touch her, to let her know I was here, but she flinched away. The sight broke my heart in two.

“It wasn’t me,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I didn’t send that. I don’t want to break up. I don’t think you're suffocating me. I love you, Y/N.”

She finally looked at me, her eyes swollen from crying. “Then who did, Kenan? Because it came from your phone. And you didn’t answer my calls. You didn’t come home.”

“I know,” I whispered, guilt clawing at my chest. “I know, and I’m so sorry. One of the guys... they must’ve grabbed my phone when I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know why, but I promise you—I would never, ever say those things to you.”

She wiped her tears, her lip trembling. “How am I supposed to believe that? Why would your friend do something like that? Why would they think this is funny?”

“I... I don’t know,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. But then it clicked—something about the way one of my friends, Eric, had been acting lately. He’d been spending a little too much time hanging around her, asking about her, finding excuses to talk about her when she wasn’t around.

Could he have sent the message? Could he... like her?

I swallowed hard, deciding not to voice that suspicion right now. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was fixing this. “I’ll find out who did it. I’ll make sure they know how fucked up this was. But please, baby... don’t leave. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression softening just a bit. “You really didn’t send that?”

“I swear,” I said, my voice breaking. “Please, believe me. I love you more than anything. I would never hurt you like that.”

She sniffled, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t know what to think... I thought... I thought you were done with me.”

I shook my head fiercely. “Never. I’ll never be done with you. You’re my everything.”

She met my eyes again, and this time, there was a glimmer of hope in hers. Slowly, she reached out, taking my hand. I squeezed it, relief flooding through me.

“Come home?” I asked softly, my voice trembling with emotion.

She nodded, wiping her face. “Yeah... let’s go home.”

[warping-realities]

Animal I Have Become

Alright, I promised I wouldn’t write any more. But this one’s short and I cranked it out in less than two hours. The inspiration is obvious for anyone who’s a fan of "Karate Kid"/"Cobra Kai," since I just finished the first part of the last season. And for those worried about my studies, don’t sweat it—I was on my work shift, which I never use to study because it seems to attract all kinds of chaos. Anyway! If any quick ideas pop up, I’ll post them, but no more long stories packed with plots for a while.

I only agreed to go back to the place of my humiliation for one reason: Mikey was my best friend throughout high school until he decided, right in our senior year, to join the karate team of the new P.E. assistant teacher. Then, like magic, the skinny kid with a sharp sense of humor who could discuss everything from experimental physics to pre-Columbian American history, the guy I knew so well, was replaced by this arrogant musclehead who struggled with math and was totally incapable of having a history discussion that didn’t revolve around bragging about how today badass America was, and whose idea of a joke involved talking about tits or letting out a stinky fart. Apparently, it was a courtesy of the insane amounts of protein he started chugging to maintain his suddenly beefed-up physique. How the hell was it possible to gain that much muscle in such a short time? Maybe steroids, but the one time I asked about that, I ended up stuck under his stinky armpit. And what was up with that new nickname? “Snake!” How pretentious was that? But apparently, everyone in the group had a “badass nickname.” Ah, the joys of the standard American jock… Still, I tried to hold on to some of our friendship; God, did I try.

I even agreed to join a couple of those damn team practices, knowing damn well I didn’t have the physique, the skills, and maybe most importantly, the real desire to be there. I ended up getting ridiculed by everyone, including my so-called best friend.

I should’ve never talked to him again after that week of “practices.” But, being the idiot I am, all it took was a poorly worded apology full of grammatical mistakes that my brain refuses to recreate:

“Sorry, bro, the sensei got pissed at the guys when he heard their jokes about the size of your… well, you know. He wants you to meet us in the locker room today so we can apologize the right way. If you don’t show up, he’s gonna make us skip training for the whole week. Come on, please, for our friendship!”

… and there I was in that locker room. I should’ve left those morons without practice, but I decided to be the good samaritan.

Walking into that crap hole, what a surprise! It was empty. The pungent stench of sweat filled the room and humidity on the walls made it feel like the locker room was actually a beast whose musk drips off its body after a vigorous workout. But that didn’t matter; apparently, either the coach didn’t give a damn about what happened, which I should’ve figured, since he was just an older version of the ogre crew he trained, or he didn’t even know what went down, and I was about to be the victim of another lame prank.

Thinking about the danger, I quickly turned to leave. Then I noticed… on the other side of the room, hanging on one of the lockers… had that been there before? A piece of red fabric… oh, of course. A red gi from the team; they even gave themselves a pretentious name…. The fight practice was happening right at that moment. It was hard to think about it. I said so much crap about the team on TikTok and Instagram, tarnishing the reputation of the strong and disciplined image they worked so hard to create outside those walls that they probably hated my guts now. All those arrogant alpha dogs were arrogant and obnoxious. What the hell was I thinking trying to fit in? Nerdy little dudes like me didn’t really belong there. Even the jokes about my dick; if I were one of them, I’d just throw a punch or come back with some barbaric, macho comeback and everything would be cool. But I wasn’t like that, and my frustration with all of it was proof of that.

I never really liked the Gi. That red color always seemed way too aggressive, and for some reason, it always looked oversized on me, with sleeves and pants that were way too long and baggy. I had to wrap the belt around me twice just to keep it from falling off my skinny frame. Apparently, it never crossed the sensei’s mind that a little guy like me would have the audacity to try to join his team. Thinking about it, it wasn’t that I didn’t like the Gi; I hated it. It represented everything I despised about that bunch of trolls and also my lost friendship.

I stepped back and slowly turned my head back to the locker with the gi. Did it belong to someone? normally they were used by any of the team's bodies, one size fits all, or almost, when I was still there... anyway... after training they went straight to the laundry before returning for the next training session. Not that any washing would really get rid of the complete animalistic musk that infested their fabric. So why would someone leave it here?

Not my fucking problem. Probably just a spare or something. I think, walking resolutely toward the door, and I crack it open slightly. I turn back. I guess there’s no one using it. That means someone’s gonna grab it soon. Something’s bugging me. But what is it? I get closer, the musk intensifying. That gi definitely isn’t new and hasn’t been washed recently. And what’s this? There’s a note along with it. I sit on the nearby bench to read.

“Sorry, bro, today’s practice was super important, and the sensei didn’t want to wait for you. But he left your gi here. Put it on and come train; this time it’ll be different, I promise. Trust me, for old times’ sake.”

Old times? Maybe… maybe I should give it a shot. God, what a weird thought. Why would I want to do that? But while I’m thinking about it, my feet are already moving me to stand up and head toward the locker, while my hands are grabbing my shirt and pulling it up. I should stop. I need to stop. I should leave now, but the shirt comes off and goes over my head, landing on the floor. My pants are unbuttoned, and soon they join the shirt. I really should stop. Why do I want this? It’d be better to stop, but soon I’m in my boxers holding the gi in front of me. First, I put one leg in... then the other... then the arms, and then the belt… why is it black? I wonder, confused… but then that consuming need fades away.

I look at myself. As always, it doesn’t fit. I look like a kid wearing his dad’s suit at some event. I sit back down on the bench. Alright, that strange urgency is satisfied. So now I can just take this damn thing off!

But I don’t want to, for some strange reason. I feel more comfortable than ever. It’s like that mismatched uniform was made for me. My delicate hands wander over the ill-fitting outfit, the long sleeves sliding down my shoulders. I try to adjust them back into place, but they stop midway as I start to feel the material against my skin. The feeling of power it gives me… the feeling of strength… was it really this good when I was practicing? No, definitely not; if it was, I wouldn’t have quit. Man, this feels amazing... I feel the weight of the gi on me, both real and metaphorical… the weight of what it represents… my hands roam over its wide shape… it’s not just a uniform… it’s an armor… a sacred cloak… this is so cool… I can hear them in the training room… too bad I can’t join them... I wish I could... and they asked... didn’t they? I shift a bit on the bench and let my arms fall to my sides. Weird, I didn’t seem that far from the ground before. I feel cozy; the sweat smell doesn’t bother me, the whole atmosphere feels familiar, even comforting, like coming home after a long day and sitting in your favorite chair. I feel dizzy, like I’m about to fall asleep...

My rational mind, or what’s left of it, doesn’t notice. But unconsciously, I do… my muscles are slowly expanding, my skinny body pushing against the bench while my hands gently massage my slightly protruding belly that’s slowly flattening, the little bit of fat there seeming to be sucked in with every circle my hand makes. My shoulders are also widening, getting broader, as I grunt happily, a tingling sensation creeping up my body.

Feeling that, my eyes suddenly open, a jolt waking me up a bit from that stupor. What the hell was that? I look at my belly, and it’s widening as I’m hit with shock. I’m getting ripped! My hands trace the outline of my abs as the little muscle blocks there grow and harden, turning into six distinct shapes. As I stare at that in fascination, the stupor hits me harder.

The rigid stones of my abs aren’t the only things getting harder. My arms and legs are swelling with new muscle, keeping pace with my ever-growing body. And, well... I gently pat my groin. It’s definitely there too… a solid extra four inches, and still soft… As my body keeps expanding, the sensation turns pleasurable, like scratching an itch that’s been bugging you for ages, so I let it wash over me. My mouth opens in a gasp, drool spilling out as I pant like a dog. For some reason, it’s easier to breathe like this. Maybe because my nose is breaking and reforming a few times without me even noticing? As the drool runs down my pecs, I bring my hand to them and feel them grow, making my hands look tiny in comparison to the two meat packages they become. I shake my hand a bit, sending the drool flying, and with each shake, I see it grow too, turning into a massive paw, perfect for smashing some unsuspecting fool. Looking at that seems… really good… and I laugh. And out of nowhere, the other hand starts growing too, while my feet expand like crazy. My size eight shoes will never fit those paws; what size are they now? 14? Or maybe 15? A good kick with those surfboards and you’re down for the count… cool… hehehe...

No, not cool, not cool at all! This damn outfit is doing something to me! I stand up and grab the gi by the sleeves at my shoulders, ready to rip it off, and then…. I fall back onto the bench, my eyes unfocused again as a sudden wave of pleasure hits me like a tsunami. Yeah, a torrent of testosterone floods my body as my jawline becomes prominent, my chin broadens, and little tufts of freshly trimmed hair cover my chest and armpits. My mouth opens again, drool spilling out as my neck thickens, and my Adam’s apple sticks out, while my forehead becomes more pronounced, with low brows creating a scowl that makes it look like I’m always ready to fight, and my hair gets shaved on the sides, completing the look of a total douchebag. I try to care, I try to fight... fight... good… fights is good... no… not fight like this... I start to lift my arm, now powerful and making the gi look slightly tight… my biceps must be huge… hehhe… then it drops again… I look at my altered reflection in the mirror and see someone who could easily roll with Samue… Snake and the other guys… who knows, maybe now it’ll end… maybe I’ll finally break free from this stupor and get out of here… But then the real nightmare begins, as a web of powerful veins snakes through the swollen muscles of my body, a myriad of intrusive thoughts starts to slowly shape my mind, no matter how hard I try to resist. They break through my defenses with such force that my illusions shatter quickly as I start to forget. Memories of long hours of studying slowly morph into party after party with my friends, working out with them, training with them, watching my body swell and grow; time spent on pop culture becomes time spent watching football, hours and hours perfecting my college resume turns into hours and hours of sweat and sacrifice perfecting my fighting technique to the point of perfection. Just like my friends. Just like the sensei taught us to be. And we owe it all to sensei. Especially since he’s gonna figure out a way to get me into college, get all of us, in every corner of the country, ensuring that his teachings are passed on. Just one of us in any student group or, better yet, a fraternity, and boom, a new crew of brothers ready to spread the word… ha… word… funny… as if we needed to talk… no… our way is the way of the fist!

Shit, I can’t believe I slept through practice! Sensei is gonna rip me a new one! I shouldn’t have hooked up with those hot girls from college with Snake last night… dude, I couldn’t miss that hookup… I’ll just have to take the sensei’s punishment like a man… and I AM THE MAN!”

I stand up and groan, my voice deeper, with a bit of a growl. I turn toward the door, bracing for sensei’s yelling… Eh, screw him. He’ll put on his show about my tardiness, and I’ll play my part as the remorseful kid, and everything will be fine. It’s not like I skipped out or, God forbid, quit the team; I can’t even imagine the things he’d do to a damn deserter. I stretch a bit, admire myself in the mirror… Mad Dawg, you’re so swole… damn… you big, hot son of a bitch!

And then I finally walk toward the training room to join my brother’s in arms. Today’s practice is gonna be awesome; I can feel it, but honestly, it always is; I was born for this.

[weebsinstash]

I would ruin him. (Clark)

My Adventures With Superman Clark hits me as the kind of yandere where you fuck him after a few casual drinks because he's just so cute and dorky like just the nerdiest shy little hunk you can't help but spank his bubble butt and ride him till he's about to cry and then later on you find out you took his virginity and that casual fucking doesn't exist in his world and he wants you as a serious partner now and won't really take no for an answer

Like lowkey he gives me Izuku energy with how he's, a sweet dedicated uwu baby (like motherfucker LITERALLY makes the cat mouth in one episode) but can be an absolute menace when you upset him or rather, when he's worried for your wellbeing. You can scream and yell and say the most awful things to him and he won't raise a hand against you but if anyone hurt you... well. I mean. They'll be grievously injured is all I'm saying.

Just the idea of absolutely wrecking his shit in bed just like really giving it to him and blowing his poor lil country boy mind as you permanantly punch the hole in that v card of his and afterwards you're just, back at the office like it's nothing, thinking you just got some amazing dick but nothing else, meanwhile he thinks you're like. Dating now 😭 god could you even imagine if you two start regularly getting coffees or like, doing small things together, and you just take it as like hanging out platonically and, he thinks you're going on dates and are officially dating and one day he just outright catches you with another man and is CRUSHED that you basically just say "what??? We had a one night stand, I thought that was just a casual thing?? Bro you thought us hanging out as friends was a date????"

Clark going home taking off his glasses to cry in front of his shrine of photos of you with candles and everything 😭 he's kept receipts from getting coffee or catching a movie together, bought a tube of the same kind of hand cream you use so he can have something that smells like you and also uses it too (it's good stuff, thanks for the unintentional recommendation!), he's got like notebooks with flowcharts and ideas for future potential dates, all sorts of personal notes about you, what you like, plans for the future together, some real over the top shit, bro is practically planning for marriage

You could quit your job to avoid this man and he'd be stalking you as Superman but I think it'd be hilarious if you said "Clark I know that's you :/" just, almost right away. Or, he gets on your good side as Superman while you avoid him as Clark, so, some real miraculous ladybug love triangle shit. LMAOOO imagine going to let Supes get in those guts because you think he's so hunky and cute and he's like absolutely blowing your back out, really taking charge, it's amazing, and you flip him over and it's. Seeing him on his back with his hair all tossled already with him inside of you that THEN you're like "oh shit CLARK???" but like he won't let you hop off until you've both finished either 😩❤️

He's just so. Cute and young in this new show. I want to like. Be the milf neighbor he chases after. I want to invite him in for some lemonade after he helps cut my grass and I suck him off so good he comes back every single week to "help me around the house" 👌 I fix his glasses and ruffle his hair as he leaves my front step with a blush. I wave to him with a wine glass in hand in my fuzzy pink robe and thank him for 'fixing my plumbing' and that I'll see him again Tuesday 💅

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hello! I was wondering if I could please make a request for dealer!remus with some angst where he has feelings for the reader, but thinks she doesn’t reciprocate so he ghosts her/ stops selling to her and she gets sad because she liked him too. Then maybe they run into each other at a party and she’s getting harassed by some guy so he steps in to help her. If not it’s okay, there’s no worries! I understand you’re probably busy, I just really love your work :)

There’s a pit in your stomach when you go to the dispensary and don’t find Remus. This is second week you’ve come in and he’s not been here.

He also hasn’t been answering to your texts. You try not to take it personally when Sirius gives you five grams and three cookies with no smile or snark.

“Is Remus well?” You ask before you leave and Sirius frowns.

“Yeah, did he tell you different, doll?” You shake your head and will tears not to spring in your eyes.

“I thought that’s why he hasn’t been in or hasn’t responded to my texts.” Before Sirius can say anything you turn your back to him, “Thanks Sirius.”

You don’t see Remus till another three weeks have passed when you let your friends drag you to Marlene’s party.

You’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, a blunt hanging from your lips as your eyes drag around the room.

It’s not that this isn’t your scene, it’s more so that you usually hang with Remus at these things so you don’t really have anything to do now.

Then your eyes land on him. He looks just as good as always, and you smile when you see him- till he turns and goes the opposite direction.

There’s a clamp around your heart at that, you don’t know what you’ve done but Remus seems to be tired or done with you completely.

How fun.

You finish the blunt and start to the kitchen, ready to pillage through Marlene’s cupboards to find hidden crunchie bars or even galaxy chocolates when someone taps your shoulder.

“Hi,” the man that stops you is good looking- objectively- and he seems kind but you’re not in the mood.

“Can i help you?” You ask distractedly, really you just want to find something to munch on.

“I’ve seen you around before at these parties and you just didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself tonight so I thought you might want some company.”

You shrug his hand off your shoulder, “No thanks. M’good on my own.”

It seems like that mustn’t have sit right with the man and his hand clamps around your wrist.

“There’s no need to be prissy about it,” he starts and while you try pulling your wrist from his grip you don’t notice Remus coming up behind you.

“Think you should let ‘er go mate,” his voice is gravelly as he speaks, like he’s smoked too much in recent weeks.

“Who’re you?” The man asks and you roll your eyes, grateful for the distraction because his hold slackens and you can carry on to the kitchen.

“You alright, dove?” Remus asks as he follows behind you. He watches you look around for snacks. Your head doesn’t turn in his direction and Remus feels a punch to his gut at it.

“Perfect. Thanks for getting rid of him, but I’m fine Remus.”

It’s petty, but using his name like that makes him know you’re not happy with him. Honestly, he wouldn’t be happy with himself either.

“Will you look at me for a second?” He murmurs and you scoff.

“I’d rather not. Can we go back to pretending we hate each other? The ghosting was a good move too.”

You don’t sound yourself and Remus can feel the bile churning in his stomach at the realization that he’s been a perfect fool.

“Dove,” your hand slams on the counter.

Finally you turn to face him, “No! You don’t get to stop talking to me for gods know what reason, stop dealing to me alone and then whirl in to stop some grim guy from being a pushy prick and think we’re fine.”

“You wanted to act like we don’t know each other, so go back to it.”

Remus just stands quietly as you seethe and that makes you even more upset.

“The only good thing about your ghosting is is stifled the fucking ridiculous idea I had of you and I being more than friends. So thanks for the reality check Remus, I’ll be going now.”

When you try to walk away he stands in your way and holds your hands. “Wait,” he takes a breath, “I’m sorry. For not talking to you or explaining what was going on. That was proper stupid of me.”

You just stare at him, blank and it’s then Remus notices how you used to look at him. All heart eyes, honey smile and affection.

“Yeah it was but you don’t get to just worm your way back. You were mean and what made it worse is you couldn’t just tell me what I did wrong.”

Remus shakes his head, “You didn’t do anything wrong, dove.” He watches your eyes full with tears.

“That doesn’t make it better, Remus.” When your voice cracks he pulls you into his chest.

“I’m sorry dove, I’m sorry.” It’s all he repeats and Remus can physically feel his heart crack at the fact that he’s made you cry. “God I’ve been stupid. I thought going cold turkey from you would’ve been the best thing to help the fact that I was falling madly in love with you.”

“You could’ve just said something,” you mumble into his shirt and Remus nods. “That was stupid.”

“I’ve already conceded to that point, dove.”

“I’ve not forgiven you yet.” You say to his playfulness and Remus sighs.

His hand cups your cheeks and tips your face upwards. “How can I make it up to you and not be the idiot who made you cry?”

You hum, “I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure something out.”

[cheynovak]

Texas sky – part 5 

Summary: Y/N, a former cast member of Supernatural, had left Texas for LA several years ago, citing career reasons but also escaping unresolved personal issues. During a reunion party in Austin, she reconnects with Jensen Ackles, who is still married to Danneel but also struggling with his own difficulties.  He confronts Y/N about her sudden departure and their past, hoping things might turn out differently this time.  

Warnings: Friend to lovers, old love rediscovering, marriage problems, cheating, alcohol, hurt, anger, fluff, story with smut, ...  

English is not my first language   

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The morning started like any other, with the familiar ding of notifications pulling me out of bed. I absentmindedly scrolled through my social media, expecting the usual flood of fan posts and pictures from conventions. Jensen had been overseas for weeks, and while I tried to keep my distance, his texts and calls were a constant reminder of the unresolved tension between us. I could feel in my bones that he was going to beg me to reconsider, to give him more time, to hold on just a little longer. But I was exhausted, worn down by the emotional toll of it all. I didn’t think I had another fight left in me.

Then I saw it.

My thumb hovered over the screen as the headlines and fan theories exploded across my feed. Fans were buzzing with speculation, piecing together clues that had been floating around for days. The most glaring detail? Jensen hadn’t been wearing his wedding ring. But nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

A video from a panel Danneel had done the day before started autoplaying on my feed. She stood alone on stage, her expression a mix of bitterness and sadness. My heart raced as I hit play, dreading what I was about to hear.

Danneel didn’t mince words. She addressed the rumors head-on, explaining that she and Jensen were separated. She paused, her gaze hardening, and then she dropped the bombshell that made my stomach twist into knots.

“He’s been unfaithful,” she said, her voice cold and steady. The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. “That’s why I’ve chosen not to do any photo ops with him. I need to take care of myself, and I won’t pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.”

I could barely breathe as I watched the video, my heart sinking further with every word. Danneel’s accusation felt like a punch to the gut, the kind that knocks the wind out of you and leaves you reeling. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all.

She told the people she had her suspicions for a very long time, she didn't say my name but she mentioned it being a long time friend and co worker of him. The implications of what she was saying were too much to process. I knew there were problems between them, that much was clear, but hearing it confirmed in such a public, final way was devastating.

In the following panels, I saw Jensen trying desperately to put out the fire. His attempts to smooth things over were met with mixed reactions, the fans divided between those who supported him and those who sided with Danneel.

He explained it wasn't just a one time thing, that he fell in love and fell hard, that he and Danneel had been together for the public eye, not wanting to discuss anything publicly. Asking for his kids sake to let it be. Even though she made his life a living hell, he never said one bad word about Danneel. Taking the blame all on him.

The speculation was growing, spreading like wildfire across social media. It felt like the walls were closing in, the secret world we had shared crumbling around us.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced down to see a text from Jensen.

“Call me. Please.”

My hand shook as I read the message, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to call him, to hear his voice and somehow make sense of this mess. But I was paralyzed, unable to move, my thoughts spinning out of control.

I knew Jensen would beg me to stay, to stick by him through this storm. He would tell me he loved me, that he needed more time to figure things out. But Danneel’s words kept echoing in my mind, louder and louder until I couldn’t think straight.

“He’s been unfaithful.”

The guilt hit me like a tidal wave, pulling me under and drowning me in regret. I had been the reason for their separation, I was the one who had pushed Jensen to this point? The thought was unbearable, a weight on my chest that made it hard to breathe.

I felt horrible.

With trembling hands, I typed out a reply.

“J, I know we need to talk, but not like this. Not now. I’m sorry.”

I tried to hold my ground, to keep the distance I knew we needed, but Jensen didn’t let go. My phone rang again, his name flashing on the screen, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Then, a notification popped up—voicemail. I hesitated, knowing that whatever he had to say would only make this harder, but I couldn’t ignore it.

With a deep breath, I pressed play. The moment his voice filled my ears, my heart broke all over again. He sounded devastated, his words shaky and broken, and I could hear the unmistakable sound of tears in his voice.

“Please, just listen,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know she was going to do this. Before we left for Europe, Danneel said she wanted to come along to help our relationship, to work on us. I thought... I thought we were going to, I don't know, talk about how to work things out with the kids and divorce and all. I tried to reach you, to tell that I left her. Please just... call me."

He took a deep breath.

"She blindsided me. I had no idea she was planning to say all that. I swear, I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

He paused, his breath hitching as he tried to compose himself, but the next words came out in a choked sob. “I love you. I need you. Please, don’t shut me out. I don’t know what to do without you.”

The voicemail ended, leaving me sitting there in silence, my chest aching with the weight of his words. I could picture him, alone and broken, thousands of miles away, and the thought of him hurting like this was unbearable.

I couldn’t keep doing this to him, or to myself.

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and called him back. The line barely rang before he picked up.

“Jensen,” I said, my voice trembling. “Where are you?”

He sounded relieved, almost desperate as he answered. “I’m in London for a couple of days. I would really want to see you.”

I didn’t hesitate. As soon as I hung up, I booked the next flight out. I didn’t know what I was going to say when I saw him, but I knew I had to be there. The distance, the silence, none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered was that he needed me, and I couldn’t let him go through this alone.

The hours until my flight felt like an eternity, my mind racing with what might happen when I arrived. Part of me was scared, terrified of what this might mean for us, for the mess that our lives had become. But another part of me, the part that still loved him with every fiber of my being, knew that I couldn’t stay away.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, I boarded the plane. The flight was a blur, my thoughts consumed by the sound of his voice in that voicemail, the pain in his words. I replayed it over and over in my mind, each time feeling the tug of his need pulling me closer to him.

When the plane touched down in London, I was filled with a mix of anxiety and determination. I knew that whatever happened next could change everything, but I couldn’t let that stop me. Jensen needed me, and that was all that mattered.

I stepped out of the terminal, my heart pounding as I scanned the crowd for him. And then I saw him—standing there, looking as lost as I felt, his eyes searching for me wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. The moment our eyes met, all the fear and uncertainty melted away, replaced by a deep, undeniable pull towards him.

I walked towards him, my steps quickening as I closed the distance between us. He looked exhausted, his face etched with pain and sleepless nights, but the moment I reached him, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he buried his face in my hair. “I never meant for any of this to happen, not like this not publicly.”

I held him tight, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to let go. The weight of everything we’d been through seemed to melt away as I pressed my lips to his, not caring if anyone saw. Jensen didn’t care either; he kissed me back with a desperation that made my heart ache.

When we finally pulled away, I noticed a few people in the crowd recognizing him—recognizing us. But Jensen didn’t flinch. He grabbed my luggage with one hand, keeping his other arm securely around my waist as we made our way through the terminal. He only stopped once, briefly, to sign an autograph for a fan who had hesitated before approaching us.

“No pictures today,” he said gently, offering a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The fan nodded, understanding, and thanked him before Jensen turned back to me and we continued walking.

I’d seen Jensen interact with fans countless times, and he almost never turned down a request for a photo. But today, I could see why he had to say no. He looked exhausted, like the life had been sucked out of him, his usual energy replaced by something heavy and dark.

--

We finally made it to his hotel room, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The room was quiet, almost eerily so, a stark contrast to the chaos that had been swirling around us. Jensen set my luggage down and turned to me, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper—something that spoke to how much he had been holding in.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, stepping closer to him. “Of course, J. I couldn’t just stay away, I just... needed time.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek as he searched my eyes for something—reassurance, comfort, maybe even forgiveness. “I’ve missed you so much,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t know what to do, how to fix any of this.”

I took his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “We’ll figure it out,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Don't we always?”

Jensen pulled me into another embrace, holding on like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, we just stood there, clinging to each other as if the world outside didn’t exist.

After a few minutes, Jensen finally pulled back, his eyes searching mine.

We moved over to the couch, and he sat down beside me, our legs brushing against each other. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back.

“Talk to me, Jensen,” I urged gently. “What’s going on in your head?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. “Everything’s a mess,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought I could keep it together, keep everything separate, but it’s all falling apart. I never though she would hit such a low blow."

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tension radiate through him. “You told her about us?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the question hung between us, the answer holding so much more than just words.

Jensen nodded, his eyes clouded with a mixture of regret and resolve. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I told her everything. About how I feel about you… how I’ve always felt.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “She tried to dismiss it, saying it would change, that it was just a phase, but I told her it wasn’t. I asked for a divorce.”

My breath caught at his admission. “And?”

“She said no,” Jensen replied, a bitter edge to his tone. “She’s refusing to let go, saying I’ll come around, that it’s just a rough patch. But now she’s telling everyone her side, twisting the story to make it look like I’m the one at fault, that I’ve been unfaithful. She’s dealing the cards her way, trying to make me the villain.”

"And I know in a way I am guilty, I did cheat I know that. But no one knows how many year I put up with her, just for the kids."

The pain in his eyes was palpable, and without thinking, I leaned in and kissed him, pouring every ounce of my feelings into it, hoping to ease the hurt even just a little. When I pulled back, his gaze was searching mine, fear flickering in his eyes.

“I’m afraid this will push you away again,” he confessed, his voice trembling slightly.

I shook my head firmly, realizing in that moment that he had chosen me, that despite everything, he was here with me. “I’ll never leave you,” I promised, my voice steady with certainty.

Relief washed over his features as he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me like he was afraid I might slip away if he let go. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

But I silenced him before he could continue, pressing my lips to his in a heated kiss, pouring everything into it—my love, my fear, my hope. The kiss deepened, our breaths mingling, our bodies molding together as if trying to erase the distance that had been between us for so long.

His hands moved to cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had started to fall. “I love you,” he whispered against my lips, the words raw and filled with a desperation that mirrored my own.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, the truth of it echoing in every beat of my heart. "I've always loved you." The confession hung in the air between us, a truth that had been buried for far too long. Jensen pulled me closer, his hands wandering over my body as if trying to memorize every inch of me. I could feel the tension in his grip, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they traced the curves of my back.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice breaking as tears welled up in his eyes. The raw emotion in his words tugged at my heart, and I nodded, feeling my own tears threatening to spill over.

“I’ve missed you too,” I replied softly, my voice thick with emotion. I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, trying to offer some comfort. “It’s late, J. You probably need to get some sleep.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Will you stay tonight?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid I might say no.

I smiled softly, my heart swelling with love for him. “If you want me to,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’ll stay every night from now on.”

The relief that washed over his face was palpable, and he pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of my neck whispering. "I'd hoped you'd say that."

--

Jensen crawled into bed, his movements slow and heavy with exhaustion. From the bathroom, I watched him through the open door, brushing my teeth as I saw him fighting to stay awake. His eyelids drooped, and I could see the weight of everything he’d been carrying in the lines of his face. It broke my heart to see him like this—a wonderful man who didn’t deserve any of the distress he was going through.

As I rinsed my mouth, my thoughts drifted to all the “what ifs” that had haunted me for so long. What if I had been more straightforward about my feelings from the beginning? Would he returned the feelings a little earlier?

What if I had let him stay that night before his wedding, when he had been so vulnerable and unsure? Could I have saved him from all of this?

But those thoughts were a double-edged sword, filled with regret and longing. All I wanted now was for him to be happy, to find some peace in the chaos that had become his life.

When I finally joined him in bed, sliding under the covers, I felt his arm instinctively wrap around me. He muttered something under his breath, his voice thick with sleep, “It’s about time,” he said, his words barely audible as he nestled his face against my chest.

I kissed his hair, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away as he held me close. “Sleep now,” I whispered, my fingers gently running through his hair in soothing strokes.

Jensen let out a content sigh, his breath warm against my skin. His body relaxed completely, his breathing evening out as he finally succumbed to the exhaustion that had been plaguing him. I held him like that, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a sense of calm between us.

As I lay there, watching over him while he slept, I made a silent promise to myself—to do whatever it took to make sure he found happiness, to stand by him through whatever came next. And as the night wore on, with Jensen safe in my arms, I finally felt like we were on the path to something better.

--

Let me know what you think, like, share or comment <3 If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

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[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 6: bite the hand

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: Over the next four years, you speak only five times with Treech, each conversation proving more confusing than the last.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons, Violence.

Word Count: 6.6k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357, @yourfavmiki, @blackoutdays13, @dialuvsbangtan, @emgunther

A/N: Well, this is admittedly late, sorry y'all. Also on that note, the update schedule is about to be completely fucked for this fic. As it turns out school is lowkey catching up to me so unfortunately I think I may need to move to posting every two weeks. Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter, which according to my original outline puts us at about halfway through No Evil Angel But Love!

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“I just think it was a mistake. It should never have happened, and– And it won’t happen again.” And just like that, your heart was shattered, scattered across the floor in a million pieces. Well, maybe not just like that. In fact, for a moment, you’d thought the whole thing was a joke of some sort. But then his eyes had caught yours, cold in a way you’d never seen them before, and you had to stop yourself from staggering back, from hitting the wall, because this Treech, the one standing before you, he looked just like the man who’d put an axe through your heart in a dream you’d tried so hard to forget.

“I don’t understand. Does this have something to do with the fact that you disappeared this morning?” Sure, you had been out of it when he’d left, but it didn’t take long for the panic to set in, waking once more to a cold bed, mind reaching out to a memory formed only an hour ago. A mystery phone call to your room. Treech disappearing out the door.

“No, I– No. Just listen to me. This is it, it’s over.” Not the phone call. Him. He wanted this, and next to that, the phone call felt like something to be forgotten in its entirety.  But why?

“You came here last night. You showed up at my hotel room, saying you couldn’t take it anymore, and now, what? You’ve changed your mind?” Anger was quick to follow confusion in those fleeting moments, and as you surged forward, hands tangling desperately in his shirt, you weren’t sure if the intent was to pull him in or push him away.

“You’re just not–” And his hands were on yours, brushing a sweet, delicate pattern across your knuckles, bringing you that soft, quiet feeling he always had. And for a moment, you could feel him leaning in. To hold you? To kiss you? You weren’t sure. “I don’t want you.” 

It was like a punch in the gut.

“I was enough last night.” Tears clouded your vision as you held steady willing him to look at you, to pull his gaze from the ground, to wrap his hands around yours once more. They were limp now, hanging uselessly at his sides.

“Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you never were.” You wanted to scream. To cry. To lash out and disappear and explode with the unmistakable rage inside you. You couldn't. You could barely speak.

“Treech, I–”

“We’re done. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.” And with that, he pushed you away, spinning to exit out the door just behind you. Leaving you to crumple to the ground. Alone. Unwanted. 

Over the next four years, you had five more conversations with Treech alone, each leaving you more confused than the last.

The first time you spoke was just over two years after he told you that night had been a mistake. That you were a mistake.

It was harder to stay away in the beginning. Hardest at night when you could hear his screams, telltale signs of the nightmares you knew he fell prey to. The nightmares that formed mirror images of your own. Several nights, you found yourself frozen outside his door, compelled for some unearthly reason to stand guard, to make heavy, unyielding eye-contact with the painted number 7 as though waiting long enough might make it open without any necessary action. You knew then what you really wanted. To go inside. To assure him it would be okay. To offer him the same place in your room you always had. But then, he didn’t want that. He’d made that clear enough. And so after minutes, or sometimes hours of waiting, you would escape back to your own room before your presence could be noted. Afraid of the harsh words he might have stored up this time, lashings for your petty emotions.

It was one of those nights, the first time you spoke, although the nightmare was yours, not his. It had left you in a cold sweat as you jerked yourself from the duvet, still sobbing, and you found yourself wondering when the room had become so unbearably large. A glass of water, you’d thought. A coffee, maybe; chances are you’re done with sleep tonight anyway. You’d wondered how Treech was. You always did when your own nightmares exceeded their typical limits, and the thought had infiltrated your mind until the minute you’d pulled the door open, revealing his seated form just outside, back pressed to the wall. Alert. Awake, as though certain his presence alone might ward off any oncoming evil. 

He appeared nearly as shocked as you at the reveal, quickly launching himself to his feet and plastering a grimace across his features, darkened by the little light in the hall. And just as you’d opened your mouth to speak, to question his attendance at the foot of your door, he’d bit with words of his own.

“Could you try not to be so loud? Some people here are sleeping.” You did not populate the hall outside his door so much after that. You did not populate his presence at all.

The second time was out of necessity. It was that same year of the 13th Games, and you had found yourself down a tribute, the girl, Rhea, having lost her life in what was beginning to be known as the bloodbath. Skinner was older, the boy. Eighteen and a walking tragedy, so close to escaping. That was the year before they stopped locking you all in the Academy. Before Lux convinced them that sponsor relations could only bear to improve if mentors were allowed the ability to mingle with the people of the Capitol, within reason, of course. Before the Games grew longer, sometimes lasting over a week. 

The night was young, but you were on your third cup of coffee, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. From Skinner’s restless movements as he sat back to a tree, with eyes that scanned his surroundings in wide, impatient arcs. He was alone, and no allies meant no sleep, so he clung to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, begging it to carry him to safety. 

On your right, Teff fidgeted with his screen, clearly agitated by an increased sense of anxiety at the prospect of both of his tributes escaping the mess of fighting that began the Games. It was harder that way; you had come to learn. Longer survival meant hope. Hope that will infiltrate your thoughts. Your emotions. Higher risk of attachment. And with two tributes, a higher risk that the death of one would only serve to destroy the other. Or worse, a higher risk that they would be forced to take each other on. You’d seen it happen. In the 12th Games, both remaining tributes came from 2, and while Octavian remained firm and unmoving in his seat, Antonia could barely force herself to watch.

Still, you had liked Skinner, cursed with the gangly limbs of a teenager on the verge of adulthood, with a crooked smile and a biting sense of humor reserved only for Rhea in their short days together, so you pushed on. And if the lingering claws of hope had curled their way around your heart, so be it. Maybe this would be the year you could save one. Maybe this would be the year you saw a kid survive.

To your left, there was Treech. Always Treech, who endlessly invaded your thoughts in those weeks you were forced to travel back to the Capitol. In the years since your first visit, the trips had only increased, with Snow managing to find a reason to gather you all in the ‘Gem of Panem’ at least four times a year. Press, he called it, and Hilarius often assured you that networking of that sort was necessary, but it was hard to believe even from his mouth, and you often felt yourself feeling more inclined to believe Teff’s theories. They just want to remind us who’s in control.

Treech was down a tribute, too; though both had escaped the initial violence, the career pack had managed to track the pair, quickly ending the boy’s life and leaving only his girl to escape. Arbor. It had been some time since you had noted her presence on your screen, but you didn’t dare to even attempt casting a look in Treech’s direction, fearing the rash display of the temper you had come to know as reserved for you and you alone.

And you wouldn’t have had to, really, if it weren’t for what happened next, the crushing of underbrush underfoot, the cacophony of voices infused with a false confidence. Skinner’s head shot up in an instant, fear plain on his features. He stood slowly, pushing himself up from the ground with the bark of the tree cutting into his palm for support. The career pack was coming, and he was as good as dead.

Several low branches stuck out to you, and silently, you begged him to climb in spite of a display earlier that day which assured you he did so with the elegance of a toddler. Still, it was all that was left, and you were clinging to hope. Stupid, useless hope. He turned to size up his route upwards, and the voices grew nearer. It was now or never. The pace was the first problem you noticed as Skinner inched up the tree with the speed of a snail. You realized in passing he’d probably never climbed a tree before. Sure, they weren’t a rarity in 10. There were plenty out on the ranch, and as a child, you often sought solace among their branches when your father had allowed you to tag along with him to work. But for a kid like Skinner, confined to 10’s more industrial parts, spending days cooped up in the slaughterhouse, climbing a tree wasn’t exactly within the realm of knowledge he should possess. 

“Fuck. Come on.”

The second thing you noted was the noise. Certainly, there aren’t many silent ways to climb a tree, with the continual brushing of leaves against the fabric of your clothes, but the footfalls were doing little to help in the way of masking his presence, and though he’d made a bit of progress, you almost wished Skinner would stop moving completely. 

The third and most glaring problem, however, was that you’d finally managed to find Arbor, crouched and observant several branches above Skinner. No weapon. That was good. What wasn’t good was that it would be well within her rights to give him up. And beneficial, too. You sucked in a large breath. 

The pack had reached the foot of the tree, though it didn’t seem to note the two tributes hidden within its branches. Still, they idled for a moment, and your whole body tensed with anticipation. Skinner’s foot slipped. And you knew you shouldn’t, but you shielded your eyes, waiting for the impact, incapable of watching him fall into death’s open hands. It didn’t come. Instead, as you removed several of the fingers obscuring your vision, you found Arbor, hand clinging to the back of his shirt, and her face screwed up into a scowl from the effort of keeping him upright. Skinner’s clumsy hands managed to catch a branch, and he pulled himself up, mouth already opening in a question, but she was faster, pressing a hand to his lips and shaking her head with a vehement look that encouraged only silence.

And so he said nothing, and for a while, that’s how they remained, waiting for the pack to move on, her hand over his mouth, simply taking each other in. It was only once the coast was clear that he dared to speak.

“Why did you save me?”

“Well, I didn’t need you making a bunch of noise and giving me away,” she said, releasing any hold she had on him. For a moment, her face only served to support the harsh words, cold in its regard, but the instant his eyes shifted towards the ground, it softened, revealing the true intention, simple and unbridled care. She reminded you of Treech.

“Are you gonna kill me now?” Skinner sounded almost defeated, and he did not even bother to meet her gaze as he asked. Her expression, safe from his sight, twisted into one of concern before she masked it once more.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t have any weapons, and the chances of me strangling you are low at best.”

“I don’t have any weapons either,” Skinner admitted before appearing embarrassed by the confession. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a threat, so– please don’t try to kill me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you could kick my ass,” Arbor returned, her tone flat and a small smirk gracing her features. Skinner flushed at the expression before admitting defeat with laughter of his own when she let out a chuckle.

“So where’s your partner?” He asked.

“Dead.” The response was factual, but the traces of pain on her face remained obvious. “Yours?”

“Dead.” It was quiet for a moment, and though neither of them spoke, you noted Arbor eyeing Skinner's rope.

“Maybe we could make a deal?” She asked.

“Like what?” He was slow to respond but less guarded than before.

“Like allies?” And she extended a hand in a truce, only continuing after noting Skinner’s hesitation. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted, and if I’m gonna sleep in this tree, I’d prefer to do it tied down and with someone to watch my back. We could take shifts. Even if it's just for tonight?”

“Okay.”

It was not then that you spoke with Treech. Nor was it over the following days, watching the pair grow closer. Watching them reach the final five with the boy from 11 and the girls from 1 and 2. No. The days registered simple interactions. Nods indicating bread and water would be sent, and curt conversations regarding strengths and weaknesses. It was only on the sixth night that you shared more than a handful of words; even then, it wasn’t much. And yet, it was more. Heavier than any of the terse exchanges you’d held since you stopped speaking altogether.

Because, on the sixth night, Arbor and Skinner shared a kiss. He had fallen earlier in the day. No simple fall either. His leg would only carry him so far, but Arbor remained loyal, and the two traveled as a unit. Under the moonlight and the cover of darkness, she had stopped them to take a look at the injury, steady hands unraveling the makeshift bandage she had torn from her own shirt. Skinner only cringed in pain, regardless of her soft-spoken attempts to comfort him as she poured water from a nearby stream on the wound.

“It’s no use. I’m dead weight. You should go. Get out of here before I accidentally screw you over.” The defeat was evident in his tone, but so was something else, something more. A need for her to make it out. To survive.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Her jaw was tense as she focused on the work before her, but you sensed it was not out of a need to concentrate.

“Arbor, I’m not gonna let you die for me–” He was exhausted, eyes heavy with sleep and glistening with pain. Sweat collected at his brow, and he raised a lazy hand to wipe it away, but she got there first, swiping her thumb across his forehead before speaking again.

“Well, I’m not gonna let you die, period. So, just drop it.”

“Arbor.” His hand moved to still her own as though begging her to meet his gaze.

“Skinner?” She asked, annoyed by the disruption but looking up nonetheless.

“What happens if it’s just us?” And you could hear a pin drop in the Academy lecture hall; not even Lucky Flickerman bothered to present his input.

“Well, we aren’t– That’s not… I’m gonna get you out of here,” she stated with finality. Beside you, Treech stiffened, the scene beginning to appear all too familiar. Two kids from 7 and 10, with nothing and everything on the line at the same time.

“I wouldn’t let you do that. I wouldn’t be able to let you do that.”

“Why? Why are you being so selfish? Just let me save you–” And she pounded at his chest, but there was no feeling in her attacks. It took Skinner no effort at all to stop her fists, collecting her hands within his own.

“I don’t want to live if it means you have to die. Because I– Well, I know I haven’t known you that long, but I– Well, I–” And suddenly she was kissing him, telling him wordlessly she felt the same. And suddenly, the world was crashing down, fear pooling in your stomach at the consequences you were sure would come, and you couldn’t help it, looking at Treech, who was already looking at you. Your mouth was dry.

“I don’t– I–” Your chest was constricting, and the room felt hot, hotter than ever before, and your mind was spinning at a million miles an hour. You crossed to the entrance in mere moments, not even noting Treech directly behind you until you had shoved your way out, back slamming into the wall just outside as you crumbled to the ground.

“I– I–”

“You’ve got to breathe. You– We have to get back in there. It isn’t something until we make it something.” His tone was cold, but he was crouched before you, and when his hands reached to pull you off the floor, you swore his thumb ran carefully over your arm once. Twice.

“But it is. You know it is. And if those kids die at the Capitol’s hand, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wondering if it's my fault. If it’s our fault.” And it was true. It may not have been love for him, but for you, the echoes were everywhere. And though you’re sure the Capitol never saw what happened that night, Dr. Gaul knew enough for the connection to be dangerous.

“You don’t know if that’s what they’ll see–”

“Is it what you saw? Because it’s the first thing I thought about. And I know you hate me now, but you can’t be stupid enough to think that Coriolanus Snow could miss it.” His face only grew more tense before it passed to stone once more.

“What other choice do we have?” He was right. Of course, he was right. So you reentered and took your places, fixed yourselves with masks of unbothered poise, and for nothing. They were dead by morning, carcasses wrapped around one another in a pile of bones and flesh once the Gamemakers’s mutts had finished. And as the camera panned away, you swear you felt a lingering gaze on you, but you did not look, only faked a cough as you brushed the tears from your cheeks and fixed your steady gaze ahead.

That was the year Teff’s boy won, Reed, and once more, before you were allowed to return home, you were forced to attend a party at the President’s mansion, this time with the inclusion of a Victor’s dance. 

“Teff, come on, I am begging you–” You began, but the older boy was already shaking his head.

“I can’t, alright. Octavian already asked me if I’d dance with Teresa, and I gave my word that I would. He registered us a week ago,” he sighed, and you wanted to scream; how could you have been stupid enough to forget about this?

“What about Reed?” At this point, anyone would do. Anyone who wasn’t Treech.

“He’s not doing the dance; his leg is broken, remember?” And you did; the boy had fallen off the top of the cornucopia while securing his win, landing on top of the girl from 1, whose neck broke on impact.

“Well, do you think Mags will switch with me?” You were grasping at straws, aware the answer would be no the moment the suggestion passed your lips.

“You know the deal, the only reason we are allowed to have partners from other Districts is because–” But you interrupted him, already knowledgable of your oncoming defeat.

“We don’t have any from our own. I know. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“It’s one dance, it can’t be that bad.” He reassured, but you knew better.

“We haven’t spoken in years.”

“You spoke the other day–” Teff corrected.

“That was different; I was basically having a meltdown.” You recalled that moment in the hall. His thumb on your arm. Part of you was convinced it never happened at all.

“I don’t know what to tell you; take it or leave it; this is your only option.” He shrugged, and the conversation was over; you both knew it, but not before you vocalized your frustration one last time.

“Fuck.”

That is it, the third time you talk to Treech, at the President’s mansion, surrounded by Capitol citizens. Before you take the floor, you recall your last dance in this place with a certain Heavensbee. Your mind drifts to the events of that night. To what happened after you departed. You shake the thoughts away. Now is no time to linger on what used to be. 

When it is time to go, Treech appears at your side, extending his arm to lead you onto the floor, and you note that he seems to flinch away from your touch, which barely grazes the crook he creates for you. You are already seething. Was it really so painful for him to even touch you? Were you really that deplorable? It is a simple waltz, one your escorts were able to instruct you on with ease, and though the first few steps are taken in silence, as the music continues, you hear the other victors around you begin to chatter. You and Treech remain quiet, your eyes fixed on the floor below, watching the pattern of your steps. Thinking about anything except his hand on your waist and the other delicately gripping yours.

“You’re not supposed to look at your feet,” he mutters, and that gets your attention enough to force your gaze away from its previous target.

“Excuse me?”

“You aren’t supposed to look at your feet. It makes it easier to screw up the steps.” You don’t answer, only fixing your sightline over his shoulder instead, fully expecting the silence to engulf you once more.

“I hate dancing.” He sighs bitterly, and you almost have to resist a smile because it makes sense that the stoic boy before you would loathe the exercise in trust and coordination, ripe with opportunities for embarrassment. For creating holes in his well-kept facade.

“I don’t.” And you aren’t really sure what prompts you to speak, but maybe it is his clear discomfort with the practice, evident in the way his shoulders bunch awkwardly with each turn and his eyes, in spite of his own advice, continue to flit down towards the floor.

“There’s lots of dancing back in 10. Line dances, mostly from a long time ago. But there’s other stuff, too. Once a month, there's a big dance at City Hall. There’s this big open barn connected to the back, and they decorate it, and everyone goes. My dad taught me how, so it reminds me of him.” You can’t help but smile at the memory of your father, pulling the hat from his head and dropping it onto your own before spinning you around the kitchen in preparation for your very first dance. When the day finally came, you’d already forgotten all the steps, but he didn’t mind setting your feet atop his own, the two sets of boots moving in a stilted pattern around the barn, all shrieking laughter and love.

You feel Treech’s shoulder relax beneath your touch, his gaze now fixed on you and nothing else. The movements become more fluid, and by the end of the dance, it feels like flying. That is until something else seems to catch his attention just outside of your sightline. And suddenly, his grip on your waist tightens, ushering you closer, but his eyes grow cold. For a moment, you could have sworn he was shielding you from something until he wasn’t. Until the music came to an end, and he was pushing away, but not before leaving you with a cutting remark.

“Thanks for the story; I’ll remember that the next time I’m pretending to give a shit about you.” You almost gape at him, unsure how to respond, but as rage, hot and untethered, licks its way up your spine, you give into the cruelest thing you can think to muster.

“I hate you.” And he flinches as though the words hurt him. As though he hadn’t spent every moment of the last three years trying to probe that very reaction from your lips. And you know he must not have meant it. That it is nothing more than the residual regret leaving his body, but a part of you relishes it. Relishes causing him pain after the torture he had put you through.

“Good.”

Victory Tours weren’t uncommon by then, so when it was announced the tribute from 11 and his mentor would be making their way to 10, people were well prepared. Lennox in particular seemed to be veritably jumping with joy, unable to sit still after having received the knowledge that you would be hosting the visitors in your new home in the Victor’s Village. Even Fawn, who at the now ripe age of fourteen was determined to allow nothing to faze her, seemed excited at the prospect of the celebration that typically occurred in tandem with the arrival of a victor. 

You on the other hand were simply happy to see Teff, pulling the taller man into a warm hug the moment he set foot off the train. He seemed not to mind, laughing as he pulled you tighter against him and after a long day of festivities including a night of dancing and the best food 10 could offer, you found yourselves sat around your kitchen table, enjoying one another’s company and a couple of drinks.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened at the mansion? That night, at the party? Quite a scene you two caused,” Teff asked, finally digging into what you knew he’d been itching to talk to you about. You allowed your head to slump forward, burying your face within the comfort of your arms with a groan.

“What am I supposed to say? I was being very civil. He’s the one that ruined it.” Teff only nodded in understanding, having come to know the events that made up your rocky relationship with Treech through snippets divulged over the years.

“You know I’m just worried about you is all. Just wish you would fly under the radar like the rest of us–”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Tell me about you. About home. How’s Harvest?” Teff was quick to relent, never displeased when talking about his favorite subject, his wife of two years. 

“She’s good. She’s– Well actually I’ve been meaning to tell you this– She’s pregnant.” And though the news reeks of joy, there is an uneasy smile on his face. Still, you are quick to rid him of it.

“That’s incredible! I’m so happy for you.” And you are, beaming from ear to ear, but a part of you aches, just as you know it does for him, for that unborn child. For the world they will surely face.

The fourth time you spoke, it was your fault. At least, that’s what Treech told himself. It was the year of the 14th Hunger Games, and in preparation, the Capitol was running a television program highlighting each of the Districts. It was for that reason Treech told himself it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the small screen in the corner of the hotel bar filled with Lamina’s face, especially given that she was his District partner and, as he was the only existing victor from 7, an obvious choice for closer study. Still, it didn’t stop the shock from cutting to his core like a knife. 

You had taken the seat beside his, though clearly not intentionally. It was the only place left in the whole bar, and upon your arrival, he had watched you hesitate to even stay, but with the Games set to start in two days, you needed a drink, exhausted by the prospect of another year.

It was as though you could sense his discomfort, gaze clearly flitting in his direction and dragging across his tense form. The television program blared out, filling any gaps in conversation left by the bar’s occupants, and you observed it keenly following Treech’s reaction.

“She seemed kind.” And there you were, attempting to comfort him after all he’d done to push you away.

“She cried a lot.” It is easier than telling the truth. Than admitting he had known Lamina long before the Games. That she was family, a cousin on his mother’s side.

He often saw Lamina in you. In your quiet moments of soft kindness and generosity. Even in moments of fear, watching you steel yourself and move forward in spite of the difficulties. Sometimes, he would imagine a world with no Districts or Games. A world where a gentler version of you who had not been left hardened by survival had met Lamina, and the two of you had become fast friends, spending your days whispering confessions among the branches of the tallest trees or stretched out in a field, you with a pencil and paper and Lamina fashioning a crown of flowers.

“You remind me of her.”

“Because I’m weak?” Your brow furrowed as you gazed down into the drink before you, preparing yourself for the harsh words you had come to expect of Treech.

“Because you’re brave.” He couldn’t help it really, the way it sprang forward from his lips, toppling out before he could fight to keep it in. He suspected somewhere in the wide universe, the spirit of Lamina was laughing at him. That she was somehow responsible for the admission. He hated her for it. Hated himself. Your own face revealed little more than an obvious state of shock, blank blinking eyes staring back at him when he finally summoned the courage to fix your gaze with his own. Your mouth moved, jaw seeming to hinge and unhinge, but nothing came out. Nothing until the soft syllables of his name slipped from your lips in a stilted sort of way, like a sharp breath. 

Treech was on his feet before you’d finished, the remainder of his drink easily downed in his haste to depart, but as he turned one last time to eye the television in the corner, he could have sworn your eyes were brimming with tears.

The final time you spoke to Treech, it felt as though he had something more to say. Like the words he wished to express had caught on his tongue like glue, unable to escape. It was the final day of the 14th Games, five years exactly since your own. On days like that, you forced yourself to remember the things that often felt too painful. The names that sunk like stones in your chest, fading each year into more distant memories. Rye, with his eyes like two wide saucers. Orion, who was so close to victory that he had nearly succeeded in having it. Baron, the boy from back home who’d lost his life within minutes, figure slumped and unmoving in the center of the arena for the remainder of the Games. And, of course, there were others. Brandy and Tanner. Bee and Colt. Rhea and Skinner. Kids from home. Kids just like you. Except here you were, not dead, while they lay, presumably rotting in some mass grave deep within the Capitol’s walls. The thought made you sick.

That year, your fourth as a mentor, your tributes hadn’t even managed to outlast the bloodbath. The second Rochelle’s body hit the ground, you knew it was over, but it didn’t keep you from hoping. Hoping against reason, she would find a way to fight it. To get back up. She hadn’t. And that year, as the buzzer rang out and the bile rose in your throat as it always did, you noted that the pain was less. Less intense. Less crippling. And then the disgust was back again, drowning you, with its aim pointed inwards, armed and ready to feast on your heart. How could you be so cruel? How could you allow yourself to become so hardened and unfeeling? 

Because it is easier. Because there has to be a better way. Because you will never survive this if you cannot learn to leave some things behind. Still, you’d never left a single thing behind your whole life, clinging to every passing thought, person, or feeling like it might be the last. So when Rochelle was gone, signaling your Games had finished, you pulled the small notebook from the inner pocket of your vest and scribbled her name just below Gavin’s with its own set of notes. 

Rochelle. Two sisters, no parents. Lived with her father’s brother and worked nightshifts at the slaughterhouse. 15. Kind. Enjoyed the color green. Was learning to knit with some of the excess wool from her uncle’s work at a nearby farm, sheering the sheep.

Your fingers traced over the list, gently passing each name with the pad of your thumb. So many names. It was easier now to write them down. It was easier now to emote, to feel openly without the watchful eye of the Capitol analyzing your every move just behind Lucky Flickerman. Well, at least without it trained directly on your soul.

A bit further down the bar, Lux sat by herself as well; Beau tucked into the seat beside Trawl, the two having become closer over the years. Maybe even too close, you thought regretfully, mind flitting to a time you had caught the former making a quiet escape from Trawl’s room in the dead of night. Still, you’d bit your tongue, refusing to lecture someone you were aware already knew of the potential consequences. Besides, words often fall on deaf ears when spoken from a position as precarious as yours.

There were three kids left then, each with no alliance in place to keep them safe. A boy from 2, a girl from 5, and Maple, Treech’s girl from 7. She was ruthless, doing little in the way of preserving any image of humanity with her kills, but you understood that there was more than what appeared to pool on the surface. That those who seemed the most heartless were often the most human of all, filled with an unparalleled desperation to return. For a loved one. For themselves, hoping to go back to some semblance of a childhood they would never see again. Your heart swelled for her. For all of them. Still, you’d been doing your best to avoid her mentor since your last encounter. Afraid that he might snap once more, leaving you frustrated and hollow. Or worse, that he might plant some ridiculous seeds of hope as he had with your fourth conversation, calling you brave before disappearing completely. He was infuriating. Aggravating. Annoying, vexing, and completely incensing. 

He was also sitting directly across the bar, arm draped over the seat of the woman beside him with the same lazy arrogance you had come to register as a part of his Capitol persona, a smirk painted light and unshakable across his face. It was as though you could not even recognize the man before you. Still, he looked good. That much, you could easily admit, curls on the lengthier side now compared to the more cropped cut you’d last seen him with. You wondered if they still felt the same, if running your hands through them would still have the intoxicating effect it had years ago. You want to punch yourself in the face for the indulgence of a thought like that, forcing your gaze away with the heat that rises to your cheeks, and just in time, it seems, as the screen switches to capture Maple, finishing off the girl from 5. It is over in a second, and all of the sudden, there are only two remaining. 

Your heart aches for her, the dead girl from 5, without a mentor or guidance, left in the dark. Still, you cannot stop your gaze from traveling across the bar again to fix on Treech, only to find he is already looking at you. The woman beside him has rid herself of all pretense and is curled into his side, back arched like a cat. And yet, he appears almost regretful, eyes trained on your face with the sort of steely focus that rarely graced his features these days. 

Hours later, when Maple does win, pushed over the finish line with the help of several grandiose sponsorships, you can’t say you are all that surprised, no. The real shock comes as you move to exit the bar when a hand catches your forearm within its grasp. You almost ignore it. Almost push to continue on your steady path toward freedom, but it pulls hard, whipping you around, nearly sending you barreling into the chest of your assailant. Treech. And he stands there, blubbering like a fish, features painted with the unsubtle earnesty of a boy. And that alone is enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I– I–”

But not for long. You’d learned your lesson long ago. Wrenching your arm from his grasp, you spin on your heel before he so much as forms a second word, making for the elevator. You would not fall prey to him again. Not now, not ever. In your eyes, Treech was as good as dead.

It was another month before you saw him again, although, on the morning of the Victory Tour’s arrival, you were nowhere to be found within the awaiting procession. Despite the Capitol’s wishes, you’d continued work on the ranch in your free time, and this morning was no exception. Especially considering you’d requested the shift, putting as much distance between yourself and the upcoming ceremonials as possible. 

Just last night, you’d sent notice to the mayor that you’d been feeling unwell, vomiting, and the like, pleading to be kept from the tour for the safety of those involved. He’d kindly agreed, considering your consistent attendance in previous years, and so you’d spent the last few hours with Bluebell, who had grown over time into as much your horse as one could be, walking the ranch’s perimeter and assessing the different pastures for any sign of intrusion the previous night. Finding none, you dismounted, ridding the creature of everything but her bridle and allowing her to graze within your sightline as you sat in the grass, pencil at the ready and sketchbook perched easily in your lap. 

And so the morning passed in easy silence between the pair of you, only returning to the barn just before lunch due to necessity, though you nearly turned on your tail as the building came into view. The form was clear enough from afar, leaned up against the side of the old building, and at first, you felt your chest fill with anxiety, concerned that perhaps the mayor had caught onto your lie from last night to come get you. But as you drew closer, you noted that familiar head of curls you would recognize anywhere, accompanying the lanky form of a young man. Treech.

[prettygirl-gabi]

The Heartbeat of the Island

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Rating: Teen And Up

Warning: reader being called out of name: "cunt" (ONCE), reader calls rafe a cunt, Angst, !soft rafe (whattt), slight fluff, happy ending, lmk if I missed any

Category:F/M

Fandom: Outerbanks (obx), Netflix TV series

Relationships: S1 beginning of S2 rafe x !Pogue f plus-size reader

Summary: Rafe and a plus-size Pogue reader clash as enemies from opposite sides of the island, but simmering tensions ignite unexpected passion, leading them from rivalry to a slow-burn romance.

Thinking about making a pt2... lmk

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"Rafe Cameron". Even his name felt like a punch to the gut. Every time I heard it, every time I saw him, my insides twisted. He was everything I wasn’t. Tall, lean, golden-haired, and rich—the epitome of a Kook. And me? I was a Pogue. Curvy, hip dips, no thigh gaps,dark-haired, a little rough around the edges. I worked at a local surf shop, spent my evenings with my friends by the beach bonfires, and wore my outsider status with pride. But there was no denying the fact that the Kooks ruled this island. And Rafe Cameron? He was their king.

I first ran into him—literally—during the off-season. Tourists had gone home, leaving the island to the locals. It was a brisk morning, and I was jogging down to the pier. My mind was lost in the rhythm of my steps, the ocean breeze tugging at my hair, when out of nowhere, someone barreled into me.

“Oof!” I stumbled back, landing on the rough wooden boards of the pier. Pain shot through my elbow where it had struck the ground.

“Watch where you’re going,” a deep, irritated voice barked.

I looked up, and there he was. Rafe Cameron in all his infuriating glory, standing over me with a scowl on his perfect face.

“You ran into me,” I shot back, scrambling to my feet. I wasn’t about to let him intimidate me, even if he was towering over me like some kind of Greek god.

He sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy daydreaming, you wouldn’t have been in the way.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, he was already walking away, his long strides carrying him down the pier as if nothing had happened.

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

***

A few weeks passed, and I did my best to avoid Rafe Cameron. It wasn’t hard. Our worlds rarely intersected, and that was fine by me. But the island wasn’t that big, and fate—or whatever twisted force controlled this place—had other plans.

It was late afternoon when I found myself back on the pier, sitting on the edge with my legs dangling over the water. The surf shop had closed early, and I’d needed some time to think. The sky was a watercolor of pinks and oranges, the sun slowly sinking into the horizon. The peace of the moment was shattered by the sound of footsteps behind me.

“You’re in my spot,” a familiar voice drawled.

I turned, my heart sinking when I saw Rafe standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at me with that same annoyed expression.

“Last time I checked, this pier didn’t have assigned seating,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he walked closer, stopping just a few feet away from me. His eyes were locked on the ocean, not me, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to ignore me and sit down anyway. But then he surprised me.

“You always hang out here?” he asked, his tone oddly neutral.

I blinked. Was this Rafe Cameron actually making small talk? I shrugged, not sure where this was going. “Sometimes. It’s quiet, and the view’s nice.”

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “I come here to think,” he said, almost to himself.

I studied him for a moment. His usual arrogant air was missing, replaced by something almost...human. It threw me off, and before I knew it, I was asking, “What do you have to think about, Rafe?”

He let out a harsh laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

Silence fell between us, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the pier. It was strange, being here with him, not fighting. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I found myself speaking before I could stop myself.

“You know, you don’t always have to be an asshole.”

His gaze snapped to mine, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place crossing his features. But then it was gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. “And you don’t always have to be so sensitive.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m not sensitive, Rafe. I just call it like I see it.”

“Is that right?” He stepped closer, and I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “And what do you see?”

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. His blue eyes were locked on mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. This was not how I’d expected this encounter to go.

“I see a guy who thinks he owns the world because he’s a Cameron,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But I also see someone who’s more than just a Kook.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, and I wondered if I’d said too much. But then he surprised me again.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said quietly.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But I’m willing to bet there’s more to you than you let on.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to figure something out. Before i could open my mouth again he says "Go fuck yourself, cunt." And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me more confused, pissed than ever.

***

Our interactions didn’t stop there. Over the next few weeks, we kept running into each other—at the pier, in town, at the beach. And every time, there was a little less animosity, a little more...something else. We argued, sure, but it was different now. There was a tension between us, one that neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge but couldn’t quite ignore.

It all came to a head one night at a party on the beach. The bonfire was roaring, music blaring, people dancing and laughing. I was sitting on a log, nursing a drink, when I felt someone sit down next to me. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“You’re not exactly the life of the party,” Rafe commented, nudging my shoulder with his.

“Neither are you, cunt” I shot back, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Why do you hate me?”

The question caught me off guard, and I turned to face him, searching his eyes. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, just genuine curiosity.

“I don’t hate you,” I said slowly. “You just...you make it really hard to like you sometimes. You know like when you called me a cunt for example.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I guess I deserve that. I do genuinely apologize for calling tou a cunt, you were right and it hurt to have a pouge tell me something ona deeper level.”

I bit my lip, debating whether or not to say what was on my mind. But in the end, I figured I had nothing to lose.

“You know, Rafe...you don’t have to be the person everyone expects you to be. You can be...more.”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a vulnerability in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. “And who do you think I can be?”

I hesitated, then reached out, taking his hand in mine. His fingers were warm, strong, and for a moment, I just held on, feeling the connection between us. “Someone who’s not afraid to be himself. Someone who doesn’t have to put on a front.”

He stared at our hands, then back at me, something softening in his gaze. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s worth it.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the firelight flickering around us, the sound of the ocean in the background. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I didn’t pull away. When his lips finally brushed against mine, it was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters.

And then, just like that, the kiss deepened. His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I melted into him, all the tension, all the animosity between us dissolving in that moment. When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other.

“Maybe I’ve been wrong about you,” Rafe murmured, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

“Maybe we’ve both been wrong,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled then, a real, genuine smile, and I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. Something real.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself looking forward to what came next.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

[adorerbati]

From: 'Orbital Mechanics', the Steve Rogers/Alpha point of view of the Omegaverse fic 'Celestial Navigation'.

This part breaks my heart, causes a deep drop somewhere, in chasms, in bellies and nerve-wracken stomachs.

"This was crazy.  He had to stop this.  It wasn’t healthy.  He knew that.  Telling himself again as he stood here halfway between the cabin’s living area and the kitchen with the clock ticking the seconds off worked about as well as it had the past couple of weeks, when his mind would conjure the image of Anthony from his picture, dangling his visage in the forefront of Steve’s mind like bait on a hook.  Steve knew the hook was there, all sharp-pointed teeth, but he couldn’t quite make himself look away.  He should, though.  God knew, he should look away.  It wasn’t about what he wanted.  It was about doing what was right, and bringing some Omega into this shell of a life he had carefully carved out for himself was the height of selfishness and probably a recipe for disaster, no matter what SHIELD said.  

He ran his hand over his mouth, cupping his chin as if he could draw the lump out of his throat, but it held there, bobbing up and down as he blinked back a sudden burning sting at the corners of his eyes.  He had to stop this. Stop thinking about this.  About him.  Anthony.  Anthony, who was proud and defiant and brave and who was going to be Bonded to someone who would break him in.  Steve could feel his hands balling into fists at his sides, the sudden straining of muscles that came with ready alertness, and the surge of…something…that seemed to happen whenever he thought about that eventuality.  

It wasn’t his concern. Some strange Omega he’d seen a picture of in a stack of files…the boy’s fate wasn’t in Steve’s hands.  It belonged to his parents, who would surely find a suitable match for him.  Someone who would take care of him, the way he should be cared for, not someone who could barely manage to get through a day without retreating to some half-baked fantasy life.  It wasn’t his concern.  It wasn’t, and if it was, he would be better than the type of person who pulled someone into whatever this life was only in the hopes of pulling himself out of it.  That wasn’t fair or right or anything other than self-serving, Steve told himself firmly, failing, again, to quite make the admonition stick.  "

And this part builds me back up. Slowly, tentatively, out of frightened notions and reverie:

“Tony,” Steve began, “if you don’t want…to, ah, to do this…” he trailed off, letting the words hang there between them for a long moment.  It hurt. It physically hurt, like a slow punch to the gut that just kept going deeper and deeper, leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

Tony stared at him, eyes wide, almost wild.  Cornered, Steve thought, brow drawing together.  He opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came.

“I said I’d be honored, Captain,” Tony said in a slow, clipped tone, his eyes narrowing on Steve.

“But…is it what you want?” Steve asked, feeling a heavy blanket of weariness sink into his bones.  

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Tony asked, voice sharp now, barbs hiding in the words.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Steve said.  He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he supposed it was the only answer to give.

Tony stared at Steve for a long time, jaw working, throat bobbing, his whole body taut, like finding the answer took every ounce of energy inside him.  One hand reached up to fiddle with the dog tags again, before he seemed to catch himself and realize what he was doing. He smoothed the flat of his hand down his chest instead, trying to make the action look deliberate.  His eyes were flying around the room, landing for fleeting seconds on Steve, then blinking away, eyes bright.

“Yes.  Since you asked.  Yes,” Tony said finally.  Even as warmth burst in his chest, Steve could hear the tension in Tony’s voice, the way it quaked just a little with some emotion he was trying hard to keep at bay.  

“Thank you,” Steve replied.  Relief swept through him, pushing away everything else.  Tony said yes. Tony was his. Mine, Steve thought with a sort of almost vicious triumph.  Mine. Tony would be his, and all of this—this strange meeting where everything seemed off kilter, everything Steve had done wrong, all the ways he wasn’t what Tony wanted—it didn’t matter for now.  Tony was his. He would do better next time. They had their whole lives, after all. He could be better for Tony. Wasn’t that what everyone said would happen? Bond, and he would be better. Different.  This would all be easier.

“You’re getting a shit deal,” Tony muttered, mouth twisting into a grimace.  “Just…I didn’t ask for any of this, you know? Don’t blame me when you figure that out.”

“What are you talk—” Steve began, then broke off with a wince.  I didn’t ask for this. The words rang in Steve’s head. I didn’t ask for this.  I didn’t want this. All other ways of saying that he didn’t want Steve, not really, not the way Steve wanted him.  He wanted something, though. Something that was enough to get him to agree, and whatever that was, it would have to be enough.   Steve knew he wasn’t strong enough to do the right thing here and let Tony go. Find someone else. Someone better. Someone who could give him whatever it was that he so desperately wanted.

Break him in.

I think he may already be broken, Steve thought suddenly.  Something else we have in common, then, Steve thought with a sigh."

[andvys]

LWTUA (prequel) // the disappearance

Summary: (request) Eddie finds out that you have gone missing 

series masterlist 

-

It was unusual for you to miss a school day, let alone two. You are a good student and you were always on top of your grades. Eddie knew it because he usually sat next to you in class and always caught a glimpse of the big A on your returned test. You rarely ever stayed at home, even when you were sick, you still came to school.

The thought that something happened to you, had crossed his mind but he quickly blocked those thoughts, they made him anxious and he was sure, that you were okay, that nothing bad happened and that you’d be back soon enough. 

But you didn't come to school the next day or any other day that week. 

Eddie was growing more and more concerned the more time had passed. He walked past your lockers after every period, in hopes to find you there and see that you are alright but you weren't there and you weren't anywhere. 

He went to lovers lake and to skull rock, hoping to find you there but to no avail.  You weren't at Benny’s diner either or the small café that he knows how much you love. 

He talked to Jonathan and Robin, asking them about you but they didn't know anything either.

“S-She was being weird, lately. I think she’s having trouble at home.” is what Jonathan has said, leaving Eddie with an even worse feeling in his chest.

“She didn't really talk about anything like that but I wouldn't be surprised if she ran away.” Robin said when Eddie had asked where you might be.  

He doubted it, you wouldn't run away, you aren't the type to run away. 

He stayed up late every night, he struggled to fall asleep ever since your disappearance and whenever he did fall asleep, he would get these weird dreams- nightmares of something bad happening to you. 

Most evenings and nights, the light in his room would flicker and a weird energy settled in Eddie’s room, it was almost eery. 

“Have you heard about the Byers boy?” Wayne asked one morning as Eddie was getting ready for school. Rubbing his tired eyes. 

“Jonathan?” Eddie asked as he turned to look at his uncle, who had a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“No, the little one,” Wayne paused, furrowing his brows “Will.” 

“What happened?” Eddie asked, leaning against the counter after grabbing his waffle from the toaster, putting it on his plate, he grabs the maple syrup before joining his uncle at their small table. 

“He was reported missing last night.” 

He went to school and found Jonathan hanging up missing posters. 

“I’m sorry, man. I hope he’s okay,” he said to him “maybe he ran away, kids do that shit right? I mean, I did after my dad punched me once.” Eddie said, feeling a little uncomfortable about his confession but he just wanted to ease his mind a little. 

Jonathan’s eyes flashed with sadness at Eddie’s words, they weren't close by any means but they talked every now and then and one thing they bonded over, was their abusive Dad’s. 

“You’re right, kids run away,” he pauses “but not Will, he doesn't run.” 

The disappearance of Will Byers, left Eddie shaken up. Everywhere he looked he saw missing posters of the little boy and he was growing more anxious each day he went without seeing you.

One day, he passed the record store, he knew you wouldn't be there and yet his feet still dragged him there. He has run into you there on multiple occasions. But, of course you weren't there and he left the store with slumped shoulders and a feeling of worry and disappointment.

He walked through town, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the ground. His mind was running wild, each and every thought was occupied by you. 

As he stopped by his van, a gust of wind send a piece of paper flying through the air. Landing right by his feet. Eddie furrowed his brows, he leaned down and picked it up. Turning it around, his eyes widen and his blood runs cold. 

It’s a missing poster.

This time, it isn't one of Will, it’s one of you. 

“No..” he whispers. 

He stares at your picture for the longest time, a gut wrenching feeling settling in his stomach. A raindrop stains the paper, blurring the letters. 

Sleep was nonexistent by now, every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. He was worried, he felt sick to his stomach as he thought of what might've happened to you. 

He tried to distract himself by reading, he couldn't focus so he read out loud and every time he did, the light in his room would flicker again. Every time, he played his favorite songs, the light would flicker and every time, he played guitar, the light would flicker again. Wayne had told him that it was the bad electricity but a part of him thought ‘no, that’s not what it is. It’s something else.’ 

Had a ghost found comfort in his room? Eddie asked himself as he stared at the flickering lights. It had started a week before you were reported missing, strangely enough. 

He felt incredibly lonely, he always did, except for rare moments where he had found himself being around you. He never felt lonely when you were there. But something weird has happened ever since the flickering lights in his room. The feeling of loneliness had shifted into a feeling of longing. Longing for you?

You were gone and Eddie was going crazy, he was sure of that. No one knows where you are and yet, for some reason it felt as though you are right here. 

He smelled your perfume, he heard your voice calling out to him before he’d wake from yet another nightmare, he felt your presence, he felt you.

Two weeks, you were gone for two weeks. 

And the light in his room flickered for two weeks. 

You were back and the flickering of the lights have stopped. The smell of your perfume in his room was gone, he no longer felt your presence, the nightmares have almost stopped. He felt relieved and happy that you were back but, the lonely feeling has returned once again and for some he couldn't stand being in his room alone, anymore and he doesn't even know why. 

[nidhi-writes]

CHAPTER - I | HIS NIYATI

MASTERLIST

Nandhini shut her laptop with a loud snap, and the happy ending of Baahubali: The Conclusion left a sour taste in her mouth. In frustration, she threw the empty packet of chips across the room.

"Everyone's happy except me," she muttered, her voice dripping with bitterness. She was in the middle of nowhere, in a cabin she had booked for what was supposed to be a romantic weekend getaway with her boyfriend. But he had dumped her two weeks ago, leaving her to wallow in solitude.

She stared at the small flask of expensive whiskey provided by the hotel. "Screw it," she muttered, grabbing it and unscrewing the cap. She didn't even care that it was her first time drinking. The whiskey burned her throat as she chugged it down, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"I need to get out of here," she grumbled, the alcohol already warming her blood. She grabbed a sweater, threw it on, and stuffed the whiskey flask into her pocket before heading outside. The night air hit her like a slap, but she didn't care. Stumbling down the path towards the hill point, she took another swig from the flask, feeling the alcohol making her more reckless by the second.

She stopped and looked at the expanse below her as she reached the hill's edge. The world felt far away as if nothing mattered anymore.

"F*ck you all!" she shouted into the void. "F*uck you, God, for this mess! Well, I made it, but you allowed it!" Her voice echoed in the night as she threw her arms wide, spinning in a careless circle.

The whiskey was getting to her, clouding her mind as she wandered. She could feel the alcohol running through her veins, numbing everything. Her steps became heavier, her vision blurrier, and darkness swallowed her whole before she could comprehend what was happening.

The next thing she knew, she woke up with a start. Nandhini blinked, squinting against the bright light of the morning sun. She was lying in an open field, still at the hill point, and her head throbbed with a hangover so intense it made her groan.

"Damn it," she cursed, clutching her head as she tried to remember how she ended up here. "I must've passed out and slept out here all night..." She cursed herself for drinking too much and losing her way.

Groggily, she pushed herself to her feet, intending to head back to the cabin, when a scream pierced the air. Nandhini's heart skipped a beat—the scream of a woman.

Instinctively, she ran towards the sound, her headache momentarily forgotten. She found a woman hanging on for dear life at the cliff's edge. The woman had a bow and arrows strapped to her back, her attire strange and unfamiliar.

"Hold on!" Nandhini shouted as she rushed forward, grabbing the woman's arm and pulling her up with all her strength. After what felt like an eternity, the woman was safe. They both collapsed onto the ground, panting.

"Thank you," the woman said breathlessly, her eyes scanning Nandhini from head to toe, curiosity flickering. Nandhini noticed the strange, regal way she held herself.

"I'm Nandhini," she introduced herself, brushing off her clothes. The woman smiled, tilting her head slightly, her eyes bright with amusement.

Nandhini's first thought was that maybe she didn't understand English, so she switched to a regional language, "Are you okay? What were you doing out here?"

The woman's expression shifted, her gaze sharpening. "Nandhini..." she murmured, the name rolling off her tongue strangely. "I am Devasena."

Nandhini froze. "Devasena?" she repeated, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked at the woman more carefully now—she was Anushka, the actress, but she looked different, with bow and arrows, regal attire, and how she carried herself. It was all so familiar.

"Wait... Devasena?" Nandhini stammered, her brain struggling to catch up.

Her mind reeled as she took a step back. Standing before her wasn't just some actress in costume—no, this woman truly believed she was Devasena. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. "What the hell...?"

Devasena watched the young woman before her with growing concern. She looked fragile, almost like a strong breeze could knock her over. Though undeniably beautiful, Nandhini was thin, too thin, and her eyes were puffy and red as if she had been crying for days. Her strange, loose clothes looked foreign and unsuited for someone who had just saved another's life. Devasena's heart tightened with sympathy and then anger. What had this young woman been through? Who had hurt her so badly?

As Devasena's eyes scanned Nandhini, she couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. This woman—this girl—had pulled her from the brink of death, saving her life without hesitation. And now, Devasena owed her more than just gratitude. She owed her care, safety, and protection.

Nandhini shifted uneasily under Devasena's intense gaze, but before she could speak, Devasena stepped forward. "You... you saved my life," Devasena said, her voice soft but firm. "You must allow me to repay this debt."

Nandhini blinked, clearly startled. "No, it's fine, really," she muttered, suddenly self-conscious. She hadn't done it expecting anything in return.

But Devasena shook her head, her brow furrowing. "No, it's not fine. Look at you. Have you eaten? Have you rested? Whoever hurt you... I won't let them harm you again." Her words were filled with determination, her eyes blazing with an almost maternal protectiveness.

Nandhini blinked, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Devasena? She had to be hallucinating. This couldn't be real. Maybe it was some prank, like one of those reality shows where the actors dressed up in elaborate costumes to trick people, and hidden cameras were everywhere. Was Anushka Shetty pretending to be Devasena? But why would they stage something this dangerous? No nets or wires held Devasena when Nandhini had pulled her to safety.

Her mind raced, trying to come up with any logical explanation, but none made sense. Maybe this was a dream. Yes, it was a very vivid dream. She pinched herself hard, a sharp yelp escaping her lips.

"Are you alright?" Devasena asked, her eyes filled with concern, stepping closer as if ready to catch Nandhini if she collapsed.

Nandhini shook her head quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her mind was chaotic. She almost wanted to laugh. Fine? How could she be accepting when one of her favourite characters from Baahubali was standing right in front of her, and not only that, she had just saved her from falling off a cliff?

But this couldn't be real, right? And yet, as she touched her bruised arm from the pinch, the pain was all too real. Her heartbeat quickened as the realization hit her like a wave. If this was Devasena, and everything around her was real, she wasn't in her world anymore. She had somehow, inexplicably, landed in the Baahubali universe. But how? How was that even possible?

Before continuing down the rabbit hole of confusion, she felt a hand on her shoulder, grounding her back to the present. Nandhini's eyes snapped to Devasena, who looked at her with a soft but determined gaze.

"Do not worry. You will be safe," Devasena reassured, her voice soothing and warm, easing Nandini's anxiety even a little.

Nandhini nodded, feeling oddly comforted by Devasena's words. She didn't know what was happening or why, but she couldn't deny the strange pull of safety she felt in the presence of this fierce warrior woman. Maybe she'd figure it out later, but for now, she allowed herself to be guided, following Devasena as they made their way to the palace.

The grand structure loomed in the distance, just like in the movies, but now, it wasn't a scene on her laptop—it was natural, solid, and terrifyingly beautiful.

***

Three weeks had passed since Nandhini had been mysteriously transported into this world—a world where Baahubali wasn't just a story but a living, breathing reality. Every day, she pinched herself, hoping to wake up in her tiny apartment, hoping this was all an elaborate dream. But the longer she stayed, the clearer it became that this was her new reality. She had, inexplicably, landed in a multiverse where Baahubali was real.

Oddly enough, Nandhini couldn't complain. She was treated like royalty when she saved Devasena's life. She was given a lavish chamber within the palace adorned with silks, jewel-studded mirrors, and rich, handcrafted furniture. Every day, new clothes were brought to her—clothes that she wasn't used to: heavy saris, woven fabrics, and jewellery that weighed down her neck and wrists. At first, she resisted the royal treatment, feeling like an imposter among these ancient warriors and noble figures.

But Devasena insisted. "If it weren't for you, I might not be alive today," she said, her eyes shining with genuine gratitude. "This is nothing compared to what you have done for me."

And it wasn't just Devasena who treated her like family. Devasena's brother and his wife welcomed Nandhini with open arms, treating her as if she were their child. It had taken Nandhini a while to adjust to their warmth, easy affection, and fussing over her. The whole palace was concerned about her thin frame. They constantly offered her more food, piling her plate high with various delicacies.

It became overwhelming at times. One evening, after being served plate after plate of rich, heavy food, Nandhini nearly fainted from overheating. The palace attendants mistook her thinness as a sign of starvation, worried she wasn't eating enough.

Finally, she had to explain to them, blushing furiously. "I wasn't starving. I just... can't gain weight. It's always been like this."

The women around her gasped in sympathy as if her inability to gain weight was some terrible curse. One elderly lady shook her head and said, "You are so beautiful. If only you were plumper, you would be even more beautiful!"

Nandhini's eyes widened at the comment. Plumper? She almost laughed out loud. How different this world was from hers. Back home, thinness was seen as the ultimate beauty standard. But here, in this world, her slender frame was something to be pitied. It was a strange contrast, and she felt relief for the first time. There was no pressure to conform to the unrealistic beauty standards of her old world.

Still, despite the royal treatment, Nandhini couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't belong here. She had tried to figure out why and how she had been transported to this world, but no answer came. She could find no strange mirrors, enchanted objects, or time-travel devices. It was as if she had been plucked out of her old life and dropped into a place where the lines between fiction and reality had blurred.

***

It was a strange day from the start. Devasena had left early in the morning, not mentioning where she was headed. When Nandhini had asked, Devasena gave her a reassuring smile but said nothing, leaving Nandhini alone with her thoughts. Throughout the day, worry gnawed at her. What if something had happened? What if this was the day everything changed? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

As the day dragged on, the palace felt unusually quiet. Every small sound made Nandhini’s heart race. She tried to distract herself by wandering through the lush gardens, but her mind was elsewhere. What if Devasena was in trouble? What if something had gone wrong?

The sound of horses in the distance broke her anxious thoughts. Nandhini’s eyes widened, and she rushed toward the palace's entrance. Her heart pounded as she saw Devasena riding in, her expression calm but resolute. Relief washed over Nandhini like a wave. But then her gaze shifted to the two men walking behind Devasena and her uncle.

Her lips bloomed into a wide smile as recognition dawned on her. Kattappa and Baahubali.

She cursed herself for forgetting the important segment and the meeting, but nevertheless, she was excited as her legs carried her to the trio. Only to stop a few meters before them, Devasena smiled at Nandhini. For a moment, Nandhini stood frozen, staring at him. It was surreal to see him—the Baahubali—walking toward her in flesh and blood. Her heart raced with excitement and a deep sense of awe.

"Nandhini, what are you doing here?" Devasena asked as she held Nandhini's arm and led her inside, but Nandhini's eyes stayed with Baahubali, whose eyes watched up to her and smiled warmly. 

Even with her full knowledge, Nandhini continues to play dumb for plot purposes. "Who are they?" she asks as Devasena narrates the incident.

As the narration concluded, Nandhini smiled a knowing smile, causing Devasena to narrow her eyes. "So that are going to stay with us?" she asked.

"Not with us, but here in the kingdom where they will be trained," Devasena replied. Nadhini smirked as if she were giggling, thinking about how they would fall in love. Well, Baahubali is already in love with her; it's only a matter that Devasena would feel the same.

But beneath her joy, a dark cloud loomed. Nandhini knew the tragic fate awaiting them all. She couldn’t stop thinking about Baahubali’s death, Devasena’s capture, and the terror Bhallaladeva would soon unleash upon them. The thought gnawed at her every night, keeping her awake with the anxiety of knowing what would come. She wanted to change it—she wanted to save them. But how could she, a girl from the modern world, possibly stand up against someone like Bhallaladeva?

As the days progressed, Devasena clearly fell for Baahubali, though neither of them had spoken about their feelings yet. It was obvious in how they looked at each other and seemed to gravitate towards one another, even when they weren’t speaking. The palace was alive with the silent tension of their unspoken love, and Nandhini felt honoured to witness it.

But everything changed the day the emissaries from Mahishmati arrived.

They brought a message from Queen Sivagami, proposing a marriage between Bhallaladeva and Devasena. Like in the movie, Nandhini’s heart sank as the scene unfolded. Devasena was poised and regal as always, but there was a shadow of discomfort in her eyes. She didn’t love Bhallaladeva, and Nandhini knew that. But how could she express that to the emissaries, who spoke of gold, power, and the queen’s wishes as if Devasena’s heart were a mere object to be bartered?

As they laid out the terms of the betrothal, Nandhini’s hands curled into fists. She couldn’t sit idly by and let history repeat itself—not this time.

Before Devasena could respond, Nandhini stepped forward, her voice loud and firm. “So, your prince thinks he can win Devasena by sending messengers and offering gold?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tense air. “A princess isn’t a prize to be bought. If your prince is charming and worthy, he should try winning her heart rather than sending others to do his bidding.”

The room fell silent. The emissaries looked taken aback, their faces twitching with discomfort at the interruption. Devasena’s lips twitched into a soft smile, clearly amused by Nandhini’s boldness. She glanced at Nandhini with gratitude, silently thanking her for voicing what she couldn’t say.

Nandhini wasn’t done. “Marriage isn’t just an arrangement of wealth and power. It’s about love, respect, and loyalty. If Bhallaladeva truly wants to be Devasena’s husband, he should try to know her and earn her trust—her love—not just show up with promises of riches.”

The head of the emissaries cleared his throat, looking flustered. “We do not mean to offend,” he began, his voice wavering. “The Queen Mother of Mahishmati herself has chosen Bhallaladeva—”

“And Devasena will choose her husband,” Nandhini interrupted, her voice steady and unwavering. She glanced at Devasena, who now stood taller, her confidence growing. “She is a warrior and a queen in her own right. She deserves someone who values her for who she is, not for what her kingdom can bring.”

Devasena’s chuckle broke the tension. “Nandhini is right,” she said, her voice light but firm. “I am not some object to be traded. Let me send a message to your Queen.”

The emissaries were left speechless, clearly not expecting such a bold response. They bowed awkwardly and left, muttering among themselves as they retreated. Nandhini could hardly believe what she had just done. She had interfered in a moment that was supposed to set in motion the tragic events she knew so well. She had spoken out, and perhaps she had changed something—perhaps.

Devasena turned to Nandhini, a smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you for speaking up,” she said, her voice warm. “You always know just what to say.”

Nandhini smiled back, but her heart was still pounding. “I just...couldn’t let them treat you like that,” she said, her voice soft. “You deserve more than some arranged marriage. You deserve love.”

Devasena’s eyes softened. “You are right. And I believe that love will come in its own time, with its own will.” She said.

Nandhini caught the look and smiled to herself. She knew what was coming. But now, for the first time since she had arrived, she felt like she had some power to change things. Maybe, just maybe, she could save Baahubali. Perhaps this time, the story would have a different ending.

***

Mahishmati

Bhallaladeva sat in his dimly lit chamber, the weight of sleepless nights pressing heavily on him. His normally sharp and full of pride eyes were clouded with exhaustion. For weeks now, his dreams had been empty—a hollow silence where once there had been her.

She had always been there before. His friend, his lover, his soulmate. In his dreams, they would meet, and the world felt complete. He had carried a secret with him all his life, something even his mother, Sivagami, did not know. She was not just some figment of his imagination—no, she was real to him. But lately, she had stopped appearing, and it was gnawing at him. Every night, he would wait for her, but she never came.

The last time she had visited him, her words had cut deeper than any weapon. "You need to find someone in your reality," she had said, her voice full of sadness and resignation. "You and I... we can never be." Those words had haunted him, even though he knew the truth in them. His world, his reality, was different. As much as he loved her, he knew he could not hold onto something that only existed in his dreams.

But that didn’t mean he would let himself be alone.

If he could not have his soulmate, then he would not have anyone else, but he also wanted to play the cards right here. And what better way to prove his dominance than by taking what his cousin Baahubali desired most? Devasena.

Bhallaladeva’s lips curled into a bitter smile as he thought of Baahubali. His cousin had always been the golden boy, who was adored by the people and loved by the court. Even Sivagami, their mother, had favoured him in ways that stung Bhallaladeva to his core. Baahubali had taken everything from him—his birthright, his glory. But this time, Bhallaladeva would take something from him.

His eyes narrowed as he thought of Devasena. She was beautiful, fierce, and proud, but not someone who could catch his interest—well, no one could other than his love. Bhallaladeva had first seen her in a portrait; it was not her striking features that caught his attention, but since his cousin was already in love with this Princess, he thought, what better way to marry her than to teach Baahubali a very important lesson.

The memory of that moment came flooding back—the day he had shown Sivagami Devasena's portrait.

Sivagami’s expression remained unreadable as she studied the portrait. The silence stretched as Bhallaladeva awaited her reaction, his eyes flickering with restrained anticipation.

"Who is she?" Sivagami asked, her voice calm and measured.

"Devasena," Bhallaladeva replied, his voice steady. "The princess of Kuntala kingdom. A woman of great strength and unparalleled beauty."

Sivagami’s gaze lingered on the image, noting the defiance in Devasena’s eyes. There was a brief flicker of admiration, but she always kept her emotions in check.

Bhallaladeva stepped forward, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I want her as my wife."

Sivagami smiled as she promised, "Then it shall be done. I will see to it that Devasena becomes your wife."

Bhallaladeva felt a surge of triumph, though he kept his face impassive. "Thank you, mother," he said, bowing slightly.

Sivagami turned around, announcing. "Prepare for the proposal," she said. "The queen of Mahishmati will soon be Devasena."

But just like he planned, they received the rejection, which angered Sivagami beyond words. She ordered Devasena to be taken prisoner for insulting the Kingdom, queen, mother, and Prince.

But Bhalladeva's attention was caught by the murmuring of something else: a young girl standing along Devasena, her words making the most important people in Mahishmati lower their heads.

Who is she? That is what all Bhalladeva could think of.

Well, everything will be revealed once they get Devasena and Baahubali here. Bhallaldeva smirked as he went to his chamber to paint the portrait that provided him a glimpse of his love.

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[seenoversundown]

End of Summer Blurb ; Sam & Willa ✧˚

Days like today are ones I cherish the most. Birdie has a show on the tv that I can’t quite recall the entire plot of. I nod my head along occasionally or laugh when she laughs. Her laugh. She throws her head back like a little kid every time she laughs hard. Clutching her stomach, as her fit goes on her laugh starts to go silent. Mouth wide open no sound coming out until she’s gasping in deep breaths and blinking rapidly to clear the happy tears from her eyes. Nearly sending me into my own at the sight of her. She calms herself down with a few deep breaths, her little “ahhs” as she relaxes out of it. That is until I give her a cheeky side eye and she’s right back at it again. 

At the rate she’s going, her dinner is going to get cold. Once the summer starts to wind down it takes the warmer weather with it prompting Birdie to request ramen to ‘warm me bones’ as she put it. You can’t take her word for it though because she’s always cold, but I obliged conveniently side stepping the joke I could make about her borrowing  Jake’s pirate accent. She might spend too much time at the bar when I’m away. But far be it from me to keep her from happiness in the form of asian cuisine. I could never rob her of such joy. 

“If you keep cracking up your noodles will get cold.” I point my chopsticks at her bowl. 

She resets her position and picks up her fork, never having been able to get the hang of using chopsticks no matter how many times I try to show her. 

“I could make it 5 second without laughing if you would stop looking at me like that.” she jests. 

“You callin me funny lookin?” quirking my eyebrow up at her and giving her another side glance. 

She gasps, resting a palm against her chest. “I would never, Samuel. You’re the most handsome man to ever handsome. No one in their right mind would ever call you funny looking.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, alright. Flattery won’t get you very far, little bird.” a smile starting to spread across my lips. “Eat your food, then we cuddle.”

Her eyes get wide and she picks up her bowl, the use of the magic word ‘cuddle’ leading her to comedically attempt to shovel the rest of her noodles in her mouth.

“That excited to cuddle and finish the show huh? Miss me that much?” I joke. 

“Sammy” she mumbles around a full bite. “I haven’t seen you in a week and a half.” She swallows. “I didn’t even wanna leave bed this morning, I just wanted to stay in bed and cuddle you forever.” 

Her words are a small punch to the gut. Our jobs make it hard for us to see each other consistently. One of us is usually gone on a trip, the other stays home and watches Penny so she’s not alone. We facetime as much as we can to try and keep the connection, both of us agreeing the second you start to get lazy and stop putting effort in the farther apart you grow. The thought of us losing our connection, of losing her, is enough for me to take extra measures to ensure that never happens. 

“Okay I’m done.” She says, saving me from internally spiraling down a path of delusional relationship destruction. “Cuddle time, Kiszka. Let’s go.” The smile on her face and the softness of her eyes helps bring me back to reality. Back to her. 

We pick up the remainder of our dinner and stash away the trays. I sit back down on the couch until I see her wandering around in circles looking confused. 

“.. you okay?” I question, my brows knitting together. 

“Can’t find the good blanket.”  A frown starting to play across her lips.

“OH!” my voice reaching an octave louder. I jump off the couch and hustle off to the back room. I turn off the dryer and grab the blanket from inside. No doubt the closing of the door caused her ears to perk up from the other room. 

When I round the corner back to the living room I say, “Little miss always cold needs a roasty toasty blanket to keep her warm. Comere.”

I sit back down on the couch and open my arm for her to settle into and she helps me spread the blanket across the two of us. She pulls it up to her chin and rests her head against my chest spreading her feet out over the remainder of the couch.

Her whole body shudders, “Oh yeah. Mhm, that’s the stuff.”

I let out a chuckle and place a kiss on her forehead. “Glad you approve” 

She starts to relax with each breath. Like clockwork I know she’ll fall asleep soon, and she’ll mumble and grumble as I direct us back to bed. In the morning I’ll gently roast her for it and she’ll blame it all on me because ‘You’re too comfortable Sammy. How am I supposed to stay away when you’re so cozy?’ These are the little things I miss when we’re apart. 

“I love you, Sammy,” she hums out our nightly routine. 

“I love you too, Bird”

“Promise?” 

“Promise, promise.” 

Yeah, days like today are the ones I cherish the most. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You guys all earned a slightly longer blurb of Sam & Bird, I've missed them too. 🥹💕

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[be-anti-fragile]

Finished CP with the Devil ending the first time, long essay full of Spoilers about how heartbroken it makes me feel

I'm 3 years late, probably, as I bought and played the game only now to be sure it's more polished.

I went in blind, as I had avoided spoilers about the story and game, and the game drew me in immediately.

Especially Takemura really grew on me. In the beginning I didn't take him seriously and didn't pay so much attention, found his parade leaping plan ridiculous and he reminded me of an annoying fatherly coworker. Someone you ask a question and he immediately assumes you can't count to 3 and explains it to you beginning from how life evolved.

Don't even know when or how it happened, but after the mission where you sabotage the wagon, I thought I'd romance Takemura and this, when I believed it was still possible, was the most fun I had in the whole game. I was doing side quests to buy expensive clothes for our next meeting, and then his messages popped up where you can ask him to have dinner and he ghosts, and I was really looking forward how this all would develop.

Well, plot twist, it didn't. At least not how I wished it would.

As we all know, the game is really immersive, so when I had Hellman and he got all cocky about the negative diagnosis, when Takemura entered the room, I felt actual relief. Thank God you're here.

It was a no brainer to go back and save Takemura. And the fact he leaves V hanging and disappears upset me for a whole week. I kept doing sidequests and calling him from time to time to see if anything had changed, but no. So I decided to check out the endings so I could read stuff about the game without fearing spoilers.

Since I had zero interest in interacting with Panam or Judy, I didn't do their quests and went straight for Hanako.

You can't believe how happy I was when I learned that Takemura would pick V up and MAN HE LOOKED CRISP in that white suit. Then when he rolls his eyes on Hellman and defends V. The moment where V tells him to ghost and do gigs and feed cats and he declines but thanks V. The moment before where he learns Saburo did not even tell him the whole truth but it's not enough to make him change.

It was like watching a movie for the umpteenth time and you KNOW what happens and you KNOW it will end bad and it's a movie and will never change but still there's a tiny part in you that hopes this time it ends differently.

The whole episode on that space station just made me sad but then happy again when I heard Takemura's voice after all this testing nightmare. I hated how he didn't want to disclose what he was up to like a real business professional but I signed the contract and his remark to see him in Kagawa made me believe it would happen. Like a real fool. I really believed if V signs up for this thing, they will find a body for her in time so she can go back and visit Takemura in Kagawa.

It hits you differently when all you want in the game is to be with Takemura and THIS IS your romance with him. Only afterwards it slowly dawned on me that he has just said that last sentence to comfort V and maybe because he wants to believe this himself but deep down he also knows it will never happen.

I am sitting here all teary eyed and don't understand myself how much this has messed with my feelings. I didn't expect that it would hit me that hard. I also cried during Soma though which deals with similar topics and left me feeling like someone had punched me in the gut as well, BUT, Soma had the decency to add the happy ending after the gloomy one (which maybe is different because there definitely are 2 simultaneously, unlike in CP, but if CP had added a small scene where V steps out of a vehicle, sun on her face, looks around some Japanese town and sees Takemura waiting for her nearby, that would have been comforting. Siding with Takemura does not necessarily mean it is because of Takemura, maybe V just believed this would save her and she could go back to her friends afterwards, but they could have easily added another choice/check for which people did like Takemura best and give them such a scene instead of messages by people I did not care that much for like Misty and Panam and Judy)

It's not really clear to me how Takemura can be such an important person for V in this ending, as intended by the devs, accompanying V through all of it, even the boss fight, and the last human (besides the guard) you see, yet it seems to dismiss this connection at the same time, like when you can call someone important to you and he's not an option, does not send V a message after V is gone, etc. - but it FOR SURE underlines the message that his loyalty is with Arasaka and this will never change and I feel like an idiot for falling for it. I can't even be disappointed about because I knew from the beginning and Johnny had pointed it out often enough.

Love games dealing with difficult topics, just didn't expect to feel that heartbroken about how it all plays out when you decide to side with Goro.

Didn't really know what to do with my feelings than leave them here where maybe someone understands.

Thinking about playing Baldur's Gate 3 but I'm worried there will be something similar disappointing.

[joshfuckingkiszka]

『one: roomies』

I'm just a little scoundrel. thanks to @maverick-rose​ for reading and giving incredible feedback!

THIS SERIES IS 18+ MINORS DNI

chapter warnings: lil angst here an there, mentions of alcohol and drug usage, the boys as teenagers

from the playlist: it’s nice to have a friend - taylor swift / ceilings - lizzy mcalpine

series masterlist

✮

Sunlight poured in through the blinds you didn’t remember leaving open. If almost blinding you wasn’t enough, your alarm deafened you momentarily, alerting you that it was 6 in the morning. You mumbled some choice words as you pushed your comforter off of you, ready to start a mundane Wednesday.

As you pushed yourself through your morning routine, you were reminded of the little event on your calendar you’d been waiting months for: Josh would be coming home from tour that evening. He’d made some short visits home, and you’d gone to a show or two in the closest states, but he would be home for good. Well, as good as waiting for new tour dates to come up. Nevertheless, you missed him - and the other boys. More than anything, you missed the spectacularity that came with having Josh as your roommate. When he was home, there was never a dull moment.

You ate a quick breakfast and rushed out to attempt to get to work on time. The day seemed to drag on, as time does when you’re expecting something. You sat at your desk, checking the time every five minutes, only to be disappointed when only five minutes had passed. Anxiously sitting through various meetings, attempting to listen to what was being discussed was becoming increasingly difficult.

“So, Josh comes home tonight…” Tara was utterly convinced that you and Josh had some sort of ongoing secret rendezvous, when that was definitely not the case. He was your best friend, and roommate, who just so happened to be a man. You loved your coworker, but she would not let it go.

You scoffed lightly. “He does.”

“So I suppose you’re not going to…I don’t know…get all dolled up for him?”

“First of all, stop living vicariously through me. Second, no, I’m not. We’re going to do what we always do when he comes home: watch old movies and drink and he’ll tell stories of his wild adventures.”

She quirked a brow at you suspiciously. “And if one of these ‘wild adventures’ happened to involve another woman?���

You’d actually never thought of that. Josh tended to keep his relationships relatively private, not that he’d ever actually been in one during the course of your cohabitation. You’d been friends since childhood, so of course he’d had crushes and girlfriends, but you only ever found out through one of his brothers.

Josh was being weird. Well, he was always weird, but now more so than ever. He’d never been a great liar or keeper of secrets, but he was trying his damndest, apparently. When you’d asked if the two of you were still on for your weekly movie night in his basement, he stuttered out that he couldn’t make it.

“I have plans.”

“But, you never make plans on Fridays.” It had been tradition for four years at that point that Fridays were off limits for plan-making. Even at 15, you never expected him to break it, seeing as he always claimed it was his favorite time of the week.

“Well, this time I did.” You were taken aback at his attitude, but you’d never been very confrontational.

“Oh, okay. I-I guess I’ll just…hang out with Ronnie or something.” Josh’s gaze softened at the way your eyes were cast down at your shoes, and he felt bad.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, next week, I promise.” His finger lifted your jaw to look at him, and you saw the sincerity in his eyes. You could never be upset with him for long, it was impossible.

When you’d arrived at the Kiszkas’ that night, you received a strange look from Karen - but a hug and a welcome, nevertheless.

“Sweetie, I thought you canceled movie night, Josh is even on a date right now.” It hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Huh? He - he’s the one who canceled. Josh told me he made plans…” A date was the plan, evidently.

Her face suddenly hardened and she muttered something under her breath that you couldn’t quite catch. She called Ronnie down, who was happy to hang out with you. In fact, she was mad at her brother too.

“I just thought she was my friend, but apparently she just wants to…make out with my brother,” Ronnie ranted as you ate ice cream on the floor of her room.

You questioned, “I thought she had a thing for Danny?”

She scoffed, “Apparently, she’s into ‘older men’ now. He’s not that much older than us!” The two of you laughed.

Despite only being a few months older than Ronnie, you and Josh had quickly become close at your first mention of John Denver. He learned quickly that you had many shared interests, and that you didn’t throw things or yell at him when he paused a movie to talk about it.

“You’re like…a cool little sister,” you remember him saying.

Swallowing thickly, you managed, “I’ll be happy for him. He deserves to have fun while he’s young.”

“Sure, sure. But what if this time is different. I mean, he meets thousands of girls on tour, who’s to say he hasn’t met the One?”

Oh. That thought had also never occurred to you. Your main concern was your living arrangement. If Josh found love, what would happen to you?

You waved her off, not wanting to stomach any more possible life altering questions about Josh. Tara smirked at you, and you both knew she had won this time.

With her words on your mind, time seemed to fly by, and now you wished it would slow back down. You didn’t think you could physically handle it if Josh was going to tell you about a beautiful woman he had fallen in love with on tour. However, there was nothing you could do to stop it, either. You would have to go home and see him, starry eyes and all.

“Bye, babe!” Tara’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, “Have fun with Josh!” There was no double meaning to her comment. As much as she prodded you about the “situation”, she truly loved how happy you were around him.

Then, you realized her goodbye meant it was time to leave. Time to go home, and wait for Josh. Dread filled your brain with all of Tara’s previous comments and questions. You sighed heavily, turning off your computer and grabbing your stuff.

The drive home was silent, as music would have only reminded you of him. Your library consisted of his music, things he had introduced you to that you immediately put on a playlist. It was played during every drive, no matter how long, even when he wasn’t there - not that you would ever tell him that.

When you walked in the door, you were almost relieved that he hadn’t beaten you home. Pouring a glass of wine, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping a hot bath would ease the stress.

After almost an hour, you climbed out, almost slipping over the side of the tub in the process. Your skin was red from the heat, and the wine wasn’t helping your dehydration. Donning a shirt that had once belonged to Josh, and some sleep shorts, you sprawled out on the couch, watching the minutes pass by as you waited for his arrival. When you thought back to Tara’s words, you realized that even if you were in love with him - which you weren’t - you would never be anything in his eyes than the little sister he lived with.

You hated the fact that Josh could talk you into anything. The last place you wanted to be on a Saturday night was at a party with him and Jake. Ronnie had convinced you it would mean hanging out with cute Senior boys, but in reality you just wanted to spend your time with Josh. If that meant being suffocated by the body heat of 50 strangers, so be it.

He was leading you through the halls as if he lived there. In the basement, there was a circle formed and you could see the flicker of the end of a joint. It made you uneasy, but with a little squeeze of your hand, your nerves settled.

“Wanna play a little truth or dare?” Josh asked you and his twin.

Jake scoffed, “I’m not 12, thanks.”

There he was though, arms crossed as you sat in between him and Josh.

Before you could register, the bottle had landed on your best friend.

“I dare you to kiss, uh, her.” A finger was pointed in your direction and Josh spilled out your name.

“No, no way. She’s…she’s like my sister, man!” You laughed along with him - and everyone else in the circle - but you could feel the burning suggestion of tears in your eyes.

You leaned into Jake, “I’m - I’m gonna get a drink.” He nodded and Josh didn’t even notice your absence.

You didn’t recall falling asleep until you were suddenly awoken by an attempt to get into your apartment. Keys jingled in the lock until you heard them fall to the ground, followed by a quiet “fuck”. Knowing it was Josh by voice recognition alone, you hurried to open the door for him, only to have him fall into you.

“Oops, sorry, mama,” he managed through obviously drunken giggles. “Oh, hey, I haven’t seen you!”

You laughed softly. “You’ve been on tour, Joshy.”

“I have, haven’t I? Now I’m home. With you!” He hugged you and you suddenly remembered that he gave the best hugs. His arms were warm around you and you could feel his light breaths on your neck. It made you shiver.

“Cold?” You nodded, even though you were perfectly warm.

“Let’s get you to bed, rockstar.” He giggled at that, once again.

As you waited outside his bedroom for him to put on pajamas, you could hear him fall a few times and laugh as he did it. You knocked just to be sure he was decent before opening the door. Placing a glass of water and some Advil on his nightstand, he grabbed you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“I missed you, Red,” he whispered.

The instructions on the box had told you that the color would fade gradually in 2-3 washes. You vividly remembered that as Ronnie read them to you in your bathroom, at one in the morning on a Saturday, with a towel draped around your neck.

“How long are we supposed to let it sit?” You’d asked, sitting upright in your bed to avoid staining your sheets.

“Um, I think it was 30 minutes.” You both laughed and hoped she was right.

Your nerves the next day skyrocketed in the presence of school. You were nearing the end of your junior year, and your only claim to fame thus far were Jake and Josh, the seniors who everyone loved.

“Oh my god.” You heard Sam’s exclamation before you saw him. Jake stood beside him, hand over his mouth, hiding a smile, as he looked at your new hair color.

“It looks…”

“Dumb, I know.”

“I was gonna say…different,” Jake hesitated, and you knew he didn’t exactly love it. Who cared? You had done it for you, not Sam or Jake Kiszka.

However, at a party at the end of that week, you sat alone in the corner of the living room, nursing a cup that held something absolutely repulsive.

“Y’know,”

“God, Josh! You scared me. Can’t sneak up on people like that.”

He seemed to ignore you, “Y’know, I never gave my opinion on your new hair.”

Josh’s forefinger and thumb took a small section of the brightly colored locks in between themselves, twirling them around as if they were on his own head. It was only then you noticed how he towered over you in your sitting position, as you forced yourself to look up into his eyes.

“And?” You hoped he couldn’t detect the waver in your breathing.

“I like it, you’re like…my Little Red.”

In a moment of weakness you whispered back, “I missed you too, Joshy.”

He kissed your cheek from his position and you could smell grapefruit and whiskey on his breath. You blew a kiss in his direction, just to return the gesture, and turned around in his arms.

“I’m tired.” Smiling, you gestured to his bed.

As you pulled the comforter around him, you made the last minute decision to kiss his forehead. Before you could pull away, his hand caressed your jaw. He pulled you in gently, laying his lips ever so slightly on yours.

“I love you, Red.” Josh spoke against your mouth.

〚taglist〛

gvf: @doodle417​ , @brokenbellz​, @gretavanfleas​, @pyrojoshy​, @greta-van-chaos​, @xserenax-13​, @hayley1623​, @kdarling1​, @autumns30, @keighoe, @chalametpwk​, @sammysvanfeet​, @shawnsthighs​, @gretavanbitches​, @sammiejane22​, @gretavanbestie, @jordierama​, @alexxavicry​

josh: @prophetofthedune​, @loofypoofy, @gretavangrace​

this series: @arnoldperlsteinishot​, @maedesculpaeusoubi​