#he just wanted Rainy to figure it out on their own

[glamourscat]

Can you maybe do a Shidou x Single mom reader? Shidou moved into a new apartment building because he got kicked out of the last one for being too loud or something alike, and his nextdoor apartment neighbor is a young single mom he greets sometimes, and she ends up asking him to babysit her toddler once because no one was able to take care of it at the moment and she was late to work. In the end the kid is obsessed with him and doesn't want to leave at first, but reluctantly accepts once they promise him/her they can play again.

Idk if that's a weird request or anything, but i think it would be cute. The kid can be a girl or boy, whichever you choose.💐

WHATEVER THAT MEANS | SHIDOU RYUSEI X READER (TIME SKIP)

so, i slightly changed it around, bc i found it hard to write for a mother who left her kid w someone who she barely knew :'( i made them on friendly base, so not super close but friendly enough for the reader to trust shidou into taking care of her daughter. I hope you like the fic either way, and i'm sorry for the little adjustment!

Loud. Inadequate. Noisy. Just a few adjectives his old apartment complex neighbors would use to describe him. And it’s not like they were necessarily wrong… but can’t a guy have hobbies? What’s the big deal if he wants to shout off his balcony in the morning as stress relief? Or sunbathe naked? It’s his house, after all.

But apparently, they didn’t see it that way. And so, embarrassingly enough, he got evicted. Football season was about to come to an end, which meant more days spent indoors, especially with the scorching summer temperatures in Japan.

It’s been over seven months since he met you. And he still couldn’t quite figure you out.

The first time you two met, you threw a shoe at him. The second time, you apologized for the shoe but still got into a screaming match over who stole whose package. The third time, it was a rainy night. He was restless.TV, phone, laptop, nothing could quiet his head. His eyes drifted to the window, and before he knew it, he was grabbing his jacket and shoes, heading out for a walk.

He didn’t even realize how far he’d gone until he found himself near the striking lights of the town center. He was about to turn back when he saw you. Standing there, soaked through, outside some cheap ass restaurant. His first instinct was to tease you, but then he took in your face.

Sorrow. Embarrassment. Pain.

And he didn’t have it in him.

You turned to leave before he could even step closer.

“Wait, damn it—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was quiet but firm as he reached out, catching your wrist.

“I don’t—I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Shidou huffed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“You’re drenched. C’mon. Let’s go back.” His voice was strangely calm. Just like that he led you home.

That night, seven months ago, he learned about you. Your life. That you, at 26, the same age as him, had a three-year-old daughter. That the father was more absent than his own had ever been.

He doesn’t know exactly when the shift happened. When throwing shoes turned into spending late nights at each other’s places, talking until 1 a.m. and laughing over things that didn’t even matter. Maybe it was the vulnerability of that very first night you two talked. Or maybe it was realizing that, despite everything, you two weren’t so different. He just… expressed things more loudly.

And maybe that’s why, on his day off, he’s here. Babysitting your kid. A round, giggling toddler sitting cross legged in his lap, applying makeup to his face with the concentration of a professional artist. She’s rambling, some absurd story about nursery school that he’s pretty sure she’s making up as she goes.

God, he has no idea what he’s doing.

There’s pink sparkling eyeshadow smudged across his eyelids, uneven swipes of glitter on his cheeks and something sticky in his hair that he’s choosing to ignore.

“You look like a princess,” she announces proudly, clapping her hands together.

Shidou snorts. “Yeah? A hot one?”

The toddler tilts her head, considering. “Mmm… a silly one.” She exclaims with her hands thrown in the air as to emphasise her claim. 

He grins, flashing his teeth. “Same thing, nugget.”

As you walk through the door your eyes fix on the scene. You don’t know where to either laugh or to be worried for Shidou’s safety. Surely that many hairpins in his hair cannot be good for blood circulation, right? 

His eyes meet yours as he flashes you a stupid grin of his. He doesn’t know how it happened, how he got here. But he knows it feels good. It feels good to be wanted. And your kid, for whatever reason, is obsessed with him.

Which is a problem, when you move closer to pick her up and she immediately buries her face into his shoulder, clinging and gripping him like he’s the last cookie in the cookie jar that someone is also trying to take. 

“Nooooo,” she yells dramatically. “I wanna stay with Ryusei!”

“Kid, I’m flattered,” he says, patting her back, “but your mom will kill me if you don't go take your bath.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sweetheart, you need to bathe. And eat dinner.”

“Ryusei can do it!”

Shidou chokes on a laugh and you shoot him a glare, but your daughter isn’t paying attention, she’s too busy gripping his shirt. Kicking her feet annoyed at the injustice of it all.

It reminds him a little of himself. That fierce, stubborn kind of love. The kind that grabs on tight and refuses to let go. She’s a kid, but he can feel that she’s smart enough to understand this feeling. So he tugs her away just enough to look her in the eye, his voice quieter now.

“Hey. What if I promise to come back?”

Her lip wobbles. “You swear?”

“Cross my heart.” He does the motion across his chest, then taps her nose. “I’ll come play again. You can even make me a clown next time.”

The toddler sniffs. “Princess clown.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the boss wants.”

She hesitates, then, slowly and reluctantly, she lets you take her into your arms. But her eyes stay locked on him, watching as if she’s trying to make sure he doesn’t disappear the second she looks away.

Shidou leans back, resting his head against the couch. And, because he knows she’s waiting, he throws her a lazy salute.

“Later, nugget.”

She sniffles again. “Bye-bye, Ryusei.”

And just like that, she’s gone, carried off into the other room.

The apartment is quieter now, the warmth of her weight still lingering on his skin. He exhales, stretching his arms over his head and catches you watching him as you pop back in the living room. 

“You didn’t have to promise,” you say, voice softer than usual.

Shidou hums. “Nah. I wanted to.”

A moment of silence goes by. 

“You’re good with her.”

He smirks. “You sound surprised.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

Shidou shrugs, leaning his head back again. He doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know if he even needs to. It’s just that love, in all its forms, has never come easy to him. It’s always been messy. Complicated.

But this? This feels simple. So yeah. He’ll come back. He will still pretend to huff and think twice before accepting. He will still tease you restless as per usual. But he will let your daughter cover him in glitter and tell him ridiculous stories and call him silly names. Because it’s easy. Because it’s warm. Because it feels good to be like this. 

Whatever that means. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[milkyway-micdrop]

small fact, rainy likes to draw Maverick, and sometimes hangs it on their walls

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

I'm still here. Thank you for giving me that chance.

Part seven of The Rain series

Synopsis: Ortho and Idia come to visit the Prefect in the infirmary after the collapse of Ramshackle.

TW: The aftermath of Ramshackle collapsing on The Prefect, Idia cries, Mentions of Ace and Deuce finding out The Prefect was injured after their visits, The Prefect is injured after Ortho's too but he doesn't find out, Mentions of Ortho's death and how Idia reacted, Idia doesn't take the news of your injury well (dw, he gets comfort)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (here), Part 8, Part 9 (coming soon), . . .

Ortho visited next. Somehow, despite him being made of metal and him having no mouth, it looked as though he was frowning.

He approached you slowly as if you were a wounded animal or a fragile piece of cracked glass that could shatter at the slightest gust of air.

"Your vital signs are steady." were the first words that left his speaker.

"Good to know." you reply, giving him a small smile. The bandages on your lower jaw had been reduced to less bulky versions and your mouth was now more visible. It certainly made talking easier and less of a strain on your jaw muscles.

"Big brother called STYX the moment he confirmed what happened." Ortho spoke up again.

"I was curious" you mumble, pausing for a moment to grab your drink. Ortho stopped you. You could tell he heard about your backtracking in the healing process after your visits with Ace and Deuce and how it left you with a ban (courtesy of Crewel) on bending your arms that far as not to reopen your wounds. He lifted the cup himself and helped you drink it.

"Thank you." you softly clear your throat before continuing: "How did you know to call STYX?" You refrain from asking about the fact it was Idia, the guy who would rather bite his own tongue off than answer a call, who made the call and not Ortho.

"Suspiciously frantic movements were detected on the school's security cameras. Big brother was originally going to ignore it, but then he noticed that the movement was the teachers, and they were running directly toward Ramshackle. There were no working cameras that could see to Ramshackle, I was charging, and it was too rainy to send out a drone, so. . ."

"Idia did something with 'questionable legality' again, didn't he?"

"It was for a good cause!" Ortho immediately defends. "He. . .he may or may not have tapped into professor Crewel's phone call with Leona Kighscholar to figure out what was going on, but if he didn't-"

You cut Ortho's rambling off by slightly raising a bandaged hand; "It's okay. I'm thankful he did. I won't tell on him."

Ortho sighs (?) in relief before smiling "Brother is coming to see you tomorrow! It would have been today, but he sent me in first for 'reconnaissance.'"

A laugh bubbles out of your throat, but the moment it leaves your mouth, your wincing in pain. You take in a sharp breath, but that only irritates a stitch in your side.

Ortho flinches and immediately starts scanning you again.

"I'm okay, Ortho." you wince. At his skeptical look, you rephrase "I'll be okay."

Ortho stays for a few more hours, chatting away to you about what has been happening on campus, in your classes, and in Ignihyde.

Before he left, you offered him a hug. He was extremely hesitant. He'd been avoiding sitting on the bed with you or getting too close in fear that his metal body would cause you harm. However, he gives in after a bit of convincing and allows you to wrap him is a gentle hug.

You awaken the next morning with a worse ache than usual in your abdomen. You didn't want to say it at the time as you knew it would tear the poor boy apart, but Ortho had hugged you perhaps a bit more than just a little too tight. You reached down to gently tap the sore spot only to wince in pain. When you pulled your hand back it was stained red. You looked down. Your hand wasn't all that was red.

The time comes for Idia to visit, but there's no sign of him. No knock on the door. No footsteps. No words spoken. It isn't until about 20 minutes after his scheduled time of arrival that you realize there's a blue glow radiating from the crack between the door and the doorframe.

You had had to beg Professor Crewel to allow you to continue with the visits after the little surprise you woke up to this morning. Well, beg may not be the best word. You were told you weren't allowed to speak for the next few days as the largest wound on your abdomen had become much more fragile after it broke open and the movement in your body caused from talking could reopen it. If it opened again. . . .

Anyway, the point was that you were unable to call out for Idia and tell him it was okay to come in. However, at the same time, you had put so much effort into your kicked puppy look to get Crewel to allow Idia's visit today that you weren't willing to let it pass because Idia was too nervous. You considered the bell on your nightstand, but reaching that far was also prohibited by Crewel and the doctors.

To your relief, a quiet knock came from the door at the 30-minute mark. It sounded more like an accidental brush against the door if you were being honest, but that was enough for you. Previously, Idia had no clue that you knew he was there, but with the brush against the door that he knew for a fact that you heard in that deafeningly quiet room, he knew he had to reveal himself.

The door creaked open nauseatingly slow.

When the door was cracked about a foot (≅30.5cm) open you could finally see a hint of glowing blue hair emerge. Just as you were sure his head was about to peak in, the blue disappeared in a flash. The door remained slightly ajar and through that crack came an oh-so-familiar floating tablet. It floated up to you and text appeared on the screen: "Hey."

You glanced between the tablet and your hands resting on your lap a few times as a way of telling it to look at them. When the screen finally shifted to face your splayed-out hands, you began curling fingers into a fist one by one. You were counting down.

Now, logically, Idia knew that in the state you were you couldn't do anything to him. He knew that. . .

Moments later you were sat comfortably (as much as you could be) on your new mattress and sheets, in your newly acquired too thin hospital gown, with an awkward boy in the chair next to your bed.

It was silent for a while before Idia finally spoke "I heard what happened this morning. . . ."

Your eyes widened and you forgot how to breathe for a moment. Last time you got worse as a result of a visit it obviously had to be announced that you'd be taking a break. It wasn't said specifically why, but you were sure there were some who had put two and two together. You didn't even want to imagine what went through Ace and Deuce's mind then. . .. You didn't want the same to happen to Ortho! That's one of the main reasons you wanted to badly to keep the visits going as scheduled.

Seemingly noticing the panic in your eyes, Idia quickly continues: "Ortho doesn't know."

You quickly relax

"I-I uhm. . .I brought you this" Idia mumbles, holding up a handheld gaming console. "Thought it might get boring in here. . .. It has a really long battery life and when it does die, the charging cable is mega long so it'll def be able to reach your bed. I even uploaded the games I knew you liked to play on it plus a few of my favorites."

You smile softly and give a small nod of appreciation.

He sets the console down on the nightstand for now before continuing: "I also got the Professor to agree to let me install a state-of-the-art T.V. made by yours truly to the room. It'll be done by tonight!"

You begin to notice just how much Idia is talking. Sure, he had a tendency to ramble at times, but it's odd behavior for him to be exhibiting after he spent 30 minutes outside the door because he was too nervous to come in.

Before you can think too much about it, something on the nightstand catches your eye.

You cut Idia off by raising your hand a few inches off the bed. The small action makes Idia jump as though you just told him his save data got wiped.

He glances at your face, and you nod to the paper on the nightstand. When he stays frozen, you wave your fingers a fraction to get his tablet to come to your lap where you type into it "Look at the paper."

Idia stares dumbly but complies when he sees you tap the caps lock button.

He takes the carefully folded paper from the nightstand and examines it before opening it up. It's a letter.

Dear Idia,

Ortho told me that you were the one who called STYX for me. I want to thank you for that. I'm grateful for you. Seriously. You saved my life, Idia.

There was more, but he got distracted by a certain sentence.

"You saved my life, Idia."

When Idia first heard what happened, he nearly shattered. His throat tightened and tears began to pour down his face and, before he could even finish processing the information, he was on the phone with STYX frantically pleading that they send their best medical teams over that instant.

Idia's mind was flooded with images of that night. Ortho. The blood. Sevens, there was so much blood.

He tried to save him, he did. He tried so hard!

He put his all into something for the first time, like his actual all, and he failed. He failed himself, but more importantly, he failed his baby brother.

When Idia came back to, he was standing at his workstation staring at the technology he used to build Ortho after. . ..

When he realized what he was doing he knocked the table over. WHAT THE H*LL IDIA! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT. THEY'LL MAKE IT. . .they. . .they have to make it.

Idia fell to the ground where he stood and curled up into himself. He stayed like that for. . .well, he doesn't know how long. Ortho had placed piles of water around him in hopes he'd drink it since the crying was no doubt making him dehydrated. Just as Ortho was about to bring in an IV, Idia started moving again, but not much.

It wasn't until the announcement that you were still alive came and that you'd be able to have visitors soon that Idia finally got to work. He may not have been able to save you, but he could at least make your recovery more comfortable.

At least, he thought he hadn't been able to save you. Afterall, Ramshackle fell and he could do nothing about it.

So why. . .why did he start crying when he read those few simple words.

Even if STYX technically did save you after the collapse, he did nothing to prevent it (not that he knew it would fall). And he wasn't the one performing life saving surgery.

It wasn't him.

You pat your lap softly, inviting Idia to lay his head there. It takes a moment for him to do so, but he gently lays his head down, careful to avoid brushing any areas he knows are injured (from reading your medical sheet) or getting too close to your abdomen.

He sobs into your blankets for hours as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

When the time finally comes for him to leave, he drapes his coincidentally freshly washed hoodie over your shoulders (he totally didn't wash one of his already clean spares before he came to see you because he heard that your previous clothes were. . .out of commission and that you had had to put on one of those stupidly cold hospital gowns until you could be gotten new ones).

He tried not to pay attention to the way you smiled so softly at him after he gave you his (best) spare hoodie, or the way your ice-cold hands gently cupped his as he reached down to pick his tablet up from your lap (he immediately grabbed the mittens he saw on your nightstand, made in the familiar style one would see in Harveston, and slid them gently onto your hands).

He opened his tablet later that night hoping to check up on you again through the STYX equipment (that he definitely didn't hack into so he could see how your vital signs were looking) when he noticed something typed into the already opened notes app.

"I won't leave, Idia. I'll fight with all my might to keep my heart beating, so don't worry."

When he read that the tears started all over again.

And again, those words rang through his head: "You saved my life, Idia."

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[cherry-coloureddfunk]

And When You Move, I'm Moved, joel miller

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ daddy kink, p in v, riding, dirty talk, soft joel, hurt & comfort if you squint, praise kink, use of pet names ( baby girl, sweet girl, etc )

it's past christmas but I had this idea and fell in love with it and procrastination will be the death of me...

The night seemed to drag on forever.

It was almost 12:35, and Joel hadn’t come home yet— a broken promise that he had whispered in the morning, with a kiss to the tip of your nose, crossing his heart that he’d be back in time to hold you once more and open presents.  

Supplies were running low in Jackson, including penicillin and other medications that would be useful for a rainy day. Selfishness claws at the edges of your thoughts each time he has to go, a relentless whisper that begs him to stay—to choose the warmth of home and the safety of you over the unknown out there. It gnaws at your resolve, urging you to tell him to forget about the world, to let it fend for itself, and to stay here where it’s quiet, where it’s just the two of you.

Instead, you put your heart’s desires to rest, giving him a meek nod as you kissed the lips, which you came to know as your own goodbye. It wasn’t fair. However, nothing was ever fair when it came to your Joel.

At his core, your Joel was a giver— the kind of man who would give until his knees buckled from beneath him, and even then you were sure he’d pour what little remained of himself into the world. He bled for you, his devotion etched in every sacrifice he made, and though he’d never admit it, he bled for Jackson too, an unspoken loyalty for the town he called your home. 

So if Jackson needed something, Tommy and him were always the first ones to act. 

And all you could do was wait.

But the worst part wasn’t waiting. It wasn’t the fear of hypotheticals or counting every star in the sky and praying on each one that he’d be alright. It was the knowing. Knowing that one day your Joel might not find his way back into the safety of your embrace. That one day, the fucked up world around you might win. And it was as obvious to you as it was to those around you— you wouldn’t be able to endure that. The possibility of leading a life without him because to you, he is the world.

 Joel is the sun and moon, and the stars are him. 

You shift subconsciously on the bed, hands gripping the white sheets, a desperate attempt to ground yourself from this nightmare. You wanted to wake up. You wanted to wake up in his arms, the feeling of his breath fanning against your neck— a tangible reminder that he was yours. You longed to trace the outline of his nose with your eyes like you always did when he was fast asleep next to you— not wanting to surrender to sleep because that would mean another moment spent without him. 

And yet, somehow, even in sleep, you still dreamt of him. Always him.

Then, amid the deafening silence that accompanied the dark, the door creaked open slowly. You blinked in an attempt to focus on the figure that lingered in the doorway. It stepped through, gently shutting the door behind, and you saw him— Joel, Your Joel. 

The exhaustion on his face doesn’t go unnoticed; bright eyes now sunken, and the pink plush lips you had kissed in the morning were red and irritated, no doubt from the harsh weather. Eyes bloodshot from fighting sleep. 

“Joel…” You could finally breathe, rushing to your feet. You leaped out of bed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pressing your face against his jacket's material, you felt his heart's rhythmic beat. He was here. He was safe.

“M’okay.” He soothed, lips brushing the top of your head as his arms came around you, “M’here, baby. M’here.”

You guide him to sit at the edge of your bed, standing between his legs as they rest on either side of you. He reaches out slowly, arms wrapping around you to pull you into his lap by habit. Once you’re there, you get a closer look at his face with the help of a nearby lamp. Small cuts adorn his face, and a prominent one that you notice lies on the bridge of his nose. 

Tommy and him weren’t the only ones searching for supplies. 

You cup his face gently, fingers ghosting the gray whiskers of his beard. He leans into your touch, eyes closed, completely melting at the contact. He shudders at the feeling of your lips pressing against every knick that taints his skin. Whoever did this to your Joel, you wish the weight of their cruelty returned tenfold—a life heavy with regret and haunted by shadows, never to know the peace they carelessly stole from him.

“C’mon, baby girl, let's get you to bed.” He rests his forehead against yours, fingers caressing your sides with a feather-light touch, “S’real late.”

Ever the giver. Even in the quietest moments, he pours what’s left of himself into you.

You shake your head gently, fingers coming up to undo the buttons of his winter coat. Once the constricting material is off, his shaky hands work on his favorite green flannel. He curses under his breath as his hands tremble. They feel numb and stiff from the biting cold, refusing to obey his commands. Frustration flickers across his face as he struggles with the flannel buttons, his breath coming in shallow puffs of irritation.

"I can't... damn it," he mutters, the words edged with a helpless kind of anger—his fingers fumble, clumsy and uncooperative. 

Placing your hands over his, you offer him a sympathetic smile and take over, undoing each button for him. He shrugs off the flannel, leaving the sight of his broad chest in front of you, revealing another scar, though this one is more familiar. It lay above his lower stomach, and you’d seen in passing within these same four walls when the man in front of you whispered filthy things into your ear, the weight of his naked body against yours, holding your hand as he fucked you into the mattress he was now sitting on. 

Still, on his lap, you moved to work on Joel’s pants, using your hands to rub at the top of his inner thigh gently. His grip on your sides tightened slightly as he let out a strained breath, peering at you through hooded eyes. Now, standing between his legs, you peel off his jeans and boxers, throwing them to the side of the bed to deal with another day. 

Joel’s hand comes to toy with the thin strap of your nightie; his fingers dig under the silk, slowly dragging both straps down your arms to reveal your naked body to him. His eyes dance along your chest, admiring the swell of your breast and the sight of your nipples that harden from the chilly air in the room. He pulls you into him, kissing the valley of your breast to the exposed skin of your neck. You giggle softly at the familiar beard scruff tickling your soft skin. 

Your hand drifts between your bodies, finding his aching cock. Wrapping your hand around his girth, he twitches in your hand with a low moan. You knew what he needed– Relief. And you’d be more than willing to provide that for him. 

“Take those off f’me, baby.” He removes his hands, letting his eyes drift to your panties, the only thing shielding all of you from him. You hooked your fingers around the soft cotton material, yanking them down so they could pool at your legs. You stepped out of your panties and closer to Joel, watching his hefty hand stroke up and down his cock, watching you unravel yourself for him and him only. 

“Wanna take care of you daddy.” Your hands find his shoulders, rubbing them to soothe the ache he felt from the day. Joel did so much for you. He kept you safe and full in many ways without expecting anything in return. You’d never lift a finger as long as he was around, and that was apparent from the first time he took you to bed and made you cum two times with his fingers and once with his mouth. Sometimes, you wanted him to be selfish because he deserved it more than anyone.  

“You’re so sweet, baby girl.”  He smiles up at you, still pumping his cock. Your eyes fall to his length and the bush of wiry hairs above it, “Gonna ride daddy’s cock n take care of him real good? Make him feel better?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Spit on daddy’s cock, baby.” 

You lean down to his length, eyes meeting his as he gives you a nod of approval. You gather the salvia in your mouth, letting it fall from your lips to his length. Joel’s eyes darkened, watching your spit drip down the head of his cock onto his shaft. 

“One more time.” 

You spit once more, and Joel removes his hand completely, arms reaching out for you. You step towards him, letting his hands find their way onto your hips. He pulls you into his lap once more, positioning you to his liking– both of your knees on either side of him as your wet entrance hovers over his cock.  Your nails dig into his shoulders when you feel the hot tip of him rub against the wetness of your core.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, eyes closed. His hands hold you firmly in place. “She’s dripping onto me– filthy girl gonna ruin these sheets.” 

You whined, trying to move yourself onto him, but Joel was stronger, able to manipulate you however he wanted. You let out a sigh, just wanting anything he would give to dull the ache between your thighs. 

Joel tsked, “Be patient baby, m’gonna make you feel better.” He moves you forward just enough so  his tip catches at the notch of your cunt,  “Daddy spoils you so much that you're always used to getting your way, hm?”

You gasped, burying your face into the crook of his neck at the feeling of his cock against your clit, “No, Daddy, m’your good girl, promise!” 

Joel’s hand gently cupped your face, his fingers softly caressing your skin as if to reassure you that he was just teasing. He knew you were spoiled objectively but loved being the one to indulge you. More than that, he loved how much you needed him. It gave him a sense of purpose, something he would never tell you himself. He thrived on being the one you turned to, the one you trusted to take care of you. Knowing that you relied on him, that you needed him in ways no one else could. It wasn’t just indulgence; it was connection, it was love, and it was everything he never knew he craved. 

With his other hand, Joel moved you back to your original position hovering above him as he guided you to sink onto his cock. Joel’s hand was steady on your head, forcing your gaze to meet his own, already pushing you further down on himself. You moaned at the slight ache fading into pleasure from his size, splitting you open. 

“You’re doing so good, baby, y’almost there.” Joel sighed, eyes glancing down to where your bodies met. He was painfully hard from the sight of him completely stuffing you full, “Gonna give you some more.” 

“Daddy.” You whined, body slumping forward in Joel’s grip as he pushed you down so you could take all that he was giving you. He was thick and hot inside of you, his member pulsing at the feeling of being where he’d longed to be– and almost always ended up every night.

“I know, baby girl, I know.” He soothed, kissing your cheek. He let you move against him a bit, letting you feel how deep he was inside you. Your gaze cast downwards to see where you disappeared inside of him, his cock buried snugly in your warmth. 

Joel’s hands guided you up and down, setting the rhythm for you to mimic. You held a death grip on his shoulders, rolling your hips on top of him, a little cautious, not wanting to disappoint him. Joel noticed your apprehension and offered you an encouraging smile, his warm and steady gaze melting away your nerves. He knew how much you wanted to be his good girl, but to him, there was nothing you could ever do that would disappoint. Even if you faltered, even if you stumbled, in his eyes, you could never truly fall short.

“Fuck, look at you. Got the prettiest thing in all of Jackson bouncin’ on my lap.” He praised you with a moan, throwing his head back and focusing on how well your body always took him, “Doing such a good job for daddy.” 

You watched Joel’s eyes rake all over your naked form, moaning when you’d sink back down onto his cock. His hands had reclaimed their place at your sides, moving you against him at a faster pace. One of your hands came to rest on the side of his face as you asked breathily, “Like this?” 

You rode him at the pace he wanted, pulling his forehead to rest against your own, wanting to feel him as close as possible, though it probably wasn’t possible. Close would never be enough for you. You’d always want more when it came to Joel. The dark hairs at the base of his cock brushed against your clit whenever you sank onto him, spurring you on further. 

“So fuckin’ sweet to me.” He nodded, confirming your earlier question, one hand gripping at your breasts as he licked at the nipple of the other. His tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves making your back arch in pleasure. He loved how you wanted to please him. You really were his good girl. He pulled his mouth off with a pop, “S’just what you needed huh? My perfect girl’s little pussy was just beggin’ t’be full o’me?” 

You wanted to respond, but the feeling of him engulfing you made it impossible. Your face contorted the feeling of euphoria rushing over you when you felt Joel’s hips move upward on their own accord, meeting your movements to fuck you even harder. 

Joel.

Joel.

Joel. 

It was like a mantra in your head. It was all too much. 

‘Daddy, I– I think m’ gonna-” You whined into the crook of his neck. Joel knew your body well enough that he didn’t need you to tell him when you were close; he always felt it. He felt your hot tears drip onto his chest, bringing his hand up to tangle into your hair as he kept up his powerful thrusts into you. 

“Cum for me baby girl, s’okay you can do it.” He breathed out, his hand stroking your scalp, “I’ll take care of you. Let go f’me.” 

So you did. You came hard, trying to muffle your cries by covering your mouth with Joel’s shoulder, which was damp from your tears. Your walls gripped Joel’s cock, throbbing as you came undone on top of him, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat. With what little energy he had left, both of his hands came to grip the undersides of your thighs as he fucked into you. 

His hips stuttered, a sign to you that he was going to come as well. Your walls squeezing him allowed that final push he needed as he emptied himself into you. 

You were both left wrecked. Heavy breathing against sweaty skin pressed against each other. Joel’s arms enveloped you, gently rubbing your back as you tried to catch your breath, “Stay inside, please?” 

“Okay, baby,” he chuckled, burying his nose in your hair and taking a deep breath. Your head rested on his shoulder as he held you close, keeping you pressed firmly against him. “Do you still want to open presents?”

“After round two, definitely.”

[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[etesians]

“I’ve just had a thought.”

Kei looks up from his phone, eyes drooping, the hour you’ve spent lounging on the couch rendering him immune to the fact that his neck is bent at a disastrous angle against the armrest. It has you pulling him forward, taking the pillow from under your neck to stuff under his, but it’s a fine trade. Now you can lay against the warmth of his chest and settle into what Kei calls the pre-nap—or, what he used to call it, back when he was still too embarrassed to simply say that he wanted cuddles.

“Woah, careful there," he can't pass up the opportunity to start with. Then, "Good kind or bad kind?”

You hum. “Sickeningly domestic kind.”

“So… good,” he decides after a beat, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Those long, gentle fingers you love slide into your hair, and it’s a wonder how they’re always able to sate an itch that only manifests itself mere seconds before the touch, just so they can be rubbed away by him and him alone; suspiciously wizard-like. “It’s not like I’m opposed to any of that… Since it’s you.”

Aww.

“Honeycakes—” you coo obnoxiously, disguising his name in the endearment, which gets you exactly what you'd expect—the full moon's circumference of his palm eclipsing your vision, his grip light as he smushes your face around for a while, unable to rid himself of the urge. When he lets go a minute later, you share a mirrored look of contentment, all stupid smiles and rolling eyes, before you settle your ear over his heart and he resumes massaging your scalp.

Whatever video he was watching drones on in the meantime. Something about a supermoon coming up and dropping temperatures… Partly rainy with a high of seventy-three degrees and a low of sixty-eight and—wow, he really got sucked into watching the weather channel... Such old man behavior. But it’s quiet enough to tune out against the steady drum in his ribs, so you both leave it be.

“Your idea, baby.”

“Oh, right. So I was thinking—y’know, when we start buying stuff for the house…”

“Mmhm?”

“For utensils, what if we found the same forks you grew up using, and the same spoons I had, so that our future kid'll have pieces of both of our childhoods already built into theirs? It’d be like our own little mismatched set.” "You're right..." It's quiet for a moment. Then Kei blows out a breath, his mind positively sunnier with the image. “That is sickeningly domestic.”

You open your mouth to defend the idea—because it is a good idea, notes-app worthy, even—when he tacks on, “I’m not saying no. God, you’re just so cute sometimes...” the words followed up by him pulling on your cheek. “Is that why you kept hovering by the drawers when we visited my mom? ‘What if’ my ass—you already found them on google, didn't you?”

Your bubbling laughter gives you away. Because he’s right—they’re in your amazon shopping cart as you speak, just waiting on his two cents.

“What about chopsticks, then? And knives. And spatulas.”

Spatulas? You raise a brow.

Kei only shrugs in response.

“The rest can be new. I don’t want all of it to be us holding onto old things,” you pause. “But my star curtains are non-negotiable.”

“They have holes in them.”

“Those are the cutouts! And you even said they were pretty when the light’s seeping through them.”

“Okay, yes, they are pretty," he relents, setting his glasses down by his phone. Silencing the weather report with a slide of his thumb. “But furnishings aside, we’d still be missing one thing…”

“Tsukishima Kei, I know exactly what you’re thinking…” You find yourself being rolled onto your back, his pupils pushing the golden-brown of his irises to the outer rims as they dilate. “And the answer is no.”

“What?” Kei smirks, almost sing-songy as he trails kisses down your collar. He’s not actually gunning for that part of your life together yet. Key word—yet. You’d both agreed to preserve the first year of your marriage for just the two of you. Figuring out the ins and outs of buying a house together and all the legalities that came with it had been hard enough on its own.

Everything after your one-year anniversary, though, is completely fair game.

“You’re the one who brought up a little Tsukishima…”

[luvashli]

THE BET

Synopsis -> Heeseung, the campus heartthrob known for his charm and devil-may-care attitude, makes a bet with his friends: he’ll win you over in just one week. However, as he spends more time with you, his cocky facade starts to crack. What starts as a game becomes a test of emotions neither of you expected.

PAIRING: nonidol!heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE: oneshot, College au, romance, angst, slowburn, drama

STARTED: 1/21/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 4.2 K

The whispers about Heeseung started the first day you set foot on campus. “The guy’s a legend,” someone had said during freshman orientation. “He can charm anyone.”

You hadn’t paid much attention then. Sure, you’d seen him around—leaning against his car in the parking lot, laughing with friends as if the world was his playground. He was tall, undeniably handsome, with the kind of effortless confidence that made people gravitate toward him. But you didn’t like people like him. People who lived their lives on autopilot, coasting on good looks and charm.

You prided yourself on being different. Confident, independent, and no-nonsense, you had no time for boys who thought they could play games with your heart. Your focus was on your studies, your goals, and your small circle of friends who valued authenticity over popularity.

But everything changed on a rainy Wednesday afternoon in the campus library.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Jay said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, already tired of his friend’s antics. They were hanging out in one of the campus lounges, killing time between classes. Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo—all of them notorious for their friendly but reckless behavior—were egging him on as usual.

“You’ve won over every girl on campus,” Jake added. “Except for her.”

Heeseung frowned, glancing across the room where you sat, headphones on, flipping through a thick textbook. You looked focused, completely unaware of the world around you.

“Y/N?” Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s untouchable,” Sunghoon said with a shrug. “I heard she turned down three guys last semester, all of them way more charming than you.”

Heeseung smirked, leaning back. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a bet,” Jay said, his grin widening. “Seven days. You get her to fall for you, and dinner’s on us for a month.”

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. He wasn’t sure why, but something about you intrigued him. You were different from the girls who usually threw themselves at him. Confident, uninterested, completely in your own world.

“Fine,” Heeseung said, grinning. “Seven days. Watch and learn.”

Day One

The rain had started to pour outside, the steady rhythm tapping against the library windows. You were lost in your reading, trying to make sense of a particularly dense paragraph in your sociology textbook, when a shadow fell across your desk.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and there he was—Lee Heeseung, in all his cocky glory.

“Yes, I mind,” you said curtly, turning back to your book.

He didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, a lazy smile on his face.

“Y/N, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know my name?”

He shrugged, leaning forward slightly. “I have my ways.”

You rolled your eyes, already annoyed. “Look, I’m busy. Whatever game you’re playing, go play it somewhere else.”

But Heeseung didn’t budge. Instead, he spent the next hour pretending to study, stealing glances at you and making small comments that made you want to scream.

When you finally packed up your things and left, he followed you outside.

“Hey, wait,” he called out.

“What now?” you snapped, turning around.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his usual confidence faltering. “Let me walk you home. It’s raining.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out his angle. But in the end, you let him.

Day Two

The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, golden glow over campus as you settled into your favorite corner of the coffee shop. It was your sacred morning ritual—black coffee, a half-eaten muffin, and your notebook open to a page of neat, organized notes. The world outside could be chaos, but here, with the hum of coffee machines and quiet chatter, you had control.

Heeseung, however, seemed hellbent on disrupting that control.

You didn’t even notice him at first, too engrossed in highlighting an important section of your notes. It wasn’t until you caught the faint whiff of cologne—something subtle but maddeningly alluring—that you glanced up.

“Morning,” he said, already sliding into the seat across from you as if he belonged there.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you make a habit of invading people’s mornings uninvited?”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, a lopsided grin on his face. “Only when they look like they need company.“

“I don’t,” you replied flatly, going back to your notes.

He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand as he studied you. “You know, you’re kind of infamous around here.”

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Infamous?”

“For being the girl who doesn’t fall for anyone,” he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “It’s impressive.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let me guess. That’s your opening line for every girl you’re trying to charm?”

“Not every girl,” he said with a smirk. “Just the ones who don’t seem to like me.”

Despite yourself, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch upward. You quickly masked it with a sip of coffee, trying to remind yourself that Heeseung was nothing but trouble.

“What do you want, Heeseung?” you asked finally, your tone sharp.

“To get to know you,” he said, his voice softening.

You weren’t sure if it was the sincerity in his tone or the way his eyes seemed to hold yours for a moment too long, but something about his words caught you off guard. You shook your head, determined not to let him get under your skin.

“Not interested,” you said, closing your notebook and standing up.

Heeseung watched as you gathered your things, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. Just as you were about to walk away, he called out:

“See you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t turn back, but his words echoed in your mind long after you left the coffee shop.

Later that day, you found yourself replaying the encounter in your head, annoyed that he had managed to occupy even a fraction of your thoughts. Heeseung was just another cocky guy who thought he could charm his way into anything. You’d seen it a thousand times before.

So why did the memory of his stupid grin make your chest tighten?

On the other side of campus, Heeseung sat with his friends, half-listening to their conversation while his mind wandered back to you.

“She’s different,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only talked to her twice.”

“Yeah, but…” Heeseung trailed off, unable to find the right words. You were a challenge, sure, but it was more than that. The fire in your eyes, the way you held yourself like you didn’t need anyone—that was what fascinated him.

“Just don’t screw it up,” Jake said with a grin. “You’ve got five days left, and she’s not going to make it easy.”

Heeseung smirked, but inside, he felt the first pang of doubt. This wasn’t just a game anymore, and he had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

Day Three

You told yourself you were overthinking things. Heeseung was just another guy trying to get your attention, and if you ignored him long enough, he'd eventually get bored and move on. But when you walked into the campus library that afternoon, the last thing you expected was to find him there—leaning against a bookshelf in the fiction section, skimming through a book like he belonged there.

You froze for a moment, cursing your luck. He glanced up almost immediately, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Well, look who it is,” he said, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. “Didn’t take you for a library kind of person.”

You rolled your eyes, clutching your notebook tighter against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise.

“Do you just… follow me around campus now?” you asked, your tone sharp.

Heeseung laughed, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, I have other hobbies besides annoying you.”

You stepped closer, trying to find the book you came for. Heeseung didn’t move, his presence radiating far too much confidence for someone standing in your way.

“Do you mind?” you asked pointedly, gesturing toward the shelf behind him.

Heeseung glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “What are you looking for?”

“None of your business,” you snapped.

“Fair enough,” he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. “Go ahead.”

You ignored him and quickly grabbed the book you needed, but his gaze lingered on you as you tried to focus.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “you’re kind of fascinating.”

You sighed, turning to face him. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, his grin widening. “See you around, Y/N.”

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of irritation and intrigue. Heeseung was persistent, you’d give him that. But there was something about the way he looked at you—like he actually wanted to figure you out—that made your defenses waver, if only for a moment.

Day Four

It was late in the evening, and the campus was unusually quiet. You were walking back to your dorm, lost in thought, when you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, already annoyed, and sure enough, there he was.

“Are you seriously stalking me now?” you asked, stopping in your tracks.

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I was heading this way anyway.”

You narrowed your eyes but kept walking. He fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets, his usual cocky demeanor oddly subdued.

The two of you walked in silence for a while, the quiet night settling between you like a fragile truce.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than you expected.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, glancing at him. “I just don’t trust you.”

Heeseung nodded, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “Fair enough.”

You didn’t know why, but his lack of a comeback caught you off guard. For once, he wasn’t trying to charm you or get under your skin—he was just… there.

As you reached your dorm, he stopped and turned to you. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Goodnight.”

And for the first time, you realized you weren’t entirely dreading seeing him again.

Day Five

By now, you’d started noticing Heeseung everywhere. In the coffee shop, at the library, even in passing conversations with your friends. It was like he’d found a way to exist on the edges of your world without completely intruding.

That evening, you were sitting on a bench outside the student center, flipping through your notes, when Heeseung appeared again. This time, he wasn’t smirking or teasing—he looked almost… nervous.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside you.

You considered saying no but sighed instead, scooting over to make room.

He sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

“I know I can be annoying,” he said finally, his voice low. “But I’m not a bad guy, Y/N.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his sudden honesty. “Then why act like one?”

Heeseung chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s easier that way. People don’t expect much from you if they think you’re just messing around.”

You studied him for a moment, trying to reconcile the cocky persona he usually wore with the vulnerability he was showing now.

“Maybe you should stop pretending,” you said softly.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure out if you really meant it.

“I’m starting to think you’re right,” he said.

And in that moment, you felt the walls you’d built around yourself begin to crack, just a little.

It was the sixth day when everything fell apart.

You were walking across campus when you overheard them—Heeseung and his friends, laughing about the bet.

“Did you really think she’d fall for it?” Jay said, grinning. “Man, you’re good.”

Your blood ran cold. You turned the corner, and there they were, laughing as if it was all just a game.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice icy.

He turned around, his smile fading when he saw your expression.

“Y/N, wait—”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t you dare try to explain. I should’ve known this was all a joke to you.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Save it,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t want to hear it.”

And with that, you walked away, leaving him standing there, his heart sinking.

The knock on your door came just as you were about to turn in for the night. You frowned, glancing at the clock—it was nearing midnight. Pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, you padded to the door, already bracing yourself for some random excuse from your roommate or a delivery mix-up.

But when you opened the door, there he was.

Heeseung stood on the other side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His hair was a mess, as though he’d run his hands through it a hundred times, and his eyes… They weren’t cocky or playful like usual. They were wide, hesitant, and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said, his voice quiet—almost pleading.

You hesitated, debating whether or not to shut the door in his face. But something about the way he looked, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, made you pause.

“Fine,” you said reluctantly, stepping aside.

He walked in, but his usual confidence was absent. He didn’t try to sprawl on your couch or crack a joke. Instead, he hovered near the door, hands fidgeting at his sides.

“Y/N…” Heeseung started, then stopped, as if the words were too heavy to say.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the counter. “If you’re just here to waste my time—”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, cutting you off. His voice cracked, and it made you freeze.

“What?” you said, your tone softer now, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his gaze fixed on the floor. “For the bet. For being an idiot. For… for hurting you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “You’re really going to apologize now? After everything?”

“I know,” he said quickly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. “I know it’s late, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I… I couldn’t just leave it like this. You have no idea how much I hate myself for what I did.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened at the sight of him like this—so undone, so unlike the Heeseung you thought you knew.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” he continued, his voice trembling. “At first, it was just… stupid. I wanted to win, I wanted to prove I could get to you. But then…” He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Then I got to know you. And suddenly, it wasn’t about the bet anymore. It was about you. And I ruined it.”

You stayed silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

Heeseung’s voice dropped, almost a whisper now. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear, Y/N. Just… tell me what to do.”

The vulnerability in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung, the guy who seemed untouchable, was standing in your apartment, completely unguarded and entirely at your mercy.

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, your voice trembling despite yourself. “How do I know this isn’t just another game?”

His eyes softened, and he took a step closer, hesitating as though afraid you’d push him away. “Because you’re the only person who’s ever made me want to be better,” he said, his voice barely audible. “And I can’t lose that.”

You stared at him, your emotions warring inside you. The anger, the hurt, the lingering attraction—it all came to a head as he closed the distance between you, his hand hovering just inches from yours.

“I don’t want your words, Heeseung,” you said, your voice breaking. “I want proof.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he’d retreat. But then he stepped even closer, his breath mingling with yours as he looked at you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Then let me show you,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

And before you could think, before you could push him away or pull him closer, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was desperate, raw, filled with all the tension and unspoken emotions that had been building between you. His hands cupped your face, almost reverently, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

You wanted to stay angry. You wanted to shove him back and tell him he didn’t deserve you. But the way he kissed you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world, made it impossible to pull away.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, and his breath was shaky.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I mean it, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you every single day if I have to.”

For the first time, you saw the real Heeseung—not the cocky playboy or the overconfident charmer, but the broken boy underneath, desperate for a second chance.

And for the first time, you thought maybe—just maybe—you’d give him one.

It had been a few weeks since Heeseung's late-night apology at your apartment, and things had undeniably shifted between you both. What started as a tangled mess of hurt and confusion had slowly transformed into something new, something unexpected—something real.

You had no idea what would happen next. You still had questions. You still had doubts. But when Heeseung had come to you, laid bare his vulnerabilities, and shown you his true self, it was hard to ignore the connection you’d always had. Something had cracked inside you, and though the wound was still fresh, it had given way to the possibility of something more.

And so, you moved forward, cautiously at first, but with each passing day, your trust in him grew. The dynamic between you had changed completely, but it wasn’t what you expected. Heeseung wasn’t just the cocky, confident guy he once was—he was more patient now, more introspective. It was clear that he was trying to prove that he meant what he said, and you found yourself falling for him again, in a way that was different. It wasn’t the infatuation of the bet or the thrill of the game; this time, it was something deeper, quieter—something more meaningful.

He still had his playful side, of course. But when you looked at him now, you saw the layers that were once hidden beneath the surface. You saw the side of him that had always been there—the side that cared, the side that loved fiercely, and the side that wanted to make things right.

You didn’t have to say the words out loud to feel it—you could see it in the way he looked at you. Heeseung’s eyes no longer held that playful arrogance; instead, they were filled with warmth, tenderness, and sometimes, a hint of uncertainty. It was a vulnerability that you never would’ve expected from him, but it made him more real, more human.

One evening, as the two of you sat together in the common room, sharing a quiet dinner, you caught him looking at you in a way that made your heart flutter.

“You’re staring,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Heeseung smirked, but it was different now. “I can’t help it,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You’re kind of… amazing.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. It had taken time, but it was clear now—there was no more pretense. Heeseung had let his guard down, and so had you.

But as much as you had grown closer, there were still moments where you felt the weight of the past. You still remembered the bet, the hurt, the betrayal. But Heeseung didn’t shy away from these moments; he acknowledged them, apologized again when needed, and showed you, through his actions, that he was working to be better.

It wasn’t long before the others started to notice the subtle shift in your relationship with Heeseung. They weren’t blind—how could they be? The playful banter between you two had transformed into something much quieter, something that wasn’t as easily hidden.

At first, they were confused, unsure of what had changed. They had seen you and Heeseung bicker before, but this time, the air between you both was different. It was as if something unspoken was lingering, a secret that neither of you could hide.

One afternoon, you were all gathered in the living room of their shared apartment, hanging out after classes. The guys were being their usual selves—loud, playful, and full of energy. You were sitting next to Heeseung, your knees brushing together as you chatted with Sunghoon about an upcoming project.

But Heeseung’s hand was resting on your thigh, just enough to let you know he was there, a silent reassurance. It was subtle, but it wasn’t unnoticed by the others.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing between you two. “Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you two?”

You tensed slightly, but Heeseung leaned back in his chair, his expression relaxed. “What do you mean?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips. But you could see the way his eyes flicked to you, a little too aware of how the conversation was turning.

“You two are… different,” Sunghoon said slowly, his gaze lingering on the hand that Heeseung had placed on your thigh. “You’re not acting like you used to. So, what’s up?”

Jake, who had been quiet up until now, smirked. “I’m just waiting for one of you to break the silence and admit it already.”

Heeseung shifted uncomfortably, but instead of retreating, he met your eyes, as if silently asking if he should say anything. You sighed, shaking your head slightly.

“I think it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” you said, your tone casual but with a hint of amusement. “We’ve been through a lot, and we’re…”

“Together,” Heeseung finished, his voice steady, but there was a trace of something—nervousness, maybe?—lingering in his tone.

The room fell into a stunned silence. You could practically hear the gears turning in their heads as they processed your words.

Jay, who had been leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “So, wait, you’re telling us that you two are, like… official?”

You nodded, but before you could say anything else, Sunoo broke in, his grin wide. “Well, it’s about damn time!”

The others erupted into laughter, but you could tell that there was a mixture of surprise and understanding in their eyes. They hadn’t expected this, not after the way things had started, but they could see the change in both of you.

“You two are cute,” Sunghoon said, shaking his head with a smile. “I guess you’re not the cocky, arrogant guy you once were, huh, Heeseung?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, but there was a genuine smile on his face. “Nope,” he said with a mock sigh. “Guess I’m whipped now.”

You snorted, reaching over to nudge him. “Shut up,” you muttered, but there was warmth in your voice.

“Well, whatever happens, I’m glad you two are happy,” Jake said, giving you both a thumbs-up. “But seriously, Heeseung, don’t mess it up this time.”

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t, I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson.”

You chuckled softly, your gaze softening as you looked at Heeseung. There was no doubt now—things had changed, and for the better. The trust between you had grown, and so had your feelings. It wasn’t going to be perfect, and there would still be bumps along the way, but you both knew you were in this together.

And as the conversation continued, you realized just how much you had both changed since that first bet, that first moment of rivalry. You had gone from strangers to something much deeper—partners, lovers, friends—no longer bound by the past but by what you had created together.

And for the first time in a long while, you were certain that whatever came next, you were ready to face it with Heeseung by your side.

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[bratbarzal]

you said i could send multiple requests and you wouldn’t block me

could you do roommate (or neighbour) nico with ³⁾ “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” with neighbour!nico!!!!! bc of course neighbour nico joins your boozy galentines, wears pink fluffy cowboy hats and sings horrific karaoke duets with you. why wouldn't he? not to toot my own horn (again) but beep beep this is a dream that I have had since lunch and I am not giving up on it now.

“I’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything I need to know about how your date went.”

You're locking up your apartment when Nico emerges from the elevator down the hall, shoulders slumped and face downcast as he trudges over to his door.

You'd seen him when you got home from work, earlier - dressed in a dinner jacket, hair all styled, shirt tucked neat - and he had told you he had a date. On Valentines Day.

And yeah, your heart had pretty much plummeted to the very core of the earth, but at the very least, you got to see him looking so good - a vision to store in your memory bank for a rainy day, when you're thinking too hard about how close he is, just across the hall, but so far away, only being your neighbour, and all.

And that was only an hour ago. Just enough time to get ready, yourself. Hair curled all nice, makeup done - the sexiest outfit you could possibly throw together, because it's girls night, and you deserve to feel your best.

A good date doesn't last an hour. Doesn't end up with a guy slumping home, hair all mussed from running his hands through it, jacket slung over his arm and his heart crushed into pieces.

"Got stood up," he huffs, reaching into his pocket for his keys, "Said she didn't realise I was a hockey player, and didn't think I had the brain cells to hold a serious, thoughtful conversation for a few hours."

"Ouch," you frown, feeling anger more than pity - because, wow, what a bitch!

"You look nice, though," he throws out the compliment almost as an aside, but you can tell by the way his eyes linger that he means it - fixated on the spot where your skirt ends and meets bare thigh. You're probably gonna freeze, but you're going to get some great pictures for your Hinge profile, so does it really matter? "Didn't realise you had plans."

"Going out with the girls," you tell him, "Galentines, 'cause we're all single this year."

He nods, his gaze trailing back up your body until your eyes meet, torturously slow, only enhanced by the darkened colour of his irises. "Have a good night."

"You should come," you tell him without thinking better of it - hypnotised by the low, sexy tone of his voice. It goes straight through you - almost takes control of you like a puppet on a string.

"I'm not a gal," he frowns, although he makes no move to go into his apartment.

"You're single, though," you shrug, "I don't think they'll be too fussy on the criteria once we get a few drinks in."

"Are you sure your friends won't mind?" he asks, eyebrow wiggling and head tilting in the adorable way it so often does.

You press your lips together as if you're rethinking it, casting your eyes slowly down his figure - broad shoulders, big arms practically bulging through his shirt, slacks clinging to his thick thighs for dear life. Your friends will have the time of their lives with this.

"Considering a night out only won the vote for what to do by fine margins, I think they'll be okay with it." You smile, knowingly, nodding toward the elevator, "C'mon, we don't want to be late."

"I don't get what that means, what came second?"

"Magic Mike." You smirk as you walk backwards, reaching to press the button and laughing when his jaw drops. "You take your shirt off later and we'll be golden."

The poor guy has no idea what he's in for.

--

Your girlfriends don't mind when you and Nico meet them at the bar, not once you've introduced him - his name not ringing a bell until you mention he's from the apartment next door, and you see the flash of recognition wash through them almost like cascading dominoes, knocking each other over one by one.

They don't know him as Nico, he's much more fondly referred to in your group chat as sexy neighbour, after all.

You've only been telling them about him for the past 18 months you've lived across the hall - regaling them with stories of bulging muscles carrying grocery bags for you, compression shirts sticking to him when he comes back from the gym, and the one time the fire alarm went off in summer, and he hadn't thought to put a shirt on when you met out the back of the building.

Yeah, sexy neighbour is pretty much a celebrity in your friend group.

They welcome him with open arms, and the night evolves, as they so often do in your friend group, in highly chaotic fashion.

It starts with a round of shots, because of course it does. The bar is rowdy, the music loud, and those tiny little glasses of you-don't-even-want-to-know-what loosen lips all around. Nico picks up on the dynamic of your group pretty quickly, shifting the shyness he had walked into the establishment with and charming them all with that same dimpled smile he got you hooked on the day you met.

Shots turn into drinking games - chugging cocktails, taking on dares, spilling secrets, and you learn so much about Nico that you would never have known otherwise, so much that you would never have had the guts to ask.

Drinking turns to dancing, which starts in a crowd on the floor, bodies all smushed together, and ends up on tables, Nico by your side the whole time, hooking an arm around your waist so that you don't fall.

You end up bar-hopping to an extent, the second place you go being a little quieter, and you're all way too drunk to stay, so you end up at the karaoke joint further down the street.

Your friends all pick the girls night classics, Man I Feel Like A Woman, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and there's even a full dance intermission for three of your friends to perform Single Ladies.

You all end up adorning fluffy pink cowgirl hats from god knows where, fluffy feather boas slung from your shoulders, and Nico is suddenly grabbing your hand, dragging you on stage, and handing you a mic before you're fully aware what's going on.

But by then you're too drunk to care, belting What Makes You Beautiful at the top of your lungs with him, still conscious enough to blush when he directs the lyrics towards you - as out of key and awful as they may sound.

And you don't know what happens between that and ending up at the club, bass thumping in your ears, blood pumping, skin sweating, and your back is pressed against his chest. You can still see flashes of feathers in your peripheral, your friends close by, but you can't really focus on anything else.

Anything other than the heat of Mr Sexy Neighbour, himself, flush against you, one of his hands holding yours to keep you steady, the other in the dip of your waist, and his breath warm on your bare neck. You lean into him more than you probably should - more than the sober you of tomorrow will be comfortable with, when you're bumping into him again and unable to look into those pretty eyes - and he leans in right back, nose at the junction where your jaw and ear meets, lips flush against your skin, where you hear him mutter, "I should get you home."

You nod, because what are you supposed to do, speak? With him looking at you like that?

Fat chance of that happening.

And he takes your hand in a firm, clammy grip, doing the rounds between those friends that still remain - the ones he hasn't had a chance to personally see off into a cab - telling them to text him if they need help getting home, and to text you when they eventually make it there.

He guides you practically the whole way home - helps bundle you into the back of a cab, buckling you in for safety and sitting in the middle, where you can lean on him with a heavy head, and your hand in his the whole way.

He throws an arm around you to help you stumble your way through the lobby of your apartment building, holding you up in the elevator and pressing the button for your shared floor. And then he props you up beside your front door, taking your keys from your purse and unlocking the door for you as you watch him with a tired but focused gaze.

God, you want him.

Is the world really so cruel that he would never want you back?

When he finally tries the right key and pushes the door open, he looks over at you, a heated gaze assessing if you're fit enough to send in on your own, and you imagine it's the way you blink slowly at him that tells him you're not.

You were just admiring him, really - your buzz wearing off, and the stumbles added for dramatic effect so that he wouldn't stop touching you - but he doesn't need to know that.

He makes a come here motion with grabby hands, and you practically launch yourself back into his arms, him accepting you with an amused smile as he walks you into your apartment, throwing your purse onto your counter and leaving your keys on the side.

You tug a little to steer him down the hall - in the direction of your bedroom, because if he's gonna play white knight, he may as well go the whole way.

"I had fun tonight," you tell him once he's dropped you off onto the safety of your bed, the bouncing motion only making you slightly dizzy again as you watch him stand before you, hands on his hips. "I don't want to say I'm glad you got stood up, but-,"

"I had fun, too." He tells you, dark eyes landing straight on yours as he slowly lowers, dropping to his knees in front of you and reaching for your leg. He starts unzipping your boots for you, and you watch him with what you can only assume are hearts in your eyes, a slow, dreamy sigh wracking through you.

"Wish I got to see you with your shirt off."

He laughs, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners and his shoulders shake - genuine amusement flooding through him as he looks back up at you, the angle straight up sinful and sobering.

He holds your other leg behind the knee, large hand warm against your bare skin, and slides your other boot teasingly slow - your gazes locked for the whole manoeuvre - his hand following down your leg until he discards both boots to the side.

He stays down there, kneeling in front of you, staring up at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen - a flush to his cheeks and a million thoughts racing through his brain.

You lean forward before you can think, and he meets you half-way in a kiss that's slow - sensual and pressured, firm and assuring - the taste of tequila on his tongue as it swipes against yours, which no doubt tastes the same.

He's the first to pull back, but it isn't all the way - just until your lips smack apart, his nose still pressed to yours as he avoids your chasing with a big grin.

"You're drunk."

"Don't care, wanna kiss you." You just about manage to catch him before he pulls back again.

"Not like this."

And then the touch of him is gone, the bump of his nose and the press of his forehead to yours disappearing in a way that makes you pout.

The way he kisses you again is quick - too quick to react, really - before he retreats again.

"You know where to knock when you're sober."

You let out a groan as you watch him leave, unashamedly watching his ass as he goes, eyes still lingering when he stops at your door and catches you with a knowing smirk.

"Happy Valentines Day, sexy neighbour."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Where Do You End Pt. 3

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have a talk.

Author's Note: Here we go. Dean about the be on his KNEES (for several reasons)

Word Count: 5.3k

A lot was happening. 

Cold wind had filled Dean’s body—Her body—and then suddenly the bunker library was gone. Sammy was gone. Everything was gone, and he felt like he’d been flipped in and out, turned in a circle, and everything was spinning when the world came back into focus. 

And he was so fucking confused.

He was back in his own body. Taller, easier to control, better to reach high things with, and less likely to accidentally move too fast and slam into something. He had his own legs and arms and feet and hands.

Dean had never really appreciated his hands before this. But son of a bitch, he’d missed them. One week without them, and he’d failed to open jars, had Her fancy, looping handwriting that he couldn’t even read, and dropped three guns. She could always hold a gun easily, but Dean had almost taken Sammy’s ear off.

He’d never take his hands for granted again.

He’d never take his body for granted. As fun as boobs had been for about two days—he’d never touched them, She would’ve killed him, but he’d liked watching them bounce—he’d quickly gotten sick of bras and how sometimes they just hurt. A lot of Her body had just hurt at random points through every single damn day. Dean was never going to be sure how She just did things, because he’d gotten a fresh wave of what Sammy had called post-menstrual syndrome, and he’d wanted to kill someone. 

He’d missed being taller, missed having Little Dean, missed not needing to worry about walking through the gas station at night—he’d had to start taking Sammy every time he wanted some pie, and he was never going to leave Her alone in a bar again—and not having to keep track of his goddamn hair all the time.

Even now it was too long. He’d been ready for a cut by the time the curse had hit, and somehow over just one week of being unattended, Dean felt like he had a mane. When he rubbed a hand over his jaw he could feel stubble, and She hadn’t even left him a razor. Or scissors.

If fact, the room seemed to be mostly empty, save for a lot of books, some stray ritual materials on the floor, and the motel furniture. There wasn’t even food or beer, and the bed looked hardly slept in, and Dean had a feeling that all those books would have worn pages from Her attention.

He didn’t quite know what he’d expected, when they switched back. A warning would’ve been nice, or a heads up that he’d suddenly be transported to the middle of freakin’ nowhere. All he knew what that She’d spent the week somewhere rainy, with trees and a view of the ocean, crashing up in waves on the rocks. Somewhere where the motels had cabin-like furniture and a lot of photos of bird and moose. 

This limited information told Dean that he was either on the upper East Coast, or the upper West Coast. 

So if he called Sam and took a gamble, he had a fifty percent chance of getting rescued, along with an equal shot of being stranded even longer as Sammy fucked off in the wrong direction and Dean tried to work out where the hell She’d landed him.

But if Dean was here, She’d be back in the bunker with Sam. So, hopefully, She wouldn’t be so pissed that she’d just leave Dean to find his own way back. 

Hopefully when Dean got back, She’d still be there.

He’d spent most of the week scowling at books and random points on the wall, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose Her.

And She did love him. She’d said she loved Dean, and she’d used the present tense, and there was still hope. He’d fix this. Dean had spent the whole week repeating to himself that he would fix this. He’d read a bunch on articles online, asked Sam what he did when Eileen was pissed—Sam had said Eileen never got that pissed at him, so Dean had thrown out all his lettuce—and tried to call Her over and over to fix this.

Dean had been worried She wasn’t getting his messages. He’d started to feel something heavy and sickening grow in his stomach, because She could have been in danger. Sam said She’d been emailing him about the curse, but maybe whoever had been hurting Her had gotten her laptop, and they’d been using the emails to throw Sam and Dean off the trail. Maybe She’d been waiting for Dean to come help Her, but he’d just been brooding so now she thought he didn’t care.

Her laptop was still open, and when Dean clicked on her inbox, his emails had been left unread. Her phone was on the bed, and he could still see all his messages on the notification screen. She hadn’t been in danger. 

She’d just been ignoring him. 

And he could feel his jaw clench—his hands fist and his brow draw—as anger began to settle in his muscles and throat, but he didn’t have the right to it.

Because Dean was pretty sure She thought he didn’t care. 

About Her. 

“She just needs space, dude.” Sam had looked up at him from across the war room table about a week ago, his voice dangerously close to a lecture tone. “She just found out you’ve been lying to her for years-“

“I lied for her.” Dean had snapped, glaring at his phone. “Why won’t she call me back-“

“Because as far as she’d concerned, you just lied. She doesn’t care that it was for her,” Sam had put quotation marks around those last words, and Dean had scowled. “She cares that you didn’t think about her at all-“

Dean head had snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy, of course I care about her-“

“I know that.” Sam hadn’t wavered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you tell me. But all you’ve done with her is make her feel confused and dumb-“

“She’s not dumb-“

“I fucking know that Dean! I’m trying to tell you how she feels-“

“I wouldn’t need you to tell me,” Dean’s words had been pushed through his teeth, and he’d been damn near ready to punch Sam in the face or smash his phone on the table. “If she’d pick up the phone.”

Sam had given Dean a long, odd look, and then shaken his head. “Whatever, man. Not the love of my life who’s gonna hate my guts.”

Dean had felt the blood leave his face. He’d felt his whole world shatter just a little, felt his heart fucking stop. Just go dead in his chest, because She didn’t hate him. She loved him. Dean had decided that he’d be fine not being able to touch Her or hold Her as close as he wanted, because at least She’d be safe, and She’d never hate him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look in the mirror and see anything but a rotten, cracked pile of trash if She hated him.

But he’d looked in the mirror that same night, and he’d seen Her. Awesome, smart, funny Her.

He’d never known what he’d done to trick someone so beautiful into loving him. Dean had been satisfied knowing that possibly, maybe, hopefully, he could’ve been good enough.

That even if he’d never get to have Her, he’d been good enough for Her to trust him, to let him hold Her heart in his hands and keep it safe, just as he’d built his own heart to sit on an alter that was made of Her. An alter that tended to and existed only for Her, that would shatter and cave if he ever became something horrible enough to make Her not want him-

Son of a bitch.

He’d gotten it. 

He’d stared at Her reflection, and he’d felt it, in Her chest. Worked out why he’d spent every moment in Her body trailing after himself, and moving to his will, leaning into his own touch. Why his eyes kept scanning around rooms for something he didn’t understand, but would know when he found it. Why when he’d taken a shower and the smell of his shampoo had drifted through the steam, everything in his body—Her body—had relaxed.

She’d built Her own alter.

To Dean. 

Of all fucking people, She really did love him in the way he’d always refused to hope for. He’d wanted—for Her sake and his own painful reparation—for Her love to be strong and real, but fleeting.

He’d prayed that She did love him, and She’d always like him, but it would pass and Dean wouldn’t have to spend his life forcing himself a few steps back from grabbing Her and fusing Her love into his ribs until he could really fucking feel it.

He hadn’t wanted to feel it. He’d wanted Her love to wither, so Dean could tend to his own selfish desire in peace, and She could be happy.

A piece of him had hated the idea of Her being happy without him. But that had been part of the sacrifice. Dean would have to break himself down until he learned how to stop getting jealous when Her attention drifted, when he figured out how to lie to himself about not caring if She settled safely with some boring douchebag in a way that stuck on his body. 

He’d told himself that one day She’d start flirting at a bar, and his legs would forget to chase after Her because he really did want Her to be happy. 

But now he could feel it. He had been able to feel the part of Her that moved and rolled and hummed only for Dean.

He’d started rehearsing his speech that night.

He had a whole thing ready. He’d tell Her she was right. He’d stay he was sorry, and that he’d make the same choice a million times to keep Her safe but he’d never be able to live with himself She thought he didn’t care. He’d say he cared. He’d say it over and over until She understood that Dean could be reduced to ash and sand, and he’d still care. He was just bad at it. He was just bad in general. But he loved Her, and that made him feel okay.

He’d practiced in his head when he was in Her body—using Her voice to apologize to Her had felt strange and wrong—and he spent the time while he waited for Sammy to arrive going over it in the mirror. She’d forgive him. He’d run the speech by Sam, and Sam had rolled his eyes and called Dean a loser and an idiot, but he’d said it would probably be fine. 

It would be fine.

Sam said Dean would be picked up in a day, and he’d get to back Her, apologize, and everything would be fine.

He packed Her things as he waited, running over the speech one last time as he heard the rumble of Baby’s engine outside.

But when there was a knock at the door, it wasn’t Sam standing on the other side. 

——————

It’s raining. 

It fucking raining.

You’re standing outside in the rain, your hair clinging to you brow and your clothing stuck to your bone, and Dean’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and this is so dumb.

“Hi.” Your voice is flat and not as strong as you’d like, but you’d also been out here for a minute before he’d answered the door, and the cold is already sinking too deep into your skin.

“Uh,” Dean stares at you, a small line forming in his brow. “I thought you’d be Sam.”

“I’m not.” You raise your chin slightly, holding his gaze. “I’ve had enough of being someone else for a long, long time.”

“I- you- Uh,” he clears his throat, and there’s something shaken and slightly off in his gaze, something that makes him falter. “I’ve never been good at-“

“Am I allowed inside?”

Dean blinks at you, his brow fully drawing, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s raining, Dean.”

He frowns, scanning over the grass behind you and the pavement, and the sight of the mist and darkened concrete almost seems to shock him. He stands a little taller, almost stumbles back, and grabs your arm.

Yanking you right inside after him.

Forcing your body to fall right over his, keeping you there for a brief second as you regain your balance, and then just fucking moving away.

He’d been so warm. He hadn’t quite smelled right, but you’d smelled like him, and it had made up the difference. His strong, steady arm had wrapped around your back for a second, and then he’d left you standing in the center of the room as he shuffled away.

He’d left you standing alone.

Nothing had changed.

“I missed you.”

You glower at the air, turning to see that his voice had come from the bathroom. The door has been left ajar, and you can see him moving around inside, and you hate that you’re still listening. That it’s Dean’s voice—his real voice, with all that same gravity he always has and the deep sound almost a bass in your chest—so you’re clinging to it like it’s wood and you’ve been set adrift.

Dean set you adrift. He’s the one stranded you and threw you to the waves and lied. Then he’d always pulled you just close enough to the shore for you to foolishly believe he’d left you rest somewhere warm, and then he’d fucking left again.

“You missed me.” Your voice has a little more fire behind it, and you can feel it bubbling up in your neck and stomach. The explosion. “You fucking missed me?”

Dean’s head pokes through the door, and there’s a small frown on his face. “Of course I-“

“Did you really miss me? Or are you just saying that when you secretly want me gone?”

He flinches. Dean visibly recoils, like you’ve stabbed him, and you’d feel worse about that if he hadn’t broken your heart into pieces with the blunt end of a gun and then fused you back together a little more his than before. A little more devoted—because at least he’d cared enough to pay you any mind—and a little angrier.

Dean says your name slowly, you hold your hand up, and his mouth shuts closed in a second.

“We’re going to fight, Dean.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over his face. “We’re going to fight, and then I’m going to leave.”

His eyes widen, something wild and panicked flashing behind them. “You’re-“

“I’m leaving with you. Or without you. But I,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t look at him. He looks wounded and smaller than he should be, and he can’t do that. Not now. “I need to know, now. I need to know why you lied, and why you just made me stay in love with you-“

“I didn’t mean to.” He mutters, and his voice is soft, and you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t- You had to be safe-“

“I was safe-“

“Yeah, you were. But you wouldn’t have been, with me.” 

Something’s passed to your hands, and it’s soft and warm. You risk one eye open to stare at the fluffy towel in your hands, and Dean’s still talking.

“You woulda had a target, people with me and Sammy always get targets, and they always end up dead. And I-“ He chokes on something, and you’re staring at his knees. You still feel like you’re seeing too much. “I couldn’t lose you. I don’t- I won’t lose you. I needed to protect you, and I wanted you to be happy-“

You scoff, glowing at his thighs. “That’s a lie. You always stopped me from moving on-“

“I know-“

“You don’t know, Dean!” You’re shouting at his stomach, strangling the towel in your hands. “You have no idea how- It hurt! It hurt all the time that you’d say you didn’t love me, and then you’d turn around and tell me nobody was good enough for me, and I- I was confused, and lost, and lonely-“

He says your name, and you shake your head at his chest. 

“No! I would’ve been safe! I’m always safe with you-“

Dean’s laugh is dry and humorless. “That’s not-“

“It is. You-“ You choke on the air, and the base of his neck tenses. “I don’t trust just anyone, Dean, and I trusted you with my life, I loved you-“

“Loved?”

You stare at him, and he’s never been so still. Like he thinks that if he even breathes a little too loud, you’ll bolt. 

And he looks pained. 

You can feel it. In your own chest there’s a phantom of something clenching at your heart, and there’s a wired tension in your muscles that you’d grown used to over the past week. 

He’s shivering a little. It’s humid in the motel room, and he’s dry, but Dean’s shivering. 

And it’s a little hard to breathe.

“Love.” You whisper. “I love you. But it hurts, Dean. It really fucking hurts.”

He bows his head, and only mutters, “I- I had to protect you-“

He keeps repeating that, like it’s a mantra or prayer. Like he can make it real, if he just says it over and over until the words are only sounds.

“You didn’t need to protect me Dean, and you know it.” You sigh, rubbing your neck with a hand as Dean seems to curl into himself. “You were just afraid.”

He flinches again. “I-“

“But you are not a coward, Dean Winchester.” You force your voice to be a little stronger, your spine moving to stand slightly taller as you watch him. “You are an asshole, and a masochist, and self-sacrificing dick, and the best man I know.”

He glances up at you, swallowing slightly, and you push on.

“You’re clever, and resilient, and loyal, and caring. You’d give your life in a second for anyone, and you’d give your happiness for the people you love because you are an idiot who can’t see how it kills us. I did not fall in love with you against my will. I am a smart woman, and I chose you.” You narrow your eyes at him, taking a firm step closer. You can feel something charged and bright moving between your bodies, and you don’t know if it starts in him or you, but it’s all the same. Right now, it’s only you and Dean in the whole world. “I chose you because you are brave, so stop being a coward and be fucking happy, Dean.”

“I-“

“Tell me you’ll be happy.”

Dean stares at you. “I- I’ll be happy.”

He frowns at the words, as if they taste odd on his tongue. 

You’ll have to work on that.

You nod. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost lurches forward, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out to hold you. “I’m so goddamn sorry, and I’m never gonna-“

“Tell me you love me. But,” You stand a little taller, and this could break you. “Only if you really fucking mean it-“

“I love you.” The words are fast. Firm. 

They jumpstart your every nerve at once, and you’re going to be okay. 

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says your name, his hands fisted at his side. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be happy, and just- Don’t leave. Don’t leave, please. I love you, goddamnit, so don’t-“

“You can say it all you want.” You swallow, keeping your gaze locked on his. “I want to see you do something.”

There’s a long moment where he just stares at you, but there’s no sickening worry in your body. You didn’t push him too far, you said everything you had to, and Dean might be drawing ragged breathes you can feel tighten around your own lungs—might just be standing there and watching you—but if he does nothing at all you’ll know. You’ll finally know in a way that you can trust, and you’ll be able to walk away and relearn how to move and think in a world where Dean really doesn’t want you-

He moves so fast. One second Dean’s staring at you with a drawn brow and flared nostrils, and the next he’s on you. Bent over your body, his hands molded and perfectly fit on your waist and jaw, his lips slammed over yours and pulling every part of your soul out through your mouth.

And every bit of doubt evaporates without any suffering or pain.

Because Dean cares.

And you can feel it.

It’s not just in how he kisses you, like he’s returned from war and you’ve been a crumpled picture in his pocket, his kiss bruising and searching all at once, as every bit of his adoration and desire and hope—there’s something that’s still delicate in this kiss, because his hands stay on your body like you might be set adrift once more and he’s fighting against all the tides and rocks to keep you at his side—sinks from Dean’s lip into yours.

It’s in the lingering sensations you can still feel between your bodies. It’s in how when your arms wrap around Dean’s neck and you return the kiss with every bit of wrathful and determined love you’ve ever held for the man before you, you can feel the rush of relief in his body.

He pulls you closer, and groans against your skin when you squirm in his hold. Dean presses kisses over your collarbone and sucks a line up your neck that makes you fold into him like putty, and when you scratch at his arms a prickle runs over your own skin.

You think Dean’s feeling it too. He grabs at your hair and tugs it back to bite and kiss at your throat, and his own body jerks slightly. He falls over you on the mattress, and makes a low grunt that matches the weight of him that’s

been dropped on your chest. You reach a hand between your bodies as he nips at your lower lip—palming and squeezing at his bulge, feeling yourself melt into the sheets at his low groan—and when he swats you away he replaces the loss with his knee, his thighs tensing in that brief moment where you’re aching without relief.

Dean rises over you, and furrowed expression on his face.

“Got makin’ up to do.” He mutters, his eyes so dark on yours it feeds something in your gut that had been flickering and humming into an inferno. And you could get lost in that darkness. They’d be warm. “I just- I’m takin’ care of it, sweetheart. You need to trust me-“

You push up to kiss him, cupping your hand around his head and keeping it short and gentle.

“I trust you.” You whisper against his lips, running your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m staying. Just- I-“

You don’t have the words. For how if this is it, if he’s going to love you and hold you, he can’t drop you. You can’t do this just to be left stranded once more.

But you don’t need the words. 

Because there’s still a little bit of you that is Dean, and he understands. 

Dean lays you back on the bed, pulls his shirt over his head, and now you have nothing but time and care. His hands trace and map over your body as he strips you out of your wet clothing, and lingering cold from the rain vanishes as Dean starts to touch you.

Really, properly touch you.

Rough, calloused hands squeezing and pulling at your breasts and hot, full lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking and pulling it between his teeth with low groans that vibrate through your body. By the time he’s trailing down your stomach—sucking dark marks all over your skin that make your back arch off the bed and your knees spread in a silent plea for him to move further down—you’re tugging at his hair and gasping his name in need.

Then Dean dives right past where you’re dripping and rolling the sheets for him, kissing down your thighs and up to your ankle, switching legs and keeping you pressed to the mattress with one firm hand.

You can see his own need, pushing against his jeans. You can feel it, throbbing and pulsing in your core.

“Dean,“ You moan as he nips at your knee, slowing working his way back up to your center. “Shit, Dean, please-“

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, sucking another, almost possessive spot right near your core before hiking your legs over his shoulders, his breath warm over you pussy and his mouth so close-

“Dean-“

“That’s my name, baby.” He hums. “Get ready to scream it.” 

The asshole winks at you, and you barely have time to glare at him before he dives into your cunt, and everything in your body lights on fire.

It’s infuriating how everything Dean does, he’s good at. How even eating pussy feels like something artful when it’s Dean doing it, and he’s working you like clay with only his mouth. Turning you into a writhing, moaning mess on the bed as he licks and sucks and bites and kisses, and his scruff is just long enough to burn on your thighs in the best way, and his hands are drawing pattern on your thighs in perfect rhythm with his movement between your clit and clenching pussy, humming and growling against you in harmony and pushing his tongue into you right as your hips buck off the bed-

When you start to grind and moan a weak warning of your release—barreling towards you like a tidal wave—Dean keeps you on the edge with teeth on your clit and teasing movement of his tongue for just too long. Just until you’re whining and squirming and trying push your cunt right into his face, and then he pulls your clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over you in almost a frenzy, and you unravel.

You might be screaming his name. Your heart feels like it’s filled with helium and your body feels a little bigger as Dean presses one calming kiss over your clit and draws away—keeping at least one part of his body pressed to yours as he sheds the remainder of his clothes—and you think he might be proud.

You’ll let him have this. Just for tonight, when all he’s done is eaten you out and you feeling like you’re glowing, you’ll let Dean be pleased with himself.

He settles back over your body, his gaze locked to yours as he bumps against your inner thigh, and every breath feels important.

“I-“ Dean clears his throat, scanning over your face. “I, uh- You didn’t happen to bring protection-“

“I’m clean.” You whisper, your fingers curling on his chest. “And on the pill.”

He swallows, nodding slowly. “And you’re okay-“

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure-“

“Dean.” Your voice gets a little more solid, your eyes firm on his. “If you don’t want to, we won’t, but I’m more than-“

You yelp as Dean slams his mouth down to yours, kissing you into the mattress and swallowing your high sound as he pushes his cock right into you without resistance.

He pulls back to watch you as he bottoms out, reaching down to trace a small circle on your clit, and his hips jerk with a grunt.

The movement make him press right against your g-spot, Dean groans and rolls his hips, you whine and start to grind against him as your own pleasure crest and vaults, and you both freeze as you realize what’s happening. 

Dean pressed his thumb flat on your clit, the movement slow and careful, and lets out a hiss through his teeth. Still staring at him, you purposefully clench around him, and stars cloud your vision as need pools deeper in your gut. 

Something snaps. 

And you’ve never been higher. 

Every movement is doubled, and everything seems to only carry you higher. Dean begins to slam into you at a brutal pace that grows sloppier and sloppier the more you grind and writhing beneath him, squeezing his cock whenever he hits that spongey, needy part deep inside of you, the feeling of practical euphoria doubled and practically intoxicating. 

At some point Dean rolls onto his back, never removing himself inside of you and never breaking his pace. Your nails scratch at his chest as you ride his dick, rubbing your clit over his chest and reaching a hand behind you to play with his balls as he guides you up and down with a tight grip on your hips-

Dean almost roars when you squeeze his balls with light fingers, and you would’ve fallen forward if he didn’t hold you up. One of Dean’s thumbs move to furiously rub at your clit, and you’re not sure who cums first.

All you know is that it’s all an almost infinite high as you fuck yourself on his cock through your orgasm, and Dean pushes up to suck at your tits as his release drips down your thighs. 

You could’ve stayed here forever. Basking in the little, electric aftershocks of your shared orgasm, squeezing around Dean when he twitches inside of each other, watching each other with open looks of wonder because you might have just found a backdoor to heaven. 

But eventually, Dean has to roll you onto your back press a kiss to your brow before shuffling to the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth that gets tossed to a corner of the room once he’s cleaned you up, and wastes no time settling his body back over yours with a low groan.

“Sammy’s gonna have a field day.” He mutters against your skin, and you giggle, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Been telling me for years to just talk to you.”

You hum. “You should’ve listened. Sam can be wise beyond his years sometimes.”

He snorts. “You’re supposed to be on my side-“

“I am.” You tilt your head to kiss his cheek, smiling against his scruff. “Just not for this.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbles, and he’s clinging to you like you’re a teddy bear. “Long as he shuts his big mouth about it-“

“We could make out in the war room. When we get home. Just to fuck with him.”

There’s a long pause, and when Dean speaks again, he sounds a little breathless. You feel a little lightheaded.

“You’re my dream girl.”

“I know.” You smile at the ceiling. “Dean, can you still feel-“

“Yeah.” He pinches at your waist, as if testing that the aftereffects are still there. “Kinda hot, though.”

“You wanna keep making it up to me?” You hold his gaze as he pushes up on his elbows, raising his brows at you. “Sam doesn’t know where we are, you still have about four years of missed sex to catch up on, and it is storming outside-“

Dean grunts your name, and you give him your best innocent pout.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I’d like a few more apologies, please.”

He raises his brows. “Am I ever gonna get to stop apologizing-“

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “But mostly just because your apologies are amazing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, you open your mouth to tell him that you have forgiven him—so if he really doesn’t want to keep having sex, he by no means has to—but you don’t have to.

He knows. 

And based on the fervor with which he kisses you back into the mattress, he wants nothing more than to try and fuck you until you’re turned inside out, and he’s gotten that lingering bit of the curse inside of him to stick.

End Note: Rare Dean Winchester dealing with emotions, spotted in the wild! Thank you so much for reading!! Shoutout to the anon who requested a body swap series, huge W for that idea <3, this one's for you.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[pullupinarari]

The house feels haunted [LH]

author’s note: it took me 6 days to write the biggest angst this blog has ever seen. i’m sorry if it turns out to be shit, but this made me feel miserable so I hope yall enjoy it 😭

warnings: there are mentions of cheating and a miscarriage happens in this fic. it’s nothing too specific but there’s mentions of blood. it’s devastating, heartbreaking, and it has a sad ending. if you don’t want to read it, don’t feel the need to announce it. read at your own risk‼️

• masterlist

wc: 13 673 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

You were never a fan of storms. You never really enjoyed hearing the sound of the thunder hitting the ground at a forceful speed, with a power that seemed as if it was fed by anger, making you shake in your sleep as if you didn’t feel safe inside your own house. 

The way the lightning would appear like a flash inside the four walls of your bedroom, making goosebumps appear on your skin as your brain would let you know: it’s hitting. It can hit anywhere near you right now, and it can set everything in to a fury of flames around you, burning you alive if you’re not lucky enough to survive, to make it out alive. 

Usually during those nights, your boyfriend Lewis would hug you tighter, kissing the top of your head nonstop while your body would tremble in his arms. He would softly hum a lullaby to you, his fingers playing with your hair gently, letting you know that everything is fine, that you don’t need to be afraid: and if anything happens, he would be by your side to protect you. 

In the middle of waking up and falling asleep a countless amount of times during the night, you could always find the warm comfort of his frame, faithfully glued to yours, ready to embrace your figure a little closer if needed. 

For the past few days, it seems as if your life is being chased by a storm though. After Lewis came back home from being away in a work meeting abroad, your boyfriend seemed distant. His eyes wouldn’t shine as bright as they used to when he looked at you, he was quiet most of the time when he was near you, as if he wasn’t happy to see you again. The intrusive thoughts in your mind were quick to come up with a thousand different scenarios of everything that could be happening for him to be acting so weird lately. 

“Maybe he is preparing a surprise?” , “but it’s not my birthday, nor our anniversary”, “OH, maybe he is going to propose? Maybe he is nervous because he has been thinking about it?”, your mind asks and answers at the same time, your fingers playing with the promise ring on your finger. 

A few weeks before leaving for his work trip, your boyfriend mentioned a couple of times how he would like to “take the next step” with you, how gorgeous you look when wearing white, displaying a teasing wink on his features while the most charming smile would show on his lips. So maybe, he kept thinking about it while being away, missing his girlfriend to the point of wanting to fly you out to his hotel room. 

The anxiety of the unknown would carve on your stomach, trying to read his mind, until he figured out that he needed to be honest with you. 

Ironically, it happened on a rainy day. The drops of water hitting the windows would announce the bad omen surrounding the four walls of the house you have been sharing with Lewis for three years now. 

- I need some space, Y/N. I can’t keep doing it like this. I need time for myself, I need to live my life on my own for a while. I just need to be alone. - he said to you, his words careful to leave his mouth, as if they had been thought and rethought a thousand times, until Lewis found the best way to let them out. With a soft tone, his voice barely above a whisper, it almost felt like he wasn’t breaking your heart in half. 

But he was. It took you a second to process the message he was passing you, but once your brain received it, your instinct was to hold the man’s face in your hands, your fingers caressing his cheeks as your tear-filled eyes would look inside his chocolate ones, trying to read him again, to see through him, to try and understand why this is happening. 

- Lew? No, no, baby please! Why do you want a break from me, from us? Was it something I did? I can do better, I promise, I will try not to be so clingy if that’s the problem, I’ll try to- 

Cutting you off, Lewis’ hands gently grabs your wrists, removing your fingers from his face, distancing your bodies a bit as you got closer to him while trying to find a way to save your relationship. 

- This is on me, Y/N. You did nothing wrong, I swear you didn’t. I just need space for myself, I need to dedicate some time to my mind as well, and I need to do it on my own. - his voice is growing hoarse as he records all the tears swelling in your eyes, falling on the skin of your rosy cheeks, growing redder due to the fire collapsing inside of your body.

You weren’t expecting it. Never, in a million years, were you ready to hear your boyfriend saying that he wants to move on with his life, without having you by his side. Maybe you were wrong, maybe all those nights where you would feed your thoughts with illusions of him proposing to you, deceiving yourself so you can keep your mind busy, denying all the negative possibilities that could happen, maybe that’s what brought you here.

You still don’t know why he wants to be alone, now. Maybe you were always way too busy in your own fantasy to see the signals that might have been there all along, only to be ignored by you. But as he distances himself more and more from you after those last words left his body, you knew that nothing would make him change his mind. 

Packing your clothes with your eyes full of tears was the most hurtful thing that you have ever done. Having to leave the only place that has felt like home for so long, where you would feel safe, with the only person who was able to love you the way you are, with no judgments, no restrictions, no interruptions. 

With a simple bag over your shoulder, having no force in yourself to pack everything right now, you show up in the living room where Lewis was sitting, waiting for you to finish packing. 

His face is laced with coldness, as if it’s almost indifferent for him to watch you leave, to forget about the four years of his life that he has shared with you, three of them while sharing this place where you would call your shelter, the four walls that would protect the both of you, in the embrace of the other’s arms, feeling seen and understood by one another. 

Taking one last look at him, you could swear that you would grab his hand and take him with you to see the sea, through your eyes. The ones where the waves of emotion don’t stop crashing against your skin, leaving indentations along your features, staining your cheeks with their shape as the salty water keeps running until it reaches your chin. 

The deafening silence fills the room. Neither of you knows what to say, but neither of you feels the need to say anything. Just by looking at your face, Lewis can already feel his heart clenching in his chest, and the endless tears leaving your eyes are enough for him to discover how great the sadness of this world is. 

There’s no point in telling you that he is sorry, or how he wishes things could be different. He wouldn’t mean it, anyway. So without a word, he just sees you walking out the door, and out of his life - his brain still trying to figure out if it’s temporary or definitely.

You expected more from your life than to walk out of your ex-boyfriend’s house with just a bag in your hands, a tear stained face and a broken heart. You expected more than to find yourself muffling your cries on a pillow, lying your sore body on a cold bed, one that you don’t recognize, that definitely doesn’t feel like home, the way your sheets used to. 

Staying at a hotel room, all you can do is let it out now to the four walls that don’t know you yet, but are about to become your most truthful confidants. Right now, you don’t want to call your parents, your brother, you don’t want to talk to anyone about what happened. You grabbed your most important belongings from Lewis’ house, and you will go back to pack the rest of your things once you clear your mind and figure everything out. 

But now, it’s just you, the pillow you’re hugging close, and the raindrops hitting the window, your eyes watching them dancing in the glass, while your own drops of sadness leave your body as well. 

The sky doesn’t clear, it’s been heavily grey for some days now, the clouds occupying the entire space on the highness of the atmosphere, never indicating that they can disappear soon. When you look outside, it’s like you get a visual representation of your love life, of your feelings, a storm that’s slowly forming in the midst of your core, changing the promises of your happy future forever. 

And even as the days go by, the agonizing pain in your chest doesn’t cease. Crying yourself to sleep every night, struggling to focus on your work without crumbling down into a puddle of tears. 

You haven’t been eating much, always feeling drained to your core, exhausted all the time, not even feeling like getting out of bed. What’s the point in trying to take one day at a time, if your mind just continues to repeat the pain in your heart, relieving all the words that left Lewis’ mouth when he kicked you to the curb. 

Your body feels weird, weak, but you’re too heartbroken to care. You feel too lifeless to listen to the signs that something is happening with you, constantly ignoring the way your stomach feels off, how you often get nauseous just by looking at food, to the point of ignoring the fact that your period is late. But it’s okay, it’s just a consequence of all the stress and emotional turmoil that you have been going through, your body will - hopefully - go back to normal in a few weeks. 

But it doesn’t. And it’s not until your brother is handing you a pregnancy test - that he went to buy at a nearby pharmacy, after you told him everything that’s been happening to your body lately, that you acknowledge the symptoms. 

Two, bright, red lines. The result that swept you off your feet, changing your perspective of life forever. Your trembling hands hold the test, warm tears paint your eyes as you try to compose your breathing. 

For some minutes, your brain crashes, not understanding if this is good news or not. On one hand, you don’t feel ready to deal with a pregnancy right now, to raise a baby on your own, especially while feeling so hurt and heartbroken. But on the other hand, everything happens for a reason, right? You know how Lewis always dreamt of being a dad, so maybe this could be a sign: a sign of hope, telling you that there’s still something bright out there for you to look out for. Maybe, after breaking the news to him, Lewis might love you again, enamoured by the thought of creating a family by your side, like he used to mention so many times before. 

Some shy feelings of hope tingle in your stomach now, making you caress your belly mindlessly. There’s a baby growing inside of you, after all. A baby that was made out of love, the type of love that Lewis just needs to remind himself of again, to allow himself to feel it beating in his chest while looking deep into your eyes. 

That night, you go to sleep with a mix of emotions bubbling inside of you. The thought of becoming a mum makes an effortless smile appear in your features, happy tears appearing in the corners of your eyes as you imagine how your belly will grow in the next few months, how you are living the true miracle of life, your body sheltering your baby - everything you have ever wanted. 

But still, there’s a hint of unsureness, feeling hesitant to go back to Lewis’ place to tell him the news, to look at his face again after the cold gaze he shared with you last time. Nevertheless, this is his baby as well, and he has the right to know that a little one who is half of him, is on its way - and even if he decides not to be part of your child’s life, at least you did your part, and you can live the rest of your life with your kid without feeling anymore remorse or regrets. But right now, you can only go to sleep with the hope of a brighter tomorrow, of a day where the sun will finally show up, illuminating the most hidden corners of each street, helping to give you a good feeling about what you are going to do.

Surprisingly, you wake up to a heavy rain, the heaviest of the past couple of weeks. The skies are painted in a dark grey, making you furrow your eyebrows at the way the weather seems to match perfectly the way you feel. 

Taking a deep breath, you get ready to leave your hotel room, calling a taxi to take you to your ex-boyfriend’s house. While you’re on your way, you can’t help but notice that insecure feeling pooling in your chest again, how you feel anxious and unsure about knocking on his door again. 

He did ask you to give him some time, you don’t want to disturb him, you don't want him to think that you can’t leave him alone. This is not what this is about, this is about something bigger than just the two of you and the end of your relationship, this is important, way more important than anything else you two might feel or need right now. 

His car is parked outside, signaling that he is home. Trying to ignore the way your heart is pumping blood into your veins at a crazy speed, you take several deep breaths while standing in front of his door, not having the courage to ring the bell. You can feel the hot tears threatening to spill out of your eyes already, but you hold it together, composing yourself to act like an adult, like an independent woman who has a baby growing inside her right now. 

The rain hasn’t stopped and somehow, it keeps falling heavier and heavier as time passes by. Your clothes are wet, your hair is soaked from standing on the front of his house, but there’s a warm hand touching your stomach absently, caressing the little bean that seems to support you so much already. 

With one final deep breath, you finally ring the bell, the anxiety making you fidget, as if you can’t stay still, waiting for him to open the door. Some minutes pass by, and you can’t help but find it weird that he is taking so long to open the door. So, out of urgency, you ring the bell again. 

You decide to look to the road, watching some cars passing by as you try to distract yourself from the fact that you are waiting to see him again. You notice the shadow of a person coming to the door, your heart racing in your chest as you get ready to look into his chocolate eyes again. 

But, as the door finally opens, you find yourself unable to move. Your eyes widen at the sight, your mouth slightly agape, not believing what you’re seeing right now. 

- Who is it, Sophs? - you hear Lewis’ voice, directing your eyes to his frame that comes into sight a few seconds later. 

Sophia, one of your best friends, the one you shared all your life details with, looking back at you with the guiltiest look on her face. Her hair is a mess, she’s wearing one of Lewis’ t-shirts - your favourite one, the one you used to wear every night while he was away for work, the feeling of comfort by being wrapped in his scent always lulling you to sleep in his absence. 

The man grows silent as his eyes land on you as well, not knowing what to do or say in this situation, definitely not expecting to see you, to have you knocking on his door in the middle of a rainy afternoon, only to find him with your best friend. 

A simple towel, loosely wrapped around his waist is the only thing that’s covering his lower body, his bare chest in full display and your vision goes blurry by the amount of tears that soon start escaping your eyes. 

- Lewis… - a shocked, desperate, questioning whisper leaves your mouth, your hand holding your stomach tighter, as if your conscience is telling you that you have something to hold on to, so your knees don’t give out right now.

You take one last glance at both of them, mindlessly showing them a quiet nod, a hurt one, connecting all the dots in your mind before turning your back to the two people that you never want to see again in your entire life, the sight and scenarios running through your mind being unbearable. The screaming feeling in your chest is so loud that you bet everyone around you can hear it, destruction and desperation hitting you again as you run out of his place, using all your strength to escape this horror movie that you got into. 

Your sobs are loud in the middle of the street while your tears mix with the raindrops that find their place in your skin, walking on the rain - feeling so hopeless, on the verge of wishing life to end up right here, right now, because there’s nothing left for you after all this. 

The only man you truly loved, the only one that made you feel cared for, loved, understood, seen. The one you would do everything for. After all the times you cherished him, supported him through his career, holding everything down at home so he could feel free enough to fly high, to conquer the world, even after knowing how you hated to be alone, how you would wish for him to never leave your side. You still did it for him, and you would go through hell to make your relationship work, to see him happy, only for him to feel like the world was his. You knew that was what he had to do, and you would be happy for him as well. Still, you built all your dreams around him, only for him to break it down into ashes, right in front of you.

And now, he crushed your heart into pieces in a matter of weeks, destroying every beautiful memory that you two shared over the years, betraying you in such a cruel, raw way, treating you like you meant nothing to him now, like you never did, actually. 

And your best friend. Sophia, your fucking best friend, the one you’ve known since you were four years old, the friend you grew beside, the one who became your soulmate, the one you would take on every adventure through life, the one you trusted with your life. 

The two together, their bodies entangled in between the sheets, in an unimaginable moment for the three - neither of you wanting things to really happen this way. 

In one last leap of faith, you call your brother, crying to him on the phone, begging to pick you up, not trusting your body nor anyone around you anymore. 

Waking up with a tear-stained face, an exasperated sigh leaves your body. Exhaustion really took over you once you got to your brother’s house, realizing that your current condition doesn’t allow you to run like a madwoman in the rain anymore. 

There’s already a tray of food on the bedside table, waiting for you to wake up, making a groan leave your throat as you hide your face in the pillows. Your head hurts, your mind feels insufferable, your body feels weak. You are not hungry, the last thing you want to think about right now is food. But then, you force yourself to switch your chip. There’s a life inside of you, growing by the day, even if you feel like dying. And if you can’t find the strength to survive for your own well being, it is your duty to do it for your baby. 

And that’s how you try to look at life for the first days, after everything that happened. Forcing yourself to eat, to drink enough water through the day, to go for a walk, to get some fresh air and some bits of a shy sun that insists on showing up from time to time for only a couple of minutes. 

Your loyal support, your brother, never left your side through it all. He was the one scheduling your first doctor’s appointment ever since you found out you were pregnant, wanting to know if his niece or nephew was okay, not wanting your emotional state to cause any damage to the baby. 

Finding out that you are already seven weeks pregnant came as a surprise to you, not realizing how fast time is passing by while you just seem to be living in slow motion. With a numb mind and a sore heart, everything seems harder to process. But nothing could have prepared you for the moment when you would get to hear your baby’s heartbeat. 

The fast, rhythmic sound of your baby’s small heart, creating an orchestral music that changed the entire environment around you, immediately triggering new tears to leave your eyes. But as surprising as it seems, these aren’t sad, heartbroken tears. These are new ones, the kind that you haven’t felt in so long - the happy tears that seem to warm your insides as they slide through your cheeks. 

This is a turning point for you - you can feel it. It’s like the heartbeat of the small life that’s growing inside of you fills your veins with a sense of hope, of a type of love that you never felt, but the one you are needing now, more than never. It seems that the skies and all the gods got together to hear your prayers, your loud sobs and cries, gathering a solution to help mending your pain: your child, someone for you to take care of, to love, to cherish - a little one that will definitely put all of your pieces back together, helping you in ways that neither of you could ever understand.

And now, you realize how real this is. How you have a baby that’s part of you, that you will be able to hold in your arms if you are patient enough to wait eight more months - and brave enough to deal with all the changes that this period will bring to your life. 

Above it all, you understand that you can’t give up - on yourself, on life. You have a higher purpose, something that’s so much more important than just an ex-boyfriend, making every past event seem so small and unimportant when compared to how badly your baby needs you. 

You are its shelter, its home. You are the only thing your child has right now, and you can’t fail the most important role of your life, from now on. Looking at the little bean on the ultrasound’s screen, a gentle smile finally paints your features. There’s your future, your reason to hold on tight to life again, your reason to continue living, the small glimpse of hope that will help you find the beauty in everything again.

It’s with your head lifted and with an undimmed heart that you leave the doctor’s appointment. Feeling lighter than air, your fingers gently wipe the tears that last escaped from your eyes, letting out a sigh that seems to relieve all the weight that has been lying on your shoulders, lately. It amazes you how the little glimpse of life inside of you has the power to change your life in such profound ways. 

You’re willing to change, things really need to change. You can’t just continue to pretend that you’re living, while rotting in bed all day, silently crying to a pillow, allowing your body to immerse itself in these destructive feelings and thoughts. You need to be strong for your child, regardless of everything that happened. 

Lewis is a matter of the past, now. Anything that he might have done doesn't matter to you anymore, it’s not your business to keep him in your mind for hours on end, making you feel like you’re the worst person in this world. 

For the past few weeks, all you did was allow your mind to consume you, your brightness, your will to live. You felt like you were dying inside, but looking back now, you realize how crazy you were for even thinking that. You’re not dying inside, you’re rebirthing, literally creating a new life inside of your body, one that will step on this land and make every flower blossom again, allowing the sun to shine even brighter in your direction. 

With the determination to create a better future for yourself and your kid, you pack your bags, leaving your brother’s house. You thank him for everything he has done for you, and for all of the things that he will keep doing, holding you when you need it the most. But it’s time to start a new chapter of your life, after weeks of mourning the loss of something that was never really yours. 

Moving to a new place, in a new city just thirty minutes away from your family - not too far, but not too close to constantly remind you of your past, you prepare yourself for the new life you will have from now on.

Now, the rain doesn’t show up as much as it used to. Now, the sun comes out for longer, illuminating your desk at your new work, invading the curtains of your new house, playing with your features as it illuminates your eyes, shining in your hair, emphasizing the way your bump grows through the weeks. 

The changes are fast, your body preparing itself to all your baby’s needs. Excitement grows by the day, erupting through you the more you find out about your little savior. 

It’s a girl, you just recently found out, and her name just immediately resonated inside of your mind, of your chest: Hope. The one who came to your life to show you the light, to save you, to guide you through a different path, to mend your heart and shush away all your pain.

Even if there are days that feel as unreachable and lonely as the stars that hang tall on the dark sky of the night, making you sense that you are living only on a few mortal verses of your life, through the pages of the book on your lap, there’s always a calming, warm hand that travels through your baby bump, helping to ground yourself, to let you know that you are not alone, and you won’t even have to feel like you are anymore - you found yourself a life partner, one that will forever be by your side.

Now, you keep yourself busy by buying lots of pink and purple clothes, decorating your little girl’s nursery with soft tones, ones that symbolize peace and quiet, hope and renovation - the sensations she brings into your life. 

You created a photo album for little Hope, one that already has all the ultrasound pictures inside, the beginning of your princess’ life being something so important for you to keep safe inside the pages of the album already. 

Most of your clothes stopped fitting you already, reaching your fifth month of pregnancy. The dresses got looser, your bump developing in the most gracious way you have ever witnessed, like a baby bird, safely nestling itself on its mother’s wing. 

The kaleidoscope of butterflies that erupted through your entire being on the moment you first felt your girl moving inside of you, is indescribable. The proof that every day, you are one day closer to meeting your baby girl, now, finally becomes even more real as your fingers gently touch your belly to meet her soft kicks, meeting your soulmate even before she arrives in this world. 

Now, your smile appears more often on your lips, picking up some flowers from your garden as the sun warms your skin. Even if you don’t have an excuse for most of the goodbyes you had to say when you left your old house, the newfound feeling of peace and love growing inside of you by the second, make everything worth it. It’s just you and your baby girl, your parents and your brother that come and visit you often, and the expectation of a bright future.

Everything truly felt like a dream, until that fateful morning when you woke up with the sound of thunder hitting. It’s been a while since you’ve heard the sound that could make your insides shake with fear, making your heart race in your chest as you were startled by the storm. 

You have been feeling off the entire day, your body was sore, you felt light headed and weak, almost on the verge of passing out if you allowed your knees to collapse. For hours, you felt absolutely exhausted, even if you had just gotten out of bed after sleeping for an entire night. Your stomach felt weird, making you lose all your appetite, even if you would try and force some food inside your body, thinking about your little Hope’s well-being.

Throughout the day, some cramps occupy your lower stomach, igniting a sense of insecurity in your brain. The pain grows more intense as the time goes by, mixing your senses with the dizziness surrounding your head. You try not to think much about it, imagining it can be just a bad day, lack of rest or just something that you ate that wasn’t good for you. But the spots of blood on your pyjama shorts are what caught your attention.

Panic immediately washes over you, sensing now that something might be really wrong, and your reflex kicks in, dialing 911 to get yourself an ambulance, not wanting to wait any longer, before something terrible happens. 

It all happened so fast, it felt like a blur to you, from the moment the paramedics got to your house, to the emptiness inside of you while lying on the hospital bed: surrounded by nurses, IV tubes, different machines connected to your body, you slowly open your eyes, feeling like you have just been sedated. 

Once you regain your consciousness, your hand reaches for one of the nurses’ arms. 

- Is my baby okay? What happened? Someone talk to me, please I need to know what happened. - you plead, only to be met with a sympathetic look on the nurse’s face.  - The doctor will be here soon to talk to you, ma’am, please just try to remain calm. - the lady holds your hand for some seconds before leaving your side. 

You’re in panic, your heart feels heavy and accelerated in your chest, trying to understand what happened, why no one is telling you anything, so your hand reaches for your source of love and comfort: your baby.

Your fingers gently caress your bump, grazing along your skin as you decide to touch your favorite spot, the one where your baby always touches back, meeting you through the barrier of your skin. After some attempts of touching the same place, your heart drops when you realize that your baby isn’t touching back, and you definitely don’t feel her moving in your belly anymore. And, as much as you try to keep calm, convincing yourself that maybe it’s just the effect of all the medication they are giving you, your maternal instinct can’t stop ringing inside of you, letting you know that something is definitely not right. 

There’s not a single detail about the doctor’s face that helps calming you down one bit, once he enters the room. The man has a closed facial expression, looking as if he has been thinking about what he has to tell you. And, deep down, you already knew. 

He takes a stool, using it to sit next to your bed, so he could be eye level with you. There’s a sigh escaping his body, a heavy one, one that doesn’t bring good news attached to it.

- How are you feeling, Y/N? - he asks, briefly checking your vitals on one of the screens beside you. 

You know he is trying to make small talk, trying to find a way to initiate the conversation, until he has the guts to touch the topic he is currently avoiding. 

- Doctor, I just want to know how my daughter is doing. Please, I have the right to know what’s going on. I need to know. - your voice is cracking already, some small tears are making their appearance on the corners of your eyes. Your heart already knows, you can’t keep denying it. At this point, you’re just begging for someone to burst the bubble for you.  - Y/N… There were some unexpected complications, and we did everything we could, but unfortunately we weren’t able to save her… I’m very sorry for your loss. - his words come off slowly, weighted while showing you an understanding look, breaking down the news of a reality that you don’t want to face.

Soon enough, your body is met with an empty, cold room again, the deafening silence filling your veins as you cry out every emotion in your being to the point of exhaustion. Your baby girl is gone. The light of your life, the company that would never leave your side, the reason why the sky would be filled with such bright, beautiful colors at the end of every day. 

What if you die with all of the colours? In the same way that the sky turns black after the sunset, following the clouds that dress the dark blue, turning it into a painful shade of dark grey, reaching black while the moon stands tall in the atmosphere, only to hide behind one of the clouds. In this moment, your life has lost all meaning, all color surrounding your days. After this, what’s the reason to keep going? 

After Hope, the flood in your eyes, pouring from your heart, is everything you have left. Now, you won’t get to see the color of her eyes once you would finally cradle her in your arms, you won’t get to smell her hair, to touch her small, soft hands. Right now, the only thing you have left of her are the thoughts and dreams of all the nights when you imagined what she would look like. But that's just a dream that won't come true anymore.

Even while being in your belly, your daughter was able to hold you, to put together all your missing pieces. She gave you the sleep and all the dreams you needed to survive, every time her small fingers touched yours through your bump, hugging you the way she could. 

Maybe that was the purpose of her short passage through this dimension of life: to teach you more about the purest love that lives inside of us, and not on anyone else. But right now, the only thing you can do is cry and scream, question God and life, wanting to know why this is happening to you. Why did they have to take your baby girl away from you? 

You were never a fan of storms, until you felt the thunder hitting inside of you, wrecking you apart, ripping you to shreds, destroying every good thing that was left of you. And as the rain outside grows heavier, your heart can’t help but see them as the tears of your little one. The drops falling outside, hitting your window, are the tears of the ones who left already, missing their loved ones who stayed in this world - that are missing them in the same way, especially the ones who left way too soon, like your little princess. 

He doesn’t really know why, but ever since that rainy afternoon when you ran away from his house with a tear-stained face, Lewis was left with a heavy heart, like the echo of thunder - one that hasn’t left him for the past five months, constantly pumping inside of his chest, not giving him any rest.

He regrets what he did to you, he truly does. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about you, and there’s nothing more that he wants than to talk to you, look into your eyes again, letting you know how sorry he is: for the woman who left his bed, for making love the way he saved for you inside his head. 

Lewis still dreams about you, every single night. And since you are no longer next to him, all he wants to do lately is lay down, so his mind can bring you closer to him again, making it seem like all his mistakes have been erased, holding your figure in his arms gently like he used to love so much. 

But, every night, he ends up being tortured by his own mind, his guilty conscience not letting him rest while he replays every single thing that happened on the last day he saw you. Every time he washes his body, he thinks about the way his limbs were entangled with another woman’s, in between the same bed he used to love you in. Looking back now, it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth losing you, over some stupid one night fantasy, trading the love of a lifetime for someone who he never wants to see again, after his mind captured the heartbreak in your eyes. 

When he lies in his bed, his mind wishes your scent would still be in his sheets, calming down his racing heart to sleep. And it could be, having him not decided to bring another woman over - losing every bit of your existence that still lingered in his place.

His heart shrinks in his chest every time he remembers every detail of your skin, the precious features he used to hold safely in his hands while his lips would shower you with love. It’s you: the one for him, the missing piece in his heart, the half of his being that seems to disappear and never come back again. Your silence destroys him, and even while being blocked on your phone, he still insists on dialing your number every morning, almost falling in love with your voicemail message that seems to never abandon him, repeating your voice over and over again, even when his mind threatens to forget about it. 

Deep down, he knows he lost you - for good. But, for some reason, inside his mind, it’s like you just said ‘be right back!’, like you would tell him across the living room, when you would go out to do some grocery shopping. 

And even if he knows that he lost you, and that you don’t even want to look at his face again after everything he did, his heart can’t help but force him to wait, patiently looking at the dry flowers that you used to water before you left, that ended up dying, like all the love you held for him - waiting for you to open the door again, flashing him your bright smile at the sight of the love of your life lying in bed, waiting to cuddle you, so the love between your bodies can blossom again, the house can feel as bright as before, the flowers can come back to life. 

It hurts him to realize that you said goodbye, even after not really being here. Not talking to him, not wanting to hear everything that he has to say to you after you caught him in the most shameful moment of his life. And just like a fallen fighter, lying on the ring, waiting for the empty room, Lewis still waits for your love, even if that’s the last thing he will do with his life. 

There’s still some loose notes that he found around his place, love notes that you used to write him before you left for work, so your boyfriend could wake up to some loving messages from you - that and that he makes sure to keep reading on a daily basis now, to remember how much you used to love him, and how he managed to lose the most precious thing that has ever appeared in his life. 

I have the name of a flower when you call me. But, when you touch me, I don't even know if I'm water, a girl or an entire field of flowers that has crossed through me. - another letter reads, making tears tingle in the man’s brown eyes as his soul feels emptier by the day, when you’re not by his side. 

It’s hard for Lewis to pull through every hour of every day, knowing that you’re not in his life anymore, the reason why his heart would beat faster, making everything seem so dull without your giggles as the soundtrack of every moment you two would share. 

But nothing could prepare Lewis for the instant he ran into your mother. It was supposed to be just a normal, quick trip to the nearest pharmacy, so he could buy some vitamins, feeling a cold starting to get to him. 

His eyes darted through the space while he waited for someone to call his number in line. And that’s when his eyes landed on your mum, the nice, sweet lady that always accepted him in her family, as if he was her own son. 

Her hands are full with different boxes of pills, and his eyebrows furrow - could she be sick? Her face doesn’t make it seem like the lady is sick, but instead, she looks rather down, and he can’t help but notice how she’s all dressed in black, almost as if she was mourning the loss of someone. 

His heart can’t help but hurt at the thought of something happening to you, but he doesn’t feel the courage in himself to reach for the woman, to try and ask what happened, not after all the damage that he caused his daughter. 

Even if he tries not to stare too much at her, your mother recognizes him when she’s getting ready to leave the pharmacy, and she’s the one approaching Lewis. He can’t help but feel himself growing afraid of what your mother is about to tell him, this being the first time he gets the chance to talk to someone from your family, after everything that happened. But, somehow, the woman’s sad eyes let him know that she’s not reaching out to berate him.

- Hi Lewis… I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s something that I think you should know. - your mum’s tone is serious, alongside her closed facial expression, and that’s enough to startle your ex-boyfriend even more, growing worried that something actually might have happened to you. 

Walking outside the pharmacy into a secluded corner of the parking lot - trying to escape the heavy rain that insists on falling from the sky, Lewis keeps noticing how your mum’s breathing sounds heavy, like she is carrying all the weight of the world on her shoulders, and his anxiety just continues growing in anticipation. 

- Is everything alright, Carol? - Lewis asks, trying not to pressure the woman to talk, but feeling his nerves boiling with concern. 

His ex-mother-in-law takes a deep sigh, looking him in the eyes. 

- You were an absolute prick for what you’ve done to Y/N, everybody knows that. But still, I think you have the right to know, since you were the father… - your mum speaks softly, but still with some bitterness evident in her tongue.

Lewis’ face immediately scrunched at the word ‘father’. He was the what? 

- Excuse me, what? - he can’t help but interrupt your mother’s train of thought, not understanding what she’s trying to tell him right now.

The thing is, your mother knew that Lewis’ didn’t know about the loss, but she thought he knew that you were pregnant. But no, he didn’t. He didn’t know anything. And it takes a second for her to realize it, but once she does, a deeper sigh escapes her lips. 

- Y/N was pregnant, Lewis… when all of that happened between you two… She was already carrying your child, she found out when she was six weeks pregnant. I thought she had told you. - the woman briefly explained, making Lewis’ eyes widen, his mouth hanging open, at a complete loss for words at what he is finding out, now. 

No, you didn’t tell him, and now he understands why. That morning, when you showed up at his place, you were going to tell him. But you ended up not doing it, due to the miserable picture that you met once the door opened. 

Lewis forcefully closes his eyes, wishing things could go back to normal once he opens them again, but they can’t. There’s a whirlwind of new information swirling around his brain, and he is struggling to keep up, to let it sink in, but he feels like all the air just got ripped out of his lungs. However, there’s still more to come. 

- No, I didn’t know, unfortunately. But, you said she ‘was’...? - These last words leave his mouth slowly, a whisper that he is scared to unravel if he speaks louder, not wanting to come to terms with a harsher reality. 

Carol just nods her head ‘yes’, visibly growing emotional as Lewis feels his entire world collapsing around him, now. 

- There were some unexpected complications… Y/N rushed to the hospital, she said she was in a lot of pain, the doctors admitted her immediately… But unfortunately, they couldn’t save the baby. Her name was Hope. Your daughter, my granddaughter. - your mum is now fully crying as the pain still feels fresh on her skin. The woman covers her eyes with her hands momentarily, while Lewis is just looking around in pure shock, feeling some tears showing up on his eyes as well. 

He feels a part of himself dying as well, just by knowing that he was going to be a dad, a girl dad, his biggest dream ever. The love of his life was expecting his baby, and not only was he dumb enough to waste everything you two had, but he also wasn’t by your side while you were going through the worst moment, the greatest loss of your entire life. 

And for some seconds, your mum and Lewis just silently share the tears escaping their eyes, the man not really knowing what to say after this bomb that just dropped in his chest. 

- Was there someone else with her? - he finally speaks up, not knowing if you decided to restart your life with someone else, or if your family was by your side through this hard time.  - She only told us about it once she left the hospital… We went to visit her after, but unfortunately she was there all alone when all that was happening, oh my poor baby girl. - the woman’s cries are the ones of a mother who couldn’t protect her daughter, be there for her when she needed it the most… just like the sobs leaving your body every night, because you were not able to save your princess. - But believe me, Lewis: that baby was a little fighter. Just like her mum. 

His hands rub his face, a sigh escaping his figure now as well, not really wanting to believe that all of this is real. 

- And how is she? -  Lewis asks, thinking about your state, how you must be feeling terribly, how badly you must need someone to be by your side, and how desperately he feels the need to reach for you, to mourn the loss of the angel that was half of you and half of him. - These are for her. - your mum shows him the meds she just bought. - Physically, she is still recovering, but emotionally, she is absolutely destroyed, Lewis. I am afraid that I lost my little girl forever, as well. She will never be the same again. - your mother can’t help but share a hug with Lewis, the man who loved you, who made your sparkle shine for so long, the one everyone thought would be your ‘forever’. And also the one who lost you as well, without any chance of getting you back.  - Anyway, my son will be visiting her tomorrow, so he can bring her this medication, and right now, the only thing we can do is give her time. It will take her a long while to recover from all this. - the woman says, wiping away her tears as she tries to compose herself. 

At her words, Lewis’ brain lights up with an idea. 

- Can I come with him? Please, I need to see her. I need to see her more than ever now. - he pleads, seeing the way your mum’s face closes again, her features so similar to yours, definitely not thinking it’s a good idea. - Please, Carol. You said it earlier, I have the right to know, I have the right to talk to her, at least one more time. It was my baby as well, and I didn’t even know anything about her! -  Lewis insists, trying to get the woman to give in to his begging.  - Well, we all know why you didn’t know a thing about your daughter, Lewis. - the words hit him like a ton of bricks, making him go silent for a minute, knowing that she is right. He didn’t know anything about his child, because he made the dumbest, worst mistake of his entire life. 

But, if there’s something that Lewis might be thankful for, is the soft spot in your mum’s heart for him. Deep down, she just wished everything could go back to normal, to the way things were before, so she could look into her daughter’s eyes and see the sunshine on them again, instead of having to deal with the pain of seeing you so miserable. Your mother doesn’t know how you are going to react to the sight of Lewis being in front of you again, but she can only hope that maybe it might help you in some way, softening your broken heart, as you share the pain of losing something so dear to both of you, that you never got to meet. So, sighing, she gives in. 

- Okay, maybe you can go with Simon. But if you mess this up one more time, I’m never looking at your face ever again, Lewis. You need to keep in mind that this is partially your fault, as well. You can’t just meet her and think that you will win my daughter over again, because that won’t happen. I’m warning you. - the woman says to him, before finally entering her car and driving away. 

Lewis walks inside his car as well, taking a deep breath as he leans his head on his seat. Finally, the tears fall free from his eyes as he allows himself to feel everything in his bones. Every information, every mental image of you pregnant, suffering alone, losing your baby.

And he wasn’t there. And he didn’t know about it. He wasn’t there to go with you to your doctor appointments, to hear his daughter’s heartbeat, to caress your belly, to rub your feet once they started swelling, to hold your hair back when your morning sickness got the best of you. He was the father of that baby. He should have been there all along, by your side. And he didn’t, because of one dumb, unreasonable decision that he randomly made on one night, just because he was feeling bored to spend the night alone. 

Now, everything makes sense. Your hand in your belly once he saw you at his door, the regret, pain, splattered all over your eyes as you took in the scene unfolding inside his house, the definition of another woman’s touch on his body. 

He feels sick to his stomach, grossed out by himself, not bearing to be inside his own body right now. The man punches the steering wheel one time after the other, sobs and screams leaving his frame as he feels an inexplicable anger growing inside of him. But he is not angry at you - he could never be. He is angry at himself, at his actions. 

What if he had chosen to run after you, on that rainy afternoon? What if he had decided to follow his gut, that was telling him to meet you, to not let you go. Maybe things would be different - or not. At least, maybe you could have told him about the pregnancy, maybe he could have been a bit more involved in your baby’s small existence. 

But instead, he decided to leave you alone, not wanting to put salt in your wounds even further. Little did he know that he was just starting a storm inside of you, leaving you to deal with the consequences of it all by yourself. 

The raindrops are loud when they hit his car windows, almost as if they’re trying to muffle the loud cries escaping the man’s body, so the world couldn’t hear how destroyed he is right now. 

When you needed him the most, he didn’t show up. He didn’t feel any urgency in coming to your place after promising you the future and ripping every shred of hope out of your soul, playing with your feelings, stringing you along and masking it as if it was nothing, seeing the desperation in your features, the hurt painted in your eyes, so devastatingly that it could send bullets straight to his chest.

The only thing he gave you was the discouragement of a broken heart, of a lonely soul who lost everything it once had. But desire is the limit of the mere mortals, and wishing he could make it different right now, is the only thing he can do, but it won’t change a thing. He ruined the most important thing of his life, and above all, he lost the chance of growing the happiest of families by your side, ruining it so hard that he didn’t even get to meet his daughter. 

Your mother’s words echo through his mind. A little fighter, just like her mum, and he can’t stop thinking about how life has been so cruelly good to him lately: standing high on podiums, travelling through the world, succeeding in each task he would dedicate himself to. While you were suffering, in pain, crying, alone, bleeding for your baby, losing part of yourself in the process, while he had no clue about what was going on: his daughter, that would desperately need a father to hold her, to protect her, to lull her to sleep. One that never got to touch her mother’s belly to meet her small hand, to speak to her, to kiss her through the skin on the bump she comfortably used to lay. One that she didn't get to meet while she was still breathing. 

How could he dare to even feel an ounce of happiness in his body, even when his mind would feel heavy with the thought of you? While you were yelling out of desperation, the sound almost reverberated in his lungs, making him feel like something wasn’t right. While you were trembling out of agony, feeling yourself dying in seconds on that fateful day. Only to be heard, comforted by strangers. When he should have been there, he should have been better to you.

And on that night, Lewis can’t even fall asleep. Tears keep falling free from his eyes as it almost feels as if he can hear the sounds of your screams echoing through the walls of his house, in the same way they reflect all the tears that escaped your eyes on the last days that you’ve been to his place.

His house feels haunted, by the thoughts of everything that you had to go through alone, and by the idea of him being father of a soul that briefly passed through this earth, but that he didn’t get the chance to meet.

His daughter, Hope. What a beautiful name you chose for her, Lewis couldn’t have chosen a better one. His mind rushes to put your features together, so he could maybe try and imagine what his princess would look like, if she has had a chance to breathe in the scent of all the flowers in this land and feel the rays of sunshine hitting her soft baby skin.

After the storm, lightning stops radiating through the skies, only reverberating inside of you, after taking your baby away from you. Every time it rains, you picture your baby’s cries, how you could nestle her on your chest, kiss her forehead softly and calm her down. And when the rain stops, the calm that remains is more of a void than a relief. 

Three weeks have passed by since your baby girl’s heart stopped beating. Three weeks of immeasurable pain, missing her, her touches, her company so, so much. Right now, you have nothing to hold on to. So you just force yourself to stay until late at your office, glued to your laptop screen, filling all your hours with work, so you can forget about everything else, so your mind doesn’t have enough time to think about anything else. 

Everyone else around you would say that you have been acting like a robot, lately. Living on autopilot, burying yourself in work duties, getting little sleep, eating late at night inside of your car - in the rare moments that you remember that you need to eat.

It’s not as if you don’t want to eat nor rest. That just doesn’t seem to be a crucial part of what surviving means to you, lately. Life took away from you the most beautiful things you once had. Your relationship, that used to feel like a dream. Your baby, that came to you to save you, to be in your arms and glue all your broken pieces together. Now, you are left with nothing.

The only reason why you keep pushing through the days, is because you need to. In your mind, you are the common factor to both losses you suffered in the past months, so maybe you are the problem. Maybe you aren’t good enough to keep anyone by your side for long enough. 

Maybe you did something so wrong that Lewis just grew tired of you, wanting a break from you and everything you represented in his life. And maybe that’s why your baby couldn’t stick around until her time came to meet this world, to meet you: her mother, who carried her alone until her last breath. 

Not a day goes by where your eyes won’t shed some silent tears, but ever since you lost the light of your life, you feel so lifeless, that it’s like you can’t even feel a thing inside of you anymore, just letting the tears fall free while barely feeling them on your skin.

You feel like your baby can be watching you from above, like the little angel she is. Maybe that’s why you haven’t given up on life yet. Hope can definitely see how bereft you are, noticing that you haven’t been doing too well. This is not the mummy she knew and loved. The mummy she met was healing, thanks to her. It had a lighter heart to her, and was on the way to find the peace of mind that she so desperately deserved and wanted. Mummy smiled more, especially when Hope would stretch her tiny hand to talk to mummy. 

But that’s not who you are, anymore. Once again, you are left with desperation, with your broken, empty heart to hold, to try and mend. But you’re not mending it anymore. You just keep living because you deserve to suffer, you deserve to take all the punishments from not being able to save your daughter, to be there for her when she needed you the most. Your body failed her, and that’s why she’s no longer here.

If you are telling the truth, you hate that you are here again: in this dark place, in the middle of a void that doesn’t allow you to breathe, living through the struggle of just wanting to cave, never wanting to fight, dying inside. Of being lonely all the time. You should say sorry to the friends you’ve lost due to your isolation, to your family, from pushing them away most of the time. 

You regret a lot of things and you owe a lot of apologies to a lot of people, but mostly: you are sorry to yourself. This was never your intention, this isn’t how you wished your life would go. And you could promise you will get help and actively start trying to live. But that would be an empty promise. And you just truly are sorry that you lost yourself for good, this time. You wish you could fall into a deep sleep, begging for someone only to wake you up once all of this is over and the old you has reappeared. But for your old version to show up, you needed to have your baby girl in your arms. There’s no way you can be yourself without Hope close to you. 

You need time, of course you do. But that won’t bring you back. With time, the rivers and the hills will come closer. And with time, the thing that will start eating out of your hand and nest in your bed, is just one: silence.

In the afternoon, Lewis feels the anxiety running through his body as he gets ready to hop in the car with your brother, Simon - another person he hasn’t seen since you two had broken up.

The car ride is filled with an uncomfortable silence between the two men, neither of them speaking much besides the time when your brother told Lewis how you decided to move to this small town, around thirty minutes away from your parents house. 

Apart from that, they don’t really quite know what to say to the other. Your ex-boyfriend notices how Simon is also dressed in black, just like your mum was, and he looks down at himself, noticing how he unconsciously chose a pair of black jeans and a dark grey sweater, feeling like he lost someone important to him as well, even if most people don’t think he has the right to feel this way.

Lewis can feel this tension growing in between them, feeling in his bones how your brother is resenting every single thing that your ex-boyfriend did to you, realizing how hard it must be for Simon to sit beside him again, especially while driving him to meet you. 

If he was being honest, your brother was against this idea of Lewis knowing where you live right now, of him going there to interrupt your moment, thinking he can even feel half of all the pain that you have been through lately, most of it being caused by him and his selfish, self-centered attitudes. 

Knowing you like the back of his hand, your brother is sure that you won’t enjoy Lewis’ visit. But maybe, just by looking deep into your eyes and seeing the way you will reject him, will make the man finally back down, giving up on bothering you even further, on finally leaving you to try and recover. 

When Simon finally stops the car, Lewis’ heart races in his chest, making him feel so small and insignificant when compared to the importance of this moment right here, right now. Leaving the car, he follows your brother, who walks inside a dark green gate, leading to a small garden in front of a house. 

Unlike every other day, today isn’t raining. The light grey clouds are still standing high in the sky, but there’s a glimpse of sun in the horizon, one that gently lights up the day. Lewis finds your silhouette, sitting on a bench, your eyes fixed on the timid sun rays that seem to entice your gaze. 

Your brother is the one taking the first step, walking to the front of you, so your eyes can meet the guy who never left your side through it all. You slowly get up, wrapping your arms around Simon’s body gently in a warm hug, the only source of comfort that you allow yourself to feel from time to time. 

Simon is looking back at Lewis, and you follow his eyes, turning around to feel your world squeezing your body, tightening around you to the point it hurts to breathe, with the unwanted presence of the man who threw the first rock that made your glass start to shatter, until it completely broke down. 

Lewis is completely silent and frozen in place, like his mind has forgotten all about words and movements. He can’t believe his eyes. The first sight of the love of his life, after five months of not seeing each other, is brutal. You are all dressed in black, looking thinner than the last time he saw you. Your hair is longer now, and you use it to cover most of your features, but the dark bags under your eyes are still evident. 

In a silent exchange of glances, neither of you dares to say a thing, until Lewis finally feels the strength in his legs to slowly walk over to you. His steps are heavy, contrasting with the way his knees feel like they could buckle at any second. And when he gets as close as he physically can to you, his eyes meet yours again. 

The eyes that once held all the hopes and dreams of a life by his side, that would shine in the moonlight, while lying next to him in between the sheets of his bed, the ones who used to mirror all the love stringing along both of your bodies. They are, now, as empty as a dark, abandoned street, whose most hidden corner can’t even be recognized at night. The eyes that he once knew how to read as if they were his favorite book, are now the ones who scare him, the void inside of your soul visible through the gate that your gaze allows. 

Lewis’ own eyes are flooded with tears now, not even caring about wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks. His trembling hand is slowly reaching for your face, gently putting some strands of hair away from your features, so he can see you in your plenitude: the emotionless expression, the dark eyes that seem lifeless. When his fingers start caressing your cheek lovingly, his breathing gets caught in his throat, noticing how cold your body feels against his touch. 

- It’s me, Y/N… I’m here, love. I know it took me a long while, but I’m here now. - he cries, only to be met with silence from your side. 

You don’t mind replying to him, not feeling an ounce of any feeling or sensation through your body. You don’t hold any grudges, any remorse. You’re not angry nor sad at him anymore. To tell the truth, you don’t feel any kind of emotion towards Lewis anymore. The only feeling that you allow to inhibit inside of you, is the pain and guilt of losing your baby, of not being able to protect her, as you were supposed to. And that’s the only thing that makes you feel angry at yourself: the heaviest weight that you will carry forever on your shoulders. 

So you just stay silent, even if the man in front of you is begging you to say something. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing to do after every event that took place in your life for the past five months. Instead of speaking, your eyes just try to look through him, inside the soul who you once thought to be yours, but that, in reality, it always belonged to the world, and never to only you.

Lewis’ eyes dart from your face to your belly, and his hand yearns to land a small touch on it, as if he will get to feel the heartbeat, the movements of his daughter that he didn’t get to meet while he could. However, the man prevents himself from doing it, trying for a second to imagine the indescribable amount of pain that gesture would bring you. 

Breaking down in front of you, the man crumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly, bringing you close as his head rests on the crook of your neck, sobbing into your frame. This used to be his favorite place in the whole world: your neck, your chest, where he would search for your warmth, where he used to lay his head to drift off to the most peaceful of all sleeps when he desperately needed a rest, one that would allow him to switch off all the worries inside of his brain. That’s the power you used to have on him. 

And now, he can’t even feel the softness of your skin anymore, being met with the barrier of the black turtleneck you’re wearing, feeling like a wall made of stone, preventing him, and the rest of the world, from getting access to you again.

Underneath the fabric of your shirt, he knows what he would find: the sharpness of your bones, the coldness of your fragile body that has been through so much, instead of the enticing scent of yours, the collarbone lines that were once soft under his lips. 

Still, he holds you as close as he possibly can, almost trying to glue all your pieces back together, but he doesn’t feel your arms wrapping around his body at any moment. 

You are staying still, your arms on the sides of your body, limp, without a reaction. You don’t reciprocate his touch one bit, not feeling like you should try to console someone who simply decided to leave your life. But still, you allow him to find his home in you again, even if it’s just for a brief moment, while his face is ducked in the crook of your neck, hiding from his actions, from the world outside of this moment. 

Your eyes are staring at the emptiness of the air, noticing how numb you feel as you hear the man’s loud sobs and cries, feeling how his arms are desperately touching your figure, scared that you might run away again if he lets go of you, scared that he might drown in his sorrow if you don’t hold him up. But his pain doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. It’s not yours to deal with anymore. He wasn’t there for you when the most painful tears were staining your crimson cheeks, when your throat hurt from screaming so loud when you lost your baby, when you bled for days, only to deal with your destruction by yourself. 

And after giving him the bit of home that he can still find in yourself for a moment - even if you feel like you have nothing else inside of you to give, you finally take a step back, leaving his hold, his touch. 

Lewis is left clutching the air, his breathing ragged, a shocked expression on his face. Desperation fills the man’s body, destruction coming along with it because this wasn’t just a step back from his hold, and he knows it. He knows how badly he fucked up, he knows the pain he caused to your life. You’re no longer his, and he knows what that step back from him actually means: for as long as you’re breathing, you will never be his again. 

- I know you were going to tell me about the pregnancy, and we both know why you ended up not doing it. But baby, you should have come to me either way, after everything that happened. I should have been there for you, it was my responsibility to be there for you, my love. - Lewis’ face is stained with tears as he tries to reason with you, feeling a heartache so strong inside of him that could kill him right then and there. 

His voice is gentle, even if he’s hurt. Your presence is making him feel so guilty that he tries to use the loving pet names to make you soften up a bit more for him, reminding you of what you two once had, hoping it could help ease the heavy weight on his shoulders, alongside the agonizing pain in his chest.

But again, his tears and begs don’t make you feel anything. 

- It was my loss, so it is mine alone to deal with. - you say, your tone hoarse and cold. The first time he hears your voice again, after so long, without it being through your voicemail message. And your words sting, hard, in his heart.  - It wasn’t only your loss, Y/N… I was the father of that little girl. I had the right to know, to hear her heartbeat, to see the ultrasounds, to dream about a life with her in my arms, just like you did. - the salty tears don’t stop falling from Lewis’ eyes, feeling completely wrecked by the moment, by your harsh words. 

For a moment, you look down at your hands, fidgeting with your own fingers while biting your tongue, finding no point in arguing, in letting him know all the harm he caused you. He’s not stupid, he knows all about that. Your gaze travels through your ring finger, that still has the tan line of that damn promise ring he gave you, one that you wore for so many years - and a bitter chuckle escapes your lips, remembering all the empty promises he made, but never kept. 

- She stopped being your daughter the exact moment I went to your place to let you know I was expecting, only to find you lost in another woman’s arms. Mind you, not just any woman, but my childhood best friend. All of that because you needed time away from me, right? Because you needed a break. - your words are sharp as a knife, and you nod your head at his silence now. - Exactly, Lewis. You were never her father, you didn’t deserve to know anything about my daughter. And I’m devastated that I lost her, it’s a pain that will never stop haunting me, but if I’m being honest, I’m so glad I never had a baby with you. 

It’s like the entire world collapses around Lewis, his heart feeling like it’s being punched over and over again by you, collecting every consequence of his actions, drinking the tears that never stopped spilling from his eyes since the moment he saw you. 

Turning your back to him, you grab your coat from the bench. 

- Tell mom and dad I love them. - you ask your brother, hugging him one last time before entering your car. 

Lewis is left a sobbing mess, his body almost giving in as he is the one sitting on the bench now, hiding his face in his hands as he lets out all the sorrow spill from his body, through the endless tears escaping him. 

This is it, for him. It’s the end of a dream that he prayed so hard to get back, but that slipped through his fingers, on his own will - he destroyed his own world. And right now, it doesn’t matter how he might scream loud and feral, pouring out his rawest emotions, how badly he might sob, missing you to death. He doesn’t do it for you anymore. And even if, deep down, you still love him, it doesn’t really matter anymore, because the two of you will never be in the same room again.

Your name slips from his lips a countless amount of times, whispering it as if it could bring you back, asking God why?, only to be met with the silence surrounding him, matching how silent you went when he hugged you, not feeling magnetized to him anymore - that silence that could be heard from afar, sounding louder than all the heartbreaking screams you let out on the day you lost your little light. 

Now, the sun won’t shine as bright as it used to before, for him. The flowers won’t have such beautiful colors, the earth won’t move so graciously. If the power of the understanding between two souls doesn't change the world, definitely no part of the world is exactly the same after two souls understand each other. And how badly does he miss the times you would understand the other so easily, so effortlessly, firmly believing you were made for each other.

After this, nothing will be able to mend Lewis again. He is paying for everything he has done to the love of his life, and no trophy or podium could ever replace the dark void that lives in his heart, now. No sun can erase what has already collapsed inside of him.

Driving away, you let out the deepest breath, your hands tightening around the steering wheel until your knuckles are turning white. The rage inside of you right now is enough to start a storm, to make the most scary of all thunders to erupt through the skies, but looking at your passenger seat, you remind yourself that you have more important things to do, now. 

Today marks the third week that you’ve lost your baby. In the morning, you went to the florist, buying a bouquet of pink carnations - the lady letting you know that they represent a love, or someone, that will never be forgotten. 

And now, as the sun starts getting ready to set on the horizon, you drive to the river near your house, the safe place you used to go when your morning sickness would get the best of you, when you feel lonely most of times, having no one by your side and finding some comfort in the birds flying around you, in the flowers blooming alongside the way. It’s a newfound tradition that you make sure to do every week, on the exact same day, living through the days in autopilot, until the day arrives. 

Near the river, the wind is cold but soft, gently pushing the hair from your face, drying all the tears from your face. Sitting on a bench near the water, your shadow is hugged by a tall tree that protects you from the rain, in case it decides to fall. 

This is your place now, your refuge. Where you come to cry, to speak to your daughter, knowing that she loved the time you two have spent here. The hours pass by fast when you’re paying attention to the warm, gentle, bright colors that invade the sky as the sun sets in front of you, while noticing the movement of the tide, how the water reflects the nature embracing you. 

You could forget to eat, to sleep, or to do some house chore. But you could never, ever, forget about the date you lost your baby, never forgetting to stop by the lovely florist that already has a new bouquet ready for you every week, never not sitting by the river at the end of the day.

It seems like this safe spot hugs your heart, caresses your broken soul, speaks to you in ways no one ever did. It’s like your little Hope lives here now, waiting for her mummy to come see her as she asks the skies to prepare the most beautiful sunset for your eyes to see. 

And as you throw the flowers into the water, you carefully see the way the tide hugs the petals away from you, slowly taking them out of your sight, just like life has taken away your baby girl from your hold. 

It’s a silent moment that speaks for your heart. It’s a hurtful I miss you, and I’m sorry I failed to protect you, I will always love you more than life, that you can’t seem to say verbally, just letting the tears fall down your cheeks as you see the seagulls flying in direction to the horizon, towards the light, searching for it, in the exact same way that you try to search for yours: for a light, a signal, a reason to keep going - even if she lives in the sky, now. 

[that-one-p00k1e]

───〃★ the way I love you ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Their love language w/you ft. Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Ren Kaji, & Haruka Sakura | Demon Slayer ver.

c/w: 🎀OOC🎀, fluff, gn!reader (I think), use of "my lady" in Suo's, established!relationship in Umemiya's

GRADUATING 2DAY RAAAHHH🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅

—Haruka Sakura being the easily flustered tsundere he is, words and physical touch aren't really in his dictionary of how to express his feelings. He isn't good at being forward verbally in the environment of love, nor is he able to initiate close proximity gestures.

Without realizing, one of his particular ways of showing his care was through acts of service. Helping each other around town has become a normalcy. Thus, he wouldn't stand out when doing you a favor purely out of his own will; he prefers to be discreet to avoid getting called out, not wanting to be viewed as soft and lose his dignity.

He'd claim that he couldn't give any less of concern for anyone. Yet, he couldn't help but feel an uncomfortable tug at his heart when you mentioned forgetting to bring an umbrella during the rainy weather. He contemplated whether to do something about it or not, torn between his pride and feelings.

Just as you were about to step foot outside, you felt a hand on your shoulder that brought you to a halt.

“The hell do you think you're doin’? Trying to get a cold?”

You weren't given enough time to let out a reply before a folded umbrella was held up to your face.

“You could've asked to borrow one, y'know. I have a spare, so save the fuss and just take it.”

With that, you thanked him and gave a smile of gratitude before taking your leave with the lent umbrella. Little did you know, that boy did not own a spare…

—Hajime Umemiya is so pure he's guaranteed to shower you with every. possible. way. imaginable to express his love. But physical touch would be one of the most prominent.

No matter the occasion, no matter the time, you somehow will always get pulled into an embrace one way or another. He loved the feeling of cradling your petite figure between his strong arms; it made him feel like he was shielding you from any harm. His hugs were warm, comforting, and provided a sense of safety. He'd wrap his arms around your waist from behind and spoon you in, he'd rub his hand up and down your back as you cry into his chest, he'll run up to you and let you jump into his arms, spinning you around as he lifted you off the ground.

He loves the feeling of your hands against his; your soft skin contrasting with his calloused palms. The comparison between the size of your hands and his was somewhat cute to him, making him want to protect you even more as if you were the most precious yet fragile treasure in this world.

“Next time you come in here looking all beat-up, I'm kicking you out and locking you outside,” you scolded him as you tended to his injured hands, irritation yet concern etched on your facial features.

Ume let out a chuckle at your threat, gazing at your grumpy yet worried facial expression which he thought endearing.

“Aww… You really have the heart to be so cruel to your beloved and caring boyfriend??” he whined as he looked at you with an exaggerated pouty face.

“So-called ‘caring’ but doesn't even seem to care about how worried his girlfriend gets when he comes over looking like a used dog toy.” He felt a twinge of guilt at your words, feeling bad for making you so worked up over his condition.

Gently, he held your wrist and brought your hand up to his face, softly placing tender kisses on your knuckles.

“I'm sorry for worrying you, sweetheart…” His deep, gentle voice conveyed such words so smoothly, like a soothing melody strumming its way through your ears and into your heart. You couldn't help but loosen the wrinkles that tugged your eyebrows, letting out a sigh as the tension slowly left your nody. You knew it was his duty to protect the town and all, but the amount of fight he gets into this week devastated you.

“Just… try to avoid doing it alone, please? I know you're strong, but it hurts me seeing you go up against many by yourself.”

“I'll try… Promise.” With that, he leaned over to plant a reassuring kiss on your forehead.

—Hayato Suo enjoys being discreet and mysterious. He finds amusement in seeing your confused face when you receive any form of gift anonymously. At first, he'll start out completely unknown; he wants to satisfy his curiosity on how you'd react for the first time. Once he saw the confused yet happy look on your face, it made him want to perform the act of gift giving even further.

The type of gift would often be small flower bouquets. Occasionally, a little pack of candy would be stuck to it alongside a little note. Written inside those little notes; through either riddles, poems, or song lyrics, he started giving subtle hints on who the sender was. Day by day, he watched patiently as you took your time to connect the pieces.

Until one day.

You were at Pothos, helping out Kotoha as the first-year gang hung out. While wiping the front counter, you overheard Nirei sharing his opinion on how cool Suo was that he understood flower language. You internally agreed. Suo was a man of many quirks, and you've secretly admired him for that. He understood trivial things that most people wouldn't; poems, flowers, riddles– Holy shit.

Your body froze up the moment realization kicked in, heartbeat accelerating as you tried to quickly form everything in your mind. The elegant handwriting, the heart touching poems, the beautifully arranged varieties of flowers. Could it be–

“Suo.”

The crowd suddenly went quiet at the abrupt mention of one of the personel. You decided to take things somewhere a little more private.

“Please be honest with me,” you demanded as the both of you stood in front of the café.

“Are you the one who has been placing random flower bouquets in front of my doorstep? And before you come at me, there is no one else I know that understands flower language, poems, or-”

“Ah, so you've finally noticed,” the brunette chimed innocently with a sweet smile.

You blinked. “W-What?”

“Yes, I'm the perpetrator behind all those floral gifts you find every day. Are you uncomfortable with it? I can stop if you'd like–”

“NO! I-... I appreciate it. It's just… why? What for? Did you get a dare or something?”

Ever so subtly, his eyes softened at your words. “Why, it is simply because I like you.”

The moment the confession escaped his lips, it felt like your whole world was shaken. You were excited, happy, yet unsure. Unsure if he meant it or not. After all, you knew the kind of person he was.

“... Please don't joke about this.”

He understands what you mean, and he doesn't blame you for that. “My lady… I may be one to bluff, but involving one's feelings is where I draw the line,” he spoke with a tone oh-so gentle, wanting to convey the sincerity his words bore.

“Then… what are you trying to get out of doing all of this?”

“Your heart.”

Blood rushed into your cheeks like a marathon. Your heartbeat acceleration exceeded a speed limit you didn't know you had. With a deep breath, you gathered all ability left to respond.

“... You already did.”

Not even a second passed, and the young man felt a pair of arms embracing him tightly; a sigh leaving his lips as he looked down at the fair maiden in adoration and fondness.

Little did they know about the little audience they had through the glass window of the café.

—Ren Kaji has an aloof demeanor that he tends to keep to himself and distance his existence from the world. He's not one to listen nor speak, preferring to focus on the music blasting through his headphones. Though he enjoys being in rowdy places, he doesn't get loud and excited himself. All in all, quality time would be his best aspect in the language of love.

He'll accompany you on your walks, either when he bumps into you during patrol or when you're going home from school. He'd claim that walking you home was a part of his ‘duty’ and that you just happened to appear as an excuse. Along the journey, he'd listen to you talk your heart out while humming occasionally to let you know he was listening. Even if his headphones were on, he'd lower the volume to be able to hear your voice.

Never had he admitted how he felt comfortable with your presence, and maybe he never will. Words and touches weren't in his field of knowledge, making him seem to be difficult to approach. But little did you know that deep down, he held a spot for you as one of the exceptions – which he was clearly oblivious to.

“... Kaji… Kaji.” He rolled the sucker in his mouth and pulled down his headphones as he felt a poke on his cheek.

“Go on ahead without me. I'm gonna head someplace to eat.”

“I'll come with.”

“But you have patrol.”

“And I also have Enomoto and Kusumi. End of discussion.”

With a defeated sigh, you decided to eat at Pothos; the safest place to eat and thankfully the closest to your place. You offered to treat Kaji for dinner – not wanting to be the only one eating – but the young man declined and said he wasn't hungry. You didn't care; still getting him something as a way to thank him for his willingness to accompany this whole time.

“What? I said I wasn't hungry,” he claimed in defense while pulling his head away once he saw you bring a spoonful of omelette rice to his mouth.

“Just shut up and eat. I'm not living with the guilt for having you go through all this trouble for me.” You pulled out his sucker and replaced it with the awaiting spoon, not giving him time to argue back. He swallowed and looked away before muttering lowly.

“I'm not doing it for you.”

“Whatever you say…”

He begrudgingly let you feed him the whole food, chewing quietly and kept himself distracted on his phone. Unbeknownst to you and him, tints of pink adorned his cheeks.

Little did y'all know, Tamon's second year's vice captains had a good view, but decided to save themselves a scolding.

[little-pondhead]

Day 20: Pitch Bible AU

I had a lot of fun with this :)

[Quotes from the pitch bible and personal headcanons are below the cut.]

Link to pitch bible

-

Pitch!Danny

"The kid with the nerdy, freaky parents. The kid who's afraid of his own shadow."

"Shy, quiet, stumbling and nervous - but always with a smile and a wink to his friends and the camera."

(Page 7)

Danny's death mark looks more like a burn scar rather than Lichtenberg figures. Everyone assumes he was in a fire whenever the trio talks about the Accident. The Fentons back this up since the true events cause an electrical fire in the lab.

He was only bullied about his scars once. Danny burst out crying on the spot, and no one has said anything since. He carries around a homemade balm to soothe the scars when he gets phantom pains.

His death mark extends into his hair and one of his eyes. He now has heterochromia as both Danny and Phantom, as the affected eye's iris was darkened, and a starburst pattern appeared. (inspired by this)

His overall eyesight was also affected, and he now wears reading glasses as a human. Danny frequently loses them, so his friends bought him a used eyeglass chain from a yard sale. The eyeglass chain is made of rainbow beads, and the spirit of the previous owner is attached to it.

Danny took up knitting soon after the Accident to help retrain his fine motor skills and concentration. He's quite good at it, and he made a sweater based on Van Gogh's Starry Night.

Frequently has ectoplasm stains on his clothes from either ghost fights or helping his parents in their lab. Most people think it's paint.

Phantom is invisible to most people (including himself when he looks in mortal mirrors.) He keeps it that way as much as possible, as his appearance is quite inhuman. Danny hates the uncanny valley feeling he causes wherever he goes. Even his friends had to work to get past the instinct to run when he showed himself. He has no pupils, but his death mark remains.

-

Pitch!Tucker

"Tucker uses the gadgets that Danny has gotten for him by raiding Mom and Dad's lab: The goggles that let him see ghosts, the backpack that lets him capture them, and the occasional random jet back that Dad was saving for a rainy day."

(Page 17)

Tallest of the trio, even with Sam's boots giving her an inch. Took track and field in middle school, so he's also the most physically fit, even if it's just by a little. Tucker is also the most reckless of the three and carries a first aid kit around for both him and Danny.

Bit of an adrenaline junkie, even if he won't admit it. Red Bull is his go-to over coffee and tea, which both Sam and Danny insist is bad for him. He's always hungry from sharing his meals with Danny, who cannot cook at home.

Tucker was forced to stop wearing his hats in middle school, but he hated his hair at the time, so he dyed it blonde and fried it straight to 'fit in better.' Sam and Danny have yelled at him for it, and he's slowly learning to appreciate his natural hair. (He still wants to keep dying it for a few more years, however. Red is the next color on his list!)

Takes dual courses at the Amity Park Community College in computer science. Became a top student quickly. He uses this knowledge to help Danny tinker with his parents' inventions and computers. (Which is difficult, given their backgrounds.)

Has a form of synesthesia called 'chromesthesia,' which means he sees colors and patterns when he hears sounds. His favorite color pattern is the sound of leaves rustling in autumn since it makes pretty yellow, orange, and red swirls. He turns the most memorable sounds into tie-dye t-shirts.

Tucker uses his 'liberated' Fenton tech all the time. Aside from ghost fights, he will 100% use the jetpack to get to school when he's late or use an extendable arm to hold a drink when he's busy. It drives Danny nuts because he has to recharge the backpack more, but when it comes down to it, he doesn't really mind. After all, Tucker is the one jailbreaking all their equipment.

-

Pitch!Sam

"A Goth Janeane Garofalo-type that hides her good looks behind baggy clothes, she is an encyclopedia of conspiracy theories and paranormal activity…a cute girl who loves all things geek!"

(Page 17)

Sam is the most serious of the three and is suspicious of everything. Her parents raised her as a rich elite; nothing comes for free in that type of life. She practically lives in the secondary suite that belonged to her grandmother Ida, tending to the greenhouse and library there.

Her favorite color is purple, and she raises Purple Emperor butterflies in the greenhouse in an attempt to increase their population, despite her location. She raises other butterflies and insects as well, but the Purple Emperors are her pride and joy. She wears purple butterfly charms in honor of them.

She has a bigger library than the high school, with books on topics Danny and Tucker have never heard of. During a ghost-induced power outage, they went to Sam and her library to perform an "ancient form of Googling." She did not appreciate that joke.

Cuts and dyes her hair herself, and bothers the boys about proper self care. She even has a little notebook in her pocket that lists reminders, dates, and observations she wants to look back on later. (For example, it reminds her when Danny is supposed to take his medicine, since his memory sucks now.)

Sam researches the paranormal almost obsessively, especially since she gains that psychic link with Danny. She wants to understand it, how it works, and why it happened. (She isn’t aware the ‘get better’ kiss was the cause.)

The random feelings and visions have increased her anxiety tenfold. Tucker jokes that she’s Batman now, since Sam has used her money to create a hundred different backup plans for everything she could think of, including hidden emergency packs all over town.

Once curb-stomped a grown man, as a child, on the day of Grandma Ida’s funeral because he was bragging about influencing the final will in his favor. She brings this energy to any fight she’s capable of participating in, and ghosts have learned to give her a wide berth. Locals just think she’s nuts.

[masonmontz]

heey everyone, how are you? :)

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

smut (unprotected sex, praise) word count: 2,5k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Oh… fuck.” Mason groaned as he came and leaned his head against the cold wall from the locker room bathroom, while still making light movements in his dick. Mason got goosebumps, he really wanted it to be your hand there. “Fuck.”

It was torturous having you massage his leg in physical therapy, no one would understand how horny you made Mason. He had just played the first half and was left alone in the locker room to take a cold shower. He was horny for half the game and will be lucky if no one notices in the photos that his dick was hard as a rock.

He closed his eyes, his breathing quickening as he thought about the sight of your breasts on top of him during the afternoon. It was really hard to concentrate on the rest of the day while Mason was in such bad pain in his balls, he just wanted to get back to the hotel and get relief, but he couldn't take it anymore and had to go to the locker room shower, knowing that some players were outside.

All Mason wanted was to get between your legs and fuck you, fill your neck with marks and kisses and lose himself in your pussy. No one knew, but you and Mason used to meet up in the corners of Carrington, or he would show up at your house just to have sex and leave, and that was fine, you also showed up when you wanted to have sex and Mason was okay with that.

Mason just came, but he couldn't stop imagining your lips around his dick, you kneeling looking up at him, and he felt his cock getting hard once more. He looked like a horny teenager and knew he would only calm down when he could get his naughty thoughts about you out of his head. 

It was so hot in the United States, Mason was upset to be going back to England in a few days. He knew he would be back in the rainy and cold weather and he would miss the warmth, especially since he saw you walking around the hotel in short clothes and that was not common in England.

“God, help me.” Mason begged the universe, but decided to get out of the shower, knowing that he needs to go back to the pitch and watch the rest of the match. He didn't hear anyone else talking and figured the players had left, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and even though he wanted to jerk off again, he decided not to.

You were taking the dry towels to the locker room, since the other players would be showering after the match and things needed to be organized. You were the physiotherapist, but sometimes you did a little bit of everything to make things easier for them.

As soon as you left the towels on the counter, the door to one of the showers opened and Mason came out with the towel around his waist. You were startled and tried to ignore the drops of water running down his body.

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know you were here.” Mason spoke and you noticed he was red in the face and panting. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Are you feeling sick?” You got closer and Mason's face got redder, you looked at his body to see if there were any notable injuries but the only thing you noticed was... that he was excited. “Oh.”

The bulge was straining against the towel, and you felt your own face turn red as you caught Mason in an indecent moment. It was inevitable and you bit your lips, feeling your mouth go dry as other thoughts crossed your mind. Wild thoughts.

“Please, help me.” Mason whispered, placing his hand on his cock and moving it up and down, still with the towel. 

“Mason, we can't do this here, someone might come.” You scolded and approached him, looking back to see if anyone from the team was there. “Were you masturbating in the shower?”

“Because you had those boobs in my face during the pregame massage and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I spent the first half of the game so horny, it was hurting so much.” 

“You're so stupid, why didn't you wait until you got to the hotel?” Mason grabbed you by the arm and pulled you against him, knowing you couldn't resist him. 

“Because you're so fucking hot and all I thought about was fucking you the whole game, please I just came so hard, it felt like you sucked me off, I just want to cum again.” 

Mason pulled your hand down to the bulge on his hip and you sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to give up. You and Mason were like fire and gasoline, you exploded when you were together. You got along well, and Mason was desperate to fuck you. 

Who were you to say no, when you liked danger as much as he did?

You looked back at the empty locker room, but you knew anyone could walk in and that made you excited. Mason pulled you and took you to one of the showers, closing the door and pushing you against the wall.

“Mason, my clothes are going to get wet.”

“Shh, what's the difference if i'm going to make you wet too?” He ran his lips down your neck and pushed his body against you. The Manchester United uniform you were wearing was soft and so you could feel Mason perfectly. He took off his towel and threw it on the floor, and you drooled at the sight of his naked body, even though you had seen it many times before.

“Why are you so stubborn?” You pulled Mason's face towards you, so he kissed you. Mason is a good kisser, but your favorite kisses are when he's horny and wants to fuck you until your legs are shaking. 

Mason slid his tongue across yours and his hands were already pulling at your shirt, so he quickly took it off and left you in just your bra. He was going to throw the shirt on the floor but you forbade it, so you held it and moved away to hang it on the wall. And to tease him, you turned your back and took off your pants, sticking your ass out for him and showing off the black lingerie you were wearing.

Mason liked to tease, but so did you, and he went crazy when you did that.

As soon as you set your pants aside, Mason grabbed you from behind and pressed his erection against you, and you moaned without realizing it, but Mason quickly placed his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

“You don't want someone to catch us here, do you?” You threw your head back as Mason pressed you closer, placing your head on his neck as he trailed kisses down your shoulders and slid his hands down your body, unclasping your bra and taking it off.

Mason ran his hand over your breasts then pinched your nipple, making you close your eyes and sigh, feeling the heat grow inside you. He was so good with his hands, with his mouth, that you were always surprised by the things he did to you.

“Don't mess with me then, I don't want to get caught.”

“What's the point if it's not dangerous?” 

“Do your job, Mason.” 

Mason laughed and turned you to face him, kissing you once more. Mason brought his hands to the middle of your legs and pressed your clit through your panties with his thumb, and you sighed, because Mason knows exactly where to touch.

You brought your hand to Mason's cock and made slow movements up and down, hearing him sigh and kiss your neck. Mason was so sensitive. You pressed the slit of his cock slowly and Mason squirmed, bringing his hand to yours and helping you with the movements. 

“Yeah… fuck, this feels so good.” Mason grabbed your hand and pressed it against his cock, speeding up his movements and you felt it throb over your fingers. 

Mason let go of your hand and pulled your panties down, quickly bringing his fingers to your wet entrance, sliding his fingers through the soft slit and you sighed, bringing your mouth to his shoulder to moan without anyone hearing. 

Mason slid a finger inside you while you were still jerking him off, then you realized he was desperate and it was one of those days Mason didn't want games, just relief. You thought of him being turned on the whole game, in pain and wanting your hands or your mouth around his cock. 

“Did you think about me while you were playing?” You asked softly and pulled his lip with your teeth, then stopped the movements with your hand around his dick and pushed him against the wall. Mason sighed because of the cold wall.

Mason inserted another finger into you and increased his movements, watching as you closed your eyes and bit your lip, then you lifted one leg and Mason held it, helping you stand as you brought your hands to his hair and pulled.

“All the fucking time.” He responded and kissed you, then Mason took his fingers out of you and brought them to your mouth, making you suck both fingers. Mason felt his own cock throb at the sight, imagining it was his cock in your mouth. “I just wanted to fuck you and feel that wonderful pussy.”

You grabbed his wrist and put it around your neck, making Mason squeeze you. 

“Please just do this so I can get back to my work.” Mason raised an eyebrow and smiled, then turned you around so that your back was to him once more, placing you against the wall. You sighed as Mason pulled your hair and pressed his body against you, and you felt him bring his hand down to his cock and place it against your pussy, sliding and teasing you a little, until he thrust his entire length hard inside you. 

You moaned loudly as he filled you, so Mason quickly brought his hand to your mouth so you wouldn't make any noise. He pulled your head against him as he made quick movements from behind and filled you so well. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to hold on to the wet wall. 

“Oh, Mason.” You tried to moan, even with his hand covering your mouth. You had your eyes closed and felt Mason's breath in your ear, sending shivers down your entire body as you heard him sigh too.

“I've waited so long to fuck you like this.” He brought his other hand up to your hair, pulling once more while with the other he tried to keep you still, but the sound of his hips hitting your ass was loud enough for anyone to hear. “Hm- yeah, so fucking good.” 

Mason took his hand off your hair and slid it down your body, bringing it to your clitoris and making quick movements with his fingers. Having sex with Mason was good because he knew exactly what to do, because you spent time discovering each other's bodies the first few times. 

“Oh god.” You mumbled against his palm, and Mason pulled out of you only to thrust in again. Mason made you bend over a little more, then he picked up your shirt that was hanging on the door and handed it to you. 

“Bite this.” You did as he said, and Mason held your hips with both hands as he moved back and forth behind you, movements so fast just to cum and relieve himself of all the excitement that filled you both. “Yeah, good girl.” 

You rolled your eyes, Mason knows you don't like it when he says that, but he does it to tease you and there's nothing you can do to make him stop. A heat ran through your body, and Mason was making clumsy movements, so you knew he was close to cumming again. 

You bit your shirt harder, but it was no use when the sound of your skin touching was as loud as a moan. If anyone was outside in the locker room, they would know there were two people there.

Mason pulled you up again and pressed his chest against your back, he made a few more movements and when he held you against him tightly, you felt him cumming inside you. The orgasm exploded inside you and you felt your inner walls press against Mason's cock as you came at the same time as him, letting out sighs while still biting the fabric of your blouse.

“Oh, fuck, it gets better every time.” Mason whispered against your ear while you still felt him throb. You brought your hands to his neck, holding and removing the blouse from your mouth. 

“I know.” That's what you managed to say, still trying to recover. Mason was holding you and that was probably what was keeping you from falling, as your legs were shaking like jelly. 

Mason pulled his cock out of you and you felt the liquid dripping down between your legs. Mason brought his fingers between your legs and touched your sensitive clit, you gasped at his touch, but he just wiped some of what had dripped and ran it over your nipples. 

“You look messy.” He chuckled softly and left a kiss on your hair, still behind you. You smiled tiredly at him, then pulled away a little and turned to him, putting your arms around his shoulder and giving him a calm kiss. 

“It's your fault, I hope no one notices.” You grabbed your clothes and decided to put them on, knowing that you would soon go to the hotel and could take a peaceful shower, and who knows, Mason might join you again. 

Mason picked up the towel on the floor which was now completely wet, but he didn't care and wrapped it around his waist again. He waited for you to put on your clothes and gave you another kiss, pulling you against him, then Mason quickly fixed your messy hair. 

“There you go, no one knows that you had sex in the bathroom with number 7.” 

“You like bragging about that number, don't you?” Mason smiled at you, shrugging. He gave you one last kiss and opened the door, checking to make sure no one was around to see you. Mason nodded and you quickly left, grabbing your slippers and running out, walking slowly and quickly checking yourself in a mirror, then you ran back to the physical therapy area, leaving Mason behind.

Mason shook his head and smiled to himself, and even though once again you just had sex, he liked you and he knew that if things continued like this, he could fall in love. He pushed the thoughts away, but he was already wondering what time he would show up at his room for another round.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 3 of 12

Synopsis: rafe apology, wheezie is the best cameron, rainy confessions

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

---

The afternoon was steady at the country club. Y/N’s shift had been busy enough to keep her distracted, and with her coworkers absorbed in their own tasks, she’d managed to slip away a few times to shake off the throbbing pain left over from the boat incident. The last thing she wanted was pity—or worse, anyone worrying about her.

But when she turned around to restock a pile of guest towels, she froze. Rafe Cameron had just walked in with his family. She could see them through the grand glass doors of the club’s dining room, his parents trailing behind him, polished and imposing as ever. He looked over and spotted her before she had a chance to slip away, and his eyes narrowed as if he had something to say.

Y/N tensed. She still couldn’t shake off the anger from that night. Her bruises had faded, but her loyalty to the Pogues hadn’t. Whatever Rafe thought he had to say, she wasn’t interested. She busied herself with folding the towels, pretending she hadn’t noticed him watching her.

It didn’t work.

“Y/N,” Rafe’s voice was quiet but firm as he approached, hands shoved in his pockets, his posture almost… unsure. She’d never seen him like this—reserved and even a bit hesitant.

She didn’t look up. “I’m working,” she said bluntly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But Rafe didn’t budge.

“Just wanted to talk. About the other day.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “No need. You said enough then.”

He sighed. “Look, I know things got out of hand. I’m… sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I didn’t know my friends were going to—”

“Yeah? And what did you think would happen?” She finally looked up, her expression steely. “You show up, insult us, throw a few things around, and expect everything to be fine?”

Just then, a younger girl joined them, glancing curiously between Y/N and Rafe. It was his sister, Wheezie, her wide eyes betraying the same curiosity and innocence that Rafe seemed to lack. The irritation in Y/N’s chest softened just a little as she watched the younger Cameron—a reminder that not everyone in Rafe’s family carried the same smugness or sense of entitlement he did.

“Rafe!” Wheezie chirped, tugging on his arm. “Did you get the book I asked about?”

Rafe’s face softened as he looked down at his sister. He ruffled her hair lightly, which made her wrinkle her nose but also grin up at him. “Yeah, yeah, I did. I had to go to three stores to find it, but it’s waiting for you in the car.”

Y/N watched the exchange in silence, surprised to see this side of Rafe. He spoke to Wheezie with a gentleness she didn’t associate with him. Gone was the antagonistic, arrogant guy who had pushed her friends’ buttons time and again. Here, he was just… a big brother.

“Really?” Wheezie’s eyes widened in excitement. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Rafe shrugged, as if it was nothing. “It’s not a big deal, Wheeze. You asked, so I figured why not.”

Watching him interact with Wheezie, Y/N felt her defenses waver, if only for a moment. There was something unguarded in his expression, a hint of someone who wasn’t just the entitled, reckless Kook she’d come to know.

Wheezie turned her gaze to Y/N, her brows knitting together. “Hi. Do you work here?”

Y/N managed a small, polite nod. “Yeah, just part-time.”

The younger girl’s face lit up with interest. “Oh, that’s so cool. Do you like it?” 

Rafe ruffled Wheezie’s hair, his face easing into an unexpectedly gentle expression. “Not everyone loves work as much as you do, Wheeze.”

Rafe turned back to you and let out a resigned sigh and nodded, stepping back with his hands still tucked in his pockets. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” Rafe’s face softened, but he didn’t defend himself. “I get it. You don’t have to believe me. I just… wanted you to know.” 

“Well, I’d better get back to setting up,” Y/N muttered, sidestepping Rafe and allowing the Camerons to reunite with Ward and Rose. 

After Rafe walked away, Y/N kept herself busy around the dining room, making sure the place settings were perfect and double-checking that every glass sparkled. She glanced up as she heard Wheezie’s cheerful voice down the hallway, joking with one of the waitstaff. Rafe was still nearby, now talking with his younger sister.

Y/N watched from a distance as Rafe bent down slightly, giving Wheezie his full attention as she animatedly told him some story. He smiled at her, nodding and even laughing a little. It was such a simple, everyday thing, yet it felt oddly intimate—a glimpse of Rafe’s life that Y/N hadn’t expected to see.

Why was he… kind of sweet? She hated the thought as soon as it popped into her head, but she couldn’t shake it.

He looked up, and their eyes met for just a second. Flustered, Y/N busied herself with a table setting, heart pounding, wishing she hadn’t been caught watching him like that.

—

A few hours later, Y/N found herself in the storage room. /N made her way to the back, feeling the familiar ache in her ribs from the altercation on the boat. She needed to restock the shelves with glassware for the evening setup, but as she reached for the heavy box, a sharp pain shot through her side, forcing her to stop and catch her breath.

She steeled herself, attempting to lift the box again despite the discomfort. Just as she was bracing herself, a familiar voice interrupted her struggle.

“Need a hand with that?”

She turned, caught off guard to find Rafe leaning casually in the doorway, hands in his pockets as if he owned the place—which, she reminded herself, wasn’t far from the truth. The Camerons had invested heavily in the club, and Rafe’s family essentially had free rein over the entire building. Still, seeing him there felt strange.

“I didn’t ask for help,” Y/N replied, her voice edged with defiance as she let go of the box.

Rafe didn’t seem fazed by her tone. He walked over, looking her over as he reached for the box himself, easily lifting it and placing it on the upper shelf she’d struggled to reach.

“There. Now you don’t have to break a rib over it,” he said, a faint smirk crossing his face. But he softened, giving her an earnest look. “Look, about the boat… I really am sorry. Things got out of hand, and my friends—they can be idiots.”

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me.”

Rafe looked down for a second, his expression almost sheepish. “You have every right to hate me for that.”

She paused, watching him with guarded curiosity. “Why do you care, Rafe? I mean, it’s not like we’re friends. You’ve got your whole Kook thing going on with Topper and Kelce.”

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. I don’t know… Wheezie always says I could be better about that kind of thing.” He scratched the back of his neck, as if realizing he’d said too much.

Y/N couldn’t hide her surprise at the mention of his little sister. “Wheezie? So she’s the voice of reason?”

Rafe chuckled softly. “Most days, yeah. She keeps me in check.” He leaned against the shelf, his gaze thoughtful. “She liked meeting you, you know. Thinks you’re cool for working here. She’s a weird kid, but she’s got good instincts.”

A faint smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. The last thing she’d expected was to see Rafe’s protective side, let alone hear him talk about Wheezie like this. She softened, just a little, feeling the defenses she’d thrown up after the incident on the boat begin to waver.

“Your sister’s pretty sweet,” she admitted reluctantly, shrugging. “I guess you got lucky there.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his tone almost wistful. “Guess I did.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the unspoken tension from their past encounters ebbing, if only for a moment. Rafe glanced at her again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean for any of that stuff on the boat to happen. I get it if you still don’t trust me. But I really am sorry.”

Y/N studied him, the frustration and resentment from the boat incident lingering but softened by his sincerity. After a long pause, she exhaled, crossing her arms.

“Fine. Apology accepted,” she muttered, trying to sound casual. “But don’t think this changes anything.”

Rafe shrugged, a hint of that familiar smirk returning. “Didn’t expect it to. But maybe it’s a start.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, her feelings unsettled. She couldn’t shake the impression that, for once, Rafe didn’t seem like an enemy, and the realization left her with more questions than answers. 

—

Y/N’s shift ended later than usual, and by the time she left the country club, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. She started down the familiar path toward home, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the evening. The air was cool, and as she walked, her thoughts drifted back to the strange encounter in the storage room.

Rafe Cameron. Of all people, he was the last person she’d expected to see there, let alone be willing to lend a hand. His apology, his quiet mention of Wheezie—none of it matched the person she thought she knew. He’d always been a Cameron, a Kook, someone she’d learned to keep her distance from. But today had left her feeling unsettled, like there was something more beneath the surface she hadn’t anticipated.

Despite herself, she couldn’t deny that she was a little curious. What Wheezie saw in him, maybe, or how the two of them interacted away from the glaring reputation he carried. For a moment, she even entertained the idea that Rafe wasn’t as bad as she thought.

But then her mind went back to the people who mattered most to her—JJ and the rest of the Pogues. They’d been her family through every up and down, no matter what. And there were things about JJ, memories she could never share with anyone else, that tied her to him in a way no one else would ever understand.

Her pace slowed as a particular memory of JJ surfaced. She could picture it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

---

They were twelve, maybe thirteen, and it had been one of those stormy nights on the island when the rain fell in heavy sheets, and thunder rattled the windows. Y/N had been curled up on the couch, reading, when a faint knock sounded at the door. She knew it was him before she even looked. JJ always came to her when things got too heavy at home.

That night, he’d been soaked through, his clothes clinging to him, hair plastered against his forehead. She’d let him in, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and led him to the old beanbag chair in her room. He was quiet, almost too quiet, and she knew better than to press him for details. His father, Luke, had always been a volatile presence in JJ’s life—a shadow that loomed over him, especially when things were bad.

They’d sat there together in silence, listening to the rain and the distant rumble of thunder. After a while, he’d finally spoken, his voice barely a whisper.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back,” he’d said, his tone full of something both broken and resigned.

Y/N had reached out, taking his hand in hers. She didn’t have to say anything. The promise was there in the silence: I’m here, and I’ll always be here.

It was moments like those, when JJ had shown her pieces of himself he’d never let anyone else see, that had woven an unbreakable thread between them. They weren’t just friends—they were each other’s safe places.

---

As Y/N walked, she was jolted out of her memories of JJ by a soft drizzle that quickly built into a steady downpour. She pulled her jacket tighter, hunching her shoulders against the chill as the rain soaked through.

She picked up her pace, hoping she could get home before she was completely drenched. Just as she turned a corner, headlights swept across the path in front of her, and a sleek, dark SUV slowed to a stop. She squinted, wiping rain from her eyes, as the passenger window rolled down.

Rafe leaned over from the driver’s seat, brow slightly raised as he took in her soaked figure. “Need a ride?” he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Y/N stifled a sigh, a wry smirk pulling at her lips despite herself. “Thrice in one day, Cameron?” she called out. “Are you following me now?”

Rafe chuckled, leaning one arm over the wheel. “Guess I can’t shake you, huh? Or maybe you’re the one following me.” He glanced out at the rain. “C’mon, get in before you catch a cold. You’ll ruin the club’s good towels.”

She stood there for a moment, watching the rain hit the ground in heavy sheets, then glanced at him through the window again. “You know, I could be stubborn enough to walk home in this,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Then you’ll be stubborn and wet,” he shot back with a grin. “Get in. I’m not leaving you out here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, feeling the warmth of the car surrounding her immediately. She closed the door with a soft click, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before the windshield wipers kicked into motion.

She looked at him as he shifted into drive, silently grateful for the warmth, but still skeptical of the conversation that was about to happen. “Thanks for the ride,” she muttered, brushing water from her hair as she settled in.

“No problem,” Rafe replied, glancing over at her with a faint smile. The tension in the car was subtle, but Y/N could sense it. The day had been strange, and she wasn’t quite sure where she stood with him—if she was just another face, another person he had to deal with, or if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.

The car was quiet for a while, only the sound of the rain and the soft hum of the engine filling the space. Y/N didn’t mind it, though. There was something oddly comforting about being alone in the car with Rafe, despite all the history between their families and the awkwardness lingering between them.

Eventually, Rafe broke the silence. “You know, you’re pretty hard to get a read on.” His voice was low, almost like he was speaking to himself. “It’s like… you’re always in your head, trying to figure things out.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the observation. She shifted in her seat, slightly uncomfortable with the truth in his words. “I’m not really the open book type,” she replied after a moment, her fingers absently tapping on the seatbelt.

Rafe chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. “Yeah, I figured. But you’re not the only one who keeps things locked up. I get it.” He paused, looking out at the rain-slicked road. “But it’s exhausting sometimes, you know? Trying to keep everything together.”

Y/N turned her head to study him, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Rafe exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, we don’t always get to choose how things turn out. Like, with my family. Everyone expects me to be… I don’t know, something I’m not. They put all this pressure on me to be perfect. To do things a certain way.” He glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s like no one ever really sees me. Not for me. Just the image they want me to be.”

Y/N studied him carefully, noting the weariness in his voice. She didn’t respond immediately, unsure of how to react. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another side of Rafe Cameron who liked to keep people at arm's length?

Finally, she nodded, the words coming out more carefully than she expected. “Sounds like you don’t get a lot of room to breathe.”

He glanced over at her with a small smile. “That’s one way to put it.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and there was a brief pause in the air between them, charged with something unspoken.

Y/N shifted in her seat, her mind spinning with his words. “Well, I guess I get it,” she said softly. “We all have our own stuff. No one’s life is as easy as it seems.”

Rafe nodded, the faint smile still on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Anyway, you’re almost home.”

The ride felt quieter after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Y/N looked out the window, her thoughts a mix of confusion, curiosity, and something else that she couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden vulnerability she’d seen in Rafe, but there was a part of her that was intrigued. Maybe he wasn’t just the entitled, spoiled Kook she’d always assumed.

The car slowed as they reached her house, and Rafe turned off the engine. Y/N hesitated, not immediately unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Thanks again, Cameron,” she said, looking over at him with a small but sincere smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Rafe replied, his tone easy. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the door?”

Y/N’s lips curled up slightly, though she shook her head. “I’m good. Don’t want to ruin your streak of being a decent person.” She opened the door and slid out, but before she closed it, she turned back. “Take care, Rafe.”

“You too,” he said, his voice steady.

As the car pulled away, Y/N stood there for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the rain. She couldn’t help but wonder—maybe there was more to Rafe than she’d originally thought.

[dark-night-hero]

hi :'D man your writing of tragedy makes me want to cry and i love it

the first one i read from your works is zhongli losing y/n his mate because he wasnt there when a god wrecked havoc, so i got an idea.

neuvi's old old, and focalors invited him to be the iudex of fontaine right? during his early days in fontaine he struggled so much with interacting with humans. what if, he meets a human (y/n) who doesnt care that their new iudex had come from nowhere, and completely aids neuvi with communicating with humans and they form such a close bond that he doesnt understand, but right as he decides to go for it and ask yn he receives news of a new case ; yn's murder :D

i swear i did not mean for this ask to be long i am so sorry 😭

Humans can be cruel ang cunning creatures. If not then crimes and wars would have never happened. They are beings who are capable of hurting each other for the sake of their own gain. They would not hesitate to use each other and kill each other.

That is the human on Neuvillette, the new iudex of Fontaine. He does not even know why he accepted such invitation. In the first place, his hesrt was distant from the people. His imagine of them was quite... bad. Maybe that was just his discrimination, but the more he get to stand on trial, then more distorted his imagine of mortals become.

And then he met you. You who was a human, but different from the humans that the knew. You were just... different. You do not look at him with fear nor do you look at him with indifference. The way you act around him, you just act like yourself.

He met you in a rainy day, a rainy day after a trial. He was walking unbothered under the rain, when a figure with umbrella started walking towards him. "Ah- Ah! Mister-!" At first, he ignore it despite the softness of the voice whom was talking to him. "Wait-!" He was avoiding people as good as he can. He saw no good in interacting with them.

"Hey!" He was getting pissed to be honest, the rain was getting heavier and once in a while a thunder could be heard. He was ready to brush the person off when suddenly, the rain stopped. There was an umbrella over his head. "Are you crazy! At this rate you're going to get sick!" What? Neuvillette was stunned, letting himself get dragged by this mortal who does not seem to recognise him or did they? "Iudex or not, what are you thinking walking under the pouring rain? Here! Take this umbrella!" After going under some shade, he watch you left him out much thought, he was holding your umbrella as you only have your hands protecting you from the rain.

You are weird. Weird in a good way that does not make sense. Maybe it was a coincidence, but after thatm he kept bumping into you. In his walk in his way into the court and when he was coming back from the court. In the path he talk, you were always there talking to him even though he does not reply. Still, it was strange how with you, he felt comfort.

"It's raining again, and here you are walking under the rain. Seriously, what's with you?" ... "Rather than that, what's with you?" "Me? What's wrong with me?" "You're different from other." "What makes me different from them?" He did not answer after that, for he too does not know what to say. How weird.

You were pretty close to him. He does not know how, but many all those walk together with you was working. In the end, he found himself completely relax and comfortable around you. "Now that I think about it. I'm your only friend, no?" ... "gasp! For real?" "Humans... I found them rather hard to communicate with." After all those trials, he does not know what to think about humans anymore. That is why he found you weird. "Why? Why is that?!" You pout. "Well..." He stopped walking and ponder for a while. "Maybe it's because I have seen mostly the dark side of humans that I cannot seem to know what to think and say to them." He replied after a little while. "Hey! That's totally unfair! If you try hard enough to know more about us there is more than the dark side there is to see!" "Hmmm. I doubt..." "No! Seriously, you jut have to open up your heart to the people and you will see the goodness in their heart." You laugh. To be honest, he does know that. After all, there was no other ways he could describe you but a good person and perhaps, maybe even more than that. But to open his heart to the people other than you... "Right... I'll think about it."

Neuvillette always find it difficult to interact with people. Most of the time he had this instinct to stay away from them. Maybe it has something to do with their origins, he was a high being after all and humans. Humans are just... humans. Nevertheless from the moment he have met you, he knew he was doomed. Doomed to understand humans. From the moment he get to know more of you, the more he mindset starts to change. Maybe... maybe humans are not as bad a he thought them to be.

"Are you okay?" The cafe was not crowded. It was almost midnight when the two of you decided to go into one. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" You asked with a smile on your face. Nevertheless Neuvillette did not fail to notice the way your eyes quickly scan the surroundings, the way you seemed to be anxiously playing with your fingers. But then, you are looking at him dead in the eyes telling him you are fine. Maybe it was nothing. "It's getting dark, shall we go?"

That night, Neuvillette decided to give it a try. Maybe just as you said, humans are not bad as he thought they would be. Maybe just like you said, all he need to do is to open his heart to the people and see things in a different perspective. Thinking about it makes his lips curl up, thinking how joyful you would be if he were to tell you that in person. But.

Humans can be cruel ang cunning creatures. If not then crimes and wars would have never happened. They are beings who are capable of hurting each other for the sake of their own gain. They would not hesitate to use each other and kill each other.

"What is this?" His hands were shaking. "Earlier a citizen named (First name) (Lastname) was found mur-?! Monsieur?! Where-" He rush out the room. He run and run and run until he was under the heavy rain. Hands still clenching the piece of goddamn paper with such gruesome, unbelievable concent. No, he would not believe it. He could not believe it. You were just walking with him earlier this day, your smile as too real for it to be unreal. He had just seen you earlier so why? Why are you there sitting in your own pool of blood soaked under the rain?

He could not even approach you, he just watch there along with the other people watching the crime scene get cleaned up like it was nothing. People were looking at you with interest like yu were some kind of entertainment after all. It was the very first case of murder in Fontaine.

Neuvillette could hear nothing under the rain, he just stood there under the same spot even after tour body was taken away. Countless thoughts running in his head. Why? Why does it have to be you? Why do humans never change? Why does t has to be you? Why? Just fucking why you? You asked Neuvillette to give humans a chance. But how could he do that now that he knew humans were the very same being that took you away from him?

Neuvillette did not cry but he just stand there, eyes bloodshot as his lips leak blood from bitting so hard, hands curl into a fist. He was mad, so mad that he wanted to end things right now. He was starting to blame everyone, the world for taking away the only good thing that ever happened to him. In his eyes were those full of hatred and is ready to explode. He would never forgive-

Neuvillette felt a weak thug on his pants, for a moment, he looked down. The first thing he noticed was the blood stained water right in front of him before the child that was holding on into him. "Ha-hydro dragon. Do-don't cry." The child sniff, tears rolling down his cheeks upon saying so.

Neuvillette does not like humans. They are a cruel and cunning being who took away the love of his life before he could even realise it was love. At the same time, these humans were the being that his love one loves very much. "Don't worry." He slowly reach out and pat the little boy's head and magically, he was suddenly dried despite the pouring rain. "The hydro dragon doesn't cry." Just like that, the rain that seemed to be drowning in sadness stopped.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: I think I fucked up. Na bobo ata ako sa sunod sunod na quiz at exam kanina HAHAHA IT'S SO HOT IN THE PH HUHU

: No but seriously I think I fucked up making this asked. HAHAHAHHA did I do it right? Imma delete this na lang charot.

[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You (Series)

Origins! Logan X Fem!Reader

Plot: You're an army nurse, deep in the trenches of the Vietnam jungles, doing everything you can to keep yourself together, and the infantry that come into your tent. One day a soldier you aren't familiar with is brought in, and you find out something about him that leads to the start of an important relationship between you both that changes the course of your lives together...

A/N: This is basically the plot of Origins, but with my own spin on it with a Fem!Reader! This is my first time EVER writing an X reader, so comments appreciate! I plan to make this a series, but I wanted to put out a prologue first. Okay, it's not really a prologue and more like a chapter, and ended up being super long because I started writing and then didn't stop, and prologues are short- but IT'S MY STORY AND I'LL CREATE MY OWN RULES. The prologue is just how reader and Logan meet! (PS, there's eventual smut...Soon as I figure out how write it without getting embarrassed) Also, I'm still figuring out how to format on Tumblr, so please don't mind any funky design choices. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes somewhere in there

Warnings: Reader POV only (for now) Reader is female, also an army nurse, also a mutant- but powers aren't specified, blood mention, medical stuff talked about (like amputations), injury descriptions, Vietnam war and slight politics mention, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies i just googled things but I tried! implied reader could be religious but honestly there's nothing concrete to that. The only description of reader is her clothes and that she has hair, and wears makeup (lipstick). Reader has a hard on over Logan (she has a cruuuush), let me know if there's anything I missed!

Word Count: 4753

Series Masterlist

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Prologue:

Rain rapped lightly along the top of the large tent, creating a soothing sound throughout. A radio, playing an american music station, played a rock song, of some new band slowly making a name for itself, sat nearby on a metal cabinet. Stacks of manila folders and papers were disorganized and spread, almost completely covering a desk. A clock ticks rhythmically. The tent was lined with cots, tables, ratty mattresses, IV stands, and small tables covered with empty food trays, water canisters, and paper cups filled pills. Some of the beds were taken up by injured men, snoring and groaning as they attempted to sleep, only slightly more comfortable here in the medical tent than out in the muddy, rainy trenches. It was monsoon season in Vietnam, and you were at your wits end with paperwork in the middle of a small but-not-that-small camp, set up not far from an American fire support base.

You were sitting at the desk, half asleep as you attempted to fill out another request form for medical supplies. Halothane, Methoxyflurane, Morphine, Penicillin - are common medicines that you find yourself constantly having to restock. Of course bandages, gloves, needles, saline, tubing, multiple surgical supplies, other things you find yourself low on often too, considering the amount of amputations, large and minor, that happen around here. The medical tent that you currently reside in was a revolving door of soldiers, both American and Vietnamese, as well as nearby villagers who come for aid after the American presence near their homes led to viruses they can’t combat on their own, or other unfortunate injuries if war breaks out in their village. 

You were simply an army nurse, this was not your usual duty to perform, it was normally left to the assigned doctor of the camp. Your job was to assist the doctor, take care of the patients, administer medicine, IVs, change bandages, wet baths, feed them, and hold their hands as they cry for their momma and to God. You were busy enough, and the doctor, Doctor Frank Jones, who you were assisting had got shot by a stray bullet when out in the jungle, and had to be taken back to the main base, and back to the States. Due to a communication failure, his replacement ended up somewhere else, and transportation wasn’t an option due to the fighting happening.

 Fortunately, Doctor Jones had seen potential in you and believed you would be an excellent doctor one day - something you wanted to pursue after your service was fulfilled. He became a mentor, helping you study and learn medicine, and giving you skills that an average nurse- even an army nurse- wouldn’t usually have. Now, it was just up to you, and a few young army medics - teenage boys who were given no choice in going to war, and their skills were found best in assisting injuries on the battlefield, but they were eager to help, and their light-hearted jokes and company helped relieve some stress for you, especially with the pain you watch day in and out. You didn’t always have the luxury of their help though, as when patrols went out, they required at least one of them to join. It leads you to have to order around other grunts who have no idea how to even measure the proper dosage of cough syrup for themselves whenever a serious injury comes in, having to give detailed orders on what to do- usually just getting you the supplies and medicine you need, as the grunts are typically too distracted and upset over their fallen brother to assist you in anything medical and complicated. 

With being the only medical authority in the camp- as well as the only woman- you were well respected and popular. Your compassionate personality, and comforting presence, as well as your “Take-no-shit” attitude, led to soldiers of this camp visiting you all the time, usually making up excuses like having a cough, or a splinter in their finger, just so they could have the pleasure of your smile and encouraging words. The CO here made sure that they all treated you with respect, as a woman- and a nurse, so you never once felt unsafe- or unappreciated. Besides, a good section of this camp is young boys, too nervous about their situation to worry about trying to flirt with a woman like you. You're more of a comfort figure in these parts than anything else. Despite the stress and worry you face in day to day life, in the middle of the war, you were just happy to be doing something. You weren’t exactly a supporter of this war, but the moment you saw young boys lining up to go to war, something in you made you fiercely determined to follow, and do whatever you can to make sure those boys can go back home to their mothers and fathers.

The Rolling Stones was now playing on the radio, this was a band you were more familiar with - one of your favorites. Your foot tapped to the beat of the song, as you checked off another item you needed to be stocked up on- and hoped the supply chain doesn’t hold out on you again. For some reason, they seemed convinced that you must surely be lying about the supplies and will not send you the full amount of what you requested, leading you to storm into the CO’s tent on more than one occasion and rant to him with a few unsavory words about the supply lines commander.  He always listens though, and does his best to get you what you can- which you can appreciate. 

“Hey turn that up-” You heard one of the patients call out, and she smiles, reaching to the radio and turning the volume higher. She looked up from the desk to see one patient in bed moving his foot with the beat of the song, and the other, who asked her to turn it up, raised his arm in the air, hand in a fist as he rocked with the song. “This is a good one, hadn’t heard this one yet.”

“It came out in 65’ dumbass.” the other called out. “How’d you not know it?”

“I’ve been here since 64’ asshole! Think we always had access to a radio?”

They all chided each other, making you laugh as you shake your head, turning back towards your paperwork, determined to finish it today so you can send it out. It was rare you get these moments of quiet, so you appreciated it when you could. Things could turn on a dime in a second, especially since the fighting was getting closer to where this camp was set, and you’re hoping that you would get some help before anything serious came. You were just starting to get absorbed in the letter you were writing to the CO of the supply line, something slightly passive aggressive, when one of the soldiers yelled to you from outside. 

“Hey! Nurse! There’s some guys coming this way! They got someone injured-” 

You looked up, dropping your pencil, and turning the radio down as you readied yourself, brushing the pants of your army fatigues to straighten it out, and rolling your sleeves farther up your arms. You watched as the flaps of the tent get pulled open, as two men carry someone resting on a cot. You didn’t like how quiet the man was being.

“In here-” You lead them to another section of the medical tent, ment solely for treating wounded, in an attempt to keep something sterile and clean- well, as clean as you can get it. The soldiers set the man onto the table that sat in the center of the room, small trays and medical supplies, as well as a large overhead lamp that provided lighting to give you a better view at what you’re working on, surrounded the table. 

“We got ambushed on patrol, fortunately he’s the only one that got hit, a VC jumped out of the grass and stabbed him. We got pressure on the wound, and he’s still alive- for now.” 

You nodded as you went to a basin to pull on some sterile gloves, and walked over to examine the soldier. He was handsome- you couldn’t help but noticed but quickly put that out of your mind. A full head of deep beautiful brown hair, and a thick beard framed his face. He looked older, possibly in his mid 30’s. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, as his teeth were gritted and eyes cinched shut in pain. A wave of sorrow hit you, as you never liked seeing people in pain, it hits you bad enough to wonder why you chose to go into the medical profession of all things. Nevertheless, you push through, and began working on removing the uniform so you can see if you can save this one. At least he wasn’t screaming.

“Whats his name?”

“Logan ma’am. He’s Private First Class.”  The private responds, voice professional, but quickly drops into something softer. “He’s a good guy, and smart, usually quick on his feet, its surprising someone ambushed him…” 

“Need any help ma’am?” The other private who brought him in ask.

“No, I got it, thank you.” You tell them as you grab some sheers and began cutting through Logan's army garments. “Just make sure others are alright. See if any of the boys out there need water.”

They nodded, saluting- leading you to roll your eyes- and left your section of the tent, just as you manage to cut off the white wife beater he was sporting underneath his army garments, giving you a complete view of where he had been stabbed. You breathed a small sigh of relief, the wound appeared in the part of the torso where nothing vital was located and you managed to roll him to his side- seeing the stabbing didn’t go straight through, meaning this guy had a good chance of surviving, assuming he doesn’t succumb to infection…

“Alright Logan,” You turned you head to look at the man, who was still tense, eyes squeezed shut. He was somewhat awake, with his breathing and the way his muscles contracted, but he didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on, you still felt it important to talk to whoever you were treating though. You had to hold the hands of many scared soldiers, and quickly have learned the right things to say when comforting. “I’m going to take care of you, and in return, you’re going to need to be strong for me here.” You say softly but firmly to him, hoping that he’s hearing you through the pain, as you went and quickly grabbed a wet cloth out of a basin nearby, squeezing out the excess water, and gently placing it over his forehead, in order to soak up some sweat, and provide some more comfort to cool his skin that seemed to be burning hot. You couldn’t help but note that you don’t recognize him- you wouldn’t have forgotten his face that’s for damn sure, if he’d ever came to visit you, which most privates in this camp has at one time or another. You shook the curiosity out of your head, you had to move quickly, fighting the urge to wanting to take in the details of his face- his very handsome face, and moved to focus back onto the wound on his torso. 

You started by slowly removing the packed bandages, examining the blood flow to make sure nothing gushed, but he really wasn’t bleeding much anymore- actually, it didn’t look like he was bleeding at all now. Confused, you began cleaning the area of the stab wound so you could get a clear view of what you were looking at. At first, you thought you were losing your mind, you had to been because what you were seeing…

It was as if the skin was growing back, the wound, going inwards seemed to almost pop out, before the skin stitched together, going through what the bodys usual healing process would look like- except doing it within a matter of seconds. Turning from a bright red inflamed wound, into a baby pink scar bump that slowly faded off, you couldn’t even tell anything had happen there- except from the blood stained around it. You were blinking in disbelief, mouth slightly agape, before it suddenly occurred to you what you were just seeing.

Oh

Oh shit-

He’s a mutant.

You looked at the man, who’s muscles seemed to be relaxing now, as he took deeper breaths, the sweat on his face began to dry and disappear. You weren’t sure what to do at this point, you’re so used to every minute counting to fix someone, and this guy just healed himself in seconds!

And by god, he was so handsome. You thought that already, got to stop thinking about that. Turning away from his face, you went to examine where the stab wound used to be, gloved fingers gently pressing on the area- before the soldier- Logan, practically yelped- and sat up rushed on the table, startling you even more so than him, as you jumped back, hands in the air in surrender- as if you did anything wrong.

He was panting, the cold wet cloth you had placed on his forehead fell into his lap, as he looked around with wide eyes, pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring, he almost looked animal-like in this state. He turned to look at you. His eyes took you in, and suddenly you felt embarrassed by your army clothes you were sporting, green cargo pants, and a green collared button up shirt, tucked into your pants, making you feel less than girlish in them, despite their comfortability, your forehead was covered in sweat, and your hair pulled back in a bun neat bun with baby hairs sticking out everywhere. At least you had lipstick on to give yourself a little bit of a pop in your plain looking outfit. That should be the last thing you should be worried about. 

“You’re okay-” You finally found your voice, holding your hands out to him, “You got ambushed, but you’re okay now.” 

He blinked, then let out a small sigh, his whole self seeming to relax, his expression turned more human-like, as he faced forward, then looked down at himself. His hand went over where he had been hurt- seeing that there was no longer any injury there, although something in his expression told you he could still feel it. He swallowed, jaw tensing, before realization struck him, and his head snapped to look at you. 

“You saw- You know, don’t you?” He asks, his voice was deep, but sounded a little dry and scratchy. Still, it was enough to make your knees weak. 

You turned, going to a cabinet that held medicines and various other supplies, but on the counter was a pitcher of water and a few glass cups. Pulling off your gloves, you poured a cup from the pitcher, turning back and handing it to him. 

“Yeah. I saw.” You say cooly, holding it out for him to take. He looked at you, his deep and should you think gorgeous hazel eyes felt like they were piercing your soul; as if he was trying to decipher what was going on in your head, which you wish you knew as well because his stare was making your brain fuzzy; then glanced at the cup and finally took it from your hand, your fingers brushing together, making your heartbeat just a little faster, and you could feel a small heat blooming in your cheeks.

Jesus christ, pull yourself together 

You thought to yourself. You cleared your throat while he took several swigs of water, dropping his hand with the cup to his side as he took a moment to breathe once more. 

“Got anything stronger?” He asks, his low and smoother now, quirking a brow at you. You smiled, 

“Sorry, anything alcoholic you may want to drink in here, I gotta save for the guys who can’t heal themselves within minutes.” You say teasingly. “Supplies are low enough already.” 

You could see a small quirk of his lips, in something resembling a smile. He was still tense though, his eyes seemed to be somewhere else. He looked at you again,

“Does it…scare you? Me being a mutant?” He asks, his voice low

“Um….No?” You responded, confusion on your face, a small shake of your head, “Why would it?” 

He seemed relieved- and surprised by that answer, his shoulders finally relaxing, and he took another drink of water, eyes closing as he finished the cup, and handed it back to you, where you set it back on the counter. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he sat up more confidently, bending his leg as he brought his knee up to his chest, and propped his forearm over it, and leaned back on his other hand, taking a few deep breaths as he lowered his head down, then looked back up at you, his expression suddenly stern.

“You gonna tell them?” He asks. You knew he was referring to the army. Mutants weren’t well accepted in the world- much less the US army. The American government is actually sitting comfortably in the capital and writing out bullshit laws on mutant regulations, rather than trying to figure out a solution for the war here in Vietnam. You, a mutant yourself, albeit your powers were easy to hide and conceal, you still feared of a day that someone somehow discovers your secret. You’ve heard stories of American soldiers revealed to be mutants being killed, due to some bullshit excuse that they “lied” about who they were, and couldn’t be trusted. Whether those stories were true or fearmongering to keep mutants hiding their true identities, you didn’t know, but you certainly weren’t gonna find out yourself. You definitely wouldn’t put another fellow mutant, just trying to survive like you, in any sort of danger like that, even if he could probably just heal if he got put in front of a firing squad.

You pursed your lips together. Then smiled. “No. I’ll keep your secret.” You say. “All it means to me is that I have one less person to worry about around here. I was actually wondering why I hadn’t seen your face in this tent yet before, and now I know why.” 

He softened at that, but his face quickly fell back into something more serious and stern once more, which you’re starting to think might be his baseline. 

“You okay?” You asked, your voice was soft, and sweet, and borderline angelic for a man like him, who’s been in wars almost his entire life- which you don’t know about that. “That probably didn’t feel good, what happened.” He nodded. 

“M’ fine….Thank you.” He grumbles lowly, looking down at his hands. “I heard about you- actually I-I seen you around. You’re the only nurse on camp?” He asked, looking back up at you, there seemed to be a bit of curiosity in his voice. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty popular.” You say, in a teasing voice, blushing at the thought that he’s noticed you. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, you are quite literally the only woman around, save for the women in the village not far from here.  

“Must be busy.”

“Oh… Nah-” You playfully wave him off. “Some days are so slow, I’m actually bored.” You say matter-of-factly, but you both knew you were kidding. Another quirk of his lips. You smiled softly at him, but there was a voice in your head telling you, that since he doesn’t need your help, you should probably get back to helping the ones who do. Not that you want to leave, he was so damn handsome, you could stare at him all day. It wasn’t just his good looks though, his whole self drew you in with just a few words, and you find yourself wanting to get to know Logan, because the look in his eyes told you that he was someone worth knowing. Or maybe that was just your hormones talking. There was just this energy between you both, some type of unseen connection. His eyes trailed down you again, this time fully taking you in, stopping at your chest, and for a moment you were about to be completely turned off by this man being a pervert, but he nodded towards it. 

“Your necklace?” He asked. You looked down, oh, you thought to yourself. You pulled the string of your necklace, lifting the small coin that it held, string carefully wrapped around it so it doesn’t fall off.

“It’s a prayer coin. A priest gave it to me.” You explained. “It’s the archangel Raphael. A protector, patron saint of medical workers, like doctors, nurses.”

“Like you?” 

You nodded. He examined it, before you tucked it back under your shirt. You usually keep it hidden, but it must have fallen out while you were rushing. Now it was silent again, and you both weren’t sure what to do or say. 

“Well….” You took a breath, you glanced down at his abdomen, and suddenly your brows creased in concentration. 

“What?” He asked, by your sudden change in demeanor. 

“You can’t exactly walk out with no injury. Those two privates were pretty worried about you.” You say, putting your hands on your hips and pursing your lips together. You clicked your tongue.

“I can figure something out-”

“No no-” You held your hand up and looking around the room. “Those privates brought you in, there’s probably an incident report written right now, not to mention I have to write a report on your injuries too-” you explained. “I mean, how are you gonna explain it if you walk out, completely A-okay?”

Logan shrugged simply. “I can think of something, it isn’t the first time this happened.” You rolled your eyes. Men. 

You rather not waste bandages on a pretend injury, but you need someway to get his injury to look believeable, thats when you spotted your answer. His white tank top that you had drop to the floor, it was good enough to wrap around him, making him look as if he’s been all fixed up from his stab wound. The shirts cotton texture looked similar to the pattern of a bandage, and was good enough, especially considering no one would be looking hard enough at his wound anyway.

After a few minutes of “fixing him up” with your solution to keep his regenerative abilities a secret, you stood back examining the fake bandage/shirt that you tore up and wrapped around his torso, using bandage pins to hold it in place. Then shrugged. 

“It’s good enough.” You say. “You’re not going anywhere anyway, so it’s not like you’ll raise a bunch of questions. It looks like you have an injury, it’ll match the incident and medical report. You won’t get found out.”

“I’m not going anywhere?” He raised a brow. 

“Nope. You were injured, which means I gotta keep an eye on you. So you’ll be sleeping here, and you’ll have to pretend you’re in pain, whining and moaning and all that. Give it your best performance.” You encourage. “Take it, not many around here get a chance to get a break like that.” 

He looked at you, pondering what you were offering him- well, you weren’t offering, he was going to have do it because you weren’t gonna risk him revealing himself as a mutant, which for some reason you were now more concerned about than he was. A small smirk appeared on his face, “That mean you’ll be waiting on me then, hand and foot?”

You smiled, “Don’t get ahead of yourself soldier.” You say teasingly. “You can stay in here a little longer, rest up, maybe shed some tears to make it look like you’re suffering tremendously.” You added a little flair as you brought your hand up to your forehead, pretending to faint, before turning and walking away to leave the room, now knowing you really needed to get back to work.

“I don’t think I need to shed any tears.” He mutters, but there was amusement in his tone though. “Hey bub” He called after you as you were about to leave the room, lifting the tent flap, but you stopped to look at him. “Why are you seen keen on helping me out? Making a plan to make sure people don’t find out what I am…Seems like too much trouble to go through for you.” He frowned. 

“Well…” You dropped the flap of the tent, “Us mutants gotta stick together, right?” Logan looked surprised at first, eyes widening a bit, and jaw slacking, but then a soft, genuine smile stretched across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling, leaving you thinking that was a smile you never wanted to go without again. Smiling back at him, you winked, and turned back before stopping and looking at him again, “Plus, you seem worth the trouble.” You add, before finally leaving him to himself.

Maybe it was too much trouble. You could leave Logan to figure it out himself. You two didn’t know each other, you weren’t friends. Yet you, the compassionate self you are, and also slightly bull-headed, was not going to leave Logan hanging alone. Maybe it was the fact that you were both mutants that urged you to help him, let him know that someone like him out there has his back, even if he had many brothers at his side watching his back too. Or maybe it was because you felt an undeniable pull towards him- and him towards you. 

While he stayed in the medical tent with you for about a week, the standard time for stitches to stay in. While staying, you both got to know each other better. You found a deep friendship with Logan quickly, both of you having an understanding of each other, not just as mutants but as individuals as well. You were able to laugh, usually at his snarky remarks to the other privates and even his comments to the higher-ups, surprising you in how he likes to occasionally challenge authority despite how quiet and reflective he can be some moments. You saw him as brave, smart, and he was protective, always going first in patrols, and keeping an eye on the younger privates. He’d hid it well, rarely making it seen, but he had a compassion that made your heart swell, especially when you came across him comforting a young private who was homesick and scared. He had a good instinct that seems to attest to his mutation- which he later revealed the full aspects of it to you later on, claws and everything- which did nothing but fascinate you, leading to a full acceptance of him he hadn’t felt or seen in a long time. He’d visit you in late nights when he wasn’t assigned guard patrol, bringing you something to eat or drink, and you’d both quietly talk about your lives, and how’d you ended up there. He listened to you complain about the lack of supplies, and how you got into medicine in the first place. You’d learn of his brother Victor- another Private First Class there at the camp, who you quickly learned a distaste for after meeting him, and how old they both really were- leading you to bombard him with history questions, that he simply answered “I wasn’t there bub.” There was an unspoken yet mutual physical and spiritual attraction between you both, but before anything could have gone further in your relationship, down in the thick muddy jungles of Vietnam, you suffered a similar fate as your mentor Doctor Jones. A stray bullet having shot through your shoulder while you were out, attempting to help a young private who’s leg unfortunately got caught in a dirt trap. You were okay, but orders sent you home on a medical discharge, saying you fulfilled your duty to the States. 

You missed Logan, and you also found yourself struggling to find your place back in civilian life again, the stress and the trauma of the things you saw weighed heavy in your mind, not to mention the worry you felt over Logan's safety while he was still over there. The only thing easing your worries was the letters you wrote to each other, until one day his letters stopped coming, and your own got returned back to you with no explanation, leaving you in fear of the worst….