#i can barely deal with my own depression | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 19 days ago

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Idk if you write about this topics since they are really sensitive, but it is something I’m currently struggling with and I would like to see how lando would react after finding out that the reader has been hiding a her struggle with mental illness and attempts of ending her life. Once again I know how sensitive this request is but I started reading your work and fell in love with it and thought that you would write this beautifully

Seasons change | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── This was a pretty difficult one-shot to write, even though it's not very lengthy. I know that mental health is still a topic of actuality that we all deal with in one way or another. The only thing that I want you guys to remember after reading this, is that you are not alone. I know that it may sound like a broken record, but it's true. Each of us has a Lando in our lives who will care enough to stand by you without ulterior motives or conditions. And if you really feel like you don't, I can be him for you. My DMs and ask box are always open, so don't hesitate to reach out if you need someone. You matter in all your forms 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

☆ summary ──── He's been away for work for a while now, but when Lando comes home to find his girlfriend at her lowest, they have to learn the hard way that love is about sitting with each other in the dark, not just chasing the light.

☆ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

☆ rating ──── mature

☆ category ──── F/M

☆ word count ──── 2.6k

☆ date ──── Jan. 11, 2025

☆ warnings ──── 16+, established relationship, soft!Lando, mental health struggles, depression, suicidal ideation, mention of alcohol consumption and pills, emotional distress, vulnerability, guilt and healing, non-sexual nudity (bathtub scene, including tenderness and intimacy).

Please, proceed with caution and prioritize your well-being. If you or someone you know is struggling, these are some of the resources I personally used for years now & I think (and hope) that it might help you at some point:

☆ MENTAL HEALTH APPS

Calm

7 cups

BetterMe

☆ INSTAGRAM ACCOUNTS

idontmind

thefabstory (also an app)

getreformative (currently inactive, but great resources posted there)

talkspace

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THE APARTMENT IS too quiet tonight. A space that once felt like a sanctuary, now seems to close in on her, the walls pressing closer with each passing hour.

To anyone looking in, her life might appear perfectly ordinary, even enviable. She has a stable job that she loves, a couple of friends who care in their own way, and Lando. Lando, with his boundless energy, his boyish grin, and his unwavering ability to see the good in her even when she struggles to find it in herself. But beneath that polished surface, there’s a darkness she’s been hiding for as long as she can remember.

She’s not really sure when it happened, or what caused her to lose her spark. Most of the times, she thinks that she’s always been like this, but that can’t be right. Although, at this point in time, it went on long enough that she learned to wear masks and mimic people’s gestures. It’s exhausting, but it’s easier than explaining why some days she can barely drag herself out of bed, or why her mind feels like a storm she can’t escape.

Lately, the same storm has been relentless. Lando’s been away for weeks, hopping from one race to another, his life a whirlwind of fast cars, tons of people, and flashing cameras. She’s proud of him, of course, but his absence leaves a void she can’t seem to fill on her own, no matter how many phone calls they share.

She knows it’s not his responsibility to fix her, but without even knowing it, Lando does it every time he looks at her. In those moments, pieces of her heart are welded back together, giving her hope that one day, maybe, it will be whole again.

Of course, things aren’t that easy.

She’s always been a loner, someone who enjoys her own company more than the chaos of others. This is why she doesn’t go with Lando to all of his races. Over time, they’ve developed their own rhythm, and it only works when they both put in the effort to be together. However, she knows that he often works for both of them. She also knows that it’s not right to let him do this, but she doesn’t know how to stop.

But being alone isn’t the same as being lonely, and lately, the loneliness feels like it’s swallowing her whole. She tries to keep busy, to distract herself with work or a new book, but the dark thoughts always find her; a cycle she can’t break. They usually creep in at night when she’s most vulnerable, whispering lies she can’t ignore.

You’re a burden.

He’d be better off without you.

Everyone would be better off without you.

In spite of everything, she knows she’s lucky, though. She has a roof over her head, food on the table, and someone who loves her. And, somehow, knowing that only makes her feel worse. Most of the times, the guilt is suffocating — a heavy weight that presses down on her chest until she can’t breathe. She’s tried to push the thoughts away, to drown them in work or meaningless distractions. She tried to be grateful. But tonight, like many other nights before, they’ve won.

When Lando steps into the apartment, the soft click of the door is echoing in the stillness. It’s late — later than he’d hoped — and he assumes she’s already asleep, because he texted her hours ago to let her know he was on his way, but there had been no reply.

Dropping his bag quietly by the door, he toes off his sneakers and glances toward the dimly lit living room. The faint glow of the city skyline filters through the curtains, casting muted shadows across the floor. He moves carefully, not wanting to wake her, with a simple plan in mind: slip into bed, wrap his arms around his girlfriend, and fall asleep to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

But something feels off.

On his way to the bedroom, he spots the balcony door slightly ajar. A cool breeze sneaks through the crack, carrying with it the faint scent of something acrid. He pauses, his brow furrowing as he approaches the glass door.

That’s when he sees her.

She’s out on the balcony, her back to him, legs dangling dangerously over the edge. For a moment, he’s frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he’s seeing. Then his gaze shifts, taking in the scene: some things are knocked over on the small table by the door, a small flacon of pills alongside a half-empty bottle of wine, and all the mess. The realization hits him like a physical blow, and his heart starts pounding in his chest.

But then, panic grips him as he slides the door open, stepping out onto the balcony. The sound startles her, and she turns her head slightly, her expression distant and unfocused. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s an eerie calmness about her that chills him to the core.

“Hey, is everything okay?” asks Lando, his voice soft as he crouches beside her, careful not to make any sudden movements. “What… baby, what are you doing out here?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, her gaze drifting back to the city below. The silence stretches, each second feeling heavier than the previous one.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his voice slightly cracking. His eyes dart back to the table, to the pill bottle and the wine, and he feels a surge of anger mixed with fear. “Is this—fuck. Did you take these?”

She shakes her head, a small smile curving in the corner of her mouth. “I’m so tired, love,” she whispers finally, her voice shaking over the hum of the city.

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut, and he’s suddenly aware of how fragile she looks, and how close she is to the edge. His hands shake as he reaches for her, gently gripping her arm. His heart beats so hard that he feels it throughout his body — his ribcage, in his throat, in the hand he tightens around her, to make sure he’s holding her with enough force.

“Okay. That’s okay,” he says, his tone soft but urgent. “Let’s go inside, yeah? I’m tired too, we can rest together. What do you say?”

“No… no, it’s not—” she tries to speak, but her brain is clouded by a mental fog, and everything around her moves too quickly for her to catch up.

“Come on, can you step back? Please. For me?”

His last question is what jolts her back to reality. For him? She would do anything for him. Lando knows that, and she soon realizes that he is using it to emotionally blackmail her. He always does that, and it annoys her.

She raises her head to look at him, her tired eyes meeting his, and for a moment, Lando thinks she’ll comply. But then, she pushes his hand away, a trace of betrayal crossing his face.

“No. It’s pretty out here,” she says, gazing down at the world that simply exists under her feet. The distance makes her stomach clench, knowing that all it takes it’s a small misstep for everything to end. Still, she doesn’t move an inch.

“I see that, love,” he agrees, “But I want to talk to you, and I can’t do that unless I make sure you’re safe. Did you… do this before?”

She nods slowly, refusing to look at him.

At that, Lando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm in his chest. He knows her enough to know when to push and when to give her space, only this time around, he’s met with a weird combination of both. Luckily, his body decides what to do before his mind agrees to it and, cautiously, he climbs up to join her on the edge, his hands gripping the cold railing as his pulse pounds in his ears.

Her head snaps toward him, her expression instantly shifting, panic flashing in her eyes. “No, what are you doing?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“I’m with you,” he murmurs, his voice tender, laced with fear he’s desperately trying to hide. “If you’re staying here, then so am I.”

She blinks, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words come. Instead, her gaze softens, the wine-induced haze in her eyes clearing. Slowly, she lets out a shaky breath and sits down on the narrow ledge, her hands gripping the edge. Lando follows her lead, sitting close but careful not to crowd her, his knee brushing hers. He hesitates for a moment before gently reaching for her hand, and he exhales relieved when her fingers close around his, grounding both of them.

They sit in silence for a moment, the distant city lights flickering around them.

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know?” he finally whispers, his voice barely audible, breaking the quiet. “I never… If something happens, I don’t want to have to miss you all the time—”

“Lando, I know,” she cuts him off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she continues, staring at their joined hands. Her voice is small, guilt creeping into her tone.

He nods, looking at her, “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Lando says gently. “I know I’m away a lot, but if you need me, I’ll do anything.”

Her grip on his hand tightens slightly just as she turns to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, tears pooling but not yet falling. “It’s not your fault, Lan. It’s me. I… don’t even know. There’s nothing wrong, but at the same time, nothing’s quite right, either.”

He shakes his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Don’t apologize for feeling. It just makes me think now, because I thought you trusted me,” says Lando, his words cutting through her like a knife through butter. “I trust you,” he adds, almost like pointing it out.

She knows he does, her mind instantly replaying the moments in her mind, the times he’d come to her with his struggles. When a race didn’t go his way, and he doubted everything he’d worked so hard for. When social media was brutal, tearing him apart with words that left invisible scars. When he felt hated and couldn’t understand why. He always talked to her, shared his pain, his fears, his insecurities. He let her in, trusted her completely. And now, here she was, shutting him out when he was only trying to do the same for her.

“Don’t say that…” she starts, but her voice catches, and her breath hitches. “I’m trying.”

“I know, baby. I know,” Lando says gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Can we, please, just go inside?”

The tears she’s been holding back for too long finally slip free, carving hot, silent paths down her cheeks. She looks up at him, her lips trembling as she whispers, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His expression softens, and without hesitation, he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, mostly to show her that she didn’t. The gesture is so simple yet so full of love that it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over her.

Lando doesn’t let go of her hand as he gently helps her to her feet, guiding her back inside the apartment. The night air clings to their skin, but it’s the quiet inside that feels even heavier. He doesn’t say much, just keeps her close, his touch steady and grounding as they make their way to the bathroom.

A little uncomfortable now, she leans against the doorframe, watching as Lando moves around, carefully. He runs the water, testing the temperature with his hand, adding just the right amount of bath salts from the container on the shelf. The pale lavender-scented steam begins to fill the space, creating a safe bubble for both of them.

When Lando finally looks back at her, his expression is warm and inviting, somehow hopeful. He steps closer, reaching out to gently cup her cheek, wiping away the tear stains that remain.

“You’re everything to me,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over her skin before his hands move to the hem of her hoodie.

She doesn’t protest as he carefully lifts it over her head, his touch tender, his eyes never leaving hers. For a moment, she stands there, feeling vulnerable under his gaze, but there’s nothing but love in his expression.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches out to return the gesture, undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one. His eyes stay locked on hers, silently reassuring her, grounding her in the best way possible. By the time she pushes the fabric off his shoulders, the weight in her chest feels a little lighter.

They step into the bath together, the warm water enveloping them like a soothing embrace. She settles between his legs, her back against his chest, and his arms come around her instinctively. There’s no rush, no need for words. It’s just them, surrounded by the quiet hum of the water and the soft glow of the candles Lando had lit earlier.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment before he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Promise you’ll talk to me next time?” he asks, his voice small but steady. “I know things won’t change overnight, I don’t expect them to. But I need to know you understand that I’m here for you. That I love you enough to listen, and feel everything with you.”

The words settle in her chest, heavy but necessary, like the first raindrops of a storm. For the first time in what feels like forever, she sees beyond the swirling chaos in her mind. The weight of his love and understanding wraps around her like the warmth of the water they’re sitting in. And then it hits her.

How life itself is the changing of seasons, a constant push and pull — a constant chaos. Sometimes, the sun will break through, lighting everything in gold. Other times, it will rain so hard she won’t see the way ahead. But Lando’s right. It will get better again. Then worse. And then better again. That’s the way it is for everyone. A relentless tide of ups and downs, joy and pain, hope and disappointments.

As she leans back into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, she realizes the most important thing: it isn’t always black or white. Sometimes, it’s a hazy gray — a space where the lines blur, where the answers aren’t clear, and the path you find yourself on feels impossibly difficult to navigate. But it’s in that in-between, in the murky middle, that having the right person beside you matters the most. Not to pull you into the light or demand you leave the shadows, but to sit with you in the dark, holding your hand, letting you know you’re not alone.

She swallows hard, her throat tight, but not from sadness this time. “I promise,” she finds the strength to whisper. Her breath catches, and she turns her head slightly to meet his gaze, tears still pooling in her eyes. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I—”

“You deserve everything, my love,” Lando assures her, his lips brushing her temple, before placing a tiny kiss there. “And I’ll make sure you get it.”

His definitive tone sends shivers down her spine.

She closes her eyes, feeling the water ripple softly around them, and holds on tighter, knowing that no matter what storms may come, the most important thing is that they won’t lose each other’s touch.

And that’s everything to her.

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

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solelifauna · 3 months ago

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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.3

When depression hits hard.

Later that day, you and your friends gathered at the usual spot behind the school—an old, forgotten storage shed that had become your makeshift meeting place. It was secluded enough to keep your conversations private, and right now, privacy was exactly what you needed.

You all sat in a circle, the air heavy with unspoken tension. The reunion earlier had been emotional, a moment of pure relief in the chaos, but now reality was crashing down on all of you. The weight of the situation pressed on your shoulders as you faced your friends, each of them looking as shaken as you felt.

“How the hell are we going to do this?” Hallie muttered, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “We have to stop the world from being taken over, fight off Demogorgons, and—” she gestured wildly, “go to school like nothing’s wrong? My mom’s already noticed I’m acting different. I’ve barely been back a day, and she’s asking questions.”

You winced. Hallie had always been the one who had a close relationship with her family, and hiding things from them wouldn’t be easy. If her mom was already suspicious, it was only a matter of time before she started digging deeper. “What did you tell her?” you asked quietly, dreading the answer.

“I told her I wasn’t sleeping well, which, I mean, isn’t a lie.” Hallie sighed. “But it’s more than that, you know? She can tell something’s off. I can’t just pretend everything’s fine. I’m… different. We all are.”

Connor, who had been sitting silently up until now, finally spoke up, his voice shaky. “My family knows something’s wrong too,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I had a full-blown panic attack yesterday when I heard explosions on the TV. It was just a show my brothers were watching, but… I freaked out. My parents had to spend half an hour calming me down and coaxing me out from under the table.”

His face was pale as he recalled the moment, and you could see his hands trembling slightly. The trauma of being in an active warzone, of watching the world fall apart, had left scars that none of you could hide. It wasn’t just the physical scars from fighting; it was the emotional ones, the kind that didn’t heal easily.

You all exchanged grim looks. None of you had really considered just how hard it would be to hide what you’d been through. Surviving in an apocalyptic world, facing death at the hands of the people who were supposed to protect you, and then actually dying—it was too much. Too much to carry, and now you were back, thrust into your old lives, expected to pretend like none of it had happened.

“I guess we didn’t think about the trauma,” Weston murmured, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we didn’t deal with it before… I mean, fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly easy on any of us, mentally or physically.”

He was right. In your previous life, the constant battles with Demogorgons had already left you scarred. You’d all had nightmares, sleepless nights, and moments of pure terror even back then. But now? Now there was another level of horror you had to contend with. The memory of your skull being crushed by your own father, the feel of death creeping in—it wasn’t something you could just shake off.

“And now we have even more to deal with,” You said grimly. “It’s not just the Demogorgons. We have to stop Omni-Man and Invincible from taking over the world. How the hell are we supposed to do that while we’re still dealing with all of this?”

You didn’t have an answer. No one did.

“It’s not fair,” Weston muttered, and all eyes turned to him. “Why does everything always fall on us to solve? We’re just kids! Freshmen in high school, for crying out loud! We should be–I don’t know, playing, going to parties, worrying about homework and who’s crushing on who.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Instead, we’re stuck trying to save the world, fighting monsters, and keeping it together so our families don’t figure out we’ve been dead. It’s not fair.”

His words hung in the air, the truth of them sinking into everyone’s minds. It wasn’t fair. Not in the slightest. You were all supposed to be worried about grades and fitting in, not about war, apocalypse, and death.

You sighed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It’s not fair. None of this is. But we don’t have a choice.”

“We never really did, did we?” Hallie said quietly. “Even before this—before all the time travel and Viltrumite stuff—fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly a normal kid thing.”

You sighed. He had a point. None of you had ever really been kids, not for a long time. While everyone else your age had been worried about tests and dances, you were out there fighting for your life, battling creatures that no one else even knew existed. The things you had seen, the things you had done—no child should have had to face that. You hadn’t felt like a kid in years.

“Feels like we never got to just be kids,” Connor murmured, his voice strained. “We’re always the ones stuck with the impossible. Every time, it’s on us to fix everything.”

You bit your lip, the anger inside you simmering. It was like the universe had decided to heap every impossible task on your shoulders, expecting you to carry the weight of the world while everyone else went on living their normal lives, oblivious. And now, even with the chance to live again, to be back in time, it still wasn’t really your life, was it? Not with everything you knew.

You were forced to be soldiers in a war that hadn’t even started yet, while everyone else was blissfully unaware of the destruction to come.

“I’m just tired,” you admitted, your voice softening, the exhaustion you felt finally bubbling to the surface. “We should’ve gotten to feel normal, at least for a little while.”

The group fell silent, the truth of your words settling in. No one argued with you because they all felt it too. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. None of you had been kids in a long time, even though, by all rights, you should’ve been. Life had robbed you of that, forcing you into roles you never should have had to take on.

“But,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, “it doesn’t matter how tired we are. We don’t have the luxury of being kids anymore, do we?”

Hallie looked down at her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We haven’t been kids for a while.”

You nodded, looking around at your friends—your teammates, your family. “And I guess we’re never going to be. So we have to handle this the way we always do.”

“We fight,” Weston said quietly, but with conviction.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed, though there was a distant, haunted look in his eyes. “We fight.”

It wasn’t fair. It never had been. But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You’d survived worse before, and now you had a second chance. As much as you wished things could be different, the reality was clear. The world needed saving, and once again, it was up to you to do it.

The conversation eventually shifted from emotions to logistics. You all knew what needed to be done, but the how of it was trickier. “We need to tip off the Guardians,” you said, glancing at your friends, who nodded grimly in agreement. “The sooner they know what’s coming, the better.”

Hallie bit her lip, thinking it over. “But it can’t come back to us,” she said, her voice firm. “If the government finds out it was us, we’re screwed. They’ll lock us down, probably treat us like we’re a threat or something.”

Weston nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, and if Omni-Man and Invincible find out…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence. You all knew what would happen. If your father and brother found out you were behind the warning, they’d kill you without hesitation. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy about this.

“So we’re agreed then,” Connor said quietly. “No one can know it’s us. We have to figure out a way to warn the Guardians without leaving a trace. But… how?”

You all sat in silence for a moment, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. It wasn’t just about warning the Guardians—it was about doing it in a way that kept all of you safe. There were so many risks, so many things that could go wrong. You’d have to plan carefully, every detail accounted for.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, though you didn’t sound nearly as confident as you wanted to. “We just… need more time. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

Hallie sighed. “Yeah. But we can’t wait too long, either. The Guardians don’t have much time. We don’t have much time.”

Connor let out a shaky breath. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

The conversation continued for a little while longer, but there were no concrete solutions yet. The weight of everything was heavy, and the longer you talked, the more overwhelming it felt. Finally, you all came to an agreement—you’d figure out the details later. Right now, it was getting late, and school was looming over you like a grim reminder of the double life you had to live.

You hated it. The thought of going back to school, pretending everything was fine, acting normal when nothing was normal anymore. But for now, that’s what you had to do.

With another emotional goodbye, none of you really ready to leave each other, you finally parted ways. It was always hard to say goodbye these days, even though you knew you’d see each other the next day. Still, after everything you’d been through, every goodbye felt a little too final.

As you made your way home, the cool night air helped clear your mind a bit. But as you approached your house, you glanced at the time on your phone and cursed under your breath. It was late—too late for you to just walk through the front door without raising suspicion. You’d have to sneak back in, the way you’d done so many times before.

Luckily, your bedroom window was right next to a large tree, its thick branches stretching out toward the house. You’d used it countless times to sneak out during the night—mostly for Demogorgon hunts, other emergencies, or just moments when you needed to breathe. No one had ever noticed you were gone before, and you hoped tonight would be the same.

You scaled the tree easily, slipping through your window with practiced quietness. Your room was dark and empty, just as you’d left it. You landed on your feet with a soft thud, shutting the window behind you and breathing out a sigh of relief. Another successful sneak-in.

As you peeled off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, your mind buzzed with everything that had been said tonight. The Guardians. The warning. Your double life. You were exhausted, but sleep didn’t feel like an option. Your thoughts raced too fast, the weight of everything too heavy to ignore.

But you’d have to manage. You had school in the morning, and you had to act like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t living on borrowed time in a world that had no idea what was coming.

You stared at the ceiling, the darkness of your room feeling more suffocating than comforting.

We’ll figure it out, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t help wondering if there’d be enough time for that.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Your mind was racing with everything you had discussed with your friends—plans, risks, the weight of the world. You tossed and turned for hours, until at some point, exhaustion finally claimed you around 1 AM. But it wasn’t peaceful. Your sleep was fitful, plagued by nightmares that wrapped around your mind like chains.

Suddenly, you jerked awake, a small scream ripping through your throat. You bolted upright, cold sweat drenching your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to escape. For a moment, you couldn’t remember where you were—your mind still trapped in the vivid images of your dreams. It took a few seconds to realize you were in your bedroom, safe in the quiet of the night.

You took a few deep breaths, clutching your chest in a futile attempt to calm your racing heart. Your hands shook slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to shake off the lingering terror of the nightmare. It had been so real, like you were reliving every moment of your death, your father’s hand crushing your skull all over again.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold floor as you nudged the door ajar. You peeked through the crack, listening for any signs of movement in the house. The hallway was dark and still, and after a few moments, you sighed in relief. It seemed like your scream hadn’t woken anyone up. The last thing you needed was to explain why you were screaming in the middle of the night.

You checked the time on your phone. 3:17 AM.

With a frustrated groan, you realized there was no way you were getting any more sleep tonight. You felt too wired, too shaken, the adrenaline still rushing through your veins from the nightmare. Instead of lying back down and risking another round of restless tossing, you decided to head downstairs.

The kitchen was your destination, and you had every intention of making yourself a cup of tea or coffee—anything to calm your nerves. But once you made it to the dining room, something inside you crumbled. You found yourself sitting down at the table instead, your head falling into your hands, elbows resting on the worn wood surface.

You zoned out, your mind going blank as you stared ahead, your hands cradling your head like you were trying to hold yourself together. You felt small. Pathetic, even. You couldn’t even bring yourself to make coffee, let alone deal with the impossible task that lay ahead of you. Everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming. For all the strength you had shown fighting Demogorgons and surviving the apocalypse, right now, in this quiet house, you felt more fragile than ever.

Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching.

From the shadows of the staircase, Mark stood silently, his eyes locked onto your hunched figure as you sat there, lost in your own world. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t move. He just watched.

From where he stood, you looked so small, almost frail. It was crazy to him that the two of you were even related, considering how different you were. You, with your fragile human body, your easily bruised emotions. He, on the other hand, had grown stronger, more powerful. The gap between the two of you had widened so much over the years that, in his eyes, you weren’t even in the same league anymore.

But that’s what Mark had always obsessively loved about you. His precious little sister. You were human, weak, and that meant you relied on him and Dad to protect you. To him, that was your role—to be the one he could shelter and protect. The one who couldn’t do it on her own.

At school, he had made it very clear to everyone: you were off-limits. No one dared lay a hand on you, not with Mark’s reputation looming over them. If anyone even thought about hurting you, they’d meet his fist—and death—before they had the chance to follow through. That was the silent promise he had made. Nobody was allowed to hurt you.

Except him and Dad.

As he stood there watching you, a strange mix of emotions twisted inside him. He couldn’t help but feel a strange satisfaction knowing you were dependent on him, that your weakness kept you under his protection. But at the same time, something about the way you looked tonight—hunched over in that chair, lost in your thoughts—stirred an odd feeling in him.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but something was off about you lately. He’d noticed it. The nervous energy, the odd silences, the way you seemed to be… slipping away from him somehow. But it didn’t matter. Whatever was going on, he’d keep a close eye on you. You were his sister, his responsibility.

And no one could take that from him.

Morning arrived far sooner than you would have liked. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, cutting through the quiet of the house and landing directly on your face. You groaned, blinking against the harsh light, realizing you hadn’t moved from the dining table. Your body ached from sitting hunched over in the chair for hours, your mind still foggy with the weight of your sleepless night.

Today was going to suck. A lot.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the heaviness beneath them, the exhaustion settling into your bones. You could practically feel the bags under your eyes, the dull ache of tiredness seeping into your skin. You didn’t even need to look in a mirror to know you probably looked like a mess. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and the exhaustion you could never quite hide.

Just get through the day, you told yourself, trying to muster some kind of resolve.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the chair, every muscle in your body protesting. The kitchen felt too quiet now, the soft sounds of the house waking up adding to the strange stillness of your thoughts.

Gods, you need a warm shower. Or maybe a baseball bat to the head.

With a tired groan, you shuffled toward the stairs, deciding a shower might at least help clear the fog in your mind. You hoped the hot water would be enough to wash away the exhaustion clinging to your body. Maybe it could ease the tightness in your chest.

You stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your shoulders, washing away the cold sweat from last night’s nightmares. The warmth soothed your muscles, but it did little to ease the knot in your stomach. The events of last night, the conversation with your friends, the weight of everything still hung over you like a storm cloud.

There was no escape from it.

You sighed, leaning your head against the cool tile. The shower wasn’t helping as much as you had hoped. You were still exhausted, both physically and mentally. The knowledge that you had to face school today, pretend everything was normal while juggling this monumental responsibility, was almost too much to bear.

But you don’t have a choice.

You had to go on like you always did. Put on a brave face, go through the motions, act like everything was fine, and then meet with your friends later to figure out how to save the world. Again.

The water began to cool, and with another groan, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying yourself off. You stared at yourself in the mirror, wincing at your reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and exhaustion etched into every line of your face.

You look like a wreck, you thought, shaking your head. But there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get through the day, no matter what.

You sluggishly dried yourself off, the warm water doing little to shake the exhaustion clinging to you. Once you were dry, you threw on some clothes, not really caring much about what you wore today—just whatever was clean and comfortable. You glanced at the clock on your dresser. 7:00 AM.

School wouldn’t start until 8:20, so you had some time. Normally, you’d still be asleep, trying to squeeze in the last few minutes of rest before rushing to get ready. But after last night, sleep wasn’t really an option.

For the next thirty minutes, you just sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly. You weren’t really looking for anything specific, just trying to remember who you used to be. Pictures of you and your friends popped up—Hallie, Connor, Weston. The four of you, smiling at the camera, carefree, before everything went to hell. Then there were other photos—random shots of acquaintances from school, parties you barely remembered attending, school dances where you smiled like the biggest worry in your life was whether your shoes matched your dress.

How different things had been. How different you had been.

The sound of movement from down the hall snapped you out of your thoughts. You heard Mark getting ready in his room, the familiar sounds of him moving around as he prepared for the day. Right. He drove you to school most mornings, and today would be no different.

You used to be excited about these car rides. Before, it was one of the few times you could really spend with Mark. He was a senior, always busy with schoolwork, football, or hanging out with his friends, so the drive to school was a guaranteed window of time where you could talk, laugh, and catch up.

But now? Now you dreaded it. The idea of sitting in a car with Mark, pretending everything was fine, made your stomach churn.

With a sigh, you got up from your bed, scrambling around to find your school bag. You mentally checked off the things you’d need for the day—binders, notebooks, pens—but your mind was elsewhere. Without thinking, you checked the small hidden compartment of your bag, making sure it was still packed.

A small knife. A bottle of hairspray. A lighter.

For the Demogorgons. Their biggest weakness was heat, especially fire, so you and your friends always carried around something to ignite them with. It had become second nature by now—packing your school bag with both homework and weapons. Sure, if the school ever found out you were carrying that stuff, you’d be expelled without question. But you were usually one of the good kids, known for being respectful and doing your work. That bought you a bit of leeway.

Did you occasionally miss class, ducking out to handle Demogorgons or chase down whatever creature was lurking nearby? Yes. And when you got caught? Detention. You smirked a little at the memory of you, Connor, Hallie, and Weston all sitting in detention together, exchanging looks across the room, barely holding in your laughter after a particularly difficult hunt. You had spent more than a few afternoons in those detention rooms, trying to explain your absences in ways that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Grumbling at the thought, you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed downstairs. You grabbed a protein bar from the pantry as you slipped your shoes on, trying to push the nerves out of your stomach as you mentally prepared for the car ride with Mark.

You could hear him coming down the stairs behind you, and for a second, you froze, bracing yourself for the interaction. It felt like every moment with him now was tinged with tension, with the unspoken knowledge of what was to come.

“You ready to go?” Mark’s voice was casual, as if everything was normal.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

He smiled back, though there was something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the weight of everything you knew, or maybe it was just your paranoia creeping in, but for a brief second, you felt like he was watching you a little too closely.

You pushed the thought away and grabbed your jacket, trying to act like everything was fine. You think you’d gotten pretty good at lying and pretending everything was okay, i mean, you did successfully hide the fact that you hunt Demogorgons in your past life.

So, it should be no different this time around, right?

Taglist: @plsfckmedxddy, @marsmabe, @leiiasurez, @shycreatorreview, @naina326, @neverano, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch,

#neglected reader #platonic yandere #yandere invincible #yandere omniman #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson #debbie grayson #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #invincible x reader #invincible

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0omillo0 · 3 months ago

Note

Oki so Im like searching fics all day long and u said i can request and im never getting enough of ur fics anyways so here luv 💕

Sooo Chan x reader

where maybe reader is already feeling horrible lately. And today smth appens at the studio and chan gets rlly frustrated so he comes home and today yn has been feeling even worse and feels like she can’t even get out of bed but like Chan comes home, not even seeing yns horrible stadium so he lets all the anger out on her wich rlly gives her the last push to like feeling just entirely depressed. Then she is standing crying and totally drained in front of one of the other members door, breaking down totally.

I’ll let the rest up to u, pls make it really really angsty but pls i just need a good lot of comfort at the end ❤️

BANGCHAN X READER

a/n: I’ve already made a vv similar story but I like this one so much better! let me know what you think ♡ also this is for my beloved @hannamoon143 tysm for your request and sorry for the wait!

genre: angst, comfort

The day had already been heavy, dragging you down like you were walking through thick mud. Lately, it seemed every breath took more effort than the last, and today, it had reached a peak. You couldn’t even get out of bed. The weight of everything pressed down on you, making the air feel like it was suffocating. It wasn’t like this was new—this lingering sadness had been with you for days, like a dark cloud refusing to lift.

You curled up deeper into your sheets, staring at the wall. You hadn’t moved in hours, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t done anything but exist in this space of nothingness. The world outside your room felt miles away, unreachable. The only sound you heard was the occasional muffled voices from outside your apartment.

And then there was a slam. You heard the front door being pushed open harder than usual, and you knew Chan was home. The sound of his keys hitting the counter was sharp, followed by a frustrated sigh that cut through the quiet air. You knew that sound—something must’ve gone wrong at the studio. His day hadn’t been any better than yours, apparently.

Your body wanted to get up, wanted to greet him, but you couldn’t. It was like you were glued to the mattress. Even when you heard his footsteps approaching, your body wouldn’t listen.

The door to the bedroom opened, and without looking at him, you knew he was tense. His energy radiated frustration, the kind that made rooms feel smaller, the air thicker.

“God, today was insane,” Chan muttered, not noticing how you barely shifted under the covers. His voice was rough, filled with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “Everything went wrong. Absolutely everything.”

You bit your lip, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. Maybe if you said something, anything, it could stop what you knew was coming.

But then he turned, finally looking at you, his eyes glossing over the state you were in. He couldn’t see it—he couldn’t see how you were breaking inside. All he saw was a person not responding, and it made him snap.

“Can you at least say something?!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut deep. His frustration had reached its peak, and you were the closest target. “I’ve been dealing with so much today, and you’re just lying there. Not a word, nothing. Are you a fucking emotionless doll??”

You flinched at his tone, at his words. Your chest tightening even more. The tears that had been sitting at the edge of your eyes began to spill over silently.

Chan didn’t notice right away. His anger kept him blind. He sighed. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh, but it’s been such a mess, and I can’t—” His words stumbled to a stop when he saw the way your body shook, the way you were crying silently beneath the covers.

“Y/N?” His voice softened, the frustration vanishing as quickly as it had come. “Hey, hey…” He moved closer, but it was too late. The weight of everything—his words, your own struggles—it all collapsed in on you like a tidal wave.

You sat up slowly, the sobs shaking your frame as you tried to wipe the tears away, but they kept coming. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible through the storm of emotions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I just… I can’t…”

Chan’s face fell as he realized what he’d done. “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t see it. I was so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t see how much you were hurting. I’ve made it worse I’m so sorry—“

But his apology couldn’t stop the breaking that was already happening inside you. You needed to escape, to find some sort of relief from the pressure that was crushing you from all sides.

Without saying a word, you slipped out of the bed, your legs unsteady, and you walked toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Chan’s voice followed you, concern clear in his tone, but you couldn’t stop. Not now.

You found yourself in front of one of the other members’ doors. You didn’t even know how you got there, your vision blurred with tears. Maybe it was instinct, seeking comfort somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the suffocating silence of your room or the crushing weight of your mind.

You knocked, barely registering the sound of your own fist against the wood. And then, as if the last string holding you together snapped, your body gave in. You slid down to the floor, your arms wrapping around your knees as the sobs came harder now, uncontrollable, raw.

The door opened, and the blurry shape of someone—was it Felix?—stood there, eyes wide in shock. “Y/N…?” he asked gently, his voice like a balm, but you couldn’t respond. All you could do was cry.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Felix crouched down beside you, his hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on your shoulder. His touch was warm, comforting in a way that made you feel safe enough to let it all out. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

His words broke something else in you, but this time, it wasn’t painful. It was a release. The tears kept falling, but his presence kept you grounded, kept you from drowning completely.

Behind you, you heard Chan’s hurried footsteps. He stopped when he saw you on the floor, a mix of guilt and worry etched into his face. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

Felix looked up at him, a silent exchange passing between them, and Chan knelt down beside you. “I didn’t mean to—” He stopped, choking on his own emotions, before continuing softly, “I should’ve seen that you were hurting. I was selfish.”

You looked up at him, your vision still blurred, but you could see the regret, the hurt in his eyes. And it wasn’t just because he’d had a rough day. It was because he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him most.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice shaking.

Chan shook his head, reaching out to take your hands in his, his grip gentle, tentative. “No, no, you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention. I love you, and I should’ve been there for you. I’m so so sorry for calling you.. the way I called you. I’m sorry baby”

You shook your head. “Do you think I’m useless?? Am I just a doll to you??”

Chan realised how much his words hurt you. At this point he felt so guilty, his expression softened, his big glossy eyes looking directly at yours. “Y/Nie, my love, I didn’t mean to say those awful things to you. I understand if you’re not going to trust me anymore, but I swear I love you more than anything and I’ll do anything to make it up for you.. for us..”

Felix gave a small nod and stood up, retreating to give the two of you space. Chan pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as he spoke, “We’re going to get through this. Together, okay? I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone.”

And for the first time that day, you felt a small sense of relief, a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t going to be easy—these feelings, this heaviness—but you weren’t alone. Chan was with you, and that made all the difference.

As you sat there, held in his arms, the storm inside you slowly began to calm, the cracks in your heart starting to mend, piece by piece.

“I’m here,” Chan whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll always be here.”

taglist

@hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 months ago

Text

cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears.

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late.

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck.

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this.

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy.

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together.

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off.

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it.

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened.

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping.

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him.

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself.

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small café nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter.

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms.

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone.

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe.

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm.

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch.

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”:

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed.

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace.

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts.

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away.

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever.

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit.

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

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I was the one who requested Reader going through a depression and stopped responding to Rafe. That was soooooo good, I just wish it was longer because you're such a talented writer and I could read your stuff forever. Could I.....maybe request a part 2? With some happy ending. Maybe she opens the door....or maybe he bumps into her outside when she's getting her perscribed anti depressant pills at the pharmacy or something. WHatever you want, but I just want Rafe to show Reader that HE CARES and she lets him in emotionally, and he is super attentative, not at all making her feel like a burden, and is happy to take care of her

a/n: here’s part 2!😘

you hadn’t expected to run into him. you’d finally worked up the energy to go outside, the sun's warmth on your skin almost foreign after days—weeks—spent in the isolation of your apartment. your hands trembled slightly as you stepped into the pharmacy, clutching the prescription your doctor had sent over. it was supposed to help, the medication, but even taking this step felt monumental.

you kept your head down, trying to avoid any familiar faces. but of course, the universe had other plans.

“y/n?”

your heart sank at the sound of his voice, soft but unmistakable. you turned slowly, your eyes meeting rafe’s. he was standing near the entrance, a small reusable grocery bag in hand, his expression shifting from surprise to something gentler.

you froze, unsure of what to say. your mind immediately jumped to how you must look—unkempt, tired, a shell of the person he’d met a few months ago.

“hey,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

rafe’s brows knitted together as he stepped closer, his blue eyes scanning your face. “what are you doing here?”

“just picking up something,” you mumbled, holding up your prescription bag as if it explained everything.

he nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “do you have time to talk?”

you hesitated, glancing around the store. the thought of having this conversation here, in public, made your stomach churn.

“not here,” you whispered.

“okay,” he said immediately, his tone reassuring. “my car’s outside. we can talk there?”

you nodded, following him out to the parking lot.

the silence in his car was heavy but not uncomfortable. rafe didn’t rush you, didn’t push for answers. he just sat there, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, waiting for you to speak.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “for disappearing. for not answering your texts. for… everything.”

he turned to face you, his expression soft. “you don’t have to apologize, y/n.”

“yes, i do,” you insisted, your chest tightening. “i’ve been a mess, and you don’t deserve to deal with that. you have your own life, and i—”

“stop,” he interrupted gently, his hand reaching out to rest on yours. his touch was warm, grounding. “you’re not a burden. and i don’t care how messy things are right now. i care about you.”

his words hit you like a wave, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself.

“i don’t understand why,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “why would you want to deal with someone like me? i can’t even—”

“because you matter to me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. “and it’s not about ‘dealing’ with you, y/n. it’s about being here for you. because that’s what you do for the people you care about.”

you didn’t go back to your apartment that day. instead, rafe drove you to his place, insisting that you didn’t have to be alone.

“just for a little while,” he said when you hesitated. “you don’t have to talk or do anything you don’t want to. just... stay.”

——————-

his house was quieter than you’d expected, the warm tones of the furniture and the faint smell of cedar making it feel more like a home than you’d imagined.

he led you to the couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before disappearing into the kitchen. when he returned, he had a cup of tea in his hands, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

"it’s chamomile,” he said, sitting down beside you. “i don’t know if you like it, but wheezie taught me how to make it back when i couldn’t sleep."

you managed a small smile, the gesture feeling foreign but welcome. “thank you.”

“anytime,” he replied, his voice soft.

the first night was the hardest.

you felt like an intruder, like you didn’t belong in his space. but rafe seemed to sense your unease, keeping his distance while still making it clear he was there if you needed him.

“if you want to talk, i’m here,” he said before heading to bed. “but if you just need to rest, that’s okay too. whatever you need.”

——————-

you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with doubts and fears. but when the morning came, you felt a little lighter, the weight of your thoughts less suffocating than before.

over the next few days, rafe became a constant presence in your life.

he didn’t push you to talk about your feelings, but he also didn’t let you retreat completely into yourself. he’d sit with you during meals, even if you only picked at your food, and he’d put on movies you liked, filling the silence with soft laughter and the occasional comment.

when you mentioned feeling guilty about imposing, he shook his head, his expression serious.

“you’re not imposing,” he said firmly. “you’re here because you need someone, and i’m glad you trusted me enough to let me be that person.”

his words stayed with you, a small beacon of light in the darkness that had consumed you for so long.

one evening, you found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t expected.

“i started the medication,” you said quietly, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

rafe looked up from his phone, his full attention on you. “how’s it going so far?”

“it’s... okay, i think,” you admitted. “it’s only been a few days, but it feels like a step in the right direction.”

“i’m proud of you,” he said, his voice warm. “that’s a big step.”

you felt a lump form in your throat, his words touching a part of you that had been starved for kindness.

“thank you,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his.

he smiled, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, gently rubbing small circles on it. “always.”

——————-

as the days turned into weeks, you started to find pieces of yourself again.

it wasn’t easy—there were still bad days, moments when the weight of everything threatened to pull you under. but rafe was there, steady and unwavering, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

he celebrated the small victories with you, like the first time you cooked a meal together or the day you went for a walk around the neighborhood. and when you had setbacks, he was there too, offering quiet reassurance and a shoulder to lean on.

“healing isn’t a straight line,” he said one evening as you sat on the couch together. “it’s okay to have bad days. what matters is that you keep going.”

his words stayed with you, a mantra you repeated to yourself during the harder moments.

one night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you felt a surge of gratitude for him—for his patience, his kindness, his unwavering support.

“rafe?” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet.

he stirred beside you, his arm draped over your waist. “yeah?”

“thank you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything. for being here. for caring.”

he shifted closer, his lips pressing against your temple. “you don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “you’re worth it, y/n. every second.”

and for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

additional tags: @rafegf-real and @readingsmuts

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joonberriess · 11 months ago

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⋆ TAGS — really soft and domestic, TW: this deals with postpartum depression, baby daddy!jk, soft lil kisses, insecure!oc, angsty as hell, this is more of a comfort fic, mentioned baby, oc rlly struggles but jk is super supportive, mentioned past pregnancy, this made me cry, soft hours, jk pampers his lovely gf, CANON AUUUU JK’S JUST JK HERE LMAO

⋆ WORD COUNT — 2.4 k

“vámonos a comer un heladito, tu princesita, cómprame cositas. en mis tacones casi todo el día, dame un foot-rub and ice out mi tobillo,”

Your eyes fluttered under the feeling of lips sliding across your forehead, eyelid, and nose. You hear Jungkook laughing quietly as he envelops you in his strong arms and tugs you close. His murmurs and pestering have you pulling a face in your sleep, nose scrunched cutely given the way he coos teasingly.

“What time is it?” You mumble softly and blankly stare back at him, eyes heavy from sleep.

“Noon.” This has you going stiff, “Relax baby, he’s okay your mom came early to pick him up.” He comfortingly strokes over your side and backside.

You sink back into the sheets and nod, “Why didn’t you wake me?” You mumble under your breath as your eyes flutter shut.

Jungkook pressed more gentle kisses to your forehead with a low rumble, “You need a break, figured maybe we could go out–do some shopping, go to that sushi place you’ve been dying to try.. That sounds good, yeah?” He murmurs.

You hum, “It does, feels like I haven’t been out in forever.”

He waits with a bated breath and smiles softly when you open your eyes and stare back with more clarity, all traces of sleep etched away. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

A subtle heat rises in your cheeks as you smile back, “Even with baby barf and spit all over my shirt?”

“The prettiest.” He leans over to kiss your nose, looking into your eyes with a twinkle in his own. He looks at you like you’ve just hung the stars for him.

Shyly, you press a soft smooch to his lips before flopping flat on your back with a sigh, “The fridge’s nearly empty isn’t it?” You mumble, “I’m sorry, I meant to go the other day but I ended up—”

“You’re fine, it’s okay. You know I’m here too right?” Jungkook reaches over to hold your hand, “Don’t worry about it baby, you’ve got your hands full right now and I get it. ‘s okay to ask for help too.”

You look at him with a soft smile, “I love you.” You lay a quick kiss on his cheek and roll out of bed to head to the bathroom.

Jungkook huffs, “Only one? On the cheek too..” He grumbles like a petulant child, sitting up in the messy sheets tangled around his hips and his bare chest out for your viewing.

“Get ready, it was YOUR idea to go out too so don’t make us late.” You fondly roll your eyes, you can hear him whine about something else behind you as the door shuts.

“…..” You pass in front of the body length mirror, pausing for a moment to observe your appearance. Your hands come up to rest over your tummy as you stare long and hard. “…”

You better get ready.

“y/n.”

“y/n?”

You snap out of your daydream and look over at Jungkook curiously, “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted to check out the fruits, it’s strawberry season and I’m sure they brought out all the fresh stuff.” Jungkook doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that you’ve spaced out for a second time since entering the store.

You shake your head, “I don’t like strawberries.” You say disinterestedly.

‘But you ate them your whole pregnancy, what’s wrong now?’ Your brain is screaming at you to just say yes and deal with it but you can’t.

He gives a soft hum, “That’s fine. Is there anything you wanted to get?” He steers the shopping cart away from the fruits, leading you down an aisle filled with spices and other cooking ingredients.

“Um, what was that thing you bought last time? When you made that white stew.” You scrunch your nose, “Ugh I forgot.”

“Ohh, you mean the cream stew mix? Uhh I think it’s down this aisle lemme check.” Jungkook leaves the cart with you as he trails down the aisle looking up, down, and around.

You pick out a few things to try out later on and happily make your way over. “Did you find it?” You curiously peek over his shoulder, damn near yelling because he shoots back up with a ‘ah-ha!’.

“What?” He innocently says after noticing the scowl on your face.

“You scared me.” You huff and punch his arm gently, “C’mon, I wanna get some chips and the aisle is back that way.” Jungkook happily trails after you, telling you all about his upcoming Calvin Klein campaign.

“Look,” Jungkook snorts as he holds up a pair of lace g-strings, “you mean to tell me this tiny triangle covers your entire pus–”

“Jungkook!” You hiss quietly after noticing a few older women turn their heads, “Put those down.” You snatch the panties away and toss them back into their respective drawers.

He cheekily grins and picks up another pair of underwear, “What? I didn’t do anything, I was just asking.” He chuckles.

“You are so dumb.” You giggle quietly, “Stop!! You’re going to get us kicked out, I thought I had one baby not two.”

“But babyy this is so boring, jus’ a bunch of girlie stuff and these women keep lookin’ at me like I’m a creep but I swear I’m just trying to help you.” He pouts.

You shake your head fondly, “Here, go find something to buy or do while I finish up here.” His eyes light up and he presses a messy smooch to your cheek before practically sprinting out.

Your eyes slowly turn over to the mannequin sitting tall on the platform donned in a new lingerie set. You stare at it for what seems like eternity while the world goes on about their day around you. Eventually a staff comes to break you out of your bubble.

“Is everything okay miss? Were you interested in our new spring collection?”

“Oh, um yeah, well I’m trying to surprise my boyfriend you know? I don’t know if he’ll like it ‘n stuff.” You murmur softly, eyes lowered and averted from the mannequin.

“Mmm.. what do you like?”

“Silk, maybe a babydoll or teddy..? I think.” You can’t stomach the idea of wearing a two piece, because then that means your….

“We have just the set then, we got a ton of new items for this spring. ” She grins while leading you away.

When you come out of the store, Jungkook’s barely walking back. He has this goofy little smile on his face as he stops in front of you, barely containing his excitement. “Guess what.”

“What did you do?” You giggle softly and eye the bag in his hand.

“I got this for you.” He brings out a large shirt and holds it up proudly, “It says: Best Milf Ever.”

You stare at the words with disbelief and then you’re breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. People around you look in curiosity but you can’t stop, you feel like you’re about to pee from how hard you’re laughing.

And Jungkook?

He stands there with a fond smile, gazing at you lovingly as he puts the shirt back, “You like it?”

You haven’t laughed nor felt this much joy in a while. “I love it.”

After having dinner Jungkook takes you out for ice cream. You were a bit burnt out from being out all day so you waited in the car while he went inside to buy the ice cream.

You think back to everything that happened today, it feels nice. You make a mental note to ask Jungkook to take you to a cat cafe sometime later on in the week. “Oh my god.” You mutter in embarrassment.

Jungkook’s walking back with a monstrosity of a ice cream sundae and then your perfectly NORMAL scoop of sherbet with gummies on top. “Jungkook what is all that mess?” You whine.

“What? I wanted triple chocolate with sprinkles and fudge.” He slips into the car and hands the small bowls over, “C’mon you gotta try it.”

“Hell no! This looks like it can either send me to do number three or I’m gonna puke my guts out.” You hiss.

“Number three doesn’t exist, nice try.” Jungkook scoffs softly while pulling out of the parking lot.

“It does now.” You mumble, ignoring his loud laughter.

You can’t hide the face you make while Jungkook eats that horrendous dessert. He doesn’t even care that you’re judging him as he happily watches his little Netflix show he’s been yapping about as of lately.

“I knew it, it was her all along..” He mutters to himself as he eats a large spoonful of ice cream.

“I’m going to the kitchen, you want anything?” You can’t take it anymore as you stand abruptly and pass by.

“No.”

You put your ice cream away and drink a glass of water in the kitchen. You enjoy the peace and quiet, it’s been a cool minute since you’ve had some time to yourself. Between caring for a newborn and balancing your everyday life, shit’s been hard.

Not that Jungkook doesn’t help, but sometimes you feel like you put too much on him. He says he doesn’t care but.. you do.

With a heavy sigh you leave the cup in the sink and trail over to your bedroom. The dainty lingerie bag sits on the corner of the bed, you have yet to try it on but you don’t know..

“Fuck it.” You mutter while stripping down and slipping on the pretty babydoll top and matching thong to go with it.

The soft pink and silky smooth feeling of it has you smiling to yourself over how pretty it is on you. The set even came with a robe so you slipped that on too and tied it securely around your waist before heading back out to show your lover.

“Jungkook.” You call out, “What do you think?”

He pauses his show and looks over, his eyes visibly glaze over as he takes you in from head to toe. “Pretty, I like it—pink suits you.” He beckons you over.

Right, he thinks it’s just a robe.

You walk over with a soft hum and stand between his legs, “I got something else, it’s under.”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips, “Can I?” His hands hover over the sash. You can’t help but shiver with the way he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive. Makes you feel hot.

“Yeah..” Your voice comes out breathier than usual, a hint of excitement underlying your tone.

Jungkook unties the knot and slowly pulls your robe off. “Fuck.” He whispers when he sees the pretty babydoll underneath, he gets a peek at your thong too and he’s nearly drooling.

“Shit baby you look so fuckin’ pretty, look at you,” he gently twirls you around with a low whistle.

His hand hovers over your ass, not quite touching but there. You gently pull his hands closer with a soft, “You can touch.” You murmur.

Jungkook audibly gulps and grabs a fistful of your babydoll, he lifts it up enough to slip his hands around both cheeks. He gives both doughy cheeks a tight squeeze before he’s jiggling it in the palms of his hands.

“Can I baby?” He asks softly, “I wanna take you to bed.” To that you nod.

Before you can get another word out, he abruptly stands and hauls you up into his strong arms. You squeal in shock and hit his shoulders, “Jungkook..! Put me down!” You whine.

“No.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Let me take care of you yeah? Just sit ‘n look pretty for me.” He carries you down the hall and kicks the door open, gently tossing you onto the center of the bed.

You bounce back on the mattress with a soft ‘oof’, he doesn’t let up because he’s already crawling over you and landing a sweet yet heated kiss on your lips. You wrap your arms around him and hug him close, enjoying the soft touches.

Jungkook takes his sweet time kissing you, the kiss is slow and his touches are light and feathery. He holds you like you’re made of glass or something, gently cupping your hips and massaging them. It tugs on your poor heart strings and you find yourself tearing up for no reason..?

He pulls away with a soft pant, pressing his forehead to your own as he stares into your eyes with devotion. “Why are you crying baby? Hm? Why’s my pretty girl sad?” He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“B-Because, you’re so good to me.” You softly hiccup, “Feel safe with you.”

He brushes your hair out of your face and smooches your nose, “Yeah, what else baby. Talk to me.” He murmurs patiently while cupping the side of your cheek.

“You don’t make me feel alone.” You whisper, and his heart breaks seeing you this vulnerable, “I-I know I haven’t been there for you b-but with the baby and–”

“And who said you needed to take care of me? You already have enough with the baby, you spent nine months carrying our baby and you worked hard to bring him into the world my love. Makes me proud of you baby, strongest girl I know.” He softly smiles.

Your heart races and you feel a knot in your throat as you continue listening to him, “You’re going to be okay—we’re okay. You know I’m always going to be right here for whatever you need, you’re doing so good my love.”

You let out a soft sob and bury your face in his shoulder. These past two months of silently struggling with coming to terms of your newfound motherhood and changes with your relationship finally come to a stop. You feel good knowing that Jungkook is so understanding and supportive.

For a while you thought you were going insane, that it was your fault and you were a horrible mother for feeling so…bad.

Even when you were bedridden for days, void of any life and emotion, Jungkook is still here.

“I love you.” Jungkook whispers.

“I love you too.” You sniffle.

Jungkook helps you slip into one of his shirts as the two of you cuddle for the rest of the night watching silly rom-coms. You know the future will be okay.

Everything is okay.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

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xenteaart · 4 months ago

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when you're feeling weak, i'll be the words if you can't speak

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression and anxiety. reader is feeling off and insecure. also kinda going almost non verbal author's note: a short lil songfic ig coz it's inspired by Isak Danielson – I Can't Lose You. basically channie being a comfort boyfie material

to put it simply, you were never not anxious or insecure. but stepping into the big adult life, you sort of learned to conceal it well, even from your own self. the fake it till you make it thing, and you could even say you've "made it" with a small exception of the days where your brain and your entire nervous system randomly circled back to your default settings. "so what are you gonna eat, baby?" chan asks with a cheerful soft tone, glancing over the menu and then back at you.

today's a good day. you haven't been too overwhelmed with work, nothing out of the ordinary happened. so naturally, a pinch of guilt somewhere deep in your guts makes you feel like a bother to be around, and today — for no good reason.

"are you okay?" he notices your slightly spaced out gaze when you're trying to read the menu but not really reading, more like frowning and getting nervous.

"yeah.. no. no, i don't know," you murmur barely audibly, losing your focus for the tenth time in a span of the last five minutes. brain fog takes over, making your vision blurrier than normal and your thinking all floaty and hazy. as if you're looking at the world through dirty lenses, but also the lights are too bright and your surroundings are loud.

"i dunno, i just..." can't even speak for myself today and choose a meal and say it out loud because suddenly everything is embarrassing and difficult.

chris looks slightly worried because you might be in pain or feeling unwell, but nothing hurts except your pride. because you're a big girl, you have been for years, and now you want to cry on the spot because you can't choose between pasta and soup all of a sudden. it makes you feel even more stupid.

"can you please choose and order for me today? my brain just can't," you try to explain, visibly stressed and overwhelmed by a simple mundane task, "i want somethin' warm and filling," you specify to make it easier for chan.

he doesn't make a big deal out of it, just nods and meets you with a gentle 'course, baby. he then talks to the waiter and makes sure they don't ask you anything which feels like a relief. sometimes it's nice to feel invisible, especially in a vulnerable state.

after the horrifying deed is over with, chris leans in a little closer to be able to speak in a softer, quieter voice.

"d'you wanna just have dinner in silence and head home?" he asks while massaging your palm with his fingers soothingly, so calm and nonchalant as if you didn't just obsess over the smallest thing to the point of making yourself filled with shame and insecurity.

that's how chris always does it. by showing you that whatever it is that's bothering you is not a burden to him. he's got you. it's okay if you want or rather need him to do something for you. he's happy to be your strong shoulder to lean onto and not think about a single thing while he takes care of whatever it is at the time.

"yeah. or you can tell me about your day and stuff. i wanna know and i'm okay with listening. just not... responding, maybe?" you give him an awkward smile as he nods understandingly and plants a little kiss on the back of your hand. a modern gentleman and a caring lover.

somewhere in the middle of a story about how cubase was lagging and almost crashed mid producing session today, the waiter brings your meals. it's two pumpkin cream soups, some grilled and seasoned breads and a fresh greek salad to share.

oh, to be loved like this.

your stomach growls at the smell of food, and a bright proud smile is instantly painted over chan's features.

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #chan x you #chan x reader #bang chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids bang chan #stray kids imagines #chan x y/n #chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #my fic #my writing #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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graceofagodswrath · 2 months ago

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Transformers x HASO Headcannons | Part 2

Back on my Transformers kick and it’s making me depressed about the realism behind humans being helpless and tiny. I also went over this in my first set of Transformers headcannons as a reply, so this is me expanding on a lot of those points.

My main focus is that if humans were the average size of other sentient beings in the Transformers universe, we would finally be taken a little bit seriously. Cue ridiculous research into humans' actual strengths.

Transformers are coming to understand our evolutionary path. Because we’re so small, it’s easily overlooked that humans are still predators. We hunt, we kill, and we’re violent. If we don’t have someone to hate as a unified group, we turn on ourselves.

But specifically, we’re pursuit predators. Our endurance and stamina is what makes us deadly. Our main hunting strategy back in the cave and hut days was literally to just walk after an animal for days on end until it either gave up or dropped dead from exhaustion. We can go miles without tiring (when trained properly).

As long as we have water, we can last a month without food. The longest someone ever fasted was for 382 days (look up Agnus Barbieri), and that was with the bare essentials of liquids and vitamins. No solid food.

And when we do have to find our own food, anything is game. We will find a way to eat it. Whether poisonous, venomous, tough-skinned, or just a lot of teeth, we will figure out a way to make it a meal. We have the advantage of being omnivores. In a game of survival, outside of predators, we’re top dogs.

While no natural armor sucks, our hairless selves are perfectly adapted to adapting to any environment. We are hella sensitive even to the slightest changes. We can smell weather changes based on moisture in the air, taste anomalies in our food, feel the slightest brush on something on our skin, etc. Our lack of armor allows for easy flexibility most species can only dream of, especially transformers. Getting into tight spots, getting out of tight spots, and moving hella fast is our bread and butter (when motivated lol).

One thing I really find interesting is our prey/predator instinct vs transformers.

Transformers did not evolve (as far as my knowledge goes) with natural predators. They have been through horrific times, from slavery under Quintessons to their own government, but the only really natural evolutionary advantage they have is their technological adaptability. Their ease of learning alien languages is an example. As well as their main transformation ability.

TF One really highlights this (small spoilers). Their planet is shown to be a constantly changing environment, from flat surfaces to rapidly changing cliff faces. Their ability to transform between a vehicle and bipedal form is imperative to quickly adapt to such a fast-paced and even deadly environment. The only predators I can account for are scraplets and spark eaters (there are probably more, but idk them). However, their reaction to this is to pull guns and freak out. They assume their technology and "superior" processes will solve all their problems.

But their cockiness in other environments shows how nonchalant they are about these interactions, and it backfires heavily. The only real threats they see are other transformers and larger sentient species. Plus diseases, but that’s a whole other thing.

Humans on the other hand have had to contend with thousands of predator species over our evolutionary path. It’s only in the last couple hundred years or so that we’ve truly eliminated most of these threats or domesticated them. And when I say eliminate, I mean either mass hunting or learning about said predators to easily deal with them and avoid dangerous situations. Our prey instinct gives us the alertness to deal with imminent threats easier than species that don’t have such a strong experience.

That leads to the big evolutionary advantage of humans - our brains. Even though we’re considered primitive by transformer standards, that’s transformer standards. A race that has existed for ten million years through technological immortality, is also their undoing. Because they have lived for so long, breaking free of long-held traditions is near impossible for their society, which is why their war took place. Without consistent generational death and birth, they are literally stuck in the past.

Humans don’t have that issue - we change with the times because of our short mortality. While not the main influence for the size of our brains, it’s a point I wanted to add to clarify why transformers may struggle to adapt to certain environments versus humans.

Through the consistent stresses we endure because of our vulnerability, we have to consistently think outside the box to survive. To stagnate is death, forward is all we can do. Our brains have developed in such a way that we can comprehend, understand, and innovate with ease. It’s our main calling card. Hell, when there’s no stress we just do that shit for fun (shrimp literally frying rice contraptions for example).

When you combine these talents and we know what the fuck we’re doing, we’re pretty much unstoppable. As long as we’re on an even playing field. Via size. Because let’s be honest, that’s the only reason humans are looked down upon (other than being organic, but if anyone has any other ideas, let em flow).

A personal fav of mine is the idea that if we were the same size as the average transformer, we’d be cryptid level creepy. The way we move, behave, even the way we smile would be unnerving, no matter how similar we look. If anything, the similarities between the average cybertronian and human would probably freak transformers out, seeing their own features reflected in an organic. Noses, eyes, teeth, especially toes.

My personal headcannon is that Transformers would think toes are so weird. Like, what’s the point of having so many extra digits? Cue our climbing abilities and balancing in weird places. Or just closing a drawer or door with a foot. Grabbing something with the dogs. Pull a chimpanzee and let the weird looks fly.

Better yet, our pain tolerance. Sure, we’re squishy and get hurt easily thanks to the lack of armor and exposed skin. But that just builds pain tolerance. We tolerate getting picked up and thrown around by these giant asses so much because it’s what we’re already used to. We teach our children coordination, balance, their physical limits, and so much more through rough play. Its how we learn to become this versatile.

Roughhousing, doing dangerous shit just for fun, our vulnerability makes us used to the pain. It becomes easy to ignore and work through. This leads to the crazy shit about getting stabbed or shot and just walking it off. Imagine a transformer losing their shit over their human getting shot and the humans just like, “damn, feels like when I burnt my hand on the stove” or some shit. Unfazed.

And ANOTHER thing. Our instincts play a big role. That feeling you get when being watched? Or uncanny valley? I have a huge headcannon that humans would not be fooled by holomatter avatars. It would just hit us immediately. Transformers have no instinct to breathe. They probably don’t think about blinking. Their movement would probably be stiff and awkward, used to navigating spaces with more stationary bulk. Sure, they could probably program their avatars to do it, but I get a feeling that you would… get a feeling.

Plus their clothes choices make no sense half of the time (I’m looking at Rodimus, wtf was that getup in swerves arc in MTMTE?? Only Nautica and Swerve looked normal, plus Megatron - without his shoulder-padded trenchcoat).

This was a 2am rant, so if it’s unclear, I apologize. And if anyone wants to clarify or make corrections, please do! Again, I am not up to date on all comics or lore, so I’m probably missing a lot of shit. This is based on my personal feelings, knowledge, and observations.

#humans are space orcs #humans are crazy #humans are space australians #humans are weird #transformers headcannon #maccadam #tf one #tf one spoilers #tf mtmte #tf prime #rodimus #megatron #nautica #swerve

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lovrx-s · 24 days ago

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Unheard Cries

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

Contains: contains themes of depression, self-harm, and suicide.

a/n: [Please proceed with caution and seek help if you’re struggling :(] I have a part two of this! Idk if i should still post it or not

The light in the apartment had dimmed over the past few months, and so had you.

You and Jenna used to fill this space with laughter and late-night conversations, but lately, it felt like she wasn’t really there anymore. Physically, sure—her bags in the hallway, her perfume lingering in the bathroom—but her presence, the love and warmth you once felt, seemed to have disappeared.

You’d started feeling like a ghost in your own home.

Day One

You stared at the bedroom ceiling as the morning light filtered through the blinds. Jenna was already gone. Again.

She had left early, as she often did, muttering something about a meeting or an interview. She didn’t even kiss you goodbye.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself that she was just busy. That this distance wasn’t personal. But as the hours dragged on and the silence of the apartment grew deafening, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest.

By the time Jenna returned, you were sitting on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself for comfort.

“Hey,” you greeted her softly, but your voice came out weaker than intended.

“Hey,” she replied absentmindedly, her attention already on her phone as she kicked off her shoes.

“Can we talk?” you asked, the words sticking in your throat.

“Not now,” she said sharply, not even looking up. “I’m exhausted.”

Your heart sank as you watched her retreat to the bedroom, leaving you behind with nothing but the growing weight of your loneliness.

Day Three

You tried to reach out again. Tried to let her know that you were drowning in your own head.

“Jenna,” you began hesitantly, watching her sip her coffee across the table. “I’ve been feeling… off lately. Like, really off.”

She sighed, placing the mug down a little too hard. “Can we not do this right now? I just got back from a 12-hour shoot.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me, okay? You just sit here all day while I’m out working my ass off, and then you want to unload all your problems on me? It’s too much.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Forget it,” you mumbled, standing up from the table.

“Good,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her coffee and walking away.

Day Five

You stayed in bed most of the day, staring at the ceiling, replaying Jenna’s words over and over. Clingy. Too much. Annoying.

She hadn’t come home the night before, and she didn’t bother to text you.

The apartment felt emptier than ever.

You got up only to look at the small collection of pills in the medicine cabinet. The thought lingered, but you shook it off, telling yourself, Not yet.

Day Nine

Jenna’s absence had become your new normal. She was always out—at work, with friends, anywhere but with you.

When she was home, she was distant, distracted, and irritable.

That night, you tried again. You sat beside her on the couch, your hands trembling as you reached for hers.

“Jenna, can we talk?” you asked quietly.

“What is it now?” she groaned, pulling her hand away.

“I’m not okay,” you admitted, tears welling up in your eyes. “I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

She looked at you then, her expression hard and cold. “You’re always like this. Do you even hear yourself? It’s exhausting, Y/N. You’re so clingy and needy all the time, and honestly? I can’t deal with it.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening as the tears spilled over.

“Do you even love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

She hesitated, and that pause was louder than any answer she could’ve given.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, standing up and leaving you alone on the couch.

Day Fourteen

You hadn’t eaten in two days. Your body felt weak, but the heaviness in your chest was worse.

Jenna had left early that morning without saying goodbye. Again.

You sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the blade in your hand. The thought had been creeping closer every day, and now, it felt impossible to ignore.

But a small voice inside you whispered, One more chance. Just one.

You stood up and cleaned yourself up.

Day Fifteen

When Jenna walked through the door that evening, you approached her cautiously.

“Hey,” you said, your voice trembling. “Can we talk? Please?”

“God, what is it now?” she snapped, throwing her bag on the couch.

“I just… I need you,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. “I need you to listen to me, to be here for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Y/N. You act like the whole world revolves around you. I can’t keep doing this.”

Your heart broke into pieces, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

She sighed and walked past you, heading to the bedroom.

You watched her go, the final thread of hope snapping inside you.

That night, Jenna woke up to an eerie silence. She rolled over, expecting to find you beside her, but the bed was cold and empty.

“Y/N?” she called out, but there was no answer.

Panic set in as she searched the apartment, finally finding the bathroom door locked.

“Y/N! Open the door!” she shouted, banging on it desperately.

When she finally forced it open, her heart stopped at the sight of you on the floor, lifeless, a crumpled note beside you.

Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees, cradling your lifeless body.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

But it was too late.

You were gone.

And Jenna was left with nothing but guilt and the memory of every cruel word she’d ever said.

#jenna ortega x reader headcanon #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x reader angst #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega angst

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 10 months ago

Text

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

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lupinqs · 4 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ Happy Halloween

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.8K

☆ ━ warnings: beau being a dick, vaping, dani’s still depressed as shit, like idk

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: i’m sorry this chapter is so messy and all over the place it’s lowkey my least favorite so far, but good things are coming i promise!!!!

HIS MOUTH presses against hers with an intensity that makes Dani stiffen. Beau kisses her with a hunger that she doesn’t feel, his hands cupping her face, fingers in her hair, deepening it. His lips are rough, insistent, like he’s trying to draw something out of her that she doesn’t want to give.

Dani kisses him back because she knows she should. She tries to match his urgency, his need. But it feels all wrong, like she’s wearing someone else’s skin. Her heart isn’t in the kiss, isn’t with Beau at all. It drifts to other places—another person—and she can’t shake the growing discomfort building in her chest.

Beau’s hands roam lower, sliding from her face to her waist, gripping her hips firmly as he presses closer. The position is uncomfortable in the small confines of his car, and she shifts slightly. She thinks he takes that as an invitation, because he moves closer, his mouth trailing from her lips to her neck, kissing a path down to her collarbone, closer to her chest. The top she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination there, and he seems to like that. Dani’s breath hitches, body tensing. She isn’t here. She doesn’t want this.

But Beau doesn’t pay attention to the way her body recoils. He doesn’t notice how she stiffens under his touch. He’s too focused on his own need, his mouth feverish against her skin as he starts fumbling with the button of her jeans, eager to go further.

“Beau, stop,” Dani says softly, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t stop. His hands are moving too fast, his breath hot and uneven against her neck as he presses harder to her.

“Beau, stop,” she repeats, more forceful this time, her hands pushing at his chest.

He ignores her, his hand still tugging at her jeans, more urgent now. “You can’t just keep doing this. We haven’t—” He pulls back just enough to look at her, frustration written all over his face. “You barely even let me kiss you anymore. What’s the point of us if you’re just gonna shut down every time I try to get close?”

She slaps at his hand now, and he finally retracts it. “I said stop,” she mumbles, breath quickening.

Beau sits back in his seat, his face darkening slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, Dani. What the hell is your problem? We haven’t fucked in weeks. You won’t even touch me, and now this? What, do you not even want me anymore?” His voice grows louder, harsher with each word.

Dani stares at him, her chest tight, her hands trembling in her lap. She doesn’t have the words to explain it to him, can’t tell him how disgusted she feels with herself every time they’re together. How she feels like she’s living a lie, forcing herself into a relationship she doesn’t want, creating a life that isn’t meant to be hers. But all she can manage is a weak, “I just… I don’t feel like it, okay? Can’t you respect that?”

“Respect that?” Beau’s eyes narrow, and he scoffs, shaking his head. “How the hell am I supposed to respect that when you don’t give me anything to work with? I’ve been patient, Dani. I’ve tried to give you space. But I’m not one of your fucking Catholic saints. I have needs, too.”

Dani winces at his words, feeling the sting of guilt and shame twist in her stomach. She hates this, hates the way he makes it sound like she’s failing him by not being able to give him what he wanted. But at the same time, she hates herself more for letting it get this far—for pretending she can be someone she’s not.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Beau snaps, cutting her off. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for weeks now, Dani. You’re distant, you’re cold, you won’t even look me in the eyes half the time. If this is how it’s gonna be, then maybe we shouldn’t go to the Halloween party together tomorrow. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t come at all.”

Dani’s throat tightens, and she feels the hot prickle of tears burning behind her eyes. “Beau, I—”

“No.” His voice is sharp, final. “You need to figure your shit out. Because I can’t keep doing this.” He unlocks the car doors, staring at her expectantly. “Get out.”

Dani blinks, stunned, thinking she may have misheard. “What?”

“Get out of the car.” His eyes are hard, cold. “If you’re gonna be like this, then just… go. Walk home. Maybe that’ll give you time to think about what you really want.”

“Are you serious?” Dani’s snaps, looking at him in disbelief. They’re parked in some random lot, miles away from her house. It’s dark, and she has no way of getting home except by walking. She can’t even call someone to come pick her up, because her phone died a little bit ago.

“I said get out,” Beau repeats, his voice like ice.

Dani swallows hard, before scoffing, opening the passenger door. She steps out into the chilly night air, and, immediately, she wishes she brought a jacket, the small cropped shirt she’s got on not doing anything to shield the cold.

Before she can say anything else, Beau reaches over and slams the door shut from the inside. He speeds off, leaving her standing alone in the dark parking lot, the distant sound of his car’s engine fading into the night.

The silence around her is deafening. Dani stands frozen for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself as the cold wind bites at her skin. She blinks back the tears that blur her vision, the ones she desperately tried to keep in so that he couldn’t see them, her mind racing with thoughts of everything that led her to this moment.

She wants to scream. To sob. To fall apart. But there’s no one here to see it, no one to hear her.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she starts walking.

PAIGE’S HANDS lazily hold the steering wheel as she drives down the empty, dim lit street, the hum of her car’s engine and the quiet voice of Drake the only sounds to keep her company. She’s just left Thaliah’s house after a low-key night spent playing Fortnite, and she’s thankful now that she finally has her license—no more relying on her friends or her dad for rides. The freedom is nice, the kind of feeling she’s been craving for a while.

As she continues driving along the road, something flickers at the edge of her vision, pulling her from her thoughts. A figure. A lone person walking down the sidewalk. Paige furrows her brows as she drives past, the figure just barely visible under the faint glow of the streetlamp. She turns her head a little, squinting as she stares at her side mirrors. All she really sees from that view is long hair blowing in the wind. A girl. It’s late—after midnight—and what girl would be stupid enough to be walking alone at this time?

Paige’s mind runs through the possibilities, but something gnaws at her. The silhouette looked familiar, like someone she knows. Someone with a very specific walk, a hunched posture, a familiar dip of the head, long hair…

No way. No fucking way.

She’s driven past already, but the doubt lingers in her mind, tugging at her. Paige’s hands hover over the wheel, her foot still on the gas as she debates with herself. But her gut is screaming—if it had vocal chords, they would be shredded by now. Because if it’s who she thinks it is, she can’t just leave it alone. She can’t ignore it.

With a frustrated groan, Paige quickly makes a sharp U-turn to go back the way she came. The street is dead silent, save for the crunch of her tires on the pavement. As she nears the figure again, her heart rate speeds up. Please don’t let it be her. Please don’t let it be Dani.

But as she slows down, pulling up alongside the sidewalk, her breath catches in her throat. She should’ve known all along, shouldn’t have even questioned herself. Because consciously, subconsciously, in any way possible—Paige always knows Dani. She can pick her out in any crowd, so doing it on a deserted street isn’t so hard. And she’s very right, because this is Dani. Walking alone. And it’s cold as hell out, too. She’s wearing nothing but ripped jeans and a cropped t-shirt. What the fuck is she doing?

Paige slows to a stop, rolling down the passenger window. Dani immediately stiffens, her head whipping toward the car, eyes wide. Paige leans over, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Dani, what’re you doing?” she asks, her voice sharp with concern and an edge of accusation.

Dani stares at her in disbelief, her brows knitting together in surprise. “Fuck, I thought you were some old man about to kidnap me,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself as a gust of wind whips through the air.

Paige rolls her eyes, the tension easing from her chest just a bit. “No, I’m not gonna kidnap you,” she says flatly. “But someone else fucking might. Get in the car.”

Dani hesitates, her gaze flicking between Paige and the road ahead. Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, Paige thinks she might refuse. There’s a tension in Dani’s stance, a stubbornness that Paige knows all too well.

“Dani, seriously,” Paige presses, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “It’s freezing out. I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

Dani sighs, a puff of visible breath in the chilly air, before muttering, “Fine.” She reaches for the door handle, and with a click, the door swings open, and Dani slides into the passenger seat.

Paige immediately turns the heat up, casting a quick glance at Dani. Her arms are crossed, her shoulders hunched, and Paige can see her shivering, despite the attempt to seem unbothered. Paige’s chest tightens with concern as she wonders what the hell could’ve happened to land Dani in this situation.

For a few moments, the car is filled with an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the heater kicking in. Paige tries to focus on the road, but her mind races with a million questions on why Dani’s out here in the first place, why she was walking all alone in the dark as a teenager girl that most certainly could not defend herself should a kidnapper find her.

“What were you doing out there?” Paige finally asks, her voice more gentle this time, though still laced with concern. “Why are you out this late by yourself?”

Dani shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of her. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles, her voice flat, detached.

Paige frowns, tightening her grip on the wheel. “It’s not nothing. It’s past midnight, and you’re walking around in the cold like it’s the middle of the day. What happened?” she presses, sending a glance at her ex-best friend.

Dani stays silent for a moment, then scoffs lightly, turning to look at Paige. “When’d you get your license? I thought you couldn’t drive?”

Paige rolls her eyes, biting back her frustration. “Don’t change the subject, Dani.”

Dani shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, her arms tightening around her body like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “Just… drop it, Paige,” she replies, dismissive.

Paige exhales sharply, shifting her eyes over at her again. Dani’s walls are up, higher than ever. It isn’t like her to be this closed off with Paige. Or, at least, it hadn’t been like this before… before everything went sideways between them. No matter how much she hates it, Paige supposes she should get used to it—this is their new normal, after all.

“I’m not dropping it,” Paige shoots back, keeping her voice steady. “Not when I find you walking around alone at night looking like…” She trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence without pushing too far.

Dani’s jaw clenches. “Like what?” she snaps, her eyes flashing with an edge of anger.

“Like you’re not okay,” Paige says, softer now, her eyes darting between Dani and the road. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dani lets out a harsh breath, her fingers digging into her arms as she stares out the window. “I’m fine, Paige. Seriously.”

Paige doesn’t buy it for a second. Not with the way Dani’s sitting there, tense and cold and distant and—no matter how much she tries to hide it—vulnerable.

“Fine? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like it,” Paige mutters. She knows she’s walking a fine line—at this point, Paige is probably the last person Dani wants to open up to right now, and pushing her too hard could make her shut down even more. But Paige can’t just sit there and pretend like everything is okay when it clearly isn’t.

Dani shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. “I’m fine. I just—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip, like she doesn’t even believe her own words.

Paige isn’t sure what it is, but something about Dani’s demeanor—the way she’s hunched over, trying to make herself disappear—makes her feel sick. Dani’s so different from the girl Paige used to know. Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for months now.

“Did Beau do something?” Paige asks quietly. It’s probably not the long term issue, the reason for the girl’s whole switch up, but Paige thinks it damn well could be the reason Dani’s in this situation tonight—and the thought makes the blonde’s stomach sick.

Dani stiffens immediately at the name. That reaction tells Paige everything she needs to know.

Nonetheless, Dani’s laugh is bitter, a sharp sound that cuts through the quiet car. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Paige’s heart drops, her pulse quickening. “Dani…”

But Dani turns her head away, staring out the window like she can’t bear to look at Paige anymore. “Just drive me home, okay?”

Paige hesitates, her throat tight, but eventually, she nods, pressing her foot down on the gas. The tension in the car is palpable, and Paige hates it—hates the silence, hates the distance between them. But she feels like she’s exhausted all she can do to try and repair it between them, so she leaves it be, and turns up the music just slightly.

The road stretches out ahead, leading them back toward their neighborhood, toward the familiarity of home. But as the houses grow closer, Paige can’t shake the feeling that something is just deeply wrong. And this isn’t just about tonight. It isn’t just about Dani walking alone in the dark.

This is about everything that’s happened between them—everything that’s changed since Dani was sent to that camp over the summer. Since Dani had come back different. Closed off. Dani hasn’t been the same since she returned, and even though Paige doesn’t know the full story—well, doesn’t even know an ounce of if, actually—she can still feel the weight of it.

Paige glances over at Dani once more, but Dani’s back to staring out the window, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. In spite of everything, Dani’s still shivering, and Paige knows it’s not from the cold—the heat has surrounded her car by now. It’s about everything else.

They turn down their street, the familiar houses coming into view, bathed in the soft glow of porch lights. Paige can see her house up ahead, just a few doors down from Dani’s. Normally, this is where they’d share a goodbye, a see-you-later. But nothing is normal anymore.

Paige slows as they near Dani’s house, and for a moment, she considers just pulling into her own driveway, since their houses are right next to each other. But something stops her. Even if they live right next door, this still feels different. Dani needs more from her than just a quick drop-off. Paige needs to make sure Dani knows she’s not alone, even if she can’t fix whatever’s going on.

So, she pulls into Dani’s driveway instead, parking right next to Dani’s car. Paige’s car idles for a second, the engine’s soft hum the only sound between them. Paige shifts in her seat, looking over at Dani, who still hadn’t moved.

“You’re home,” Paige says quietly, breaking the silence.

Dani finally tears her eyes away from the window and sets her eyes on Paige, her expression guarded, tired. For a second, Paige thinks Dani’s just going to get out without a word, like every other time they’ve had one of these stilted, painful interactions. But then, Dani surprises her.

Dani shifts in her seat, turning slightly so she can look at Paige more directly. Her eyes soften, just for a moment, as she holds the blonde’s gaze. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her voice low but sincere. “For picking me up.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in Dani’s tone. There’s no anger, no sarcasm, no bitterness in her voice. It’s raw, earnest. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Paige sees a glimpse of the old Dani—the one who didn’t have walls up between them. The one who trusted her.

Paige nods, unable to find her voice for a second. “Yeah. Of course,” she manages to say, her heart aching at how much she misses that side of Dani. The side that isn’t buried under layers of pain and fear.

Dani lingers for a moment, her eyes searching Paige’s face, like there’s something she wants to say but can’t find the words. Then, without another word, she reaches for the door handle and steps out of the car. Paige watches as Dani walks toward her front door, her shoulders hunched against the cold, but there’s something softer in her movements now. Something less defensive.

Paige stays in the car, watching as Dani unlocks her door and steps inside, the porch light flickering off as the door clicks shut behind her. The house swallows her up, and Paige is left sitting there in the quiet, her mind racing with everything that’s just happened.

It isn’t much. A simple thank you. But it’s the first real crack in the wall Dani’s built between them, and Paige can’t help but hold on to that. Maybe it’s a start.

She sighs softly, leaning back in her seat for a moment before putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the driveway. As she makes her way back to her own house, just a few yards away, Paige can’t shake the feeling that things are far from okay between them. But for the first time in a long time, she feels like maybe there’s hope.

And for now, that’s enough.

PAIGE SITS cross-legged on Thaliah’s bed, absentmindedly picking at the hem of her shirt, while Jalen lounges next to her, scrolling through his phone. Both of them are already dressed in their costumes, though neither put in much effort. Paige went the simple route—she’s wearing an old basketball jersey with some fake blood smeared across her face, playing the part of some sort of dead or zombie hooper—she doesn’t even really know herself, if she’s honest. Jalen wears a black hoodie and he’s got a plastic scythe, calling himself the Grim Reaper. Basic, but effective.

Thaliah, on the other hand, is still in front of her vanity, meticulously applying the finishing touches to her makeup. She’s going all out, dressed as a witch, complete with dramatic eye shadow, dark lipstick, and glitter cascading along her cheekbones. Her hair is done up in some complicated updo, and Paige is sure Thaliah will be the best dressed person at the party. As usual.

Paige leans back, resting on her hands, eyes distant as she vents, her voice low but agitated. “I just don’t get it. Like, why the hell would Dani even doing out there last night? Alone? She was walking by herself literally at twelve-thirty, J. She could’ve gotten kidnapped or murdered or—or something!” Her voice wavered with frustration and disbelief, and she glances at Jalen, hoping he’ll give some sort of input.

Jalen shrugs a little, tossing his phone aside and turning toward her. His brows are furrowed in the way they are only when he’s concerned. “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ weird, P. Did you ask her what happened?”

Paige lets out a sigh, her frustration evident. “Of course I did. She just brushed it off, said it was ‘nothing’—like that’s supposed to make me feel better about it.” She throws her hands up in the air, expressing the confusion she’s feeling. “And I swear, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was, like, literally freezing and she looked so sad and I’m just like—what the hell happened?”

Thaliah, still working on her eyeliner, chimes in from the vanity, not looking up but clearly listening. “Dani’s been distant for months, Paige. It’s been off ever since she got back from camp. I don’t think it’s just about last night. Something’s been wrong for a while now.”

Paige nods, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jersey. “I know. But last night just made it so much more real. I feel like—I don’t know—I feel like something happened. Maybe it was Beau. Maybe he did something to her.”

At that, Jalen’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s always quick to jump to conclusions when it comes to Beau Hudson, a guy that he’s had problems with for years now. “You think he hurt her? I mean, he is the type.”

Paige bites her lip, her mind racing with the possibilities. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not like Dani would tell me, though. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

There’s a long pause as all three of them sit in the heavy silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. They’s all thinking the same thing—what the hell happened to Dani? The girl they all knew so well has practically disappeared, replaced by someone colder, someone more distant, someone more shallow.

Thaliah finally puts down her eyeliner, spinning around in her chair to face them. “Something’s definitely up with her. But I don’t think it’s Beau that’s the main problem. I mean, she started acting like this before she and that bitch boy got together. Paige, I know you weren’t here when it happened, but she started dating Beau after she cut J and I off,” Thaliah points out, staring at the pair of her friend son the bed expectantly. But then she sighs, shaking her head, adding, “But if she’s not talking, what are we supposed to do? Just keep watching her spiral and probably ruin her life? Like, I don’t even know.”

Paige clenches her jaw, her mind racing with the memory of Dani walking along that dark sidewalk, looking so alone, so vulnerable. “I don’t want to just sit back and do nothing.” But she knows Thaliah is right—there’s really not much they can do if Dani won’t give them the light of day.

Thaliah shakes her head a little before standing up and moving toward her bed, where Paige and Jalen sit. She grabs her vape off the nightstand and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a cloud that lingers in the air before dissipating. “Look, Dani’s been different for a while, but we can’t fix it tonight. We can’t fix her tonight.”

Paige frowns, her stomach sinking at those words. Fix her. It isn’t like Dani’s broken, but she isn’t herself either. Still, she understands what Thaliah is saying. She just doesn’t like it.

Thaliah hands the vape to Paige, raising her eyebrows when Paige hesitates before taking it. “C’mon, you need to relax. It’s Halloween. We’re supposed to be having fun, not stressing out over all this. Dani’s a tomorrow problem.”

Paige rolls her eyes but accepts the vape anyway, taking a small hit and handing it back. The familiar burn fills her lungs for a moment before she exhales, watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling. “I just hate that we don’t know what’s going on with her.”

Jalen sits up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll figure it out, P. We just have to give her time. Maybe tonight, she’ll show up at the party, and we can talk to her then.”

Thaliah shakes her head, leaning back against her vanity. “Doubt it. She’s been avoiding us for weeks. Even if she shows, it’ll be with Hudson and that prissy Serena girl, and it’ll end in shit like it did last time.”

Paige knows Thaliah’s probably right. They’ve gone to the same parties a couple times since school started, and each time, Dani stays closed to Beau Hudson and Serena Corren’s sides, not bothering to give any attention to Paige. The odds of her suddenly showing up and deciding to speak to them at tonight’s Halloween thing seems slim. Still, Paige can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Dani will surprise her.

Thaliah takes another drag from the vape before offering it back to Paige, who takes another hit, letting the smoke relax her nerves just a bit. “But seriously,” Thaliah says as she exhales, “tonight’s about us. Let’s just have fun, forget about all the drama, and worry about Dani tomorrow. It’s Halloween! We deserve a good night.”

Paige smiles faintly, nodding. Thaliah’s right. Tonight is supposed to be fun. Maybe she can take a break from worrying for one night. Maybe.

And, she thinks maybe she really actually can, because the party does turn out to be fun. It’s a lot different from the last party she went to, the one where she drank herself stupid and fought Beau Hudson. She doesn’t regret the second part… just thinks she could’ve found a better way to do it. But tonight, she’s the designated driver, meaning she’s sticking to her Sprite, laying off the alcohol. But it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t need to drink to have fun with her friends—especially on Halloween.

The house is decked out for Halloween—fake spider webs hanging from the ceiling, carved pumpkins in every corner, and purple lights casting shadows along the walls. Most people are dressed in costumes, though a lot are half-assed like Paige and Jalen’s. Paige gets a laugh out of a guy dressed in a banana costume, dancing on a table, though.

Eventually, Paige, Jalen, and Thaliah settle in the living room, perching on the couches and standing with some of their other friends from school and basketball and such. It’s easy, it’s fun, the atmosphere is lively but not chaotic. Paige enjoys it.

That is, until out of the corner of her eye, she spots them.

Beau Hudson, Serena Corren, and the rest of that group Dani’s been hanging around with lately are clustered near the kitchen, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Paige’s stomach tightens, her eyes scanning the group for one specific person. Dani. But as she searches, she realizes with a sinking feeling that Dani isn’t here.

Paige narrows her eyes slightly, confused. Dani’s always with them—whenever Beau and his friends show up to a party, the girl’s practically glued to his side. But tonight, she’s nowhere around.

Paige glances over at Thaliah, who’s too busy chatting with some girls to notice her. So, the blonde taps Jalen on the shoulder, nodding toward Beau and his friends. “Hudson’s here,” she acknowledges.

Jalen follows her gaze, rolling his eyes. “Dick,” he mutters, his disdain for the quarterback evident. He stares at the group for a second longer before Paige watches a familiar flicker of confusion cross along his face. “Dani’s not with ‘em?”

Paige shakes her head, mind racing. It’s so weird. Ever since Dani started dating Beau, they‘be been almost inseparable, especially at parties like this. But now, Dani just… gone. And it doesn’t sit right with Paige. Especially not after what happened last night.

However, before she can dwell on it too long, nature calls. She needs to pee. Paige stands up, muttering something to Jalen about finding the bathroom. As she makes her way through the crowded house, her mind stays locked on the thought of the Callan girl. Maybe Paige is just being dramatic. Maybe Dani is here and she just hasn’t seen her and she’s worrying for no reason.

When she finally finds the hallway leading to the bathroom, she groans. There’s a line.

And the person standing at the back of the line? None other than Beau Hudson himself.

Paige’s eyes narrow as she approaches, trying to play it casual. She leans against the wall, taking Thaliah’s vape out of her pocket and bringing it to her lips. She inhales, letting the vapor fill her lungs as she stares at the back of Beau’s head. He hasn’t noticed her yet, so she waits a beat before speaking.

“Dani here?” she asks, her tone nonchalant.

Beau turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. His expression is somewhere between annoyed and smug, like he can’t be bothered with her question. “Nope,” he replies shortly, turning back to face the bathroom door as if that’s the end of the conversation.

But Paige isn’t done. She presses, “How come?”

Beau scoffs, a low, bitter sound that grates on Paige’s nerves. “You’re fuckin’ nosy, Bueckers,” he mutters, barely looking at her.

Paige raises an eyebrow, not backing down. “Well, when it comes to Dani, yeah. I am.” Her voice is sharp, but controlled. She isn’t about to let him dismiss her like that.

Beau finally turns to face her fully, his expression twisted with irritation. “Why do you care, anyway? You’re not even friends anymore.”

Paige clenches her jaw, holding his gaze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

For a moment, there’s a tense silence between them, the music and chatter from the party seeming distant in comparison to the charged atmosphere in the hallway. Paige can feel her heart racing, could feel the anger bubbling under the surface.

Beau breaks the silence first, rolling his eyes as if he can’t be bothered with her anymore. “She’s probably rotting in her bedroom right now. I told her not to come.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the harshness in his voice. “What? Why?”

Beau shrugs, leaning casually against the wall as if what he’s saying is no big deal. Which, to him, it probably isn’t. “She’s been a bitch lately. Told her to stay home.”

Paige’s grip on the vape tightens as a rush of anger surges through her. She hates him. She hates how he talks about Dani like that, like she’s just some inconvenience instead of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’s never deserved.

The same girlfriend that Paige picked up in the middle of the night last night.

Her gaze slides to Beau, and before she can stop herself, the words are out of her mouth. “Did you do something to Dani last night?”

Beau’s head snaps toward her, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His tone is defensive, a little too defensive for someone who’s supposedly innocent.

Paige doesn’t back down, her pulse quickening as the frustration bubbles to the surface. “Last night,” she repeats, her voice steady. “I found her walking home alone in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t even tell me what was going on. So I’m asking you, Beau—did you leave her out there?”

Beau’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening as he stands up straighter, his arms dropping to his sides. “Are you seriously accusing me of something?” he snaps, his voice low and threatening. “I didn’t leave her anywhere.”

Paige scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares him down. “Then why was she out there, alone? She looked like she’d been crying.”

Beau rolls his eyes, but there’s something uneasy in the way he shifts on his feet, something that makes Paige’s stomach twist. “I don’t know, Paige. Maybe she was crying because she’s a fucking mess lately.”

Paige’s eyes flash with anger. “She’s a mess? You’re her boyfriend. Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, give a shit?”

Beau’s lips curl into a sneer. “You don’t know anything about our relationship, so maybe you should keep your nose out of it.”

Paige takes a step closer, her voice lowering as she looks down on him ever so slightly—having those couple inches on him. “I know enough to know something’s wrong with her. She’s not herself, and you’re just standing here acting like you don’t care.”

Beau’s face hardens, and for a second, Paige thinks he might actually shove her away. They’ve had a physical fight before—what’s another one? But instead, he takes a step back, exhaling sharply as he glares at her. “You think this is my fault? You think I’m the one who’s making her act like this? You have no idea what she’s like, Bueckers. You only ever saw the good parts of her.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat, but she doesn’t flinch. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she reports.

Beau huffs out a humorless laugh, his gaze flicking to the bathroom door as it remains stubbornly closed. “It means that she’s been a bitch lately, okay? Just like I said before. Moody as hell. I’m not her fuckin’ babysitter, like, Jesus Christ.”

Paige feels her hands clench into fists at her sides. “So you’re just going to leave her to deal with whatever’s going on by herself? Real classy, Hudson.”

Before Beau can respond, the bathroom door swings open, and a couple stumbles out, laughing drunkenly and clinging to each other. Paige shoots them a disgusted look—God only knows what they had been doing in there. Beau takes advantage of the distraction, slipping past her and heading straight for the open bathroom.

Before he disappears inside, he shoots Paige one last glance, his expression dark and full of resentment. “Stay out of it, Paige.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Paige standing in the hallway, her heart racing with anger and confusion. She leans against the wall, lifting Thaliah’s vape to her lips and taking another long drag, the vapor filling her lungs as she tries to calm herself down.

Stay out of it? He’s fucking stupid if he thinks that’ll stop her from doing anything.

She exhales slowly, her mind still spinning with everything that just happened. Beau’s words leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but more than that, they leave her with an even deeper sense of worry for Dani. There’s something wrong, and Beau either doesn’t know how to handle it or simply doesn’t care enough to try.

Paige closes her eyes for a moment, leaning her head back against the wall as the sound of the party buzzes around her. Halloween is Dani’s favorite holiday. Dani’s always, always loved it, always got excited about dressing up, about watching horror movies and going to parties with their friends. She and Paige have done coordinating costumes every year since forever. But this year? Dani’s sitting at home, probably miserable by the sound of things, and Paige wants to help. To do anything to help.

She takes another drag, and thinks.

DANI LAYS on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the silence in the room pressing down on her. Halloween has always been her favorite day of the year, the one she looks forward to the most. But tonight, it feels hollow. She glances around her bedroom—dimly lit, the shadows from her string lights casting a soft glow on the walls. It’s quiet, too quiet, and that’s the problem. Her friends are all probably at a party somewhere, dressed up in ridiculous costumes, laughing, drinking, having the time of their lives.

But she isn’t there. Not with Beau and Serena and everyone else she was meant to go out with tonight.

And certainly not with Paige and Thaliah and Jalen, who she’s spent every Halloween with for years.

The thought stings like an open wound. Halloween’s always been something she and Paige share—whether it was sneaking candy at sleepovers when they were younger or staying up late to watch horror movies that terrified them both, or—more recently—attending the dumbest parties and getting shit-faced. But this year, Dani’s alone, cut off from everything and everyone that once made her feel like herself.

She lets out a long sigh, sitting up in bed. She decides to be masochistic, and pulls one of her old scrapbooks from her the drawer in her bedside table. This is so stupid, she thought, thumbing through the pages. She hasn’t added to it in months, not since before everything changed. Not since her dad sent her to that place. She flips through the pages, her eyes scanning the scrawled handwriting, the cut photos, the scattered tape, reliving bits and pieces of her old life—laughing with Thaliah, playing (and losing) basketball with Jalen, sneaking out with Paige, pretending nothing could ever come between them.

Before camp. Before everything got fucked up.

Her heart clenches as she turns to an old picture tucked between the pages. It’s the two of them—her and Paige. Taken last Halloween, in matching costumes they’d thrown together at the last minute. Dani smiles faintly at the memory, the way Paige had made her laugh so hard that night she thought she’d never catch her breath. It had been one of the best nights of her life, but now it feels like a lifetime ago, like it belongs to a different version of her—a version of Dani that no longer exists.

Dani’s throat tightens as the memories overwhelmed her. She drops the scrapbook on the bed and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling. I still love her. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks, the words echoing in her mind over and over. She loves Paige. She always has. But it feels so impossible now, so wrong, so tainted. After everything that’s happened, after the months apart, after the cold distance between them, after everything that’s been cemented into Dani’s head, how can they ever get back to what they used to be?

Tears blur Dani’s vision as she buries her face in her hands, her body shaking with quiet sobs. She wants to be the girl she used to be—the carefree, happy, whole version of herself that hadn’t been shattered by her father’s cruelty, by the camp, by the guilt that now consumes her every waking thought. She wants to go back to the way things were before her mind became warped and twisted by everything she‘a been forced to believe.

But she can’t. She doesn’t know how.

She cries until her chest aches, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She feels like she’s drowning, and there’s no one there to pull her out of the deep end. She’s lost so much—her friends, her sense of self, her relationship with Paige. Who is she now? She doesn’t even know anymore.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the empty house, pulling Dani out of her thoughts. She wipes at her tear-streaked face, frowning as she glances at the clock on her nightstand. It’s way too late for trick-or-treaters, and no one else os home. Her dad is out for the night, and the house has been dead quiet for hours.

Confused, Dani gets up from her bed, pulling on her hoodie as she makes her way downstairs. The doorbell rings again just as she reaches the bottom of the staircase, and she hesitates for a moment before opening the door.

The porch is empty.

Dani blinks, her heart racing as she stepped outside and glances around. There was no one in sight—just the dark, empty street in front of her house. She thinks maybe it’s just some stupid Halloween prank until she looks down. There’s a small basket sitting on the porch, filled with Twix and Sour Patch Kids and Snickers—all of her favorite candies. Her breath catches in her throat as she crouches down, her fingers trembling as she picks it up.

Sitting on top of the candy is a folded note.

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest as she opens the note, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting:

Dan,

Please know that if you ever need to talk to anyone, I am always here for you. I hope this basket makes your Halloween a little better.

P <3

Dani’s vision blurs with tears again, but this time, they aren’t necessarily tears of sadness. They’re something else—something warmer, softer. Paige left this for her. Paige went out of her way to make sure Dani wasn’t completely alone tonight.

She clutches the note to her chest, her heart aching in a way that feels both painful and comforting all at once. Paige has always been there for her, even now, even when everything is so broken, so different. Dani stands on the porch for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she stares down at the basket.

She lets herself be a little optimistic. She thinks that maybe not everything is lost.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #uconn #wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #hopkins p fic #take me to church #wlw

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sammylkcho · 4 months ago

Note

Everybody stand back I got an idea !! X3

Reader was Sebastian’s spouse before urbanshade got their grubby hands on him but that’s short lived !! So after the whole 12 years down at blacksite without his spouse, they kinda show up as an expendable with a group down at his shop but there’s an angsty catch !! They don’t recognize him and he can’t exactly do much about it since there’s a group there watching >:3

you can add your own twist to this ofc, this is just an idea I had cooking in my head for the longest time! ^_^

Thanks for the request! I tried to include everything you asked for <3

Warnings/Notes: mild aggression, hints of an anxiety attack, mentions of violence, A LOT of text, not reviewed, again, my bad english i suck

divider by @/cafekitsune

You had followed the same routine every day, each day repeating itself without anything new or interesting. It wasn't that you were looking for something flashy, productive, or that made you jump with joy. You could barely muster the strength to get out of bed and force yourself to meet your basic needs to avoid ending up worse than you already were.

It’s not like you found yourself sick, nor were you actually ill; perhaps you were experiencing severe depression, but you couldn't be sure since you didn't want to deal with a psychologist. You felt that any words spoken to you would fall on deaf ears, just as you had done with acquaintances and family.

The events that had occurred twelve years ago still affected you harshly, each day feeling worse than the last. In the early days, you had vehemently denied believing that your husband had truly been taken away for a crime for which they wouldn't even allow you to see the evidence that claimed he was the one who had committed the offense.

That was until the day of the trial arrived, and the words that Sebastian Solace was to be sentenced to death in the electric chair hit you like a truck. The distance between you and Sebastian was considerable at that moment; he was being restrained and handcuffed, flanked by two police officers, while you stood beside the lawyer you could afford.

Sebastian's gaze showed no expression; his strands of hair concealed most of his face, and it seemed he only wanted to lower his eyes to avoid looking at you, as if he were ashamed and didn't deserve to meet your gaze. You didn't realize you were trembling until you were forced to leave the courtroom, each step weighing more heavily on you.

Two years after the death sentence was handed down for the person responsible for the deaths of nine individuals, he was declared innocent of the murders he had been cruelly accused of. This news left you with a worse feeling in your body and mind. You wanted to laugh and cry at the surreal nature of the situation, after your husband had been sentenced to death only for them to declare him innocent two years later. An innocent who had always been innocent.

From that day until today, you regretted not being able to do anything to prove that he was indeed innocent, that he didn't deserve that damnation. You even stopped talking to your family because they fully believed that he was a cold-blooded murderer. In contrast, the Solaces shared your belief in his innocence and allowed you to grieve alongside them, as you apologized through tears for not having been able to do anything, for not doing more than what was within your reach.

You didn't reach out to them again due to the immense guilt you felt inside; you wouldn’t allow yourself to be happy or to tell yourself that the situation was beyond your control and that you had done nothing. You felt more than useless; you even wished you had been the one in his situation instead of him.

But unfortunately, fate listened to you twelve years too late.

It had been just another ordinary day, this time finding yourself in the living room trying to focus on reading a book, until a group of soldiers broke down the door of your home and forcibly detained you. They held your arms behind your back while a portion of the group separated to search every corner of your house.

Apparently, you had murdered a group of five people along with four children, each around 7 to 8 years old, and they found their (unrecognizable) bodies in different trash bags. How did they conclude that you were the murderer? You didn't know, nor did you bother to remember why you were being accused among so many others.

The memory felt like something distant, as if it had happened a long time ago, even though it had only been about a week since you were arrested and taken to jail while they decided what to do with you.

And what a surprise, you received a death sentence in the same electric chair that had executed your husband.

Just a few days before you were unjustly executed, a company called "Urbanshade" offered you the choice to either die or work with them under a fair deal. You ended up choosing to go with them; you didn't know what had compelled you to join when simply breathing in your own home felt suffocating and made you want to die right there.

They told you that you would be searching for a crystal that the company needed, and if you managed to return with it, they would grant you freedom without charges and from the horrible act that you had not committed. You would also be going with a group of about five other prisoners who shared the same common goal: their freedom.

However, you weren't very excited. The company didn't expect any of them to return; they were expendable.

They instructed you to return with everything you could obtain from the place: USB drives, documents, small crystals containing DNA, and so on.

You let your group take charge of grabbing everything they could while you stayed behind them, but occasionally you tried to grab one or two things along the way.

"Hey," one of your group called your name, prompting you to turn your gaze toward the person and feel obligated to listen to what they had to say. "Do you mind holding onto these documents? I need to stash my flashlight over here since the battery is running low."

"I don't think I can; the pockets of this suit are too small, and-”

"How thoughtful of you, thanks!"

They abruptly left you holding the classified documents, leaving you confused for a couple of seconds.

You had no choice but to carry them until you reached door 54. Three people in the group were injured from opening the wrong doors and being attacked by the Good People, along with the AI turrets that never ceased to trick them with false doors or deploy their turrets.

Everyone was on high alert, with ears sharpened to remain attentive in case Pinkie was approaching or if a Pandemonium unexpectedly drew near.

When you arrived at door 54, a small "psst" made everyone stop, remaining still as statues to figure out where the sound was coming from.

"Over here!" said a voice that sounded human.

The small opening of a ventilation shaft on the left side against the wall appeared to have been "opened" from what seemed like a blow. This left everyone paralyzed, unsure whether to heed the voice or to carry on.

Your group decided to pretend they hadn't heard the voice and began searching for the access card around the area, leaving you standing at the door of the room in a very reflective state.

You felt like you had heard that voice before; it was familiar in some way. Even a thought crossed your mind that it was Sebastian's voice, but it couldn't be. He was dead. You had been focused on surviving in that damned place, and for a moment, you could stop thinking about him; a voice couldn't pull you back into that state of denial. He was dead; you had to accept it.

You shook your head from side to side to refocus on reality, noticing how your group was increasingly desperately searching for the access card. The room was small, and there were no more places to look for the access card for the next door. They had already used the code breachers they had left from previous rooms, so they couldn't keep moving forward.

"Where are you going? I don’t bite" the voice spoke again, with a sarcastic tone.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard it again, the same thoughts surfacing that the voice resembled his-identical, if you were honest. You didn't want to torture yourself this way anymore, but it seemed the universe didn't want to help you move on from the last twelve years.

You saw how your group seemed to come to an agreement to enter the ventilation shaft and see what life had in store for them. Whether this would put their lives in more danger than they already were or provide a small respite.

"Hey, c'mon. Whatever's in here can't be as dangerous as the things chasing us" a woman from your group said, one of the injured. She had a deep cut on part of her cheek from the Good People.

"I'm going."

That was all you said before being the last to crawl through the ventilation shaft, grateful it wasn't one of those long ones you sometimes had to traverse when a door was damaged.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not gonna hurt you, despite what you have seen, heard, or been told. My name is Sebastian, your only friend. If I'm correct, your supervisors have told you to secure "loose assets"-documents, vials, whatever. However-" the same masculine voice from before spoke again when he noticed four of your group had already entered his small store.

He gave the same introduction as always, just like he did with every expendable who managed to reach his shop. The same routine, until halfway through his presentation, he noticed a fifth figure entering, and that's when he saw you.

It was you, his wife.

You looked just as beautiful as you had twelve years ago when he had been away from you. Although you were a mess in appearance: you had noticeable dark circles under your eyes, your hair hadn't been taken care of in who-knows-how-long, and you looked overly restless (though of course, one could argue it was due to a place like this where you had to stay alert to avoid dying). You weren't focused on reality; you hadn’t even noticed the enormous "creature" standing in front of you.

He had an overwhelming urge to cry, to rush toward you, regardless of whether the people in your group might get hurt more than they already were because of his sudden behavior. All he wanted was to be in your arms, to feel your fingers running through his hair while you kissed his entire face. He wanted to be in the presence he had longed for during the unbearable twelve years he had been tortured, battered, mistreated, and experimented on without any remorse.

He had seen death up close, had killed in cold blood, and had wanted to die more than once in those same facilities, wishing only to be in your arms while planning an escape with his brothers or when he played one of your favorite songs on his guitar after you had a rough day. You and his family had been the only ones who managed to keep him motivated to return.

And now you were there, unaware that he was right there with you, breathing the same air.

But he couldn’t break down in front of four expendables; he had to make a mental effort to continue as if he wasn’t literally standing in front of you. Even though it hurt his heart.

"As I was saying, if I can make it worth your while, I’m gonna ask you to cut a deal. You give me any research you might have on you, and I’ll give you some of these items I’ve scavenged. Here, you can just pick it off my tail. These would be far more useful to you compared to some ‘silly data,’ no? If you don’t ask questions, I won’t either. You get yours, and I get mine. And if you already have anything that might be running low on juice, you can buy batteries on the table next to me. Whenever you wanna get going, the keycard to the next zone is by the radio." He continued with his presentation, skipping a couple of things at the end, but not caring. After all, they would likely die (except for you).

And there you were, trying to focus on reality as the voice finished speaking. You kept your gaze on the ground, not wanting to see the figure standing in front of you and your companions, who already seemed “comfortable” with the voice’s owner.

You forced yourself to lift your head, and as soon as you did, you froze once again.

It was some sort of sea serpent with a tail fin at the end, its skin a light blue with various scales. What caught your attention the most were its hands, which had only four fingers and a third arm wrapped in bandages of reddish tones. As you raised your head more to look at its face, you noticed it had dark hair, two eyes that shone blue, and a third that stood out behind its wavy hair.

You found it hard to swallow when that same hair and eye color seemed so familiar, but you forced yourself to bury the thought once again. It had to be pure coincidence; yes, that was all. A humanoid creature that resembled your deceased husband and-

Wait, did it just say its name was Sebastian?

The place fell silent, and you found yourself immersed in your thoughts until you heard a small murmur from your companions, telling you they would wait for you in the next room until you decided to buy something.

Were you even going to buy anything?

Anyways.

You noticed how the figure of the humanoid creature was moving something with one of the fingers on its third arm, as if trying to ease the anxiety it carried. It reminded you of the same action Sebastian used to do when he was anxious about something in particular.

"Stop thinking about Sebastian. He’s dead." you forced yourself to think, biting your lower lip as if that would rid you of those annoying thoughts.

"Hey, looking for something specific? Unfortunately, your companions have nearly exhausted all the stock, but I can give you a discount on a couple of items" the creature spoke, focusing back on you.

You suddenly felt uneasy under its gaze, as if you were afraid it would do something with just the two of you alone in the room. Yet, on the other hand, a part of you felt comfortably at ease with it.

"Uh… I don’t think I can buy anything from you. I only have these documents, and, well… I think they could make better use of anything I could buy." you said, scratching the back of your neck in a futile attempt to shake off the sudden comfort and survival mode you were in; it was becoming too bothersome.

You noticed how the creature looked at you thoughtfully for a moment longer, its gaze sweeping from your feet to your head, as if to say it didn’t believe you at all.

"The name’s Sebastian, remember?" it reminded you of its name, sensing a hidden plea in its tone.

"… Yes, Sebastian." You repeated its name, finding it strange to utter the name of your deceased husband. It had been a long time since you said his name, and it felt good to say it; it brought you a kind of comfort for a few seconds.

You both gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, as if searching for something in the other's soul, trying to unearth pieces of something neither of you knew what it was but were seeking nonetheless.

The two souls that had longed for each other in a mutual way were now together, yet one remained unaware of the other's presence.

#pressure x reader #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian x reader #pressure sebastian #sebastian solace x yn

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