#it scared me how much I loved her I think

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Twenty One

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 CW: 18+ mdni, discussion of kidnapping, sedation. Angst.

“Da?” Penny points at the guest room. “Bunny?” 

“Aye lamb, Bunny.” He tries not to look at the door, tries to push away the avalanche of despair. If he could dig it free it from his brain, he would. He’d take it away from everyone, you, Si, himself. He’d rewind time, take it all back, start from the beginning and fix it all. 

The memories burn like fire. They’re ash in the back of his throat. 

“We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.” 

 What a lie. Who were they kidding, doing this? Pretending they were some knights in shining armor, coming to rescue you? 

They became everything you feared. 

Pen nestles into his neck, gripping his shirt as she wiggles. “Story?” 

“Jus’ one alright?” She signs okay, and sighs. 

“Gus?” He grits his teeth. Penny's love for Gus has been a tiny bright spot in an abysmal expanse of misery, but her obsession just reminds him of everything else. 

“Gus is downstairs, it’s nap time.” He can feel the tumultuous slope of a tantrum, Penny’s mood ratcheting up and up until it explodes. She’s tired, and stressed, too much like her Dad, reading the emotions in the house like its second nature. She knows something is wrong. 

“Gus Gus,” her lower lip trembles, legs kicking. “Wan’ Gus Gus.” 

“Ye’ll see Gus later.” She doesn’t understand anything that’s happened, and the guilt eats at him, at what they’ve done to their family, what they’ve brought into their home. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

He holds her tight, kisses her forehead. “I love ye, Penny.” She sniffles. 

“Luh you.” 

 “Not at all?” 

“No idea mate. Looked at me like she’s never seen me a day in her life. A bit bizarre if you ask me.” Simon rubs a hand over his face. “But she also pointedly avoided looking at me. Tried to make herself smaller.” Johnny grimaces. They've moved as fast as they could, but you didn't make it easy.

In a weird way, Johnny is proud of you.

“How does she seem?” He knows this answer. To not recognize Kyle you must be tired beyond belief, operating on autopilot, frozen stiff with fear. 

“Skittish. Exhausted. Scared.” His shoulders slump, entire body sinking into the cushions of the couch. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, a little rabbit running for her life. He can't imagine how you must feel, believing you were betrayed by them, running away with their babe in your belly.

In another life, maybe they’d stay in Scotland with you. He’d show you all the things he loves about it, all the things he still calls home, the same things he showed Pen. Maybe it would be different. 

“Did you get it done?” Simon interrupts his spiral, redirects their focus. 

“Yeah, managed to slip it into the little pocket at the top, she had no idea. It’s online and I sent you guys the link; you should be able to see the ping. I’ll stay on her until you get here.” 

“From a distance.” Simon reiterates, and Kyle scoffs. 

“Do you think I’m an amateur?” 

Penny isn’t in her room after her nap. 

She gets up at the same time everyday without fail, dependable clockwork that they work their lives around. 

Johnny’s heart jumps into his throat. Logical thinking starts to fade away into panic, fear, his fumbling fingers swiping at his phone just as her little giggle echoes from down the hall, and relief rushes through his bones.

She's in your room. Curled up in your side, feet in your lap, little palm on your belly, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“And then the cow said-” 

“Moooo!” He’s sick at the sight, another tidal wave of grief pulling him out to sea, reminding him of things they’ll probably never have now, your love, your trust, a family with you.

But you haven't left, a desperate voice in his head reminds him, you've had plenty of opportunities, but stays here. Why? 

Maybe all hope isn't lost.

“That’s right,” you brush her wispy curls back from her face and smile, “you’re such a smart girl Pen.” She pats the curve of your stomach, and then signs. 

“Baby?” Your hand folds over hers, and Johnny’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe. “My baby.” You laugh, and she giggles as you hug her close, kissing the top of her head. 

“This is your baby brother or sister Pen. What do you think? Boy? Or girl?” Penny shrugs, giving you a sheepish look. 

“Gus?” 

“Didn’t you see Gus earlier? Did you feed him breakfast?” There’s some shuffling, and she wiggles down to the floor, waiting patiently as you groan and swing your legs over the bed. “Alright, he could probably use some more fish flakes anyway.” You look tired, weary, but still your smile is soft for Penny, gentle and encouraging. 

It fades when you catch him in the doorway. 

“Hey.” You nod, the small spark in your eyes dying immediately as you watch him cautiously. Like he’s a threat. 

“How long have you been standing there?” 

“Er, not long.” What’s another lie in the long list of transgressions at this point? 

“Pen wants to see Gus so… I thought I’d take her downstairs.” You shift uneasily, and he steps aside. Penny’s hand is tucked in yours, and a vision of one of you falling, tripping, and taking the other down flashes in his mind. 

“Be careful on the stairs Pen.” She goes down on her knees now, backward, sliding her stomach across each step in a slow but methodical process. One that could trip you up. “I can take ye down-” 

“No,” she vehemently refuses, “I do it.” 

“She can do it on her own.” You back her up immediately, both of his girls united in solid opposition against him. Bleedin’ Christ. Penny points downstairs. 

“Da. Gus.” She signs for both, for once oblivious to your agitation, and he winces when you shoot him an annoyed look. 

“I’ve got her Johnny.” 

“Okay,” Penny’s already started on her descent, and you hold onto the banister, still glaring at him. He gulps. “Ye be careful too.” For a second, the storm breaks, the thunder rolls over the hill into the distance, torrential downpour turning a drizzle, and the sun tries to peek through the clouds. Sadness and longing, flickers in your eyes, so clearly displayed that it urges him forward, a step too close. You back away. 

The sun is gone, and the storm rages. 

The prefilled syringe glints in the sunlight where it sits on the table. Johnny tries not to look at it. 

“Are ye sure-” 

“No,” Simon snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m not. But I don’t see what our choices are. We can’t leave her on her own with Graves at large. I promised… I promised she’d be safe. That I’d take care of her.” 

“We both did.” 

“Well we did a shit job.” He pales when he looks back at the needle. “We’re one hundred percent sure? It’s not going to harm them?” 

“Aye, triple checked. Safe for mum and baby.” They sit across from one another in silence. Simon is far away, somewhere even Johnny can’t reach him, and when he speaks next, his voice cracks. 

“She’s going to be so scared. She won’t understand what’s happening.” He covers his face, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. “She already thinks… she thinks we’re a threat. She’s not going to listen to anything we say.” 

“I know.” 

“We have to do it this way.” He’s whispering, locked in an endless battle of wills with himself, and Johnny reaches for his hand. He doesn’t know what else to do. Sick with dread twisting his heart, he knows the options are limited. He knows this is a good course of action, possibly the safest, the most rational. 

Even if it will turn them into your monsters.

“I know, Si. I know.” 

You’re on the patio. 

He’s found you there a few times, curled up on the outdoor couch, sun on your face as you read or scroll on your phone. 

He wants to go to you, encouraged by the sliver of something he saw in your eyes earlier, but he knows he can’t. If he pushes too hard, it will only make you retreat.

“She’s been out there for an hour.” Simon stands at his side, and if you look up, you’ll see both of them staring. Watching. 

“Did ye talk to her?” 

“Tried. She ignored me.” 

“Did ye actually?” His patience is thin today, a fine thread threatening to fray. “Try?” Johnny knows what it truly is, this avoidance of you. Simon brings you meals, checks in, but keeps away, holds his position at a firm distance. 

He can’t live with himself. 

“Johnny,” it’s a warning shot, but he chooses not to pay it any attention. 

“Did ye? Try at all? Because I haven’t seen ye try since we got home, since that day she woke up.” Simon stiffens. 

“She doesn’t want me.” 

“She doesnae want either o’ us Si. What did ye think would happen? That everything would be fine and she would forgive us? She would trust us automatically?” He’s on the verge of yelling now, and instead of trying to soothe him as usual, Simon scowls and turns away. Johnny snaps. “We said it’d take time an’ work but ye’re jus’ runnin’ away now, every chance ye get, an’ leavin’ everything to me!” 

“I…” He’s never seen his husband so lost. These past two weeks, every day he’s slipped further and further away, and nothing Johnny says or does brings him back. “I can’t, Johnny.” 

“Ye have to try.” For her. For me. For your family. Simon shakes his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“Jesus.” The heel of your palm goes to your temple, and he holds his breath. “What-” You trail off as you look up, take them in, guilty as sin. 

If only his Ma could see him now. See what he’s done. 

You shoot upward, scrambling towards the head of the bed, eyes wide and frozen with fear. 

Shaking and terrified. A little rabbit caught in a snare. Their snare.

You watch them like they're executioners leading you to the block. 

“Wh-what…” 

“Listen to us sweetheart, just listen,” Simon soothes, voice low and cautious but fast because he knows they’ve got to get it out, establish the truth right away. “You’re safe, everything’s okay, you and the baby, you’re safe here.” You shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“You… b-brought me back?” Your voice cracks. “You brought me back and n-now he’s…” you break apart on a sob. 

“He’s never going to touch ye ever again, bunny. We swear it. I know,” you try to scoot off the bed, but Simon holds you still by your shoulders. They have to get this out, have to get through this part no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much you don't want to listen. You have to hear the truth, the reasoning.

“I know you don’t believe us, but we can prove it.” Johnny pulls out his phone and clicks open the secure email attachment. It’s the mission report from when Graves betrayed them outside the Mexican Special Forces base, and it’s only partially redacted thanks to Kate.

It’s a risk. 

It will confirm your fears and dissolve them. It will tell you who they truly are, what they truly do, while proving they’re telling the truth. 

It’s a gamble. 

“Read this,” Simon pushes it into your hand and you recoil. It doesn’t stop him, he wraps your brittle fingers around it and then stands, Johnny right behind him. “Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.” 

“Did ye like it?” You refuse to look at him, half of a pot pie eaten and sitting at your side on the tray. No answer. 

You blink at the ceiling. 

“Wanted to check in, see if ye needed anything?” Please, say something. Say anything. “Somethin’ else to eat, maybe? Si said ye didnae eat much of yer lunch. Are ye feeling sick again?” You’ve been having bouts of nausea, which you’ve told them is normal. You said you brought it up with your midwife at your appointment last week, she wasn’t concerned, and left it that. He knows you only supplied the information because they were badgering you about it, and as you told them the other day-

“I’d do anything to get you to leave me the fuck alone.” 

When you turn to look at him, he almost wishes you hadn’t. 

There’s a lifetime of pain in your eyes. Anger. Distrust. Hurt. All of it caused by their hand, their decisions. 

He tries anyway. He has to. 

“Did ye know goldfish can grow up to ten inches? Researched it when we…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “when we got home.” Still nothing. Your fingers twitch on the edge of your kindle, and he’s overcome with the urge to place his hand there, to hold yours. “Ye know, Si an’ I were talking, it might be good for you to come down for a meal? Maybe ye could come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow? Pen asked.” Using Penny is wrong, he knows that, but he’s drowning and he doesn’t know how much farther they can sink at this point. 

But it all falls on deaf ears. 

You give him one last long look, another glare overflowing with malice, more rage, more despair, everything twisted up into a complicated knot. 

He's well practiced with bombs, confident, rarely makes a mistake-

but this is one he's terrified to defuse.

“Johnny… just... leave me alone. Please.” No, he wants to tell you, no, I'd rather have you scream at me for hours on end, I'd rather have you throw another mug at my head, over all of this... this agonizing silence.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… leave ye be.” 

“Upset?!” You cover your heart with your palms. “Upset…” 

“Sweetheart-” Simon hangs back behind Johnny, allowing him to take the lead, again, but still trying to coax you to calm, and you look at one then the other, shaking your head, tossing the phone on the bed.

“You… you hid all of this from me. I knew you were military but this…” You’re angry, but beneath it, fighting for freedom, is pain. Pain caused by them, by this betrayal. “Phillip aside, you kidnapped me!” 

“We had no choice,” Johnny’s voice wavers and he scrambles for control. “We couldnae leave ye alone and unprotected, an’ we knew ye wouldnae listen to us if we just… showed up.” 

“I wish I had better aim,” you spit, staring daggers at where Simon’s arm sports a fresh bandage, covering the stitches. He flinches. 

“We would never hurt ye-” A bitter laugh cuts him off, and you throw your hands up, gesturing around the room. 

“What do you call this then, Johnny? What would you call drugging me and hauling me away from my home?” 

"That wasnae yer home! Yer home is wit' us, bun." You stare at him in disbelief.

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think this... this could be my home now."

“I promise-” Simon starts again but you glare at him. 

“Your promises mean fuck all, Simon Riley.” 

“We’ve never lied to ye, bunny, an’ if we had known from the beginning, we could have protected ye, made sure he never came near ye again.” It’s low to use your own evasion against you, your own survival instincts, but he’s grasping at straws. He’s not sure it’s possible to tell you how sorry they are anymore, they’ve said it a thousand times. You snort. 

“You’re unbelievable. Both of you. And you’re no better than him.” 

“That’s not true.” Simon cuts, sharp edge slicing through your declaration. “We would never, ever hurt you. We love you.” Your swallow is audible, and for a second, you falter. A tear falls. Johnny steps forward. 

“Bun-“ 

“I want you to go.” 

“Ye have every right-” 

“Get out!” You scream it, pointing at the door with a shaking finger. “Get the fuck out.” Simon doesn’t take a single second before turning his back and disappearing, leaving Johnny alone with you. 

Defeated. 

“I love ye.” He murmurs softly, and you scoff. 

“Fuck your love, Johnny. It means nothing.”

The scream wakes them both at zero two hundred. 

It’s blood curdling, could shatter the windows, shake the house down to the studs. 

Simon’s faster than him lately, gets the drop- 

But he bypasses your room. 

“I’ll take care of Penny.” Of course. She’d be awake. That would’ve woke anyone. 

The door creaks when it flings wide, and then he’s sitting at your hip on the mattress, holding you, calling your name. The whites of your eyes shine in the dark, pupils slowly adjusting as he flicks the light on next to the bed. 

He braces for a fight, shores his defenses, readies himself for the venom, but the only thing you give him is the trembling of your lower lip, and your tears, your hand stretching for his. “Shhh, ye’re okay, it’s okay. Was jus’ a dream bunny, jus’ a dream.” Your chest heaves. 

“I… Phillip...” 

“He’s no’ here, it’s just ye and me. Simon and Pen down the hall.” He’d be lying to himself if he said this isn’t making a sick part of him happy, this need you seem to have for him, for comfort, even if it may be fleeting. “Ye’re safe, pretty girl.” A moan escapes you, working its way into a sob, and you curl forward. 

Into him. 

In this darkness, the early hour of the morning, the two of you are suspended in time, alone in this world where nothing bad ever happened and you’re safe in his arms. Like the man he sees in the mirror doesn’t disgust him, like his remorse isn’t a living, breathing thing, a reaper waiting to take him away. 

And when your nose presses to his chest and you wet his shirt with tears as he rocks you, promises you’re safe, that they’ll take care of you, that he loves you, all the words they’ve said since the day they met you, the guilt threatens to drown him-

And his own tears drip from his face. 

[cameronsbabydoll]

hiiii, for sugar coated chains could u write something about how their oldest son once he’s older, like high school or college age, gets in a fight with rafe because he’s tired of seeing how he treats his mom and says something along the lines of “you don’t deserve her, she deserves so much better than you”

it’s late.

later than it should be for voices to still be raised in this house — his house — and especially not those voices.

your heart sinks the second you step into the hallway and hear them — rafe’s voice low, sharp like a blade being honed, and your son’s, rough with anger in a way he never used to sound. not your sweet boy. not the same little boy who used to trail after rafe on chubby toddler legs, desperate for his attention.

but he’s not a boy anymore.

you think you can talk to me like that, huh? under my roof?” rafe’s growl cuts through the tense quiet like it always does — but for once, it doesn’t land the way it used to.

for once, your son doesn’t back down.

“yeah, i do.”

silence.

and then—he laughs. bitter, disbelieving. his laugh, rafe’s laugh, inherited like every sharp-featured thing about him — only this time, it doesn’t sound a thing like his father.

“you don’t deserve her.” he spits it like venom, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years. “mom deserves so much better than you.”

it punches the air from your lungs.

not because it’s untrue.

but because it’s the first time someone’s said it out loud in this house.

“she’s—god, she’s been nothing but good to you. sweet to you. stupidly loyal.” his voice cracks, breaks in that way that only happens when anger curls into hurt. “and all you do is treat her like a possession. like something you can control. she deserves—”

“enough.” rafe’s voice is a warning, low and dark.

but your son doesn’t flinch.

“you’re just pissed ‘cause you know i’m right.”

and it’s quiet after that.

so quiet you almost forget how to breathe.

until rafe’s footsteps stalk away — leaving your son standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving — and for the first time in a long time, he looks over and sees you.

soft-eyed. heartbreaking.

“mom…”

he sounds younger all of a sudden. like your little boy again. like he didn’t just stand there, taller than you now, shoulders tense with fury and hurt, defending you like no one’s ever dared to do before.

you don’t even think about it. your arms are around him before either of you can say anything else — pulling him in, holding him so tight it nearly knocks the breath from him.

and maybe that’s what does it.

maybe it’s the way your hands shake against his back, or how your voice wobbles when you whisper, “oh, baby…” — that cracks whatever wall he was holding himself up with.

because suddenly his arms are winding around you too, strong like his father’s but gentler — so gentle — like he’s scared to break you.

“shouldn’t have to be like that,” he mumbles into your shoulder, raw and low. “you shouldn’t have to… put up with him like that.”

and god — if your heart doesn’t just break right there in the hallway.

because he means it. so fiercely. so protectively.

your sweet, angry, stubborn son — standing there like your greatest defender.

you pull back just enough to cup his face in both hands, tearful but smiling anyway — motherly to your core, the only way you know how to love.

“hey,” you whisper, brushing his hair back like you used to when he was small. “you let me worry about me, alright? all you have to do is be good. be kind. be better.”

his jaw tightens, the fight still lingering in his eyes.

“i learned that from you.”

and oh — if that doesn’t just undo you completely.

because for everything rafe ever tried to control, ever tried to mold and own and shape in this house — he couldn’t take that from you.

your heart. your softness.

passed down exactly how it was meant to be.

unbreakable.

[stilllivinginthesewers]

Let's go with my second most important OC (should I do it with all of them?)

Name : Riley (i asked ChatGPT until i was satisfied with the name 💀)

Age : 17 years old

Love interests : Some guy named Louie, a really good cook scared of any type of firearms (though he becomes the most dangerous man ever if you spoil his food/bother him while he's cooking)

Favourite food : Red Guacamole (red avocadoes exist in this universe as well as blue and green ones, and red ones are sweet and spicy. Still, spices and ingredients are as important in the recipe)

Job : None, they used to study psychology but then stopped and now they just... Hang out with his group of friends (and a literal god also)

Hobbies : Surfing and paintball, mostly

Best at : helping people, whether it's emotionally or physically. He'd do anything to help anyone, even if he has to get hurt, to skip two whole nights of sleep or clean the blood of your worst enemy. He tries to tank almost everything and often forgets that people sometimes didn't ask for help, and that he's not invincible himself.

Loves/Hate : They love seeing people smile, and they hate seeing people suffer, or simply cry. But nothing really bothers him, as long as he knows everyone is going well, he's happy.

Best memory : One day, before his parents divorced, his dad took him to the city for a whole day when his mom wasn't here. It's the first time he really felt happy, and this day he knew how much he meant for his dad.

Worst memory :

(⚠️TW SUIC_DE, skip this part if you don't wanna read this⚠️)

During his studies in college, he met a girl, Sina. She came from another country (which is common knowing his country had the best universities in the world) and since she didn't know anyone, Riley became friends with her. Both of them had the best times together, in spite of Sina's depression. But one night, he received a goodbye message from Sina, and rushed to her apartment to try something. He couldn't find her at home, and decided to look for her on the rooftop. At the very moment he arrived, he could see her fall from the roof.

✨ End of the TW ✨

Design? : Basically, yes. Long dark hair, tanned skin, always wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a long bermuda short, carrying a white and red surfing board. I didn't really draw him yet so it never really changed.

Inspiration : I don't remember, I think it's because I love helping and I thought about a character who would be like this, but pushing this trait a bit further.

Genre : I'm not sure I understand, but he's one of the protagonists (plz someone tell me if I'm mistaken)

Gender/Sexuality : Riley is a man, and is biromantical/allosexual

Siblings : He has a step brother, 10 years older (his name is Alessandro, and is the most important political figure of another country (although he's just a huge troll and is so laid back he shouldn't have his current post)

Relationship with his parents : Riley visits his dad really often and both love seeing each other, whereas he never talked to his mom since she left, but he's okay with it, it's not like he missed her.

Favourite trait of the OC : HIS HAIRRR I WANT THEM OMGGG

Drawing/writing frequency : I write about them quite often compared to the other OCs

Killing the OC? : We're both aged the same, about the same physical strength, but he's really fast and I have asthma so I guess not.

Phobias : None, he's not really scared of anything

Rival : He has no true rival actually

Duration : It's been about a year, something like that i think

Age of creation : 15 or 16, something like that x)

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[formulaonecrumbs]

hey junie :) this is based off an actual experience of mine: osc gets worried about reader losing a lot of blood, her period lasting almost two weeks. he finds her weak, almost passed out and has to take her to the er where she gets blood transfusions and they cuddle in the hospital bed

-🧸

let’s get colour back in your face 🤍

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader loses too much blood during a long period flare-up and ends up in the hospital.

warnings: pcos struggles, heavy period bleeding, near-fainting, hospital visit, blood transfusion

A/N: (another old req) i was gonna write more about the transfusion itself but i’m squeamish as FUCK. so no thanks 🤗 i hate that this is what u have to deal with but i do hope u have a genuinely lovely support system to help u thru it. it’s what u deserve, hun :) love u, 🧸❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’ve always been good at pretending.

shrugging it off when it drags longer than it should. telling yourself it’s fine even when it’s not. one week turns into nine days, then ten, then twelve. you bleed through pads in an hour. your skin goes pale, lips dry, eyes tired.

but you keep going. brushing your teeth, making the bed, replying to texts like nothing’s wrong. oscar’s been at the sim all morning, and you didn’t want to bother him. you told him you were tired. you told him you’d rest.

you didn’t tell him you hadn’t stood up in hours because your legs were shaking too badly.

you didn’t tell him the room spun when you tried to walk to the bathroom.

you didn’t tell him how you blacked out on the floor for a second and came to with your heart pounding in your ears.

he calls before he gets home. you barely answer. your voice is slow, breath shallow.

“you okay, baby?”

“mhm.”

he knows you’re not.

he’s home ten minutes later. he finds you curled on the couch, skin too white, lips almost blue, a blanket pulled halfway over your legs, eyes glassy and barely open.

“hey,” he says softly, kneeling beside you. “what’s going on?”

you blink. “dizzy.”

“how long?”

“since this morning. maybe yesterday.”

he runs his hand gently over your forehead. your skin is clammy. cold sweat and warmth all mixed together. his voice is too calm when he says, “you’re bleeding too much, aren’t you?”

you nod slowly, like you’re ashamed.

“okay,” he says. “that’s it. we’re going.”

“no—”

“yes.”

you try to argue but he’s already scooping you up, already grabbing your bag with one arm, already texting someone on the way out the door. the car ride is blurry. you think he holds your hand the whole way.

the hospital is cold and bright and too loud. you don’t remember much—just that they take you back fast, someone says the word “anemic,” someone else says “transfusion.” oscar never lets go of your hand.

they give you fluids. blood. oxygen.

you sleep through most of it. your body heavy, but finally still. and when you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed with warm blankets pulled around you and oscar tucked beside you—legs awkwardly bent to fit on the tiny mattress, one arm wrapped under your neck.

he’s half-asleep but stirs when you shift.

“hey,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your temple. “you’re okay.”

you don’t even speak. you just curl closer to him, pressing your face into his chest. he holds you tighter.

“you scared the shit out of me,” he says, voice shaking just a little. “don’t ever do that again.”

you mumble something about not wanting to worry him.

“you worrying me is never worse than you almost passing out in the living room alone,” he says gently. “i want you to tell me, every time. even when it’s bad. especially when it’s bad.”

you nod against him.

he kisses the top of your head. “i love you, y’know.”

you hum. “i love you too.”

and even in a stiff hospital bed, in a gown that itches and an IV in your arm, it’s the safest you’ve felt in days.

THE END :>

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you have any plans to continue https://www.tumblr.com/dcxdpdabbles/758079736394170368/dcxdp-fanfic-idea-lights-and-camera?source=share ?

It's just so good!

Tim was in the fetal position in the corner of his closet. The rest of his team was trying to coax him out with various offerings- Kon held up soda, Cassie had steaming brownies, and Bart was waving around comics- but nothing seemed to be enough to get Tim to crawl out of his hiding place.

Dick watched form the bedroom doorway, wondering if the Young Justice team were able to handle another one of Tim's meltdowns. He figured he would give them the benefit of the doubt and let them handle things until he needed to step in.

"Psh psh psh" Kon coos, croching just outside the open doorway of he closet. "Here, Timmy, Timmy, come on out, buddy. Psh psh psh"

"He's not a cat, Kon!" Cassie sighs before she lowers her voice in a sharp command while snapping her fingers. "Timothy. Come! Now, boy, come here!"

"Treating him like a dog isn't going to work either, Cassie." Bart laughs, looking far too amused to be leaning over the heavy hitters of his team.

Dick wasn't entirely sure what Tim had said to the Ghost King but whatever he said was bad enough that he had ran straight to his room and thrown himself dramatically in the closet with a wail. It's a strange habit he's had since he was young.

Once Dick witnissed Tim hide inside his closet for missing a step at WE and rolling down the stairs. Instead of being mad that he broke his leg, Tim was more horrified that the people in the lobby had watched him fall.

If Kryptonite was enough to stop Superman, Public Embarrassment was enough to stop Red Robin.

"I can never be seen by mortal eyes again!" Tim wails, hand reaching out to snatch the brownies from Cassie's hands. His following words were muffled somewhat by the treat he attempted to eat in one bite. "I told the prettiest boy to ever walk the Earth that I wanted to get him out of his pants for the right price and he thinks I called him a whore when I meant I wanted to buy his pants!"

"Just tell him, English is your second language, and you messed up the translation!" Bart offered cheerfully. "You can pretend to be Russian!"

"Or French," Conner counters, wagging his eyebrows. "You know the language of love. Let that pretty boy know what your intentions are."

"I think he let his intentions be known pretty well when he offered that money to get that boy out of his pants. How much was it again, Tim? A hundred dollars?"

The wailing increases in volume and Dick sighs deeply. He uncrosses his arms, moving away from where he was leaning on the door. Kon already knew he was there, but Bart and Cassie both sent him surprised looks when he moved to crouch down beside them.

It was always fun to scare people with the training that Bruce had carefully taught him.

He smiles at the sight of his brother, who is now lying on his side, in the fetal position. Tim was attempting to eat the brownies from the corner of his mouth, tears rolling down his face, and looking for all intents and purposes like he was having a proper meltdown.

"Hey there bu-dy" Dick sings grinning when Tim's eyes sharpen long enough to realize he's just teasing before he goes back to attempting to become one with the floor. "Bruce wants to have a debrief on how to apologize to the library boy."

"What?" Tim blinks, lifitng his head slightly to give Dick a overly hopeful expression. There are brief flashes as thoughts race through Tim's mind, reflecting in his eyes before he seems to brighten. "Bruce got me a second chance!?"

"Officially, this is to prevent a level 15 threat from destroying half the planet over a potential personal offense." Dick shrugs smiling more as Tim sits up, wiping the crumbs from his face. "Unofficially, he doesn't like his son to be heartbroken and set up a chance for you to apologize with the Level 15 threat."

"I'm sorry, what do you mean the library boy is a level 15 threat?" Kon cuts in, voice flat. "Was he not just some guy who could make really cool Fandom clothes?"

"Oh, Danny is the Ghost King, but that's beside the point,t" Dick waves his hand dismissively. "We have to go over the advice I gave you. I honestly don't understand how you butchered it that badly."

"You said to complement his interests!" Tim counters angrily. "To avoid giving compliments that involved his appearance, especially if it wasn't something he could change! I did, and all that happened was that he got upset!"

"Yeah, that's why Bruce set up an entire simulation in the cave, for you to practice with, because honestly, Tim, how could you mess up that badly with simple instructions?"

"I have to agree with Disco-man," Cassie says, disappointed. You need training before you talk to the Library boy.

[wendichester]

thinking about a sam drabble of him being super sweet and romantic as an apology after becky spells him into marrying her because even though it wasn’t his fault (and reader knows that) he still feels bad :(( sammy as a romantic lives in my mind rent free

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ always you,

summary. becky's spell is finally broken and sam wants to prove to you just how much he loves you and only you

pairing. sam winchester x reader genre. soft smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 807

notes / warnings. the softest back-together-sex, very light smut.

You forgave him the second you saw his face.

Wide, horrified eyes. That panic he never hides when it comes to you. His hands reaching for yours like they ache to be there, even though they just spent the last two days in someone else’s.

It wasn’t his fault. You know that. Becky was… well, Becky. And witchcraft is a bitch.

But Sam? Sam’s been walking around like he cheated on you.

Which is why he’s standing in your motel room now — quiet, nervous, his massive hands wringing each other like they’ve got sins to confess.

“Say something,” he breathes, finally.

You just look at him. Barefoot. Hoodie hanging off one shoulder. You’re not angry. Just… tired. From worrying. From missing him, even when he was right there and not himself.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

Sam blinks. Like he didn’t expect that. “I—”

He steps forward.

Then stops himself.

Like he’s not sure he has the right.

Your chest aches.

“Sam.”

He finally meets your eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His jaw tightens. “I still said yes. I didn’t know I was spelled, but I still said—”

You cut him off, voice soft. “She drugged you, Sam.”

He breathes through his nose. Still doesn’t move.

You go to him.

Fingers curling into his flannel. Tugging him down just enough so your forehead meets his. It’s the only way to get him to breathe. To stop holding all that guilt in his spine.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper. “Like I’m gonna break.”

“I hurt you.”

You nod, honest. “Yeah. But not because of anything you did. You weren’t you. And I knew it. Even when she had you smiling like an idiot in her Hello Kitty bedspread, I knew.”

His breath catches — a laugh and a sob all tangled up.

You lean up. Kiss his cheek.

Then his jaw.

Then pull him to your lips like you’re reminding him what home tastes like.

It starts slow.

Like he’s still afraid.

But then his hands are in your hair, and you’re backing him up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and oh, he needs this.

He needs you.

He lets you straddle him, big hands gripping your thighs like he’s scared you’ll disappear. His mouth moves against yours like prayer, apology, and promise all at once.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses. “I love you. I swear I—”

“I know,” you whisper, rolling your hips into his. “I know, baby.”

You tug off his flannel, your hoodie joining it on the floor. His hands roam like he’s cataloging you all over again — thumb brushing under your bra, fingers skating down your spine.

“I hated not touching you,” he whispers. “Even when I didn’t know what was wrong, I felt it.”

You guide his hands to your hips. “Then touch me now.”

His mouth is on your neck instantly. Gentle. Searing. He sucks the skin just enough to make you gasp, then soothes it with soft lips, like he’s kissing away the days you spent sleeping alone.

Your nails scrape up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“Lie back,” you whisper.

He does.

He always does when you ask like that.

You kiss your way down his chest — soft, slow, reverent. His stomach tenses under your tongue, every muscle drawn tight like he’s trying not to rush. Not to flip you over and lose himself.

You kiss the waistband of his jeans, and he shudders.

“Please,” he whispers. “I just… I need to feel close to you again.”

You smile. “You’re already here.”

And you are. When you finally take him in, it’s not about making him forget — it’s about making him remember.

Who he is.

Who you are.

What you never stopped being, even when he was looking at someone else with someone else’s name in his mouth.

He moans when he’s inside you, hands splayed on your hips, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

He keeps whispering things — you’re so beautiful, i love you, thank you, thank you — until you’re both gasping and trembling and holding each other like the world outside doesn’t exist.

After, you’re curled into him, cheek on his chest, legs tangled.

His voice is hoarse when he breaks the silence.

“I don’t think I could live with myself if I’d lost you.”

You press a kiss over his heart.

“You didn’t.”

He holds you tighter. Hand stroking up and down your spine like he’s still afraid you’ll disappear if he stops.

You tip your head up and meet his eyes. Soft. Honest. Safe.

“I was always yours, Sam.”

His throat bobs.

“Still am.”

And he kisses you again — slow and deep and full of every sorry he’s ever felt.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[daegall]

☆ when the candles burn out.

➷ Jeno Lee has everything he's wished for, except for you.

pairing: best friend!jeno x (implied fem!) reader

genre: bff2l!AU (WE R SOOO BACK), birthday!AU, university!AU, fluff, slight angst

warnings: none, but feel free to lmk if you find any

word count: 2.6k words

a/n: happies birthday to the (officially titled!) birthday boyyy!!! wishing him the very very best and hope that he knows we're so proud of him and love him sooo much!!!! I've missed writing sm so this was soo fun to make!! sorry if i've been super inactive, i've still got a lot to do before graduation ♡ i hope you all enjoy!!!

If he was asked, Jeno would say his life is very fulfilling, and that he's completely satisfied with it. How could he say any differently? He's doing really well in University, he's got amazing friends and a steady side job to support himself. He shouldn't be complaining.

But he's lying to himself. He knows he feels empty inside. And he knows what could fill that void.

It's you.

Jeno always felt he was missing something—he figured he would fix it later in life. He never knew it would hurt this much, he never knew it would be this hard to fix it. Frankly, he wishes it was something else that would be the glue to fix everything in his life.

It's not that Jeno hated you, no, he loved you. So dearly—he's never ever felt anything so intense in his life. Every time he looked at you, it was like he was reading his favorite book, unable to peel his eyes off the pages. Every time he heard your voice, it was like listening to the soft chirping of birds in the morning—the breeze in the afternoon—the comforting sounds of the bustling city in the evening. And when you touched him, a hug, or even something as simple as a high-five, it's as if you're a fireplace in winter, keeping him warm, inside and out.

God, he wanted you. Bad. Jeno never know one could yearn so deeply. He was never one good with words, but you make him want to write thousands of poems and sing melodies dedicated just to you.

The echoing questions that all his friends constantly ask him haunt him.

'Why don't you tell her?'

'She doesn't know yet?'

'What's the worst that could happen?'

'Why are you so scared?'

That's what Donghyuck always asks him. Jeno can't begin to tell him, he doesn't know where to start, Donghyuck wouldn't understand the turmoil he feels.

Jeno's scared that he's not what you expect. That you have a completely different vision of him than who he actually is. Jeno thinks you need someone who is able to love you loudly, who isn't afraid to give you everything that you not only need, but want, too. Jeno is sure that he's not your ideal man.

Today's his birthday. 25th. He knows because Jaemin greets him the very first this morning, calling him 'halfway-50 year old'. Jeno only rolls his eyes at his usual strange antics, pushing him out of the way of the fridge to grab his yogurt from the fridge.

When Jeno checks his phone, he realizes that Jaemin isn't the first one to say happy birthday. He finds out with a mouthful of yogurt, and a heart full of love, that it was you. On April 23, military time 00:12, you left a long paragraph wishing him a happy birthday, thanking him for everything and for being a great friend, and wishes of love and luck.

"Friends don't send birthday messages that long."

Jeno barely catches on that Jaemin is shamelessly peeking at his phone, throwing him a pointed look. "Maybe she does."

Jaemin's eyebrows raise—a deadpanned look. "She sent me a sentence on my birthday. At 5pm."

"That's cause you gifted her a giftcard for her birthday."

"That's what friends do!" Jaemin retorts. "You gifted her animal crossing—that shit's expensive!"

Jeno has to admit, he's right. About one thing. Friends don't send an essay's worth of a birthday message.

Okay, yeah, saving up for animal crossing for you took some time, but Jeno would do anything for you. And he means everything.

Like meeting up at your place for a birthday celebration with others. He would much rather spend it with only you, but that doesn't seem to be an option, considering how you love to make a huge deal about his birthday every year.

Now here he stands, at your door, knowing full well that you've planned some 'surprise' party. Despite that, he'll still pretend to be shocked—just to make you happy.

Jeno only needs to wait about 3 seconds right after he knocks, before the door swings open, the music inside finally distinguishable and—oh, it's... you. Just you.

Nobody else is seen behind you in your apartment, the familiar living area he recognizes so easily dimmed with a low, warm light, the walls filled with handing streamers of red and green—his favorite colors.

Jeno's heart has never swelled this much with love, his head has never been so clear and unbelievably messy at the same time, his practiced surprised smile completely fading in an expression of shock, his jaw hanging lightly.

"Hello, birthday boy," You grin. God, Jeno might kiss you.

The way you can't seem to stay still in excitement, the anticipation on your face and the way you wear his sweater, something he's definitely left accidentally somewhere inside there—he adores it all.

He never thought his feelings could get even more eager and heartfelt, and yet here he is, feeling it tenfold right in his heart.

"Come in," You smile, grabbing and tugging at his sleeve gently.

You want to laugh at his surprised expression, your excited smile falling shy. "Surprise! I bet you thought it was like all the surprise parties I hosted, huh?"

Jeno should have seen it coming. The fact that you saw through him almost immediately. A soft huff of a laugh leaves his lips as he nods, growing more comfortable as he ventures deeper into the surprise. His eyes trail over the streamers reflecting the warm light from your lamp, his gratitude growing almost unbearable.

Finally, his eyes land on the cake. Unlike the usual ordered or store-bought cake you make Mark Lee get every year for the party, it's sloppy, and it's clear that you made it yourself. The icing barely covers the full surface of the cake, leaving blank, splotchy spots along the cake.

"I tried my best," You comment, noticing his gaze on your cake. You really did, practicing some nights and watching multiple videos to find the best recipe to use.

Jeno grins even more his gaze shifting to you. If you weren't mistaken... he looks at you differently. Well, he looks at you as he always does, with a twinkle in his eyes and with utmost attentiveness, but tonight... it's different.

You think—and this is a big assumption—that he's looking at you with love. You could only dream that he would admit it.

"I love it," He reassures, slowly approaching you. "thank you, Y/N, I love everything about this."

Your cheeks feel sore from all the smiling, but you can't seem to stop smiling, pulling him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. "I'm glad. You deserve the best, Jeno."

Jeno holds you tight, his nose burying into the depths of your hair, eyes shutting to savor the moment as long as possible. His hands are warm, you can feel it through his sweater that you wear, one hand on your lower back, the other between your shoulder blades.

It's as if his hands have burnt through the fabric, because you feel every single movement his hands make. The way his thumbs rub gently up and down—the way his palms tensing up as he holds you closer—this feels better than it should.

When you pull away, the warmth finds it's way to your heart, beating faster suddenly and soaring, as if it was searching for his own to entangle in.

When you lead him to the couch to finally blow out the candles (with he candles now about a third of it's original height), Jeno has never felt happier, leaning in close to the cake.

He laughs when you suddenly panic, halting him to search for your camera.

"Why do you even need to film this?" He chuckles softly, it's a rich sound you find yourself enjoying more than you should.

You roll your eyes, finding the camera on your messy study desk, hidden behind a stack of books you never seem to finish reading. "To remember this! I want to look back on this when I'm eighty and reminisce like a stubborn old lady."

When Jeno blows out his candles after an awkward minute of you singing him 'happy birthday' by yourself, he finds himself wishing that you'd be a stubborn old lady with him. He wishes with his whole heart that he'd be there, reminiscing with you, that'd your grandchildren would be gagging at your love story, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

Jeno gives you the first slice of the cake, despite your protests, handing it to you with a stern look. His heart melts when you take it from his hands, a small playful scowl on your lips. "I wanted you to taste it first..."

"Fine," He sighs, picking up the two forks you prepared. "we'll eat it together, yeah?"

Jeno dismisses your objections, already stabbing the forks into the cake and scooping it up. He laughs heartily when your words die in your throat, offering the fork to you.

You stare at the piece of cake on your fork with intent. "If it tastes like shit, I'm sorry,"

Even if it did, he'd pretend it was the most delectable delicacy he'd ever eaten. He would believe so, with his whole being. Even if it was bad, your stunning smile would be sweet enough for it to substitute the taste.

You're surprised when Jeno brings his own fork up to your lips, blinking in shock. When you look up at him, he gives you an encouraging look. "I'll feed you, you'll feed me."

You don't think he's aware of how intimate this is. Not when he's looking at you with such innocence and care. But with the dim, warm lighting from the distant lamp, and the music that still plays softly in the background, this feels too romantic—too real.

You go along with it anyway, knowing that you'd do anything and everything for him.

As your lips come in contact with the cake, and your teeth clash just slightly with the metal of the fork, you realize the strawberry jam you used for each layer—it's sour.

Instantly, you gaze up at Jeno, to gauge his reaction and his opinion of your cake, only to see that his mouth is closed, lips stretched into a soft, loving smile as his face his dodged from your fork.

"Jeno, you—how could you!"

In a moment, both forks are on the ground as you lunge forward to grab at his shirt. On your lips is an embarrassed smile, your eyes shut as you shake him back and forth. "You ass! I made this for you..."

"Sorry, sorry!" Jeno laughs, his hands enveloping yours, holding on top of them as you continue to shake him. "You just looked so cute—all anticipated and excited,"

"Yeah! For you to taste it!"

"Fine, fine! I'll taste it! Just stop shaking me!"

When you scowl and release his collar, his hands don't leave yours, instead, he takes your hands in his, his fingers slotting almost perfectly between yours with ease. You don't shy away from this, it's normal for him to do this. It's a typical tactic he uses so you don't start fooling around once more—but this time... it feels different. His touch seems gentler, his thumbs rubbing softly up and down the sides of your palm. You have to admit, it has your heart in a twist.

"How are you going to try it if you keep holding my hands?" You smart him, sticking your tongue out at him.

Jeno's eyes search yours, his gaze deep. It's almost as if he's trying to look into your soul—trying to find the place you keep the thought of him. He should look into your heart, then.

His right hand suddenly leaves yours, and just as you think he's about to grab the fork once more, his hand inches towards your face. You don't dodge it, despite your shock, your lips parting in surprise, and Jeno knows that he's interrupted one of your sassy, smart retorts that he loves so much.

It's like instinct when his palm envelops your cheek, that you lean into his touch, your head tilting into his hold. As his thumbs rub at your cheek, his eyes search your entire face, searching for any signs of discomfort or rejection. He searches, and keeps searching, only to find nothing. You want this. As much as he does.

"...so are you going to try the cake?"

"Give me a minute, you dork,"

You laugh, and he laughs when you laugh. Your laughter entangle in the air and echo, like a resonating song on repeat—the kind that no matter how many times you play over and over, you never get sick of it.

Suddenly, Jeno's nose is brushing against yours. His thumb gently caressing at your bottom lip. He searches your eyes once more, and at this proximity, he can finally tell what you feel. In your eyes, it's him. In his eyes, it's you. In your heart, is his. In his soul, is yours.

The tender exchange of affectionate looks screams only one thing.

I love you.

When Jeno's lips press to yours, you're not surprised. Instead, you welcome it warmly, reciprocating and leaning into it.

His hands travel, one to your neck, the other your waist to tug you closer. Your own find comfort in the hairs of the bottom of his neck, tousling the strands there. You feel his lips curl into a smile, as his neck cranes to find an angle to grow closer to you, if it were possible.

Jeno slowly and gently lowers you to your back, his hand protecting the back of your head as he settles you down on your carpet, hovering over your body. As your arms wrap around his neck, his tongue finds yours, tangling tenderly and lovingly, declaring his care and affection, all his feelings for you.

You smile against his lips as Jeno's laugh vibrates against your own, content and devoted, finding the whole situation unbelievable. Luck truly is in his favor, and he thinks he's one step closer to his birthday wish coming true.

When Jeno pulls away, his breath is warm against your lips, the tip of his nose grazing against yours.

"...tastes sweet," He finally elates, smiling. His eyes find yours, pupils dilated with love.

You laugh out, eyes squeezed shut, and head throwing back against his hand that still holds you protectively. You snort when he gives you a confused, almost lost puppy-like look. "The cake jam was sour, Jeno,"

"Oh," he hums. "must've just been you I was tasting, then..."

You push playfully at his shoulder. "Oh my god, you sappy idiot!"

"No, no," He retorts with a grin. "you taste sweet. I didn't get a single taste of sour,"

"Taste the cake, then!"

"Don't wanna, just want you,"

Despite his words, you make him taste the cake, laughing as his nose scrunches up. "It's—oh god—it's sweet! I swear!" He insists.

Finally, Jeno feels complete. He no longer feels an empty void inside of him, he no longer feels lonely or hurt when he looks at you—though he does feel his heart hurt, swelling with the amount of love he has for you. He can finally say wholeheartedly that he's satisfied with his life, that he feels fulfilled.

He's doing really well in University, he's got amazing friends, the best girlfriend he could ask for, and a steady side job to support himself and his girl, you.

Jeno is dead set on making his birthday wish come true.

[izzih22]

you should definitely do a fic of pazzi of when they get into a heated argument (slamming doors , screaming 😼) then one of them ignore or give the other silent treatment for like a day or two. then like they make up and js cute fluff ! I rlly hope that makes sense and you see the vision ykyk😛

The Worst Way to Love You

Note: I hope I got it right also here y’all go stay active pleas and thank you

They’ve been together for years—since high school, since long-distance flights and FaceTimes that lasted until sunrise. They know each other better than they know themselves.

Which is why it hurts so much when they fight.

Because no one else can cut you open like the person who’s memorized every piece of you.

⸻

Thursday, 9:12 p.m. �� UConn Dorms

Azzi’s sitting on the edge of their bed, back straight, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest. She’s been trying to stay calm. She’s always the calm one.

Paige is standing with her arms thrown up in exasperation, pacing.

“So now I’m selfish? That’s what we’re doing?” Paige’s voice is sharp, edged in disbelief.

“I didn’t say selfish,” Azzi replies, controlled but cold. “I said inconsiderate.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“No, it’s not. It means you don’t think about how your actions affect other people—me. You just do what you want, and I’m left trying to adjust around you.”

Paige’s eyes flash. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is always being the one who bends!” Azzi fires back, louder now, standing. “I rearranged everything this week so I could be there for your appointment and then you just… bailed. No text. No call. Nothing.”

Paige runs a hand through her hair, jaw tight. “I forgot! I had weights, and then Geno pulled me for film, and—”

“You forgot?” Azzi repeats. “That’s your excuse?”

Paige’s hands drop to her sides. “I’m not perfect, Az.”

Azzi laughs without humor. “I never asked you to be. I just want to matter enough that you remember I exist outside of practice.”

There it is.

The sentence that slices Paige straight down the middle.

“You know you matter to me,” she says, quieter now, but it’s sharp, desperate. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you’re just some afterthought—”

“Then why do I always feel like I come last?”

The silence that falls is suffocating.

And Paige—Paige who’s always so quick with words, with fire—says nothing.

Azzi’s eyes are glassy now, but she doesn’t cry. Not yet. “You get to be everything for everyone. The leader, the hero, the player who carries us. But I’m the one who’s always here when you burn out. And I don’t mind—I love you—but it gets lonely when the only time you need me is when you’re falling apart.”

Paige’s voice is barely a whisper. “That’s not true.”

But Azzi just nods once. “Okay.”

And walks into the bathroom. Closes the door.

Paige stares at it.

And then turns around, walks to the front door, and leaves.

⸻

Friday Morning – Silent

They don’t speak.

Azzi makes tea for herself. No extra mug.

Paige comes back after class and doesn’t even change in their room.

They go to practice and Paige leads warmups like nothing’s wrong—voice loud, encouragement booming—but no one misses how she doesn’t look at Azzi once.

Azzi doesn’t flinch when Geno yells at her. Doesn’t smile when Ice makes a joke. She’s locked in. Focused.

But not with Paige. Not beside her, like always.

The team doesn’t ask. But Morgan mutters to Aubrey, “They’re too synced. When something’s off, it messes with the whole vibe.”

Aubrey hums. “It’s like the moon fighting the sun.”

⸻

Friday Night – 11:38 p.m.

Paige is curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head, scrolling through old photos.

Her finger pauses on one: Azzi asleep in Paige’s hoodie, curled against her chest in a hotel room during their sophomore year. Paige remembers the way Azzi had mumbled “I love you” in her sleep.

She presses the screen to her chest, eyes wet.

She wants to say she’s sorry.

But they’ve been here before—where love feels like too much and not enough all at once. Where they push because they’re scared. Where they hurt each other, not out of hate, but because they love so hard and don’t always know what to do with it.

⸻

Saturday – All Day

They don’t text. They don’t fight. They don’t speak.

It’s worse than yelling.

Paige doesn’t sleep. Azzi doesn’t eat.

KK walks into the locker room after a solo shootaround and sees Paige staring at the floor, earbuds in but no music playing.

“She’s not okay,” KK says later.

Ice snorts. “You think?”

⸻

Saturday Night – 10:01 p.m.

Azzi walks into the room after dinner with her mom. She pauses in the doorway.

Paige is sitting on the bed—her bed—knees pulled to her chest.

She looks up.

Azzi doesn’t move.

And then Paige’s voice cracks. “I didn’t forget because I didn’t care. I forgot because everything’s moving so fast and I’m overwhelmed and I didn’t want to ask you to carry more of my weight.”

Azzi says nothing.

So Paige keeps going.

“I let everyone down if I drop the ball. Geno. The team. The program. I can’t let them see me slip. But with you… I don’t want you to see me like that either.”

Now Azzi steps in.

“But I already have. I know you like that, Paige. Messy. Tired. Stubborn. You’re not too much for me. You never have been.”

Paige’s eyes fill. “I just didn’t want to keep being the one who needs. I want to show up for you, too.”

Azzi kneels in front of her, hands on Paige’s knees. “Then let me in before you fall. Not after.”

There’s a pause.

And then Paige folds.

She slides down, presses her forehead to Azzi’s shoulder, and breaks.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you too.”

“I was scared you wouldn’t come back.”

Azzi wraps her arms around her tightly. “There’s nowhere else I’d go.”

⸻

Later

They’re tangled in bed, Paige clinging to Azzi like her anchor. Azzi strokes her back, slow and soothing.

“I said some stuff I didn’t mean,” Paige whispers. “About not needing you.”

Azzi kisses her temple. “I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s why I didn’t leave.”

“You’re the only thing that makes all the pressure worth it.”

Azzi smiles against her hair. “You’re not a burden, Paige. You’re mine.”

Paige sniffles. “Even when I’m a disaster?”

“Especially then.”

⸻

Sunday – Practice

They’re back to moving as one.

Paige’s energy is electric. Azzi’s calm cuts through it like a blade. And when Geno calls a timeout, he mutters to KK, “Looks like the wives made up.”

KK grins. “Balance restored.”

Paige and Azzi fist-bump after a perfect backdoor cut.

And maybe Paige kisses Azzi in the tunnel when no one’s looking.

But that’s just between them.

[oceanicfishies]

I Won't Say I'm In Love

we all know caleb has loved mc since they were friends, but how was that stage of their relationship?

friend!caleb that gives mc hugs that are longer than they should be, he hugs her tight into an embrace and smells her hair, trying to memorize how it feels to have her in his arms.

friend!caleb that nearly fainted when he saw you at senior prom. as your forever best friend of course he was your partner and the second he saw you all dressed up he felt his knees grow weak. never in his life he had seen someone as beautiful as you.

"you sure this looks fine?" "trust me, you look fine as hell..."

friend!caleb that would be questioned by your girl friends, and everytime he was not there they would insist on how much he liked you, however there was also the excuse "oh we are just friends".

friend!caleb that when leaving to university had to deal with a slight jealous crash out from your part (that of course is super normal for friends to do) because you were scared that he would not call, or forget about you. his response? "i'm always thinking about you."

friend!calebthat would share his hoodies and jackets with you and would arrive home to ykw because of how hard seeing the size difference made him

friend!calebthat would tell everyone about you while you were not there. eating a sandwich? you would have loved it if it had certain sauce. a joke? god you would have laughed SO hard, and of course he has to mention it.

[d1xonss]

hii queen! i really think that after daryl got together with his girlfriend he would nonstop reffer to her as m'girl or "mah woman" to everyone who doesnt know that they are together and act so nonchalant about it, even tho he randomly just mention her in a random conversation ( i imagine him doing that after the woodbury people got into the prison and he dont want any of them crushing on his girl), so if you have time you think you could write something like this? sorry if its too long, i love your writtings🥰

My Girl

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 4 (ish)

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Fluff

✧ Word Count : 2.3k

AN ~ Overprotective Daryl is one of my favs! I love the idea of him calling his significant other "my girl" I think it's too adorable. Thank you so much for the request and the sweetest support! I just recently hit a pretty big milestone in followers so I just wanted to take a moment and thank anyone who has made time to read, like, comment, etc on any of my content. It means the absolute world to me that I'm able to write things that others enjoy so much, and I appreciate all of you with my entire heart!<3 xoxo

It wasn’t everyday you got the chance to meet new people after the world abruptly ended. It was a miracle that you even found any kind of people that you could trust anymore. But as it turns out, your found family grew to be the people you could count on for anything, the one blessing this new world had to offer. You were thankful for them every day.

For quite some time it was just you and that small group for months, from Atlanta, to Hershel’s farm, to the prison where your newfound home was formed. In hindsight you were a little weary to move into such an unusual place, but as it turns out, it grew to be one of the best things that had ever happened to you. Offering much more room and sanctuary, safety from the outside dangers. And after the war with the Governor, the growth only continued from there as a community blossomed.

The people from Woodbury had moved in just after the chaos had settled down, Rick and the rest welcoming them with open arms. But still, even after a couple months, the adjustment of having so many people around constantly was something to get used to. On one hand, you were handling it better than anyone, you had always been more outgoing and friendly even after the apocalypse which was something to be admired. And on the other, Daryl remained the complete opposite. Not that it was much of a surprise though. 

You expected him to have his guard up again when it came to the newcomers, not fully trusting their intentions even though all they wanted was to come together. But more than anything, he was even more protective of you.

After all you were very pretty, so absolutely breathtaking that he couldn’t believe you had really chosen him in the first place. But you did. And he’d be damned if he let any of the newcomers around here get the chance to talk you up or try and flirt with you in any way. Maybe he was jealous, but that wasn’t some kind of groundbreaking discovery. Maybe he was a bit overprotective, although that was to be expected when it came to the people he cared about the most. However, there was also a slight chance of him being scared. Scared that if a more good looking and charming guy came into the picture, you would realize that they might be better for you than he ever could be. 

But he’d never admit that out loud of course. Instead, he referred to you in any way he possibly could.

“M’ bout to head in and talk to my girl.” 

“Nah, I got plans with my girl tonight.”

“My girl made it for me.”

Every single time without fail, he would use those exact words to describe you. You were surprised that people even still knew your name with how frequently Daryl was calling you some different term of endearment. At this rate you assumed the whole community knew of your relations with him with how often he brought you up. But apparently, you had assumed wrong.

It was yet another hot summer day in Georgia, but that didn’t stop the people around the prison from getting to work just as they had been assigned. As a way to help build this place up, Rick had plans set in stone of how to make this sanctuary more safe and livable considering the numbers that were now behind the fences day after day. Keeping them all busy with chores one could say, to help this place continue to run as smoothly as it had before.

Daryl was placed in the fields alongside a few other men, clearing out some space of where the new vegetable gardens would soon grow. The beating sun cascaded down onto them while the dirt that flew up from the ground stuck to any skin that was exposed, making the process a little more difficult. He huffed quietly with every swing of his shovel, his muscles flexing when he pulled the heavy dirt from the ground. He had a good rhythm down, his mind elsewhere as he focused on getting this done as fast as possible.

That was until he heard your name amongst the conversation happening just behind him.

“Man, I’ve been eyeing her since we got here.” a guy named Jared grunted, continuing to shovel some dirt into the pile off to the side whilst he chatted it up with his friends.

They all laughed in agreement to his statement, taking note of where you were outside hanging some laundry on the clothing line, too far away to hear what they were going on about. Daryl noticed how their eyes lingered on you, but he forced himself to turn away and continue the task at hand. He felt it was pointless to get riled up over a few meaningless words and stares when he needed to get this job done.

“I’ve noticed she sometimes serves the food at dinnertime. Maybe I should stay for seconds.” one of the other men said suggestively.

“Yeah, right!” another voice cackled, “Like you have the balls to do something like that.”

Scoff. “Hey, I could if I wanted to. But everytime she looks up with those damn doe eyes it drives me crazy, I clam up or something. And she knows what she’s doing too, she’s asking for it.”

Daryl’s jaw ticked when the topic of you continued to go on and on, almost as if he was completely invisible. Though he tried to stay calm, the annoyance in him bubbled up to the surface with every crude comment or suggestive hint each one of them threw.

Jared then chimed in once more, “I think I’m going to ask her out.”

A jumble of protests followed to which Daryl scoffed in disbelief to himself. Had he really not made it apparent enough that the two of you had been together for months?

“Hey! I’m the one who said something first, so I think I should have first dibs.” Jared announced before moving to dig again.

“Well, what’re you planning on doing?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know, maybe take her for a walk or something. Charm her socks off until she swoons and I can get lucky.”

It was at that point Daryl slammed the head of his shovel into the grass, capturing all of their attention with the way the noise echoed. They watched as he turned around and removed his bandana from his face, getting ready to be done for the day.

“I wouldn’t.” he grumbled lowly, shoving the piece of fabric into his back pocket.

The group of men all just looked at each other in confusion, seconds of deafening silence passing before one of them spoke up. “Uh…why?”

Daryl slowly stalked closer to them, his glare unwavering, “Cause if you keep talkin bout gettin lucky with my girl, I think we’re gonna have a problem.”

Jared’s eyes then widened in realization, feeling singled out as Daryl’s eyes were trained only to him as if he wasn’t scared or hesitant to beat the shit out of him. “Oh- oh shit man, I had no idea-”

“Now ya do,” Daryl interrupted him, getting closer to his face as he made his point crystal clear, “And if I ever see ya ogling her again, I’ll knock yer fuckin teeth to your throat.” he said, his tone low and warning.

The man bobbed his head up and down quickly, “Yep, got it.”

Daryl scoffed at how quickly he seemed to shrivel under his stare, before harshly knocking him back with his shoulder as he passed him to head up toward the prison.

The remainder of the day dragged on and on it seemed like. Daryl didn’t know if it was because he continued to stew in his own frustrations of what happened, or because of the fact that he hadn’t gotten to talk to you all day. He wasn’t sure; but it had to be a combination of both. So he just tried to keep himself busy until the sun went down. Working on his motorcycle that always needed fixing, keeping watch at the gates, basically anything else other than having to work with those pigs he witnessed earlier. He couldn’t manage to wrap his head around why they would talk about any woman like that, let alone you. It almost left him feeling sick.

Though eventually the hour grew late enough to where everyone was turning in for the night, heading back to their selected cellblocks to get some shut eye. You were already sat in bed curled up with a book in your lap, the warm glow of the lantern beside you just bright enough where you didn’t have to squint to read the words on the pages. Lost in the depths of the novel, you almost didn’t hear the familiar sound of clunking, heavy boots approaching your room. But when he pulled back the curtain to enter out of your peripheral vision, your attention was automatically diverted.

“Hey,” you said with a small smile, tucking your bookmark in place, “How was your day?”

Daryl shrugged a bit as he leaned down to untie his shoes, “Was fine. How was yers?”

“Good…it was good.” you nodded, a knowing expression crossing your face, “But you know, I did get some weird looks throughout the day.”

He paused his movements, looking up at you with a raise of his brow, “Looks?”

You nodded again, “Yeah. Almost like you wrote your name right across my forehead or something.”

To that he scoffed, realizing that you had somehow known of the small incident that occurred. Word did tend to spread fast around here but it’s not like it mattered much to him. He was just a little surprised the man was bold enough to have the whole place know of his threat by the time the day came to an end.

When he didn’t verbally respond, you spoke again, “You want to tell me why you apparently tried to kick some guy’s ass?”

He shrugged, “Just another day.” he brushed off simply, plopping down at the edge of the bed near your legs.

“Come on,” you prodded gently as you scooted closer to him, “Just tell me. It’s not like I’ll be upset…if anything, I’m proud.”

Daryl sighed deeply, knowing he couldn’t avoid the topic despite the fact that he didn’t want you to know the things that were said. He couldn’t help but want to protect you from everything. “Some guys were just talkin bout ya.”

His vague response left you confused, “Bad?”

“Just…disrespectful.” he answered, “I didn’t let it go on for long.”

You smiled a little, knowing exactly how he could be, “And what did you say?”

He shrugged, “Told him to stop talkin bout my girl. But you know…it was more threatenin the way I said it to him.” 

“Aw.” you cooed as you leaned forward to wrap your arms around him, sweetly kissing his cheek, “Defending my honor again, why am I not surprised?” your tone was playful.

Daryl grunted softly, his cheeks warming and a small smile growing despite his attempts to stop it. He couldn’t deny he liked your affection, even though it was something he was still getting used to. “Can’t help it. Yer too sweet for that bullshit.”

You smiled softly, a part of you loving how protective he could be, it just made you feel all the more special. Never in your life had you been given someone as important as him, someone who would walk to the ends of the earth if you had asked him to. Alongside the many other things you had received in this life, he was by far the best.

You noticed then how his eyes traveled all over your face, silently appreciating you in the orange light. His gaze then drifted down toward your lips as if drawn like a moth to a flame, before glancing back at your eyes, then your lips again.

A small laugh was pulled from you at his obvious request, "You don't always have to ask for permission to kiss me..." you whispered teasingly.

His hand came up to gently trace his thumb along the edge of your jaw, shaking his head slightly, "Wasn't askin." he murmured.

Before you could even react, his lips enveloped yours in a soft embrace, the taste and smell of tobacco on him filling your senses. But you didn't mind; it only made him all the more alluring.

The kiss lasted no longer than a few seconds, but when you pulled back for air, you couldn't help but mutter an, “I love you…”

Those words continued to make his heart flutter in his chest, every time you said that it made him feel incredibly special and valued. Although he still had trouble with saying it back, not being fully used to openly showing how deep his affections went for you, he still managed to prove it in some way. He leaned over to place another lingering kiss against your lips, briefly pulling back to rest his forehead against yours before standing up again to get changed for bed.

But the next morning, he managed to surprise you.

Usually he let you sleep in while he was up during the early hours of the day, gathering his selected weapons to head out for a hunt. Though before he could push himself to leave, he took one last glance back at you, seeing you were still half asleep and bundled under the blankets. He then took the extra minute to crouch down and brush some of the hair away from your forehead, leaving a small kiss there as he mumbled against your skin.

“Love you.” he spoke quietly before he stood back up and headed out of your shared room, hearing the same heavy footsteps echo down the stairs of the cellblock.

And though your eyes were closed, your lips curled into a smile as you let yourself fall back asleep. Feeling comforted in knowing that you were truly his.

~ Thanks for reading!

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 1/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

CHAPTER 1 :

London was bone-cold in the way only January could be. The streets sparkled beneath thin veils of frost, and breath puffed into the air like ghosts. Pastel skies bled into charcoal as evening settled, and the city—like always—buzzed with life beneath layers of scarves and city noise. 

Ariana stood outside the dimly lit entrance of the private members' club, her arms folded tightly against her chest, breath trembling as it left her lips. Her coat—cashmere, camel-colored, and belted neatly at the waist—hugged her frame with disciplined elegance. The streetlights cast a silver sheen over her dark hair, which was pinned in a low chignon, rebellious strands curling against her cheeks. Her heels were impractical for this weather, but they matched her quiet grace: poised, pointed, prepared. 

She hated being late. Even more than that—she hated being out of place. 

"You're late too ?" The voice came from behind her, smug and accented, sharp enough to make her spine stiffen. 

She turned, slowly. 

The man who stood there was all swagger wrapped in a North Face puffer and casual arrogance. Messy brown curls peeked from beneath a black beanie, and his eyes—icy blue-green and unapologetically amused—swept over her with the easy confidence of someone used to being looked at. 

“Excuse me?” Ariana asked, her French accent melting into her voice like warmed sugar, "do we know each other?" 

"Not yet." He extended a gloved hand. "Lando." 

She looked at his hand. Then at him. Then back at the door. 

She did not shake it. 

He laughed, not offended. “Alright. Tough crowd.” 

The door opened behind her, and warm light and louder voices spilled out. 

“Ariana! You made it!” The voice belonged to Maya—her friend, who’d dragged her to this gathering. “Come in, come in, it’s freezing. Oh—Lando, you’re here too.” 

So, he was part of the friend group too. 

Ariana entered the club, she peeled off her coat inside, revealing a slate-blue wrap dress. Not flashy, but impossible to miss. 

Lando followed, slower, watching her like someone flipping pages of a book they didn’t expect to like but couldn’t put down. 

The club was intimate, lit with golden chandeliers and velvet booths. The music wasn’t subtle, bass flirting at the edges of conversation. 

Ariana sat stiffly beside Maya, her back straight, her hands in her lap. She observed quietly as friends passed around cocktails and stories. She smiled politely, nodded at the right moments. But she wasn’t one of them. They were loud, unfiltered. Comfortable in their chaos. 

Across from her, Lando sprawled on a couch like it was his throne. One arm hooked over the back, the other swirling a whiskey glass he hadn’t touched. He kept looking at her, like she was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t solve. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he finally said, mid-conversation lull, loud enough that others chuckled. 

Ariana looked up slowly. “I talk when I have something worth saying.” 

He raised a brow. “And nothing here’s worth it?” 

“Not yet.” 

There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where something flickered in his eyes. A spark of amusement… or challenge. 

“I think you’re just scared.” 

“And I think you’re not used to people not liking you,” she countered, voice soft but razor-sharp. 

The table quieted. 

Lando tilted his head. Then he smiled. Not the cocky kind. Something else. “Fair enough.” 

Later, the group splintered. Maya dragged Ariana toward the bar, and Lando disappeared with someone toward the back. Ariana let out a slow breath, resting one elbow against the polished wood, eyes scanning the room. 

This wasn’t her scene. She could feel her muscles coiling with the need to return to something structured and quieter. 

“You don’t drink?” 

She turned. Lando was back, empty-handed now. His curls damp from the cold air outside again, like he’d stepped out for a moment to breathe. 

“Rarely,” she replied. 

“You’re hard to read.” 

“You’re easy.” 

He barked a laugh. “Touché.” 

Ariana wasn’t sure why she said it. Or why it felt strangely satisfying to say aloud. 

But something was happening here. Not flirtation. Not exactly. 

A friction. A friction that left her pulse uneasy and her skin warmer than it should’ve been. 

“I don’t get it,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You act like you hate this place, but you came.” 

“I came for Maya. She thinks I should meet new people.” 

“And?” 

She looked at him, then away. “I’ve met someone.” 

He smiled. “Let me guess. Opinionated. Loud. Annoying.” 

A pause. 

Ariana met his eyes fully. “Yes.” 

Their eyes locked—blue to blue, wild storm to still water. The music swelled in the background as time folded inward. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world slowed. Ther were no longer music or people dancing around them. 

Just her breath. His eyes. And the kind of tension that doesn’t snap—it simmers. 

Later that night, Ariana walked back to her flat alone, the city buzzing softly in the background. She replayed the encounter in her head, dissecting every gesture, every line. 

She didn’t like him. That much she was certain of. Yet something inside her when thinking about their encounter.

A few days after while the London’s December sun hung low and pale in the sky, turning the frost on the cobblestones into glitter, Lando adjusted his coat, stuffing his gloved hands deeper into the pockets as he waited outside a boutique, bored while Max tried to choose a gift for his sister inside. 

Pietra stood nearby, sipping on a to-go oat milk latte from a corner café. “You know,” she said between sips, “this would go faster if men actually planned before shopping.” 

Lando smirked, distracted. “You mean like making a list?” 

“Yes, or asking questions. Being observant. Like, oh, my sister mentioned she liked this brand.” She shook her head dramatically. “But no. Let’s just drag the whole squad through Mayfair and hope for divine inspiration.” 

The rest of the group—some of the Quadrant team floated between shops, their bags multiplying by the minute. It was noisy, easy, full of the kind of camaraderie that made winter bearable. 

Then Lando saw her. 

Across the street. Just past the Chanel display window. 

She didn’t walk like everyone else. 

That was the first thing he noticed. 

There was a grace to her steps—measured, light, like she’d learned to move in a world that required silence. She wore a black skirt that floated just above her knees, black heeled boots, and a soft pink sweater. Her hair was down this time—long, glossy, dark—and tied with a velvet ribbon in a soft bow at the back of her head.. 

She looked like something out of a painting. Or a poem. Or a memory that didn’t quite belong to him. 

Ariana 

He hadn’t forgotten her. Not for a second. Not since the night at the club. 

And she looked even more… real now, which somehow made her more impossible to reach. 

She paused near the silk scarves display just inside the glass, tilting her head to examine the arrangement. Her profile turned, and even through the window, he could see the faint shadow of her lashes, the way her lips parted slightly in thought. She reached for a soft ivory scarf, lifting it with both hands like it was something fragile and rare. 

“Lando.” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Lando,” Pietra repeated, stepping into his line of sight. 

“Hm?” 

She turned, following his gaze. 

And saw her. 

“Well,” she whispered, “helloooo again.” 

Max appeared at that moment, bags in hand. “Alright, got it. Can we—why do you two look like you’ve seen a ghost?” 

“Not a ghost,” Pietra said, her voice lilting with amusement. “More like someone haunting a certain someone’s brain.” 

Max squinted through the glass. “Wait—isn’t that the girl from the club?” 

Lando gave a short nod, his eyes not leaving her. “Yeah.” 

“Wow,” Max said. “She’s… not what I expected.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Pietra murmured, watching the girl in the window. “She looks like she belongs in some old French movie.” 

“She’s not really the type who goes clubbing, is she?” Max asked. 

Lando shrugged, looking mildly annoyed. “I don’t know. I don’t know her.” 

“You want to ?” Pietra grinned. 

“I talked to her for five minutes,” he said, a little too fast. “Barely.” 

“Exactly,” Pietra replied, already stepping off the curb. “Time to fix that.” 

“No, Pietra—don’t—!” 

But she was already weaving through traffic with the confidence of someone used to getting her way. 

Lando groaned. “She’s going to scare her off.” 

Inside the store, Ariana had just finished folding the scarf back when she felt the presence beside her. 

“Hi there!” came a bright voice. 

She turned slowly. 

A woman smiled at her like they were old friends. 

“I promise I’m not crazy,” she said quickly. “I saw you the other night. At that club. With Lando.” 

Ariana’s expression froze for half a second. Her hands dropped away from the scarf. 

“I’m Pietra,” the woman continued, offering her hand with a little flourish. “We’re actually just shopping with some friends. Lando’s outside with Max and the rest of the group.” 

Ariana shook her hand politely. “Nice to meet you.” 

“So,” Pietra went on, eyes flicking over Ariana’s outfit approvingly, “we were thinking of grabbing some drinks afterward. It’s just down the street—warm, chill vibe. You should come with.” 

Ariana’s eyes flicked toward the window, where she could now see Lando—standing awkwardly near the entrance, half-hidden behind a pillar, pretending he wasn’t watching them. 

Something in her expression shifted. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, gently but firmly. “I’m not one of Lando’s friends.” 

“Oh, come on—” 

“I barely know him,” she added, voice still quiet but now edged with finality. “And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.�� 

There it was. The clean, cold line of refusal. Not cruel, but distant. Like a door closed with careful hands. 

Pietra blinked. “Okay, wow. You’re serious.” 

Ariana offered a soft smile. “Yes.” 

Then she nodded once, turned, and walked away—her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, ribbon swaying behind her like the tail end of a breath. 

Outside, Pietra returned with a smirk and a story. 

“She said no,” she announced. 

Max’s jaw dropped. “What?” 

“She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not one of Lando’s friends. I barely know him. And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.’” Pietra mimicked Ariana’s soft, deliberate tone with exaggerated drama. “It was cold.” 

The group howled. 

Lando exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched as he watched Ariana walk further down the street, blending into the crowd like she’d never been there at all. 

Max laughed. “Mate. Brutal.” 

Pietra nudged him. “You’ve officially been humbled.” 

“She doesn’t even know who I am,” Lando muttered. 

“Maybe that’s why she said no.” 

All evening, the teasing followed him like confetti stuck in his collar. 

But none of them noticed the way Lando went quiet near the end. Not sulking—just thoughtful. Like something had shaken loose in him. Like something important had been said, and not just to his ego. 

He couldn’t stop replaying it. 

I barely know him. I don’t go for drinks with strangers. 

Ariana wasn’t cruel. 

She was careful. 

And somehow, that made her more impossible to forget. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[inkdrinkerworld]

could you pretty please write a reader meeting james' parents with like two versions: the first time where she's shit scared and nervous, and the time where she's completely blended in with the family and is talking like a family member, helping effy in the kitchen nd everything pretty please? (sorry if this was too specific, i love love love ur writing! <3)

This was such a cute ask! I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to get to it, but I hope you enjoy it

The first time you meet Fleamont and Euphemia Potter you’re literally on the verge of passing out from how bad your anxiety is.

You want them to like you.

James does his best to keep you calm but the second he parks his car in their driveway your heart rate picks up again.

“James, what if I mess this up and they hate me?” You turn to him in the passenger seat, staring at him with wide eyes.

James cups your cheeks, “You’re not gonna mess anything up, lovie. They’ll adore you, I promise.”

The minute he knocks on the door Euphemia is there, her apron still on and her gray hair combed back in a French twist.

“Jamie,” she envelops him in her arms and as he hugs her back she meets your eyes. “Oh you’re just gorgeous.”

James pulls away from her to introduce you. Euphemia shushes him with a wave of her hand. “Hi darling,” she pulls you into an equally enthusiastic hug and your fears start to melt. “I’ve heard so much about you. But come in and tell me everything.”

Fleamont brews tea for everyone, you and Euphemia finish dinner in the kitchen together, but it’s not as nerve wracking as you’d thought it’d be.

She’s made a roast dinner, beef, potatoes, salad, and broccoli cheese. You’d brought an apple crisp and ice cream for dessert.

By the end of the night, your fears are all gone. James can’t help but he smug on the drive home.

After a year of dating James, he swears you and his parents speak more than they do to him.

You don’t even have to knock anymore when you get there, you have a key to their house now.

Euphemia beams when she sees you, James rolls his eyes fondly when you wrap your arms around her.

“Hi mum, nice to see you too.” He says sarcastically and Fleamont laughs from his spot in the kitchen.

“Jamie boy, help out your old man.” Fleamont and James are one and the same, you know Euphemia cooked, but her husband and her son don’t let her pull the hot trays from the oven. James never lets you do it either.

James pulls a tray of scones out, Fleamont gets the iced tea from the fridge and the clotted cream and jam.

You and Euphemia are doing puzzle, a spring river one you’d gotten her last time you’d come by.

“Do you think the heat will disrupt the flowers too much?” You ask as you take a peek into her garden. Euphemia has the loveliest flowers you’ve ever seen.

“I’m hoping they won’t, but if it comes to it, I’ll set the sprinklers on.”

James comes in just then, two glasses of iced tea in hand.

“Did you add berries to this one mum?” He asks as he sets the glasses down.

“Some of the blackberries came out early, so I just threw those in before the heat could get to them.”

James smiles, “It’s delicious.”

You take a sip and can’t help but agree. “Do I smell scones?” You ask and Euphemia beams, she loves feeding people.

“The last of the oranges were out there so I made plain scones and orange jelly.”

They’re perfect, and what makes it even more perfect is the sun and breeze coming in through the windows.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hi there. I'm trans, which probably isn't a surprise to you, and also a minor living in Florida, which might be more surprising to hear idk. I know life sucks and the government is horrible and I'm so scared, I very much understand the severity of everything.

But.... is it bad that I love it here anyways? I love the scrub pines and the way the cicadas sing in the summer and being able to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic and set over the Gulf in the same day. I love seeing manatees at the springs and checking out sinkholes and being able to say that I basically have the themeparks in my backyard even if we almost never actually go there. I love the Florida Caverns and the Everglades and being able to think "I want to go to the beach" and then just do that a few days later.

I have a lot of mixed feelings about it. It's scary. It's dangerous. Sometimes I feel the ache for culture and belonging so bad it hurts. My government literally wants me not to exist. But at the same time.... it's home. Despite everything, it's my home, and I love it here. I don't really want to leave it, even though that's what everyone ever tells me I need to do.

.....Is that bad?

I was born in Florida and lived there for 46 years before moving to New England almost 2 years ago. And despite being a bit of a polar bear in my heart, I absolutely do ache for the wildness I had to leave behind. The trees here are too quiet, the rivers are the wrong color, and I miss spotting gators smiling at me.

Never feel bad for loving the land and her people. Plenty of folks are choosing to stay behind and fight -- it's an honorable cause and locals need protecting and a new generation to pick up the reigns.

And likewise, try not to feel bad if you have to leave. If that is ever the case, try to enjoy as much of the state as you can before you go and see how you can support her from afar.

Is what you're feeling bad? No. It shows that you care and feel like you belong, despite the government trying to make you feel otherwise. No one should be so driven from their home.

[formulaonecrumbs]

could you osc comforting reader throughout having to have a surgery to remove a cyst that refused to rupture? the fear of no longer being able to have children if something goes wrong with the procedure. the worry of oscar not wanting to be with her anymore and him staying with her through it. from learning about the cyst to post surgery having to help her move, shower, eat after surgery.

-🧸

even if

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader needs surgery to remove a cyst and fears the worst—oscar stays through it all, from diagnosis to recovery.

warnings: pcos, chronic pain, ovarian cysts, surgery, hospital setting, fear of infertility, post-op recovery

A/N: i don’t have much to say except for that i’m sorry this isn’t much longer. i didn’t know how to write it, idk why. but thank u for the request as always :) i appreciate it more than u know, lovie. I LOVE YOU, 🧸❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

it starts with a scan.

you’d gone in expecting them to say what they always say: ride it out, take painkillers, it’ll pass. but instead, the doctor frowns, tilts the screen, and clicks too many times. and then:

“this one’s not rupturing. we’re going to need to remove it surgically.”

the words hit your chest like a stone dropped in water. the ripples spread fast—fear, confusion, shame.

they talk you through the process, but all you hear is the possibility.

the what if.

what if something goes wrong? what if it takes more than just the cyst? what if you wake up and something’s missing? what if you can’t—

“will this affect… fertility?” you whisper, barely able to finish the word.

they don’t say no. they say “we’ll do everything we can.”

and that’s worse.

you don’t tell oscar at first.

you mean to. you want to. but how do you explain that you feel like your body’s turned against you? that you’re scared he might not love what’s left of you after?

he finds the pamphlet before you can hide it.

you come home to him sitting on the couch, the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand. his expression is unreadable. not angry—just quietly hurting.

“how long have you known?” he asks softly.

“a few days.”

he nods. “and you didn’t tell me because…?”

you shrug, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “because i didn’t want you to think i’m broken.”

his face breaks instantly. “don’t say that.”

“but it’s true.”

“no. it’s not.” he gets up, crosses the room, holds your face in both hands. “you’re in pain, and you’re scared, and you don’t want to go through this. but you’re not broken. not even close.”

you look down. “what if i can’t—what if i won’t be able to have kids?”

he doesn’t flinch. “then we deal with that together.”

“you want kids, though.”

“i want you.”

your eyes flood. he kisses your forehead.

“we’re getting through this,” he says. “surgery and recovery and all of it. i’m not going anywhere.”

he’s there the morning of the procedure. hospital bracelet on your wrist, paper gown too cold, hands shaking in your lap.

he’s the only reason you’re not falling apart.

he talks to you while the nurses prep everything. about planes. about how he saw a dog wearing sunglasses on the walk in. he makes you laugh—quiet, but real.

“you’ll be out in a second,” he says. “and when you wake up, i’ll be right here.”

you fall asleep with his hand in yours.

you wake up sore and slow and dizzy. everything aches.

you barely register anything until you hear his voice, quiet and close.

“hey, there you are.”

you turn your head. he’s right beside you, hair messy from running his hands through it, eyes red-rimmed from not sleeping.

“hi,” you croak.

“you did so good,” he says, brushing your hair back. “doctor said they got it. everything went okay.”

“okay?” you whisper.

“okay,” he nods. “you’re okay.”

you cry. he lets you. holds your hand and leans over to kiss your temple.

the next few days are rough.

you’re weak. sore. bruised and stitched and barely able to move without help.

but oscar helps with everything.

he sits behind you in bed so you can lean back against him when your stomach hurts too much to lie flat. he holds your hips steady when you shuffle to the bathroom. he helps you shower, gentle and respectful, whispering “i’ve got you” over and over while water runs down your back.

he makes you toast and soup and little snacks. watches bad tv with you and laughs even when you can’t. reads your medication labels out loud and sets alarms on his phone. tucks your heating pad in the perfect spot and rubs your shoulder while it warms up.

he sleeps beside you on top of the blankets just in case you need space, then crawls under when you reach for him without saying a word.

and he tells you he loves you. constantly. when you’re in pain. when you’re quiet. when you’re too tired to say it back.

“i love you,” he says into your hair.

“even now?” you whisper.

“especially now.”

the bruises fade. the stitches dissolve. the fear softens.

you’ll never forget how it felt—the waiting, the hurting, the not knowing. but you’ll remember this more: the way he never let go. the way he saw you at your lowest and didn’t blink. the way he made you feel like you could come out the other side whole.

and you did.

THE END :>

[abi-renirk]

Thinking about Wymack putting up with Neil, alone, during his senior year. None of the other foxes are there to deal with his antics. Kevin isn’t there to talk about everything Exy related. Andrew isn’t there to keep him grounded and sane. Allison and Nicky aren’t pushing him out of his comfort zone with his style, appearance, etc. Matt isn’t there to be a friend. Dan can’t help him captain his team. Aaron isn’t there to annoy him. Renee isn’t there with her gentle, reassuring smile.

I know that some of the freshman from the EC become Neil’s friends, but it isn’t the same as the OG Foxes.

So, he turns to one of the few people he trusts, Dad Wymack™️. Neil joins him in his office for lunch and tells him all about Andrew’s most recent Exy game. “Did you see how many saves Andrew made last night?” 38. It was beautiful.” *heart eyes* Coach returns his attention to the paperwork he was working on when Neil walked in. He half listens as the striker explains a movie that Nicky said he needed to watch to understand current trends.

After a game night, Neil goes home with Wymack, who now lives together with Abby, and stays for dinner with the couple, yapping about everything that plagued him that day. “I talked to Andrew last night and he was telling me about this drill his pro team does at practice. He thinks it’s stupid, of course, but I think it could help us get through the other team’s defense easier.” He goes on to explain the drill between bites of pasta and sauce.

When Neil leaves, Coach looks at Abby, feeling slightly dumbfounded, “I never knew the kid could say so many words in such a short time.” Abby lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t get any paperwork finished anymore with him around so much.” He explains with fake annoyance. She gives him a soft smile, “He just misses Andrew and the rest of our Foxes. I think it’s says a lot that he trusts you with the details of his private life. We all know how hard that is for him.”

Dad Wymack sits in his thought for a quiet minute, thinking back to the locker room in Millport with the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy who was scared to live. To the airport before the new year with the red-haired, blue-eyed boy who was fighting for his family. To a cheap motel in Baltimore with a boy covered in scars who fought to stay and live. Neil has come a long way and Wymack’s chest swells with pride and love for the striker.

Two days later, on Monday, Neil shows up right on time for Wymack’s lunch hour, but the older man doesn’t mind the sound of Neil’s chattering over their shared lunch. “Allison told me my hair is getting too long, but the shampoo she sent me is making my curls look “delicious”. I don’t know what she means by that, how hair can look edible, but Andrew says not to worry about it. Speaking of Andrew, do you know how much he has been bench pressing in the gym? He’s up to—“

Wymack lets out a quiet, exasperated sigh as he leans back in his chair, accepting his fate for the next year as Neil continues talking. He may act annoyed about his new lunch time guest, but it means a lot that Neil feels safe with him, even if that means learning about pop culture and Neil’s distaste for broccoli.

[cheriedivine]

Deeply still in love

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ summary: Ellie Williams doesn’t do feelings. She buries them under alcohol, weed and strangers lips, but the moment she hears your voice again, everything she’s shoved down, claws its way back up.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: References to substance abuse (weed, alcohol), Mild suggestive themes, Unrequited love, Swearing, emotional themes. (Lmk if i missed anything!)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: Angst/heartbreak, Ellies is a fuck boy, just pain tbh

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: ok so this is my first time ever writing something for Ellie and it’s heavily based on Role Model’s song Deeply still in love bc i fucking love that song and I thought it would be a good angsty emotional one shot so yeah… hope u guys enjoy it and english is not my first language so excuse any grammar mistakes oki luv yall bye.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ WC: 3.6K

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

“I think i still love you, deep down i know i never stopped loving you-“ Ellie scratched it out, watching the ink dry down on the page in her journal, the words of what she just wrote frozen on her mind, her breath was shallow, like she was afraid the air would judge her for it. She crossed the sentence out, one, two, three times until the paper on her journal ripped.

“Jesus Ellie, you might wanna breathe before your face starts turning purple- what’s up with that?”

Jesse interrupted her thoughts as he looked down at Ellie’s previously destroyed journal page, placing the two cups of coffee down at the table, the coffee shop they were at was cozy but drowned in people, making Ellie’s thoughts quieted down a bit as she closed the journal on her lap and took the hot cup of coffee “it’s nothing just… thoughts” she said while taking a sip of her coffee, the bitter taste burning her tongue

“Yeah well it looked like you were about to collapse or die” He flopped into the chair across from hers with a furrowed expression, “Anyway, maybe you should take your thinking somewhere else tonight and come with me and Dina to this party tonight” The black haired boy suggested, but Ellie wasn’t paying him much attention until she heard him clicking his fingers in front of her face “Hello earth to Ellie? Did you hear anything I said?” Ellie rolled her eyes, but if she was being honest her mind was wandering somewhere else, or on someone else “Sorry man im just not here today, what’s going on?” Jesse huffed getting annoyed by the girl’s lack of attention “You. Me. Dina. Party. Tonight?” He took the cup of coffee up to his mouth awaiting his friend’s response.

Ellie didn’t answer right away, tracing her finger on the rim of her cup, eyes fixed on the steam coming out of it like smoke signals no one else could read.

“Is ‘you know who’ going to be there?” the auburn haired girl finally responded, afraid but curious of what his response might be, her stomach twirled at the thought of you being there.

“Dude its been more than six months,” Jesse said with a tired tone. “You’ve hooked up with like three different girls since then, I thought you were over it”.

Ellie let out a short breath, bitter, like the coffee on her hands.

Over it.

Yeah sure. It’s been 8 months exactly since you broke up with Ellie, you didn’t exactly end up on bad terms, but it was like something was ripped off from her, a part of her was still waiting for you to come back, but how could she blame you for not to?. It was always like this, Ellie shut down when things got too real, she bottled up all these emotions and when the weight of it caught up to her it became too heavy to carry. You kept reaching for anything, like screaming to a wall, while she just kept pulling away, slowly and painfully. It wasn’t because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. And that scared the shit out of her.

She hated talking about her feelings, she hated the vulnerability of it, the rawness, she hated being seen too clearly. But you- you saw her like no one else ever had, you saw her through like a window on a road trip, never scared of the road, never afraid of where it might take you, but she shut you down over and over, until you got tired of knocking on a door that would never fully open.

Ellie never blamed you for leaving, the look on your eye when the words slipped of your lips when you called it off still haunted her on her dreams till this day “I love you Ellie, but i can’t be the only one bleeding for us”

She just stood there, breathing through her nose, her heart pounding like a drum, she felt like it might rip out of her chest, and maybe it did because her words got caught up in her throat and tears started brewing in her emerald eyes when you left without slamming the door, that’s how she knew she really fucked up, that this was real, and you and her were done.

So yeah 8 painfully slow months have passed since that, and even though Ellie kissed strangers in bars, she closed her eyes with your name stuck behind teeth, going through bodies like maybe she could fit into a different pair of arms that could be warm enough to forget your face, your lips or the way your eyes would light up when you kissed her, but no stranger could ever replace that, replace you. It always came back to you. It didn’t matter how many mouths she kissed or how many bodies she explored, coming back to a cold bed made the emptiness crawl back like an old friend, and only made your absence more painful. But still she kept doing it, as if it were a miracle move-on-drug.

Ellie blinked out of the memory, the cup in her hands cold and long forgotten, she placed it back on the table before answering to her friend.

“Whatever man just text me the address and I might consider it” She thought the party wasn’t such a bad idea, she could have a couple drinks and hook up with some stranger she just met like she has been doing for the past months.

Jesse raised a brow, not buying into her sudden shift of tone. “That didn’t sound like a ‘fuck yeah I’m down for a party’. It sounded more like you’re planning to drink cheap booze until you forget your name and make out with someone you won’t remember the next day.”

The girl shrugged, “So what, none of your goddamn business”

Jesse stared at her for a second, like he wanted to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them right up and sighed leaning back in his chair. “you do you, Ellie. Just… stop pretending it's helping.”

That definitely hit a nerve, but Ellie didn't flinch, nor said anything. He continued, a little softer this time, like a secret apology. “I'll text you the address. You don't have to come, but maybe you should. Think about it.”

With that the boy stood up grabbing his empty cup and left the coffee shop. An awkward silence filled the room, Ellie’s jaw tightened, at the end he was right, having sex with strangers wasnt exactly therapy but it got her through… in some fucked up way. Was it wrong? Maybe, Ellie never texted back any girl ever and just ghosted when she got what she needed. Toss and turn.

Later that day Ellie texted Jesse, briefly apologizing for being a dick to which he responded “When aren't you?.” Asshole. He sent her the address and by 9:30 Ellie was getting ready to leave. She stood in front of the mirror, jaw working as she tugged the black tank top over her head, the hem settling just above the waistband of her old patched up jeans, nothing very special- she didn't do special- hesitating on putting on a jacket or no, Jackson weather you never know. Her eyes lingered on her reflection for a little too long. The tank clung to her body in a familiar way. Safe. The jeans were her most reliable ones, just like her old converse she’d laced up so many times they were practically molded to her.

“Not a big deal, just another stupid party.” She ran her hands through her shaggy hair and decided she won’t put that much effort into it, bars are often dark so who cares- certainly not her. She took one last glance at the mirror before putting on Joel's old jacket and walking through the door of her apartment. The familiar weight of the jacket calmed her nerves a bit but not as much as the blunt in her fingers, she had stocked a few days ago, and a little pre game never fails to calm her down so she lit it up while waiting for Jesse and Dina to pull up the driveway. Jesse had offered to drive her to the party alongside Dina, even though Ellie had her own truck (an old ford truck inherited from Joel) he said it would be better if he was the assigned driver if they got a little too tipsy.

She often wondered how those too could stand each other for so long, when Ellie met Jesse at College he was already dating Dina and it’s been 4 years since then. They weren’t the perfect couple but surely knew how to get on each other's nerves, still always figured it out at the end. Ellie admired them for that and wished she was a little more like them.

Soon her thoughts dissolved into the crisp air of the night when Jesse pulled up on the driveway, he honked the horn as if the blinding lights didn't catch Ellie’s attention enough, “You are such an attention whore.” Ellie said, flicking the blunt away and stuffing her hands deep into the jacket pockets before entering the car.

The drive to the party was loud- music blasting, windows cracked, a new blunt being passed around like part of the ritual (courtesy of Ellie of course). It was their usual pregame, the kind that made her forget, even if just for a moment. With her friends, it was easy to laugh, to lean into the chaos and pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t still there. These were the moments that reminded Ellie not everything was awful. But the rush- the high, always felt like the drop of a roller coaster. And when Jesse finally parked the car, reality hit. Another night of pretending. Pretending nothing mattered, pretending the burn inside her wasn’t still there, quietly eating her alive.

“Don’t forget to rate me 5 stars and leave a tip” Jesse said jokingly, distracting Ellie from her self destructive thoughts”

Dina was the first one to enter the bar, the music almost deafening, the track was some popular song Ellie heard at the radio before, she didn't like it, but also didn’t exactly hate it. The place was packed as it usually is every Friday night, overflowing with bodies, laughter layering the loud music, and some good ol’ bar fight probably. Ellie trailed behind Jesse and Dina, already feeling the buzz fade into something heavier. She slipped her hands back into Joel’s jacket, like it would shield her from everything the weed could not.

They found a booth near the back, where the speakers didn’t rattle your bones quite as much. Dina, being the social butterfly she is, immediately recognized someone across the room, an old college classmate, but for Ellie it was one of those people who always remembers your face but not your name. Seconds later Jesse slid into the booth, scanning the bar like a minefield.

“Shot first, existential crisis later?” he offered, holding up two fingers to the bartender across the room.

Ellie nodded, managing a half-smile. “Make it three.”

As the night went on (and so did the shots) Ellie was sitting alone in the booth, Dina and Jesse long gone, probably dancing or making out somewhere in the dark, Ellie decided it was probably time for a smoke, to calm the headache she was starting to feel. She grabbed her jacket from her seat and made a beeline to the exit, the chill breeze of Jackson hitting her face like a slap she probably deserved.

Leaning against the crumbling brick wall outside the bar, the noise from inside was muffled out there. She pulled the blunt from her pocket, already half-rolled from earlier, and lit it with a practiced flick of her lighter, the smoke greeted her lungs like an old friend, welcoming the burn in her throat, grounding her a little as she exhaled through her nose. She took a second hit leaning her head against the wall, watching the people coming in and out of the bar, people watching was Ellie’s favorite activity while smoking, also because she could use it as an opportunity to check girls out, but that's when she saw you.

At least—she thought she did.

You were slipping through the bar’s entrance, swallowed up by a crowd of loud, laughing strangers. Just a flash of your face, the way your hair moved, throwing your head back laughing like someone who wasn’t her told the funniest joke of the world. Ellie blinked. Hard.

“No fucking way.” She cursed under her breath, squinting her eyes trying to steady herself. Was it the mix of weed and cheap alcohol in her system playing fucked up mind tricks on her? Either way, it didn't matter because she was already walking towards the crowd of people, like some magnetic force was pulling her in.

She pushed past two guys arguing about the cover charge. Her heart was thudding now—not like excitement. More like panic.

Inside, the lights hit her all wrong, too sharp, too bright. The music pulsed against her ribs. She scanned the crowd, pushing through, zeroing in on the back of that girl’s head.

Same jacket. Same posture. Same everything.

“Hey—” she started, grabbing the mysterious woman by the arm but when the girl turned around, it wasn’t you.

Of course it wasn’t you.

Her grip softened and she let go, the girl glared at her confused, and now Ellie could see, could really see that her eyes weren’t the same color as yours, her smile wasn’t as bright and welcoming as yours. And the worst part it’s not that she made a fool of herself, but that the girl was looking at her like she was a complete stranger. Which she was but to Ellie’s brain it just felt like she got hit by a thousand trains.

The brunette stepped back, the weight in her chest doubling. Her hands were shaking a little now, or maybe they always had been. She didn’t say anything. Just turned and pushed her way back outside.Too embarrassed to even apologize.

She felt like throwing up.

She found an empty corner right next to the bar, hunched over with her hands on her knees, breath coming sharp and uneven, gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. Her heart slammed heavily on her chest.

The cold didn’t even bother her this time. Her shaky hands reaching for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, Her mind was fogged over, drifting somewhere else entirely. It was like she was watching herself from outside her own body.she didn’t know what she was doing just moving, automatic, like muscle memory took over, her fingers were clicking and swiping and then suddenly—

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was soft, confused.

Her head snapped up. She blinked at the screen in her hand.

Call in progress — You.

A beat of silence passed before she even realized what she’d done. Her breath hitched.

“…Shit.”

Your voice. Caught between sleepy and annoyed.

“Who’s this? Do you have any idea how late it is?”

Ellie’s breath hitched. For a second, she considered hanging up. Throwing the phone into the street. Pretending this never happened. But she wasn’t running this time.

“…It’s me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Ellie.”

Silence. The kind that says everything and nothing at once.

“Ellie?”

Your voice softened. Then came the question she knew was coming—

“What– Why are you calling?”

She looked down at her converse, swallowing hard.

“I– I don't know I wasn't planning to, I'm just–” She tried to laugh it off. She couldn't believe this was happening.

“Are you drunk?” Your tone firm and dry

“I’m sorry i shouldn't have called , i dont know what the fuck im doing ok? I literally just called someone else your name. Just now.”

A shaky breath.

“Stupid, right?”

You didn't say anything, Ellies fingers tightened around the phone and your silence was enough to keep her bleeding. She was surprised that you hadn't hung up on her yet.

So Ellie kept talking.

“And I… I thought maybe if I just shoved it deep enough, it’d go away. Y’know? This—this fucking feeling. This ache that’s been stuck in me since you left. And I keep trying to bury it, like if I fake it hard enough, maybe it’ll stop hurting but it doesn’t. None of it works. Everything feels so…pointless. Like it doesn’t mean anything because… because there’s no you anymore.”

She breathes in sharp—like it physically hurts to say the next part.

“And burying it doesn’t fix shit. ‘Cause I still—”

A pause, her voice breaking on the edge. She didn't even realize tears had fallen down her freckled face. Savouring the salty drops as she opened her mouth.

“I still love you.”

There it was. She said it and she couldn't take it back anymore. It was real, and you were silent. Just like she had been when you were begging her to say something back then. Funny how life goes huh?

Silence. Again. you were completely frozen like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But your thoughts vanished when a female voice called you up.

“Who is it babe?”

Babe.

Ellie froze. Her stomach twisted, breath catching like it forgot how to move.

Babe.

You didn’t answer the girl right away. But you didn’t deny it, either.

Ellie bit her cheek until she tasted blood. The universe was getting a big fucking laugh out from her. There was a long pause. Too long.

You didn’t mean to let it stretch, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and the words wouldn’t come out right.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Ellie.”

She didn’t say anything. You could hear her breathing—shaky, uneven, like she was crying?

“You can’t say things like that. Not now.”

You sounded softer than you meant to. Not angry. Just… broken.

“It’s not fair.”

Another pause. You swallowed hard.

“I have to go– I'm sorry, you should go home and sober up and just forget about it ok? That this phone call ever happened at all.”

You hesitated, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your throat.

“Please.”

It came out barely audible. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

A silence lingered between you, thick with everything neither of you were saying.

“You don’t get to do this now, Ellie. Not after all the times I waited for you to mean it.”

Your voice cracked.

And before Ellie could speak—before she could take it back, or say she was sorry again—

“Goodbye Ellie”

You hung up. The line went dead.

She backed into the wall behind her sliding down until she was sitting on the cold concrete, knees pulled in tight, Joel’s jacket wrapped around her like it might protect her from this ache.

But it didn’t.

She let her head fall forward, resting it on her arms. The tears came slowly at first, stubborn like her. But once they started, they didn’t stop. Silent, messy, no control. Her shoulders shook, her breath catching in her throat like she couldn’t even cry right.

“Fuck this” She muttered.

You didn’t say you didn’t love her.

You said it was too late.

Somehow, that hurt worse.

The words echoed in her skull. She let out a choked laugh—bitter and hollow. She hated how much it still mattered. Hated that she called you. Hated herself for waiting this long to say it, for saying it now, when it meant nothing anymore.

She sat there until her fingers went numb, until the night felt like it was swallowing her whole.

Her phone kept ringing like crazy, probably a worried Dina or a very upset Jesse at the end of the line. She ignored it, because it wasn't you.

Eventually, she stood—slow, unsteady, like her body was made of glass. Her jacket hung heavy on her shoulders, soaked in the scent of cheap beer, smoke, and everything she didn’t want to feel. She made her way back inside of the bar, reckless and hurt, in search of a body that could keep her warm tonight, someone to blur the edges, to drown out the echo of your voice still ringing in her head.

Maybe, just for a second, it would feel like she wasn’t completely alone.

The music hit her like a wave—loud, chaotic, the kind of beat that made it easy to forget. She didn’t care who was watching, or that her eyes were red and her face puffy. She moved through the crowd like a ghost with a drink in hand, brushing past strangers until she locked eyes with someone—pretty, familiar enough, not you.

Never you.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and rough. “Buy you a drink?”

The girl smiled, said something back—Ellie didn’t really hear it.

Didn’t matter.

She just needed something to ease the pain.

Even if it was empty.

Even if it was fake.

Even if it hurt worse in the morning.

She leaned in, chasing a flame that would burn out, pretending it didn’t sting when it wasn’t your hands she felt.

Pretending she didn’t just shatter a little more when the girl kissed her and all she could think was—

You.

It was still you.

Always you.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧───

hope u guys liked it and lmk whatchu think, i’m open to suggestions and if u have any requests don’t hesitate to hmu <3!!!