#my heart hurts??? are these emotions?????

[player042]

HER SUN, HIS MOON | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: opposites attract, they say, but absolutely no one could prepare you for the impact dae-ho would have in your life. requested here.

warning: pre squid game au, grumpy x sunshine dynamics, reader has personality similar to sae-byeok's, kinda colleagues to friends to lovers, heart-melting dae-ho being utterly smitten and protective, mention of fighting and blood, prepare for banter and love that feels like the perfect balance, and please enjoy ♥️

word count: 3.7k

Dae-ho and you were written in the stars. Not in words, but through a bond that neither time nor reason could break. As if the universe itself had signed a soul contract on your behalf, interlinking the two of you forever, one bright as the sun, the other dark as the night. Because you could think of no other explanation for how you and Dae-ho had found your way to each other.

For he and you were opposites in every conceivable way. He was golden hours spent laughing, and you were the quiet serenity of midnight. He was the light on a summer day, you were the shadow on a winter night. He was a golden retriever, bounding through life with enthusiasm and a need to love and be loved, while you were the black cat, aloof and deliberate, your affection hard-earned and fiercely given. He was the proverbial sunshine boyfriend, and you? The grumpy girlfriend, even if you'd never admit it aloud.

You still remembered the early days before you were together. Back then, you had avoided entanglements, thinking emotions were too unpredictable, too messy. Dae-ho, on the other hand, had been nothing but heart, an open book that practically had shouted his feelings with every glance, every action. Easygoing. Flirty. Compassionate. Gentle. Funny. Supportive. That's how he'd always been. You had worked at the same bookstore café as part-timers, making money on the side while studying at uni, and he had been the kind of coworker who brought in homemade snacks to share, who remembered the regulars' orders, who lit up every corner of the room just by being there

And you? You had preferred the quiet. You'd worked the closing shift to avoid the chaos, stocked the shelves in peace, and only spoke when absolutely necessary. Yet somehow, Dae-ho had decided you were his favorite person in the room.

Work had been slow that day, the kind of lazy afternoon where time seemed to drag. You had been in the back, sorting through new stock, when Dae-ho had appeared like a whirlwind of energy. As usual, he had brought his sunshine into the room, whistling a tune as he had sauntered over to where you had been crouched on the floor.

"Need a hand?" he asked, grinning as he leaned casually against the shelf. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint that always made you wary.

"No," you said simply, focusing on the stack of books in front of you. "I'm fine."

"That's debatable," he replied, crouching down next to you. "You've been glaring at those books like they owe you money. Which, knowing you, isn't completely impossible."

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "They're disorganized. It's irritating."

"I think you mean it's irresistible," he corrected, emphasizing the word as he tilted his head to get a better look at your face. "Because you're clearly putting all your energy into ignoring the most charming guy in the room."

You'd turned to him then, giving him a flat look. "Charming? You?"

His hand went to his chest, mock offense lighting up his features. "Ouch. That hurts. Right here." He tapped his heart, then flashed you an exaggerated pout. "You wound me."

"Good," you shot back, turning back to the books. "Maybe it'll teach you some humility."

He let out a soft laugh, his voice dipping lower. "Nah, I think I'll keep my ego intact, thanks. It's my best feature. Or… is it my smile? You've been staring at it a lot lately, so maybe I should ask you."

Your fingers froze on the book in your hand, and you felt heat creep up your neck. Damn him. He always knew exactly how to get under your skin, and worse, he lived for it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said smoothly, though your face betrayed you with the faintest hint of pink in your cheeks.

"Oh, come on," he teased, leaning in closer. "Don't play coy with me. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."

You turned to glare at him, which only made him grin wider. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" His voice was soft now, his gaze steady as he inched just a bit closer. "Because I'd bet my entire paycheck that you're thinking about how good I'd look kissing you right now."

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at his boldness. But you weren't going to give him the satisfaction. "That's a terrible bet," you deadpanned with your best pokerface, setting the book aside. "You don't even make that much."

His laughter echoed in the small space, rich and full of delight. "See? That's exactly why you're my favorite."

"You're annoying," you retorted, standing up and dusting off your jeans.

"And yet, you keep me around." He stood as well, towering over you slightly. His boyish grin softened into something more genuine, his eyes lingering on yours. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I wasn't here."

You had rolled your eyes, "You wish."

"I do," he remarked, "And you love it," he winked at you before strolling off, whistling that same tune as before.

And damn it, you did love it.

No one understood it back then. This thing you two had. They still didn't understand. How could someone so effervescent, so outwardly bright, have chosen someone so reserved, so calculated? How could two people so different orbit each other with such ease? But honestly, they didn't need to understand. It was him and you that counted. Two sides of the same coin, perfectly balanced in your differences, inseparable in ways that defied explanation. 

And so, it began, this undefined connection between you. Gradually, you found yourselves spending more and more time together. Dinners after work became a casual routine, and weekends often led to shared nights out at bars.

On one particular Saturday night, the bar you went to was packed; the air buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. It was one of those rare nights where you let yourself relax, even though relaxing wasn't exactly your forte. Of course, it helped that Dae-ho was there, his larger-than-life presence somehow managing to make you forget how crowded and loud the place was.

You were sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, while Dae-ho leaned against the counter beside you, a mischievous grin perpetually plastered on his face. He was in rare form all evening, tossing out jokes and one-liners, testing just how far he could push your usual stoic demeanor.

"Come on," he teased, nudging your arm gently. "I know, you're having fun. You're smiling. At least on the inside."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "I don't smile."

"Not true," he countered, wagging a finger at you. "You smiled that one time when I tripped on the stairs."

"That wasn't a smile," you clarified with absolutely no emotion in your face, "That was schadenfreude."

"Call it whatever you want," he replied with a wink. "It still counts."

Your lips twitched slightly at that, betraying a flicker of amusement you tried to hide. Of course, Dae-ho noticed instantly, pointing at you triumphantly.

"Aww, I'm growing on you."

"Like mold," you muttered, taking another sip of your drink to mask your expression.

Undeterred, he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I've been told I have a certain… effect on people. Charm, charisma, devastating good looks, take your pick."

"Is that what your sisters told you?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

His grin widened. "Ah, there's the sharp tongue I love. Keep it coming, baby."

"Stop calling me that," you grumbled, even as your stomach flipped at the nickname.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into a rhythm of teasing and banter, your words volleying back and forth like it was second nature. The bustling crowd and occasional jostle of bodies around you became background noise as your attention fixated on each other. What you did notice, however, was how close he's got. His shoulder brushed yours, his warm breath tickling your ear as he spoke in that low, teasing tone.

"So," he said casually, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how long are you going to keep pretending you don't like me?"

You snorted, leaning back slightly in an attempt to create some distance, not that it helped. "What makes you think I like you?"

"Your complete inability to look me in the eye when I do this," he explained, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture had been so smooth, so effortlessly intimate, it left you momentarily speechless.

"Is your ego always this big, or is it just me?" you managed to ask, though your voice had sounded weaker than you intended.

"Just you," he replied, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You bring out the best in me, moonbeam."

Before you could formulate a snappy retort, a commotion erupted behind you. Raised voices and curses cut through the background noise, drawing your attention to a group of men arguing near a table. One of them shoved another, and you instinctively tensed.

"Dae-ho," you hissed, elbowing him. "Something's happening."

"Huh?" He blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from you to glance in the direction of the chaos. "Oh. Looks like a fight."

"Yeah, thanks, Sherlock," you muttered, standing up as the tension escalated. One of the men pulled out a knife, waving it threateningly.

"Let's just get out of here," you grabbed Dae-ho's arm. But before you could pull him away, the fight spilled dangerously close to the bar.

Everything that happened next was a blur. The man with the knife lunged forward, clearly aiming for his opponent, but the latter ducked, and somehow, Dae-ho, who inexplicably stepped forward, took the hit instead.

"Shit!" you yelled, catching him as he stumbled back. The knife had grazed his side, leaving a shallow but nasty wound. Blood seeped through his shirt, and panic had gripped you.

"Dae-ho!" you exclaimed, your hands gripping his shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He winced, a crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. "Guess I wasn't."

"No kidding," you snapped, grabbing a napkin from the bar to press against his wound. "Who gets stabbed because they're too busy flirting?"

"Is that… your way of admitting I'm hard to resist?" he asked, his voice strained but still tinged with humor.

You glared at him, though your heart was racing for entirely different reasons. "Shut up and sit down. You're bleeding."

"I've had worse," he said, but he sank obediently into a nearby chair, his hand covering yours as you applied pressure to his wound. "Besides, I couldn't let anything happen to you."

"I was fine," you muttered through gritted teeth. "You're the one who almost got killed because you can't stop playing knight in shining armor."

"Be honest," he said with a weak chuckle. "You'd really miss me if I wasn't around."

You froze at his words, remembering the last time, he's said them, your breath hitching. But this time, the thought of losing him, wasn't so far away. Momentarily, the noise of the bar faded, replaced by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Don't be stupid," you said softly.

"I knew it! I do have an effect on you," he grinned triumphantly, "I'll take my victory now, thanks." 

You rolled your eyes, but the faint tremble in your hands gave you away. "Just… try not to die, okay?"

His grin widened, despite the pain etched across his face. "If it means seeing you worried about me? Worth it."

As much as you wanted to deny it back then, he hadn't been wrong. You would miss him. And that had terrified you more than any knife ever could.

Your relationship had always been a slow burn, like embers catching fire after months of waiting for the perfect conditions. On that rainy Saturday night, after the chaos at the bar, you found yourself driving Dae-ho to the hospital, his side patched up with hastily wrapped gauze that barely held back the bleeding. He sat in the passenger seat, uncharacteristically quiet, his usual energy dampened by the pain and the rain drumming on the windshield.

"You didn't have to do this," he muttered after a while, his head leaning back against the seat.

"Of course I did," you replied without looking at him, your knuckles tight around the steering wheel. "I wasn't going to let you bleed out in some alley."

He chuckled faintly, the sound tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You've got a funny way of showing you care."

You ignored him, keeping your focus on the road, though your heart clenched at the way his voice sounded weaker than usual.

At the hospital, you stayed with him through the stitches, arms crossed over your chest as he cracked half-hearted jokes to distract himself from the needle. When the nurse asked if you were his girlfriend, you didn't bother to deny it, instead rolling your eyes and muttering, "Just patch him up, will you?"

By the time you were finally helping him to his apartment, the rain had turned into a steady downpour. He leaned on you as you guided him up the stairs, his weight a reminder of how fragile this moment felt despite the humor he tried to inject into it.

As you reached the cover of his apartment's awning, you let out a breath, finally releasing your grip on his arm. The warm glow of the entryway light cast over the two of you, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at his lips despite everything.

"I've got to say," he began, leaning heavily against the doorframe, "I think this is the longest you've ever willingly spent with me. Kind of feels like progress."

You shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You're an idiot," you said, shaking your head. "Why do you always make everything a joke?"

"Because someone's gotta balance us out," he quipped, though his grin faltered as he studied your face. "You're always so serious, moonbeam."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of rain filling the silence. He tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to push further. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Why do you act like you don't care when I know you do?"

His question caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his voice digging into the walls you'd carefully built around yourself. You looked away, the words forming in your throat before you could stop them. "Because caring about people… it hurts. And I've had enough of that."

Silence stretched between you again, heavier this time. When you finally looked at him, the teasing glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.

"You don't have to be scared of me," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't get it," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

"Don't get what?"

"You. Why you're always so nice to me."

He tilted his head as he studied you through the rain. "Because you're worth it," he said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his voice soft but certain. "And because I like you."

The words caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. You could only stare at him, the rain a gentle soundtrack to the weight of his confession.

"Say something, moonbeam," he teased, his grin crooked but genuine.

The rawness of his words, the way he had said them like a promise, made something inside you snap. Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped closer, your hands reaching for his collar. You kissed him, tentative at first, your lips brushing against his like you were testing the waters. He froze, clearly surprised, but only for a short moment. Then his hands were on your waist, steadying you as he kissed you back with a tenderness that belied his usual boldness.

The warmth of his lips, the faint taste of blood and rain, made your head spin. It wasn't rushed or frantic, it was slow, deliberate, like he didn't want to miss a single second of it. When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression soft but unreadable.

"That's a good start," he murmured, his fingers brushing a raindrop from your cheek.

And that was the night everything shifted.

Even now, years later, as you sat curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, that kiss lingered in your memory, replaying in these quiet moments like a favorite song. You hadn't realized it then, but that kiss had marked the beginning of a life you'd never imagined for yourself, a life with him. You were lazily scrolling through your phone, as the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen, a comforting scent that told you Dae-ho was busy doing something, blending with the faint hum of his voice as he moved about.

You smiled to yourself, tracing the worn fabric of the hoodie with your fingertips.

"Babe," his voice called from the kitchen, teasing and light, pulling you from your thoughts, "if I bring you coffee in bed, does that make me husband material, or is it too early for that kind of promotion?"

You snorted, setting your phone down as you stretched. "You've gotta stop campaigning so hard, Dae-ho. It's getting desperate."

He appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of steaming coffee and wearing the kind of grin that made your stomach flip. "Desperate? Honey, this is a demonstration of premium boyfriend services." He crossed the room, setting the mugs on the coffee table before flopping down next to you.

"Premium?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't even bring toast."

He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Are you doubting the quality of my care and devotion?"

"I'm just saying," you replied with a smirk, "a little effort wouldn't kill you."

"Oh, you want effort?" he teased, leaning over you, his face suddenly much closer than you anticipated. His arm stretched over the back of the couch, caging you in just slightly. "Name it, and it's yours."

You stared at him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "Okay. Toast. I want toast."

He narrowed his eyes playfully, tilting his head. "You sure about that? Not, I don't know, me? Because I'm sitting right here."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed as he leaned closer, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something warmer. "You're still annoying," you said under your breath, trying to sound in-fact annoyed, but your voice betrayed you, coming out softer than you intended.

"And you're adorable," he shot back, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I think we're even."

The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slid down to your waist, tugging you closer until your legs were tangled together, his thumb idly tracing circles over the fabric of your hoodie.

"You look good in my clothes," he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "Almost too good. How am I supposed to let you out of this apartment now?"

You couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up, even as your heart raced. "Who said I was going anywhere?"

His grin widened at your response, and before you could say anything else, he turned you with a swift motion, settling you on top of him so that your legs straddled his hips. The shift left you breathless, your bare thighs brushing against his sides as his hands splayed firmly on your waist, holding you in place.

"Good," he said, his voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges. His dark eyes held yours, their usual playfulness tempered with something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter. "Because I can't get enough of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head back slightly, his thumb tracing absent patterns along your hip. "You, moonbeam," he murmured, his gaze intense. "You're addicting. Like I'm craving something I can't ever stop wanting."

You felt your breath hitch, your heart thudding in your chest. You tried to compose yourself, to play it cool, but the way he looked at you made it impossible to be unaffected. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, letting your hands rest on his chest. "Dae-ho," you softly said his name the way you knew it drove him crazy, "You keep talking like that, and I might think you're the romantic one in this relationship."

His lips quirked into a smirk, but his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer. "Don't think. Know. And I'll keep proving it until you never question it again."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound blending with the warmth of his presence. "You're setting the bar pretty high for yourself, you know."

He shrugged, his hands never leaving your waist, "That just means I have to keep finding ways to spoil you."

In that moment, the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together. His hands slowly slid down to your thighs now, his thumbs brushing over your skin, while his gaze never left yours. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and his arms circled back around you, holding you impossibly close as though you might vanish if he didn't.

"I told you," he murmured against your lips. "Addicting."

"I know," you said softly, capturing his lips in another slow kiss. "And that's why I love you."

His boyish grin returned against your lips, softer this time, "I love you, too. But I'm still not getting up for toast."

You burst out laughing, and he pulled you even tighter against him, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he pressed a kiss against your jaw. Right then and there, everything felt right, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. You smiled, letting yourself melt into him, and you thought to yourself that this was where you were meant to be. Not because he was your sun or you were his moon, but because together, you created something whole. 

Something timeless. 

Something infinite.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[cutiecusp]

Haze. Part 2.

TW. Talk of memory issues, a little PTSD (next part), fluffy smut (next part), AND A HEA! so MDNI.

"The hell do you mean? Who am i?" You ask, your gaze stubbornly holding his deep, blank stare.

You hold up a hand as Soap starts talking, your focus only on Simon.

"I am your wife, Simon." you state, barely disguising the hurt in your tone, your brow furrowed, fresh tears threatening to escape as all the man in front of you does is stare blankly.

"I'd certainly remember being married." He returns, a scowl forming over the part of the face you can see. His gaze flicks down to his hand, where the small matching tattoo you both wore was gone, a scar in its place.

"See? no ring or marking." His voice rings out loudly on your porch.

Price sees the devastation on your face, and quickly ushers everyone inside, leaving the two of you alone, knowing it could go one of two ways.

Your eyes flitter over him, cementing every memory to detail, the way his clothes are baggier, the new scar on his face, the shorn hair and the way he stares through you, like you are a total stranger.

"We've been married three years this Halloween, Simon." You say softly, your voice betraying your emotions as it wobbles.

Clearing your throat, you step into his space.

He hesitates for a moment, then steps forward, untrusting, like a dog that had been beaten too many times.

"What happened to you?" You ask, your hands reaching out for his, but his hands now remain in his pockets as he shrugged.

"Mission gone wrong." He bit off, clearly not ready to talk about it.

"Will you come in? See the rest of your team?" You ask, hoping something in your shared home will trigger an emotion, anything familiar.

"Is this my home too? is that why Price brought me here?" He asks, doubt dripping with his tone.

You straighten up, and hold out your hand.

"Our home, Si. Always been ours."

He looks down at your outstretched hand, and his eyes meet yours again, this time they hold a little something softer.

"I can trust you?" He rasps.

You hold his gaze, and you throw all the love, the promise, and the trust you can into your eyes. Simon once taught you that the eyes are the biggest giveaway when you lie, so you show him with all that you can that he can trust you.

"You can." you reply easily, although your heart is pounding through your chest, and your brain is internally screaming at Simon to remember you, you smile softly.

His hand perfectly reaches into yours. You hold your breath as the familiarity of his touch floods your body. Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, you brush them away with the other hand.

Simon stands in front of you, a unreadable expression on his face.

"I may not remember you, yet." He pauses, thinking about his next words carefully.

"But something about you IS familiar. You feel like the first dip in the pool at summer, tea on a frosty morning... Something about you feels like home."

Your breath comes out like a shudder, as he pulls you by the hand into him, his eyes taking you in from your puffy face, to the mismatched socks on your feet.

"If you are my wife, im the luckiest bastard on the planet."

....................................................................................................................

the final part, part three will be here tomorrow.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @lostintransist @skeletonsucker

[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 2.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n grapples with overwhelming grief and emotional turmoil.

TW!!: miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, emotional turmoil

Pls don't read if these things trigger you. Thank you guys for reading!!

*******************************************************

Azriel’s heart sinks as he realizes what’s happening. “No, no,” he whispers, his voice breaking. The shadows around him swirl in panic, mirroring the storm raging inside him.

"Rhys," Azriel says desperately, dropping his mental shields, his voice frantic and uneven. "Get Madja. Now. Something’s wrong with Y/N."

"On it," Rhys replies immediately, his tone sharp and firm. But it offers little comfort as Azriel turns his gaze back to you.

“We need to get you to Madja,” he says urgently, his hand moving to your stomach again, fear tightening his grip.

Without hesitation, Azriel lifts you into his arms and takes off, running as fast as he can toward the House of Wind. The wind whipping through his hair and stinging his eyes, but his only focus was on you.The way your body trembled, the way your breath was too shallow, too weak. You were in a state of shock, your mind reeling in denial and confusion..

By the time he reached the House of wind, Madja was already waiting, Rhys and Cassian close behind, their worry palpable.

“What’s happening?” Rhys demands, his eyes darting between you and Azriel.

 “She’s in pain. There was blood. She just-” He exhales sharply, trying to steady himself, but the terror gripping his chest makes it near impossible.

Madja wastes no time. “Put her down. Now.” Her sharp gaze sweeps over you before she turns to the others. "I need everyone out. Except Azriel”.

Azriel gently lays you on the bed, brushing damp hair from your face. His touch is tender, his hands trembling slightly as he grips yours. “I’m here, love,” he murmurs, his voice soft yet resolute. “You’re not alone.”

Madja crouches beside you, her experienced hands moving quickly over your body, assessing, analyzing. Then she looks up, her face grave.

“You’re in early labor, Y/N,” she says, her voice urgent. “And you need to start pushing. Now.”

The words crash over you like a tidal wave. Your chest tightens, panic flaring in your veins.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head, denial wrapping around you like a vice. Your body feels too weak, too broken. “I-I can’t.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightens. “You can,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You have to. You’re stronger than you know.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “It hurts..I can’t-”

Azriel leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I know, love,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I know. But you have to push.”

A sob rips through you, but you nod weakly, drawing in a ragged breath before forcing all your strength into one final push.

And then relief. But the room was silent.

You wait, gasping, heart pounding, but the sound that should follow—the sound of your baby’s first cry never comes.

Madja doesn’t speak right away, her focus entirely on the unmoving infant in her hands. She taps his back, firm but gentle. Nothing.

“No,” you whisper, your vision blurring with fresh tears. “No, no—”

Azriel is frozen beside you, his entire body rigid with shock. The shadows around him stutter, unsure, lost.

Madja tries again, rubbing the baby’s back, willing him to move, to breathe, to live.

But the silence is deafening.

Finally, she looks up, her expression something you don’t want to name. Something you refuse to accept.

She doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

A strangled sob tears from your throat as you reach for him. “My baby.”

Madja hesitates only a moment before gently placing him in your arms. His tiny body is still warm, impossibly small against your chest. You cradle him, a raw, guttural wail escaping you.

Azriel wraps himself around you, his arms holding you together even as you shatter completely. His own tears fall freely now, his breath uneven, his hands trembling as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Azriel,” you sob, your voice desperate, broken. “Help. Please.”

He holds you tighter, his whole body shaking, his wings curling protectively around you as if he can somehow shield you from the unbearable weight of this loss.

Madja steps forward, hesitant. “Y/N…” she says softly, her voice thick with sorrow. “You have to let go.”

But you can’t.

You clutch your baby closer, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, willing him to wake up, to cry, to do something. But there’s only silence. Only stillness.

Azriel's grip on you tightens, his heart breaking as he watches you unravel. He doesn’t tell you to let go. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you through it, taking your pain into himself, as if by sheer will alone, he can carry it for you.

But when your arms finally loosen, when the last of your strength ebbs away, Madja gently takes the baby from you.

And the moment his small weight leaves your arms, you collapse against Azriel, your entire body shaking with grief so consuming it feels like drowning.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

Madja steps back, giving you both space to grieve.

The silence that followed was unbearable, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs and Azriel’s whispered reassurances as the world seemed to crumble around you.

*******************************************************The next day, you wake up with a heavy heart, the pain so overwhelming that you had passed out. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, a strange numbness settling over you like a suffocating fog. Your eyes wander the room until they land on Azriel, asleep in the chair, his face contorted with worry even in his dreams. His brows are furrowed, a sight you were always so used to smoothing away with a gentle touch.

You lay there in bed, the weight of your loss pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. All you wanted in that moment was to hold your son, to feel his warmth in your arms, to hear his tiny cries filling the silence that now seemed unbearable.

Slowly, you push yourself up, careful not to wake Azriel, and make your way to the windowsill. Fresh tears spill down your face as you climb onto it, the cool night air biting at your skin. The city stretches out before you, but it feels so distant. The thought of ending it all whispers through your mind, soft and enticing. It would be so simple, so painless. Just an escape from this unrelenting agony.

You close your eyes, letting the wind whip against your face, and for a fleeting moment, the idea feels like a release.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes flutter open, and you turn to see Azriel standing there, his body tense, his golden eyes wide with fear. He’s careful as he takes a step forward, his hand reaching out as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

Azriel could never put into words the terror that gripped him in that moment. Waking up to his shadows in a frenzy, only to see you perched on the edge, it was a sight he knew would haunt him forever.

His voice is rough with desperation. “What are you doing?”

Tears stream freely down your face as you whisper his name, your voice hoarse, broken. “Azriel… I should have died instead of him. I—I can’t live without my baby.”

Azriel feels something inside him shatter at your words. The raw, aching agony in your voice slices through him like a blade, leaving him bleeding and helpless. He has faced war, endured centuries of pain, but nothing, nothing could compare to the feeling of watching the person he loves teetering on the edge of despair.

Azriel’s breath shudders as he takes another slow step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. His wings twitch as if ready to propel him forward at the slightest sign that you might fall. His voice, usually so controlled, is laced with pure, unfiltered desperation.

“Please,” he whispers. “Come down, love. Just—just take my hand.”

You shake your head, your entire body wracked with silent sobs. “How can you even look at me? You should despise me, he was meant to be alive” you croak, your voice barely audible over the wind. “We had all those plans for our family. And now—” Your voice cracks, and you let out a choked sob. “Now there's nothing.”

“There is something,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s me.”

Your eyes snap to his, and for the first time, he sees the true depth of your pain. It’s a black hole, swallowing everything in its path, pulling you further and further away from him.

Azriel takes another step forward, so close now that he could touch you if he reached out. “I know it hurts,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I know this pain feels like it’ll never leave. But if you go,if you let this grief take you…I’ll lose you too.”

He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “And I can’t, Y/N. I won’t survive that. I need you.”

Tears stream down your face as you stare at him, at the way his body trembles with the effort of holding himself together. Your lips part, but no words come.

Azriel moves then, ever so slowly, reaching out his scarred hand. “Take my hand,” he pleads, his voice raw. “Please, love. Let me hold you.”

For a long, agonizing moment, you don’t move. Then, with a broken sob, you let go..not of life, but of the ledge.

Azriel moves faster than a breath, his arms locking around you, pulling you off the windowsill and against his chest. He stumbles back onto the floor with you in his grasp, his wings flaring to keep his balance.

And then you’re both on the ground, tangled together, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it’s as if he’s trying to hold you together with his own strength.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently as you sob into his chest. “I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go.”

You clutch onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, just maybe, he is.

The next day, a soft knock echoes through your room. You don’t respond. The door creaks open, and you hear the quiet footsteps of Rhys and Feyre entering. You don’t look at them. Your gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, the emptiness in your chest mirrored by the blankness of your stare.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre’s voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, as though she’s afraid to break the fragile silence.

You don’t answer immediately, your throat dry, your heart heavy. Finally, your voice comes, flat and devoid of emotion. “Like my son just died.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and jagged. Feyre flinches at the raw honesty, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Normally, you might have softened your response, tried to cushion the blow. But today? Today, you didn’t care. Today, you had a pass.

Rhys shifts uncomfortably, his usual confidence gone. He stands quietly, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight as if he’s holding back his emotions at seeing you so broken.

Feyre takes a step closer, her face filled with anguish, but she doesn’t push. She doesn’t tell you it will be okay. She doesn’t try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, she kneels by your bedside, her hand resting lightly on yours.

“We’re here,” she says softly, her voice breaking just enough to reveal her pain. “For whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. 

After a long, heavy silence, they seem to understand that words won’t reach you right now. They exchange a quiet glance with azriel before leaving to attend to court matters, Not long after, Azriel approaches you. His presence is familiar, grounding in a way that should comfort you, but it only makes the ache in your chest deepen.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks gently.

You shake your head.

“Love, you have to eat something,” he presses, his voice thick with concern. “You haven’t had anything since…” His voice trails off, as if saying the words will make them more real.

You finally turn your head to look at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually sharp features dulled by grief and sleepless nights. The sight makes your heart clench with guilt. He was breaking too.

“Soup,” you whisper.

Instantly, the House prepares it, a warm bowl appearing on the nightstand. Without hesitation, Azriel takes it and settles beside you, spoon in hand. He feeds you in quiet patience, his free hand brushing against yours between bites, as if reassuring himself that you’re still here.

When you’re finally full, you murmur, “You should get some sleep, Az.”

His brows furrow. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been up here with me this whole time.” Your voice is weak, but insistent. “You need to eat too.”

Azriel exhales, his jaw tightening like he wants to argue, but the exhaustion weighing down his body betrays him. He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “I’ll eat,” he promises softly. “But I’m not leaving you.”

A week had passed, but nothing had really changed. The pain hadn’t dulled, and neither had the emptiness inside of you. It felt like the world was moving on, but you were stuck, frozen in time, haunted by the grief that weighed down your every step.

You had lost weight. The energy it took to even get out of bed some mornings was overwhelming. Most days, you were distant, a part of you dissociating from the reality around you. It was like you were watching everything from behind glass, everyone’s worried faces, their desperate attempts to help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but the void that was slowly swallowing you.

There were days when you couldn’t even look at Azriel. When his eyes would meet yours, you’d look away, guilt gnawing at your insides. You didn’t deserve his love, his devotion. Not when you had failed him in the most unimaginable way. He deserved happiness, and you had robbed him of it.

Azriel noticed. Of course, he noticed. He was always there, sitting by your side, his presence unwavering, but even he couldn’t reach you anymore. The words he whispered to you, the soft touch of his hand, they didn’t seem to matter. His eyes, once filled with love, now carried a sorrow of their own. 

He had tried to coax you out of the silence, to talk, to share your pain, but you wouldn’t let him in. It was like there was a barrier you had built, an impenetrable wall that refused to break. He didn’t know what to do anymore.

******************************************************

Azriel quietly slipped out of the room, careful not to disturb you. You had finally fallen into a restless sleep, though he knew it would be a long while before the weight of grief would allow you the peace of a true rest. His heart ached as he watched you, wishing there was more he could do to take the pain away. But for now, all he could do was give you space, even if it felt like everything was falling apart around him.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his steps heavy, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. The hunger gnawing at his stomach barely registered, his appetite long gone in the wake of everything that had happened. But he knew he needed to eat, if only to keep himself moving, keep himself strong. Even though he could barely muster the energy to lift a fork, he forced himself to sit down and try.

As he stared at the food in front of him, Cassian walked in, his usual energetic presence subdued. The concern in his eyes was impossible to miss as he took a seat across from Azriel.

"You okay, brother?" Cassian asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Azriel looks up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, though he hides it behind a mask. He offers a small, tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Cassian doesn’t buy it, of course. He studies his brother’s face, sensing the unspoken pain and the weight Azriel is carrying. “You’ve been up there all day with her. How is she really doing?”

Azriel’s gaze drifts down to the empty plate in front of him. His fingers absently trace the edges of the porcelain. “"I don't know," he admits quietly, the words more fragile than he intended. “I feel like I’m failing her," he says, his voice barely audible. "She’s hurting, and I can’t fix it. I can’t fix this... any of this."”

Cassian’s expression softens.. "You’re not failing her. You’re with her, Az. That’s what matters. She needs you here, now. And when she’s ready, you’ll be there to help her heal. But you’ve got to take care of yourself too."

Azriel’s jaw tightens. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just feel like I’m losing her Cass,”he finally admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I don’t know how to help her through this. And it scares me.”

“I know you can’t. But sometimes... just being with someone is enough. That's all you can do right now.” Cassian’s voice is quiet but firm, understanding the depth of Azriel’s emotions. “You’re not alone in this, you know. We’re all here for you both.”

Azriel nods, but the words feel hollow, unable to fill the ache in his chest. He leans back in his chair, the silence between them heavy. He knew Cassian was right, but letting himself rest felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford..not right now.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

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[earthykinous]

Heck yeah! I gotta make some asshole menaces to spice things up! None of my ocs are saints tho, I'll take the chance to ramble about their flaws.

Token the Golett

He is a good guy most of time, he has a strong sense of justice and I wouldn't be surprised if he gets loved, I mean, I love him, he is my son, my baby. BUT he has a problem, he is way too emotional! He is prone to get so angry to the point to get physical, leading him to pick fights when it's not necessary, in that aspect he is not that different from the next character I'll talk about.

Saribi the Monferno

From the start she is a problematic individual, her flaws aren't hard to list, going from a bad sport to aggressive, you wouldn't be wrong in assuming that she has some inferiority complex and her way to make herself feel strong and better is messing and intimidating those she considers weak and inferior, a cowardly thing to do, also, she tends to take everything personal, that leading her to aggressive responses, if she is not picking fights she is sitting somewhere being a grumpy ass.

Tobo the Impidimp

Another problematic individual, not for aggressive behavior but his shenanigans, it is always nice to have someone to light up the mood but Tobo can go from being a comedic relief to be an absolute jerk, his jokes can go from lighthearted to rude and mean, and he doesn't care, as long as it's fun to him, he doesn't mind to mess with anyone for his own amusement, one moment he can be on your side, the next he'll make sure to cause you a headache. What's wrong with this guy?

Blueskee the Swablu

Just like Saribi, her flaws are easy to spot, she is the pompous and condescending with a superiority complex type, she has a tendency to look down at everyone, and it doesn't help at all that she is actually pretty capable and smart. She is also a hypocrite to a fault, believe me, you don't want her as a friend, unless you go with the "I can fix her" mindset, objectively she is a reliable companion in adventures and she has her moments, but better not to get too involved.

Zia the Blitzle

She can be described as the cheerful type, always laughing and getting amusement with simple things, she would make a nice companion, her problem is that she talks way too much and she hardly listens, also she is too much of an airhead to take things seriously, she is always getting distracted and in consecuence distracting everyone else, her lack of seriousness is a thing that annoys the more responsible folks, she is a good individual to hang out, but she is not the most appropiate to work with or to ask for advices, she just won't listen and downplay stuff.

Kosei the Murkrow

Objectively he is one of the least problematic, he is a reliable folk and makes a good friend, his problem is that he gets too bossy when he senses that someone is not taking the matter seriously as it should be, it would be good if it wasn't that he takes EVERYTHING as a serious matter, he usually maintains his patience but sometimes he can lose it and scold his companions when he is not necessarily in a position to do so, generally a good companion but a bit annoying.

Hanzō the Honedge

He is a tab bit meanier than Kosei, Kosei is all about honestity, but Hanzō is just outright blunt and rude, he doesn't care if whatever he says can be perceived as hurtful, generally he is not the most aproachable type, he has the "the ends justify the means" mindset, althought he is willing to play according to the rules, if he is allowed to sacrifice a fellow he will do it with no hesitation, he has the brains but lacks of a heart.

Geryu the Tirtouga

He and Palith are the very least problematic, but even he has some darkness in him, well, he compared to everyone else may appear harmeless, his flaw is not about being mean or aggressive or apathetic, he can't keep secrets, a total gossip if you will, sooner or later he'll slip it out, anytime, mostly in the worst moments, from little and silly secrets to very personal and dark ones, he can't help himself, as much as he seems to be a clueless and silly guy, his tiny brain can pack up some serious secrets, that's it, until his little brain has no more room and has to take it out.

Palith the Lileep

You may be thinking "But she didn't do anything wrong!", she is the least character you would expect to do something mean, but just like Geryu, she has a flaw, she is very secretive, not out of malice, she never has bad intentions but she is very reluctant to speak her mind or share things even when she has to, she is also very dependent, sometimes leading her to be a liability.

I love making a problematic oc and then people get mad because they're problematic. Buddy someone's gotta make the problems for the story to happen, might as well make the Problem Maker interesting.

[overwhelmed-alien]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin: Passenger Princess

The general consensus in his class is that Jake must think he’s up there with royalty, and therefore deserves to be driven around. That’s where the whole “princess” thing came from, originally. Jake of course rolls with it, plays up the prim “driving is beneath someone like me”, chuckles at the good-natured eye-rolls, and hops into someone’s -anyone’s- front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio just to be a brat.

The true reason, one he will never utter out loud, is that driving terrifies him. He grew up in rural Texas with hundreds of miles of straight, flat roads from horizon to horizon. Roads that frequently were completely empty, maybe you’d meet a tractor once in a while. So 12 lanes of bottlenecked California traffic, horns honking, engines revving, cars swerving in and out of lanes, the bright sun making it hard to see, unnerves Jake more than anything. Up in the sky he’s fearless, but the planes, he reasons, aren’t crowding around you not caring if you live or die as long as they get to brunch with the girls on time.

Bradley clocked it first, naturally. They’d lived together for years, back when they were “Bradley and Jake”. How Jake would never ask to drive, never grab the keys on the way out, would always sweetly beg -“honey come grocery shopping with me, it’ll be fun!” - Bradley to accompany him anywhere he went. Bradley could never deny him anything, so off they would go, either in Bradley’s Bronco or Jake’s truck, him driving, Jake in the passenger seat. He always thought it was adorable, Jake hopping up beside him grinning like a loon when he got his way, grin wider when Bradley inevitably calls him Princess. But he started noticing subtle things that he wouldn’t have noticed years ago. How Jake closed his eyes and gripped the handle when someone swerved in front of them. How he fiddled and played with dials or his phone or the strings of a hoodie to avoid looking out the window. The film of sweat on his face that, thanks to the blaring AC, had nothing to do with the Cali heat. The knee that bounced until they arrived at their destination.

He’d tried bringing it up once or twice, Jake had always laughed and played it up, “baby I’m too cute to drive, we’ve established this.” So he drops it. But if he’s more engaging in animated conversations with Jake to distract him, if he sings just a little louder and dances in the drivers seat a little sillier to draw nervous green eyes his way and not the speeding line of traffic beside him, if he smiles a little sweeter and the “Princess” comes out a little more heated so Jake forgets the entire world around him for a time, well, he’d do anything for the boy in his passenger seat. When they break up -why did they break up again? He can’t even remember - he always worries about Jake, so much his heart hurts. Is he having to drive himself?

At the Hard Deck, with some secret mission looming over their heads, and Jake looking so damn good, so damn pissed off, so damn hurt -he’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? Jake had wanted to go home early - something about beauty sleep, Javy, please! - and Bradley, stopping his piano serenading immediately, without even thinking: “I got you, princess. I’ll take you home.”

And Bradley swears he can see every single emotion, from rage to relief, regret to guarded happiness, and so much fondness in those nervous green eyes he still loves so damn much.

(I won’t make Jake say “show me the way home, honey” because I guess it’s cliche by now, but I’ll still heavily imply he does with my whole chest)

[luwritesstuff]

Breaking Point

Spencer Reid x reader

notes: angst/arguing followed by fluff/comfort, gn!reader, no use of y/n

wc: 884

Every relationship had their weakness, the one thing that tested how strong two people really were together. You and Spencer found out months into dating that your relationship's pressure point was exhaustion. It hit you both after two back to back cases across the country in one week, a friend’s wedding on Saturday, and a dinner with your parents on Sunday. By the next week, the two of you were stretched thin.

For you, the exhaustion made you irritable. Things you usually had patience for were getting under your skin and turning you into, quite frankly, an asshole. Spencer somehow had the most patience in the world and this only pissed you off more. Why wasn't he annoyed that your neighbors kept taking up two parking spots? Why was he so calm when you lost power for 12 hours?

As much as you ranted, Spencer listened. He made it a point to be a good boyfriend even on your worst days. This didn't mean that the exhaustion didn't get to him too. Spencer’s lack of sleep brought out his insecurities. The more irritable you got, the more worried Spencer became that he was the one annoying you.

On a normal week, you had more control over your emotions. You were thoughtful about how you spoke to Spencer and you were able to let the small stuff roll off your back. But this week wasn't a normal week and you couldn't stop the anger that kept slipping out of you around every corner. Spencer’s solution was to give you space, but deep down, you didn't want to be alone. Not even on your worst day did you want Spencer not to be curled up on your couch with you.

And how could Spencer say no to you? He wasn't evil, if you asked him to stay, he'd stay. Even if you had a permanent scowl on your face and didn't offer any conversation.

“Spencer!” You groaned, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. “Why do you keep putting your wet towel on top of mine? There's another hook behind the door and every time I go to use my towel, it's wet!” You brought the towel out to Spencer and threw it onto the couch. Before he could finish his apology, you were continuing, “It just drives me crazy, honey. It makes me cold getting out of the shower and-”

“If you hate having me around so much, then why am I even here?” Spencer cut you off, raising his voice in a way you'd never heard directed at you before. Anyone who didn't know Spencer well would see his words as anger, but you knew Spencer well and you could feel the hurt and insecurity seeping out through his voice.

You both froze, staring at each other in silence while you replayed his words in your head. After a beat, your shoulders sagged and you moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. “Shit,” you sighed and grabbed the towel to start folding it, “I'm being mean, I'm sorry. I do want you here,” you promised and looked over to find Spencer staring at his lap.

“It's fine if you don't, just… tell me that. I don't want to keep pissing you off and making things worse,” his voice was calmer now and your heart ached. Spencer, the light of your life, felt unappreciated and unloved, because of you.

You reached out to take both of Spencer’s hands into your own and gave them a squeeze. “Hey, I want you here. I love you,” you emphasized, “having you here helps and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it. This week was just… you know how it was. And my parents just get under my skin, but I shouldn't have taken that out on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Spencer couldn't hold any anger towards you if he tried and the thought made you want to cry. Your Spencer, that you were cold and bitter to, still held your hands tightly and pulled you to his chest after your apology.

“I'm sorry I put my wet towel on top of yours. I know you like having a warm towel after your shower,” he said softly and kissed the top of your head, “and I'm sorry I raised my voice at you.”

You sniffled and shook your head against Spencer’s chest. “No, don't apologize for that. You should've raised your voice at me sooner, I was being a brat,” your voice was muffled by Spencer’s shirt but he took every word in, rubbing your back as you spoke.

After you'd both calmed down, Spencer took you to bed where you both slept a solid three hours. You woke up feeling lighter than you had all week and Spencer felt relieved to have you back to your usual self. “There you are, my beautiful love,” he whispered and brushed your hair from your face.

“You're one of a kind, Spence. Let's not overdo ourselves like that anymore. Next weekend, we’re taking both days off and we’re not seeing anyone but each other,” you promised and rolled over until you were straddling Spencer’s hips. His thumbs traced shapes into your hips and he agreed eagerly by pulling you down into a kiss.

[drewswife]

                                                              CRY

summary: Chris fought with his brothers and confined in you for comfort

summary: fluffffff, angst, use of y/n, crying

A/n: I'm having writer's block kinda short

The weight of Chris's head on my shoulder was familiar, comforting in its heaviness. His short, dark hair tickled my neck as he sniffled, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back a lullaby in the quiet of my room.

"It wasn't my fault," he mumbled into my shirt, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't mean to..."

I tightened my arms around him, burying my face in his hair. The scent of his shampoo, a mix of citrus and something musky, filled my senses, grounding me in the present moment. "I know, Chris. It's okay."

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes, mirroring the stormy sky outside, wide with unshed tears. "But they won't listen. They think I'm... I'm a monster."

My heart ached for him. With his infectious laugh and kind heart, Chris was anything but a monster. He was just a boy, overwhelmed by emotions he didn't know how to handle.

"They don't understand," I said, my voice soft and soothing. "They're just scared."

He shook his head, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "They should be. I... I hurt them."

"It was an accident," I reminded him, stroking his hair. "You didn't mean to."

He looked at me, his gaze searching. "You believe me?"

I met his gaze, my dark curls falling around my face. "Of course I do. I know you, Chris. You're not a monster."

A small smile touched his lips, and he leaned back against me, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Thanks, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to," I whispered, holding him close. "I'm here for you, always."

@drewstarkeyzwhore my only mutal

[koyagifs]

𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮

pairing: seonghwa x reader au: idol | friends to strangers | genre: angst word count: 1.1k synopsis: seonghwa didnt mean for things to end badly, but boy did he sure regreit when you released your newest album warning(s): angst w/ no comfort,

The news hit you like a wave, but your reaction was more of disbelief than anger. You felt the rush of emotions, but nothing felt concrete enough to grasp. Scoffing was an instinctual defense, but inside, you could feel the hurt begin to swell. The room felt tighter with each passing second, and you noticed your stylists exchanging uneasy glances, their eyes darting from you to each other. They were used to your sensitivity—your emotional shifts, your vulnerability—but they never knew how to manage it when it was raw.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. There was no point in crying here, you're supposed to go on stage here shortly.

" we're changing things up a bit. We're dropping fast times and adding please," You said, standing up from your chair.

Your manager looked at you in shocked, " but the dance crew - "

" we'll improvise, so what," Your voice was steady, but your mind was racing. The thought of performing in front of the audience—especially with everything weighing on you—felt almost suffocating. But you weren’t about to let it show. Your fans, many of them followers from your ex-boyfriend’s influence, were expecting the usual performance, but today you weren’t about to give them the usual.

Your manager hesitated, clearly unsure, but the finality in your voice was undeniable. You could see the wheels turning in their head, weighing the pros and cons. But you were already moving forward, walking over to your stylist and motioning to get the changes made quickly. The crew scrambled to adjust, knowing better than to push back now.

As the team worked to shift things around, you tried to collect yourself. You were angry—angry that you were here, angry that you were expected to hide it, and angry at him for making you feel so small. But the stage? The stage was yours. You could handle anything there.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, seeing a glimpse of someone who would take this betrayal, turn it into something raw and real, and give them a show they wouldn’t forget.

The energy in the air was electric as you stood under the spotlight, your heart still racing from the performance. You could feel the heat from the stage lights and the pulse of the crowd’s excitement, but for a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze. Their energy was contagious, and it was a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling in your mind.

A giggle escaped your lips, and the sound felt like the first real moment of joy in what had been a difficult day. "So, how is everyone?" you asked, your voice light and playful. The crowd roared in response, their cheers and screams vibrating through the floor beneath your feet.

You glanced around, letting the moment stretch just a bit longer. "My, such a loud crowd," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips. You could feel the love and support radiating from them, and for a moment, it made you forget everything else.

The crowd fell into an anticipatory hush, their eyes on you, hanging on your every word. You could feel their curiosity building, the tension electrifying the air. This was your moment to reclaim control, to remind everyone, and maybe even yourself, that you were still the one in charge.

You paused, letting the suspense linger just a bit longer, enjoying the attention before delivering the punch. "So, I have a surprise for you guys tonight. Very last minute!" you said, your tone playful, yet laced with a hint of mystery.

The crowd erupted in cheers, excited whispers rippling through them as they eagerly tried to guess what was coming. You could feel the thrill of it, a spark of excitement that momentarily distracted you from the storm brewing inside.

Without missing a beat, you motioned to the crew, signaling them to get ready. "I know you all came for the usual, but tonight, we’re doing something a little different. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

A few staff members gave you questioning looks, but you ignored them. You were already moving, already shifting the plan and taking charge. The surprise you were about to reveal wasn’t just for them—it was for you, too. A new version of yourself, one who was taking back the power and refusing to let anyone—especially him—define you.

The crowd’s confusion was palpable as the first few notes of the new song filled the arena. They hadn’t expected this, and it was clear from their puzzled expressions that they were trying to process what was happening. But you could feel the shift, the collective curiosity rising in the air.

With a small, knowing smile, you leaned into the mic, voice smooth and confident. "This is my new upcoming song, Please, releasing in a few months, but I think you guys deserve a treat."

The audience’s murmur of surprise quickly turned into cheers, the promise of something fresh and exclusive lighting up their faces. You could hear a few excited whispers in the crowd, some fans already buzzing with anticipation at the idea of hearing something new before anyone else.

Seonghwa’s fingers drummed anxiously on the surface of his desk, his mind racing through the consequences of his actions. His heart felt heavy, and the silence in his dorm room seemed to echo every doubt that had crept into his mind. He knew he should have been more careful, but now it felt like the damage was already done.

He muttered to himself, a mixture of frustration and regret in his voice. "Fuck, did I really mess up..."

The guilt gnawed at him, and he paced in a tight circle, rubbing the back of his neck. The wait was unbearable. His manager had gone off to handle the fallout, but Seonghwa wasn’t sure what kind of news would come back—he only knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

Seonghwa's head snapped up, his eyes meeting Hongjoong's, a mix of guilt and anger flashing in them. The words stung more than he’d expected, but deep down, he knew Hongjoong was right. He had been caught up in something he shouldn't have been, and now he was facing the consequences.

"She's on tour... how can I do that to her?" Seonghwa muttered, his voice almost a whisper, like he was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t soften. He crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "And cheating on her was the best idea?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "You think that’s any better?"

Seonghwa’s chest tightened as the weight of Hongjoong's words hit him like a brick. He had no defense, no excuse. He had let his emotions cloud his judgment, and now he had hurt someone he cared about deeply. "I didn’t mean for it to happen," Seonghwa muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I messed up. I’m... I’m trying to fix it."

The door creaked open, and his manager stepped inside, their face grim. Seonghwa’s stomach twisted as he met their gaze, knowing that whatever was about to be said would change everything.

[luvst4rc0r3]

OMG I LOVE UR FANFICS!!

PLZ WRITE MORE SERIES!!

Can you write (if you want) a jinx x f!reader were reader’s first language is not English but another language. And she has a son whose first language is English and he always complains about taking classes. So jinx pulls them out of classes and that makes reader very mad. (basically Gloria from modern family)

It can be any language just ofc not English

TYY IF YOU DO IT

OMG I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!

I did it in my native language. English is my first but Tagalog (Filipino)is kinda my second asides from Spanish. I can kinda of speak Tagalog just not fluently.

“Lost in translation”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC: 1427

NOTE: established relationship. I did have to use google translate for some words so it might not be grammatically correct.

THIS ALSO MIGHT BE MY LAST FANFIC FOR A COUPLE DAYS BC I HAVE MIDTERMS

“Jinx, what the hell were you thinking?”

You stood in the center of the small apartment, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Jinx leaned against the counter, her casual stance a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

“I was thinking the kid hates it,” she shot back with a shrug, twirling a wrench in her hand. “Why make him sit through something that makes him miserable?”

Your heart clenched. “He needs to learn it. He needs to—” You hesitated, stumbling over your words as your thoughts tripped over each other, fighting to come out in English. “It’s important for him to know… to understand—”

Jinx rolled her eyes, her tone dismissive. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t need a million things crammed into his head. He’s fine just the way he is.”

“Fine?” you echoed, your voice trembling. “Jinx, it’s not just about school. It’s about him knowing who he is. Who I am. You think it’s easy for me, being stuck in the middle of two languages all the time?”

She frowned, her smirk faltering for the first time. “I didn’t say it was easy—”

“You didn’t even ask me!” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You just pulled him out without even thinking about what it means!”

Jinx tilted her head, her electric blue eyes narrowing. “He’s my kid too, y’know. I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Her words hit you like a slap, and suddenly, the English words you’d been clutching at fell away, leaving nothing but raw emotion. Your chest heaved, and before you knew it, tears blurred your vision.

Jinx’s face shifted, the confidence draining from her expression. “Hey, whoa, babe, don’t cry—”

But you couldn’t stop. The frustration and exhaustion, the endless translating in your head, the constant feeling of being misunderstood—it all came pouring out in a language she didn’t understand.

“Ang hirap na hirap na ako, Jinx. Hindi mo naiintindihan. Hindi mo alam kung gaano kasakit na hindi ko masabi nang maayos ang nararamdaman ko.” (I'm in such a difficult situation, Jinx. You don't understand. You don't know how much it hurts that I can't express my feelings properly.)

You covered your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “I just want him to know me,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking. “I want him to understand me without me having to fight for every word.”

Jinx froze, the wrench clattering to the floor. She stepped closer, unsure and unsteady, like she was walking on glass.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice low and raw with something you didn’t hear from her often—guilt.

You didn’t respond, your tears falling harder. Jinx reached out, her gloved hand hesitating before resting on your knee.

“I thought I was making things better for him. I didn’t think about how it would hurt you.”

You sniffled, shaking your head but still unable to look at her. “It does not just hurt, Jinx,” you whispered, the words coming out shakily. “It’s… I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with my own head, trying to make everything make sense in English just so I can talk to you, or him, or anyone.”

Jinx’s hand tightened slightly, grounding you, as if to say she was listening.

“I just… I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” you continued, your voice cracking. “Not here. Not at home. And now, our son… he doesn’t even want to learn the one thing that connects him to where I come from. To me. And you just let him quit. You made the decision like it didn’t matter.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Jinx’s usual chaotic energy had vanished; she looked like someone had ripped the ground out from under her.

“I didn’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. “Of course you didn’t. You never think of anyone except yourself” with that you slammed the door to your shared room with her.

—

You stood in the doorway, your bag slung over your shoulder. Your hands shook as you clutched the strap, the heaviness in your chest unbearable. Jinx stood across the room, her wild hair and mismatched clothes somehow looking smaller, like she didn’t know what to do with herself

“Wait,” she said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re leaving?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill again. “I just… I need space, Jinx. I need time to think.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips parting like she wanted to argue, but no words came. For once, Jinx didn’t fight. She just stood there, the chaos in her usually vibrant eyes dimmed by something deeper.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking, “but I can’t keep doing this if you don’t try to understand. It’s too much.”

The silence in the room was deafening, and when you finally stepped out and closed the door behind you, it felt like your heart was breaking in two.

The days passed slowly. You stayed at a friend’s place, letting the quiet moments give you the space to breathe. But no matter how hard you tried, thoughts of Jinx and your son kept creeping in. The weight of the fight lingered in your chest, heavy and unresolved.

You told yourself you just needed a little more time. That maybe Jinx would realize how important this was—not just to you, but to your family.

And then, three days after you left, you came home.

The apartment was quiet when you walked in, and for a moment, you wondered if she was even there. But then you heard it.

“Kamusta.”(Hello)

You froze, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you turned toward the sound. Jinx stood in the middle of the living room, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt.

“What?” you asked, your heart pounding.

She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and determination. “Kamusta,” she said again, the word clumsy but recognizable. “That means… uh, hello? Right?”

You blinked, stunned. “Y-yeah.”

Her lips twitched into a small, nervous smile. “I’ve been trying,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I… I looked up some stuff. It’s… hard, but I wanna learn. I wanna…”

She trailed off, her electric blue eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. “Ayaw ko… um…” She fumbled for a moment, clearly struggling to remember the phrase. “Ayaw kong… mag-translate ka… araw-araw.” (I don’t…I don’t want you to have to translate everyday)

Your heart clenched at the effort in her voice, the way she fought through every syllable. “I don’t… I don’t want you to have to translate every day. I love you,” she added in English, her voice shaking slightly.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took a step closer. “Jinx…” you smile widely, “now you’re the one who looks like an idiot!”

She chuckles softly but soon returns to her straight face. “I’m serious, okay? I… I’m not good at this, but I’m gonna try. I’ll keep learning. And he’s gonna learn, too. I already talked to him. Told him he’s sticking with it. I don’t care how much he complains—I’ll sit with him if I have to. We’ll both learn.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now, your hand flying to your mouth as you let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t get it before,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “But I do now. I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone. Or like we don’t see you—really see you. You shouldn’t have to fight for that.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “I’ll learn Tagalog for you. For us. Because I love you. And I don’t wanna lose you.”

A sob broke free from your chest as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. Her arms tightening around you, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Salamat,” you whispered through your tears. (Thank you)

Jinx chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Walang anuman. That’s how you say ‘you’re welcome,’ right?”

You laughed, your heart aching in the best way. “Yeah. That’s right.”

Her grin widened, a little of her usual spark returning. “Told ya. I’m a fast learner.”

And in that moment, as the weight in your chest began to lift, you believed her. Together, you’d figure it out.

for once, her chaos felt like home.

TYY whoever requested that!! That was such and interesting requests to write!!

I want food

[byemambo]

Faifa Character Appreciation: Tough Love

I needed to take the time to make an appreciation post for Junior that's playing Faifa in Perfect 10 Liners. I'm sure that those who read the novel may have different opinions on how the source material is being translated on screen, but since I've only been watching the series, I'll just address my perspective from there.

In the beginning of the series airing, I was introduced to many new actors, as main roles or supporting roles. I knew ForceBook, Perth, AouBoom, and other actors such as Pepper, MarcPoon, JJ, etc. I haven't seen Junior or Mark in anything so they hadn't sparked much interest from me at the start. However, that's changed since the airing of episode 13.

We see the differences between the three brothers Newton, Yotha, and Faifa, roughly understanding that their mother and father split while Newton and Yotha grew up with their father and Faifa with their mother abroad until he was sent back to Thailand. Out of all the siblings, Yotha is the most resentful of their mother, which was illustrated in episode 13 when she visits them at their dorm. While watching the series, Faifa is described as this happy go lucky social butterfly who seems to migrate from group to group, connecting with many people with very little effort. He is someone who thrives off of taking care of others, we see this best with Wine and Gun (this scene with Wine is from episode 11).

However, his kindness also comes with a strong sense of justice if it stems from the defense of those he cares about, which becomes Gun after Yotha and Klao get hurt after leaving Newton's bar. I've seen lots of people tearing up Warich, Klao, Yotha, or all three in terms of their problematic behaviors, but that's not my focus nor do I condone how reckless they all become towards one another. I have a deeper appreciation for how Faifa has no hesitation in defending Gun against Yotha, who is truly the victim being caused the most harm from everything happening between those three individuals.

Faifa becomes the first person at Gun's aid and recognizing his state of shock, as we see the stark difference in Yotha's life and Gun's: the difference between someone who denied himself love vs. someone who basked in it. While Newton becomes indifferent to Yotha's behavior, I'm sure due to him also growing up in the same circumstances as Yotha, both of them have their own unstable relationship with emotional regulation and conflict resolution that becomes unhelpful and perpetuates the cycle of self sabotage and stagnation.

Although Faifa has a free spirit that's fairly lighthearted around Yotha, his more gloom and reserved counterpart, Faifa still has the confidence and strength to stand his ground against Yotha in multiple ways. Just because you're able to understand the features of someone's trauma and where their behaviors stem from, does not mean anyone should enable such behavior that creates a domino effect and harms the person they care about most, the person who has worn his heart on his sleeve only for it to get trampled on and wounded over and over.

Whenever Yotha yells at Faifa for treating Gun like an object after Kong and Gun switch rooms, this is the first time we see someone directly addressing Yotha where it hurts most, which Faifa advocates for Gun and his decision to distance himself from Yotha's toxicity where he has no one else to blame but himself. In a different timeline, Faifa could have easily sided with his brother due to familial loyalty, finding himself sympathizing with Yotha's parental neglect growing up as well as his past relationship with Warich that ended in heartbreak to the point of no longer believing in love. However, despite dealing with his own childhood traumas, Faifa chooses to do the right thing and protect Gun, someone who had become a strong friend while changing his brother little by little.

I'm excited to see where they go with Faifa, especially after Wine becomes the next code nong. I really hope Yotha truly takes this time to self reflect and to move past his own toxic behavior and past, knowing that if he doesn't, he will not only lose his love interest, but potentially his newly found friends and the closeness between him and his younger brother. I'm loving this series and if anyone needs to be convinced to watch, I hope this post will do the trick :)

[wholoveseggs]

I am currently dealing with my mother being in end care hospice for Alzheimer’s, dreading every time my phone makes a noise because it could be the worst news. I am spending my time either sobbing or a complete zombie with a barely functional brain. (I put a spray bottle in the freezer instead of the drink I was chilling). I live alone and have no close friends or family near me and I just wish I had an Elijah to hold me. I just wish I could lay on top of him in bed, him holding me and petting my hair while I cry.

I totally understand if this is not something you’re comfortable writing, but if you are, I’d really appreciate it. If nothing else, I thank you for reading my message.

Anchor

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} Grief threatens to overwhelm you, but Elijah's calming presence becomes your anchor, reminding you that even in your darkest hours, you are not alone.

♡♡ I love you, anon, and I’m so incredibly sorry that you’re going through this. My heart aches for you, and I hope that this fic can offer you even the smallest moment of comfort. You are not alone, and I’m sending you so much love and strength~ ♡♡

672 words - Warnings: angst, grief, comfort & cuddles

When you are a child, your parents are this big, strong figure. They seem invincible and all-knowing. But then you grow up. And one day, you realize that your parents aren't superman. They aren't invincible and they certainly aren't infallible. Your parents, the same people who were your entire world as a kid, are suddenly human. And sometimes, humans get sick.

Everyone reacts differently, and there's no right or wrong way to feel. There's no road map or set of instructions on how to mourn. You can be angry, or sad, or numb, or all three at the same time. It's a roller coaster, a freefall, and you never know when the next wave of emotions will hit. It's okay to feel what you feel. It's okay to want to hide. And it's also okay to want to be with someone, to have someone to lean on.

You can't change the fact that your parents got sick, and you can't change the outcome. The limbo of losing them while they are still alive is a terrible feeling, like an emotional purgatory. All you can do is focus on yourself, and remember that the pain will pass, eventually.

It was one of those nights when the weight of the world felt unbearable, crushing your chest and making it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on your couch, terrified to look at your phone, waiting for a call you dreaded yet knew was inevitable.

You didn’t notice Elijah’s presence at first. It wasn’t unusual for him to move like a shadow, quiet and gentle, especially when he knew you were hurting. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his dark eyes full of concern, before approaching you with the kind of care only he could manage.

"My love," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He knelt in front of you, resting his hand on your knee. "You needn't face this alone."

His words broke something inside you. The dam of composure you tried so desperately to maintain crumbled, and the tears you’d been holding back poured out in waves. Elijah didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as your sobs wracked your body.

He carried you to your bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and coaxing you to lay on top of him. His arms wrapped securely around you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other ran through your hair with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

"You’re allowed to grieve," he murmured against your temple. "You’re allowed to feel lost, to feel overwhelmed. But know that I am here. You do not have to carry this burden on your own."

You clung to him like a lifeline, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though letting go would send you spiraling into the abyss.

"I feel like I’m breaking, Elijah," you choked out. "I don’t know how to do this."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You don’t have to be okay right now. You’re enduring something no one should have to endure alone. But you are stronger than you realize, and I will hold you through every moment of doubt and despair."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and though the pain didn’t vanish, the sharp edges dulled ever so slightly. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear became an anchor, a reminder that even in your darkest hours, you had someone who cared deeply for you.

As your breathing evened out and the tears subsided, Elijah continued to stroke your hair, whispering soft reassurances. His presence didn’t fix everything. It couldn’t. But it made the unbearable seem just a little more manageable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you closed your eyes and let yourself rest, knowing that Elijah would be there, steadfast and unyielding, for as long as you needed him.

[stephantom]

This is belated but congratulations on the baby! Hope you all are doing well! It's quite an experience 😅

Thank you! We are all doing well, and yeah, it has been a wild ride. Most intense week of my life, I’d have to say. Lots of crying (from joy and from anxiety, alternately—everything just turned up to 10). It’s definitely starting to settle into manageable day to day life though now. I’ve had some good stretches of sleep and I’m feeling soooo rested compared to this time last week!

And the delivery itself was. I mean, all in all, I think it went almost as smoothly as possible?? I was playing my Nintendo Switch and watching movies on my phone through the contractions for a good while. (Until they got worse.) Got a little rough toward the end when it came to actually pushing the baby out (but it happened in the end!) and recovery is more intense than I’d understood it to be beforehand (much like how pregnancy itself turned out to be more intense than I’d ever understood). But yeah. 👍

And I’ve got a sweet little tiny person here!!! Who didn’t use to exist and now they do! Crazy!!

[moralesluvr]

FABLE AND TRUTH 5 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. CHAP 5 IS HERE! i'm so sorry my loves i'm kind of a bot and didn't upload for 2 weeks....lol...anyways hi here it is wc. 9.1k

“what’s going on, y/n?”

you’re fighting tears as you look for words, but nothing but chopped stutters pass through your lips. you’re too stunned to speak, and you honestly can’t even comprehend what just happened. 

you had kissed billie. it was a complete mistake, but that was a comfort to no one. especially not you. 

“hello? i’m getting a little worried now.” 

your breath hitches as you stumble over your words, pressing the phone tighter to your ear as if the closeness could somehow keep you grounded. you finally spot the words out, “i messed up.”

“huh?” oliver clears his throat, “you…what? what happened? are you okay? 

you choke, your voice cracking under the weight of your panic as you sink into a bench, not far from where you started, “ollie i…i really, really messed up.”

“i’m lost. what’s going on?” he asks, his tone softening as he registers the distress in your voice. you can tell he’s a little worried too, and you didn’t mean to spread the fear to him, but it’s too late for that. 

“where are you? do you need me to come get you?”

you pause, glancing around the dimly lit street you’ve been pacing down since storming out of billie’s car. she’s gone now— she left a couple minutes ago, and part of you is upset that she just caved in on you that easily. but she probably has her own emotions to deal with, and she didn’t want to impose them on you, so she just ran. 

just like you did. 

your blood is practically hot with anger towards yourself, forwards her— any possible direction that you could aim your emotions at, you did. she knew that you were feeling confused, and you knew that you weren’t in the headspace to be making any decisions as rash as that one was. you were aching and empty inside, any sliver of sentiment you had poured itself out through your tears. 

you were so very lost. everything you stood for, and everything you were against, it all seemed like blurred lines now. you had to admit, though, you wanted to kiss her. and it didn’t feel wrong when you did it, but it really was the aftermath. 

the feeling of shame that washed over you when the kiss broke was almost unearthly. you felt like you had committed the ultimate sin, and you were sure there was no coming back from this. there was no compensation, no do-overs, just you, billie, and the thick feeling of regret hanging loosely in the air, dangling over your head. 

a little part of you wish you were still in her car, your lips smashed into hers, her hands roaming in your hair and your heart pumping out of your chest. but it was all an adrenaline rush, the fun in knowing that you’re doing something wrong, but it feels so right. but you didn’t live by what felt right, you lived by what was right.

by law, by an obligation— a duty to serve the one who put breath in your lungs, the very lungs that heaved and shook as you cried your heart out to oliver, no words being said. you were at a loss for them, there was nothing you could say or do or words to describe to convey a fourth of what you felt in the moment.  

billie was hurting, too, you were sure of it. all this time that you had spent innocently flirting, hanging out, confiding in her— it was all wasted now, and you were back to square one. she was confused, you kiss her and then you leave? what was she supposed to do with that?

but it wasn’t your fault. you couldn’t. you couldn’t allow yourself to be caught up in fleeting feelings and a stupid crush, you had bigger things to worry about, a faith to nurture and feed, friendships to grow, a degree to catch. you had a long life ahead of you, and success was at the center— and you were sure she couldn’t be a part of it.

oliver facetimes you when he doesn’t hear you answer through the phone. he needed to know you were at least alive, so when the phone connected, he returned back to his normal, calm state. he watched as you wiped your eyes and your hands shook over your open mouth, almost preparing to say something, but all that came out was broken sobs. 

“it’s okay,” he whispered, though he knew it wasn’t, but that was the best he could do. “i’m here. i’m ready when you are, take your time.” 

you sniffle harshly, your nose running as you try to take the deepest breath you can to steady yourself. you look around the parking lot— its dark now, empty, only a few cars parked at the rage room and a liquor store that’s two buildings down. 

your eyes squint at it, the blue fluorescent lights suddenly appealing to you. all you’ve ever had to drink was a glass of wine, and it was your last resort of them all, but it seemed like an idea that would keep your feelings at bay. 

so you get up, and you walk. 

you’re almost sure you’re not even conscious, because there’s no way you’d ever do this. ever. you’d never intentionally walk to any place that serves alcohol in the middle of the night, much less a store that sells it exclusively. 

but you really don’t have any other options. 

you could pray, but it seems foreign to you. it feels like God’s turned His back on you, like He’s asleep and you’re trying to jerk Him awake, but His listening is selective. it’s like you’re on the outside, like you’ve slipped out of His hands, and it killed you on the inside. 

you felt conflicted. tense, but loose internally. your mind was thinking of things you’d even begin to think of, ready to commit actions that even you weren’t all that prepared for. but you kept walking. 

it feels like forever until you finally reach the doors of the liquor store. your legs are worn, feet bruising, and the cut on your hand seems to pulse exponentially worse as time goes on. you wince, and oliver’s eyebrow raises through the phone. you honestly forgot he was on FaceTime due to his silence, but it seemed like he was just simply waiting for you to speak when you were ready. 

you shoved your phone into your pocket and approached the door, the fluorescent blue lights buzzing faintly as you pushed open the door open a small bell jingling overhead to make your presence known. the air inside is cool, tinged with the smell of alcohol and old wood. shelves of bottles line the walls, the glass catching the light in a way that makes everything feel hazy, like you’ve stepped into a foreign area.

and you had, truly. you’d never been a liquor store before, because usually, it’d never really interest you. but you were caught up, feeling things you had never felt before, and it was like you were acting before you could think. 

you hated that your curiosity was what pushed you through the door and up to the bar area, where your swollen eyes scanned different bottles that were stooped against the wall. you almost walk out, but you’re here now, so you might as well get something. 

the only alcohol you’ve ever had is a glass of wine at christmas back home when you turned 21. it was alright, but it wasn’t something you really planned on doing that often— or, to be frank, ever again. 

but it intrigued you. why was everyone else so happy and loose when they drank. forgetful, dainty, fearless? 

you wanted to feel like that too, right about now— you longed for it, you craved it. so you sucked it up, your normal way of going about things far in the back of your mind as your feet carry you to the front. a young woman stands there with a warm smile, with so many tattoos that there’s more ink than skin. she greets you, “hey there. you must be sunday school,” and then she snickers, “can i help you with anything?” 

the words hit you like a slap to the face, the nickname pulling you out of your mind fog for just a moment. your heart stumbles, your mind catching on the phrase— it’s something billie calls you all the time, usually with a teasing grin or a playful nudge. but this woman doesn’t know you— how could she possibly know that? 

but you’re so focused on getting rid of this thick, uncomfortable haze that clouds your head, so you shake it off, ignoring the knot forming in your stomach. 

“just… looking,” you mumble, glancing away as your cheeks heat with embarrassment, “um…”

the bartender snorts. “sure you are. well, take your time. let me know if you need anything.” 

it’s radio silence after that. 

you’re really conflicted, to say the least. everything about you had been so prim and proper, so sophisticated— this didn’t feel like the real you at all. or, so you thought. 

sometimes, late at night, when your only company was your own thoughts, you’d ponder about what it would be like to switch lives with someone. anyone at all— but your mind always drifted to your best friends. 

maybe you could switch with emma, your hair traded for her long, red curls that matched her fiery personality. she really didn’t have a care in the world— she was blunt, honest, kind but straight-forward. she was smart, but very flexible. she didn’t have a set schedule for anything, that wasn’t really emma’s style. and you envied that. 

deep down, she was your best friend, but you wished you could steal some of the things that she embodied and keep them as your own. you wished you could just let go and be who you really wanted to be, but that wasn’t what faith was about. that’s not what you were about. 

that came first, always. it wasn’t about what you desired, it was about unearthly things, about things that awaited you after you’d pass away. it was important to you, though sometimes, you felt like your true colors were dimmed out. diluted, watered down— but you had to keep composure. there was nothing you could do, because it was all you’d ever known, and it was all you’d ever be. 

or maybe you could be like naomi. her ability to express herself through her wild purple hair, her whimsical clothing, all her crazy piercings. she was carefree, but passionate and warm, and always had your back when you needed her to. 

and even jules. she was blunt, straight as an arrow, but her laugh was as warm as a california breeze. she was clean cut and undeniably beautiful, her long and silky black hair accenting her perfect and strong features. she was the epitome of beauty and class, yet she didn’t let anyone talk to her sideways. she stood up for what she believed in and never divvied from it. 

you shared that with her, kind of. it seemed like you had drifted away now, like you were falling and you couldn’t even catch yourself. 

“ma’am, are you going to order anything? or…”

you snap out of your thoughts and look back at the bartender, who’s impatiently tapping her nails against the hardwood countertops. you don’t know the first thing about alcohol, so you stupidly ask, “uhm…well, what’s good?” 

“depends,” she starts, leaning against the counter as her eyes darted to the back of her head to gesture towards the cases behind her, “vodka if you wanna get drunk. tastes a little like hand sanitizer, but it isn’t all that bad. it’ll be the easiest on you, i take it that you don’t do this whole drinking thing— so that’s the best start. just burns a little, but you’ll be alright.”

you hum to yourself. 

“uh… okay,” you mumble out, glancing uneasily at the rows of bottles behind her. they’re all bright labels and sharp shapes, promising you a world you’ve never stepped foot in. promising relaxation for your nerves, but all of this just seems intimidating. but you really can’t back out now— you’re here already, and you’d do just about anything to quiet your swirling mind. so you just nod, “alright.. i’ll take that, then. vodka.” you nod. 

the bartender smirks, a little too knowingly, and it makes you feel queasy.

“so, i figured you’d be a lightweight,” she mutters under her breath, pulling a clear, large bottle from the shelf and setting it on the counter, “you want it straight or mixed? might be easier on you if it’s mixed.”

“mixed, i guess?” you say, your voice unsure. you don’t even know what mixed means— you just don’t want to look like you don’t belong here. which, clearly, you don’t, but if you convince yourself enough, it’ll make you feel a little better. 

“you ever drink before?” she asks, grabbing a shaker and some other bottles, pouring them together without even looking at what she’s doing, she’s really just looking at you. 

she’s very pretty, and it doesn’t add to your nervousness, or the already disgusting feeling that you have practically glued to you. you’re trying so hard to forget about the kiss, but it’s just wreaking havoc on your brain. and all of a sudden, it’s like you were opened up to a whole new world— one that you didn’t necessarily feel all that comfortable in. but at the same time, it kept you reeled in, like you needed to figure out what all of this was. 

but you couldn’t. you had to stand firm. you had things to do, and priorities that couldn’t falter. billie could not and would not be a part of them in any circumstance. you just had to mask it all, slip this underneath the carpet and pretend it had never happened. 

“uh, sometimes,” you lie, but it sounds weak even to your own ears. you just didn’t want to seem like you didn’t belong. even though, deep down, you didn’t. 

or did you? 

the bartender gives you a look, one eyebrow raised, like she knows you’re full of shit. but she doesn’t call you out on it.

“if you say so,” she says, sliding the glass of vodka toward you, “here. start with this. it’s on the house, just for the entertainment purposes.” 

you take the glass hesitantly, the cold condensation chilling your fingers as they curl around it, your rings clanking against it, “thanks.” 

binging it to your lips, you take a swig, and your face immediately contorts sourly as you slam the glass back onto the counter. the first sip is sharp, burning, and you barely stop yourself from coughing as it slides down your throat.

the bartender watches you with a grin, “yeah, i thought so. don’t worry, kid— you’ll get used to it.”

you’re about to respond— though you don’t even know what you’d say— when movement in the corner of the room catches your eye. at first, you think it’s just another customer, roaming around somewhere, but then you see her.

billie. 

of course she’s here, by just your luck. she’s sitting at a small table near the back, a bottle of beer in one hand and her phone in the other. her head is down, her hair falling in loose waves around her face, but there’s no mistaking her. you know it’s her. you can feel it. 

your chest tightens, a mix of anger and something you can’t quite name bubbling up inside you. without thinking, you turn on your heel and march toward her, your footsteps heavy against the worn wooden floor.

“oh, hell no.” you hear her mutter as she stands up, her glass forgotten on the table. you can tell just by the way that she’s moving that she’s drunk, and for a second, you’re taken back to that night at the diner. heat is so prominent in your face that you feel like your head will blow off— and in moments, she’s in front of you, her expression a foreign mix of confusion and irritation.

“what the hell are you doing here?” billie asks you, her voice low but tense. 

you straighten up, trying to match her energy, but it’s hard when your nerves are shot, and you’re holding a drink you don’t even want. 

“none of your business,” you reply, but it comes out shakier than you intended, as always. 

“none of my—?” she cuts herself off, running a hand through her dark hair, clearly trying to keep her cool, “you don’t even drink, y/n. what the fuck are you doing in a place like this?”

“i don’t owe you an explanation,” you snap, the words coming out harsher than you expect, but it’s exactly what you wanted. it was exactly what you needed. 

she leans closer to you, though it doesn’t seem like it’s on purpose, her eyes narrowing, “you don’t, huh? after storming off and leaving me to wonder if you even were okay? you don’t think i deserve a little bit of an explanation for that shit?” 

“billie, i—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“no, you listen to me,” she says, her voice rising slightly at you, “you can’t just kiss me, run off like i’m some kind of mistake, and then show up here pretending like nothing happened.”

“billie…”

“i wish you’d stop acting like this, like you’re too scared to feel something, to be something, and just— i mean, y/n—”

“please, stop it—“ 

“really, why would you lead me on like this if you didn’t want me? why would you go out with me if—“

“billie, would you just shut the fuck up!” 

the words burst out of you before you can stop them, loud and sharp, and the entire room seems to go silent for a moment. you freeze, the weight of what you just said hitting you all at once, and your hands immediately slap over your mouth, terrified. you’ve never sworn like that before— never sworn at all, really, and now it’s hanging in the air between you and billie, heavy and suffocating.

her eyes widen in shock, and for a second, neither of you say anything. then, slowly, her lips curve into a small, incredulous smile, and it makes the anger in you only bubble worse. 

“wow,” she says softly, “didn’t know you had that in you.”

your jaw clenches as your hands drop from your mouth, your fingers curling into fists at your sides, “don’t start, billie. just don’t.”

she tilts her head, that stupid smile still tugging at the corners of her lips. it’s like she’s enjoying this, like watching you unravel is some kind of personal victory for her.

“what? i’m just saying, sunday school, you’re full of surprises tonight.”

“enough with the nicknames,” you snap, your voice shaking, but you don’t really care anymore. the dam has broken, and all the emotions you’ve been holding back are pouring out, spilling everywhere, and it’s pointless to try and keep it together when everything is seemingly falling apart, “you don’t get to call me that, billie. not after everything. gosh, i wish you would just leave me alone.” 

billie’s expression shifts, her smile dropping almost immediately. she cocks her head to the side, “after everything? what does that even mean?”

“it means you don’t know me. not really,” you say, your voice rising. at this point, the bartender and the other three people in the bar are all looking at you, but you pay them no mind. you needed to get this out.

“and the problem with you is that you think you do, but you don’t. at all. you just push me and push me, and you never stop to think about what i might be going through. you just… assume I’ll be okay with whatever you want. well i’m not. i don’t want you to know me, i don’t want you to ask if i’m okay, but god— most important of all,” you lower your head, your words slow and deliberate, “i don’t want you.” 

her brows knit together, and she steps closer, her voice dropping. she looks like she could almost cry, but that’s honestly the least of your worries right now. you were so infuriated at her, and the tears that slipped down her reddened cheeks didn’t even phase you. you had other things to worry about. 

“t-that’s not fair,” billie finally speaks, her voice cracking underneath the weight of this heated argument, and for a split second, you almost feel bad. “you don’t let anyone in. h-how am i supposed to know what you’re going through if you don’t talk to me?”

you take a deep breath, trying to contain yourself, “because it’s not your job to fix me, billie. i don’t need you to swoop in and save me all the time. maybe i just need space— have you ever thought about that? huh? have you?” 

she flinches like you’ve struck her, and for a moment, guilt twists in your stomach. but then she straightens, her jaw tightening as she meets your gaze, finally looking up from the floor.

“okay,” she says, her voice cold now, all the warmth vanishing as she shrugs gently, “if that’s what you want. i won’t speak to you ever again.” 

“good,” you snap, though the word tastes bitter in your mouth, and you almost regret it. 

was this really what you wanted? your heart was racing at the words, the reality sinking in. she wasn’t going to ever talk to you again— but that’s what you had begged her for, and now that she’s giving it to you, it’s almost like you had changed your mind. but it was too late for that. 

billie stares at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. and then, without another word, she turns on her heel and walks away from you, leaving you standing there, idle, your anger dissipating as quickly as it came, replaced by an ache that settles deep in your chest.

you watch her go, the weight of what just happened pressing down on you like a weighted blanket. your shoulders slump, and for a moment, you think about calling after her, about saying something to fix this, but the words won’t come. your stomach feels sick and your head is hot, and you’re sure that you’re sinking into the floor as you hear the bells above the shop jingle, billie’s silhouette disappearing into the night. 

with tears brimming your eyes, you turn back to the counter, your hands trembling as you pick up your abandoned drink. the bartender glances at you, her expression a mix of curiosity and pity, but she doesn’t say anything. she just looks at you with an apologetic expression, her lips pursed as she tries to hold back from asking questions. 

you take a shaky breath and lift the glass of vodka to your lips, the burn of the alcohol doing little to dull the ache in your chest. you don’t know what you were expecting to find here tonight, but whatever it was, it feels further away than ever now.

the bartender finally speaks. “i’m so sorry, girl.” 

“it’s fine,” you mutter out, your nails scraping against your glass, your other hand busy picking at your lips. you’re engrossed in your own thoughts and the silence that consumes you, when you feel your phone vibrate. 

oliver. 

you had completely forgotten that he was on the other line, and you fish your phone out of your pocket hurriedly, your eyes being met with multiple texts and calls that you had missed from him. 

ollie: dude are you okay ??? i’m coming to get u now. 

ollie: my phone died so i didn’t hear everything but im omw. stay put. 

your chest tightens as you stare down at your phone, guilt gnawing at the edges of your already frayed nerves. you didn’t mean to worry him like that— but you can’t focus on that right now. or really, anything at all. 

all you can do is type out a quick response, your fingers trembling as they dance across the screen. you reassure him that you’re fine, and for him to do his best to get here quickly, because you were sure you were absolutely losing it. 

you look at the time, and it’s somehow already a little past midnight. your body is exhausted and your mind is racing in so many different areas, and you honestly just want to go home. 

you lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket, your hands still shaking as you cradle the empty glass in front of you. you slam it against the counter, “another.” 

“honey, i think—“

“just give me the alcohol.” you speak slowly yet sternly, and the bartender just nods, refilling your glass with straight vodka this time. you immediately drink it, the burn of it sitting heavy in your stomach, but it doesn’t do anything to warm you up, to fill the cold, hollow ache that’s settled deep in your chest.

you take another shot. and then two more, and you start to lose count. you felt trapped in your own mind, and usually, you weren’t really all that bothered by it. but after the kiss, after the blow-up in front of everyone, you were thinking and acting irrationally. you were absolutely over it— whatever consequences that were to come, you would deal with them later. but your thoughts only became louder and louder, swarming your conscience, and you would do pretty much anything to get them to disappear right about now. 

the bartender eventually refuses to serve you more shots. you’re much past tipsy now— and she can tell by the way a slow, warm grin crawls itself onto your face, and you smush your head into your hands, giggling. your skin is tingly and warm, and it’s foreign to you, but you like it. you can only think of one thing, and it’s how good you feel, and you want to wrap yourself in it and never let go. 

the bartender doesn’t push you any further about what happened, or how you’re feeling— she just nods and moves down the counter to give you space. the silence is deafening, broken only by the low hum of the bar’s music and the occasional clink of glasses. you stare down at your half-full drink, your reflection distorted in the clear liquid, and for a moment, you wonder if this is what absolute rock bottom feels like.

the sound of the bells above the door jingling pulls you out of your thoughts, and you glance up slowly, your nerves and slurred body movements not really allowing you to move much faster. your breath catches in your throat when you see him— oliver, standing in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, his chest heaving like he ran all the way here. his eyes scan the room quickly, landing on you, and you see the relief wash over his face as he strides toward you.

“Jesus, dude, you scared me. what the hell happened?” he asks as soon as he reaches you, his voice low but urgent.

you open your mouth to answer, but the words get stuck in your throat, and all you can do is shake your head as your eyes well up with tears again. you break in front of him, your facade faltering, and you just press your head into your palms as your body shivers with your cries. 

“oh…hey, it’s okay,” oliver says quickly, his hand reaching out to rest gently on your arm. he gives it a small, gentle squeeze, “let’s get out of here, yeah? come on. i’ll take you home.” 

you nod silently, letting him guide you off the barstool and out of the building. the night air hits you like a slap to the face, cold and sharp, and you pull your hoodie tighter around yourself as you follow oliver to his car.

the ride is quiet at first, the tension thick in the small space of his black mini cooper. oliver glances at you every now and then, his knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say much. he’s waiting for you to speak, waiting for you to tell him what’s going on.

“i-i messed up,” you finally whisper, your voice cracking as you slump into the back seat, stretching out your limbs and resting your head against the window, “i messed up so bad, ollie.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just flicks his eyes toward you through the rear view mirror before focusing back on the road. 

“okay,” he says slowly, but you can tell he’s worried for what you’re about to tell him, “let’s start with what happened. whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. but you gotta tell me, okay? because i’m not gonna lie, you’re scaring the shit out of me.” 

you take a shaky breath, your fingers twisting in your lap as you try to find the words. your mind feels like it’s moving backwards, in slow motion, and you swear that you’re talking, but only your lips move. you rest a hand over your forehead, trying to force sound to come out, “i-i…kissed her.” 

“billie?” he asks, surprised, and you nod, your cheeks burning with shame.

“it just… it just happened,” you continue, the words spilling out of you now. people had always talked about having drunk confessions, and well, here was yours. 

“a-and then… we fought, and i s-said things— awful things, things i didn’t mean, but they just came out. and now she’s gone, and i-i don’t even know if we can fix this. i don’t know if i want to fix this.”

oliver is quiet for a moment, his brows furrowed in thought. his voice is slightly shaky now, and it’s obvious that he’s really worried about you. he peeks at you through the rear view again, “so… you kissed her— but then what? she got mad? or you got mad?” 

“both,” you say, your voice loud, though you meant to say that way quieter than you actually did, and then all the confessions come, “i was sad, r-really sad, and you guys…you guys always talk about how drinking makes you…i don’t know, n-not sad? so i took like— i can’t remember, six shots? and now i’m drunk. and me and billie got into an argument a-and i…i told her i didn’t want her. at all. i’m such an idiot.” 

oliver gasps, ready to say something, but you cut him off with your own words, “ollie…i don’t think i can do this anymore. i’m sick, i’m messed up…i-i’m not this perfect little angel that everyone thinks i am. i’m horrible and messy and…i just, i can’t anymore. really.” 

you feel oliver slam on the brakes, the car jerking slightly as he pulls over to the side of the road. the sudden stop shocks you out of your rambling, your chest heaving as you realize how out of control your words had become. your stomach felt like it was still in the other lane as you felt oliver park next to the street, and you cover your mouth, letting out an unprompted gag. 

oliver immediately unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you, his eyes wide with concern, his hands gripping the steering wheel. 

“y/n. hey,” he says, his voice firm but still soft enough to remind you that it’s him, that you’re gonna be okay, “breathe. just breathe. it’s alright, you’re safe.”

you nod shakily, trying to pull in a deep breath, but it catches in your throat. your chest feels too tight, like there’s a rubber band around it pulling tighter and tighter with every second. you feel like you’re on the verge of snapping, so you keep quiet. your eyes slowly closing. 

“look at me,” he says, his voice steady, and you do. his eyes are locked on yours, grounding you, “you’re not horrible, okay? you’re not messy, you’re not broken, and you’re definitely not some perfect angel. you’re you, and that’s enough. it’s always been enough.”

you let out a choked laugh, shaking your head as tears spill over your cheeks. you wipe your nose, “no, but you don’t get it, ollie. you don’t know what it’s like to… to feel like you’re drowning all the time. to feel like no matter what you do, it’s never enough. for anyone. not even for me.” 

“i don’t know what that’s like?” he repeats, his voice raising slightly as he leans over the armrest, leaning further into you as your eyes hover over him, “you think i don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough? like you’re just… just barely holding it together for everyone else’s sake? because i do. believe me, i do. i just…i don’t talk about it.” 

you blink at him, startled. he rarely lets this side of himself show, the side that’s as vulnerable as you feel right now. you whisper, “w-what do you mean?” 

“i’ve had my fair share of…bad religious experiences,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly. he really never opens up to anyone, but the timing seemed appropriate, and you didn’t really mind. 

“when i came out to my parents, it took them forever to be accepting. i wasn’t welcomed in my church anymore— though i believed, and i still do. but you don’t see me running away or… or drinking myself sick. because while it feels good, it doesn’t fix anything. it just makes it worse. and seeing you like this? it kills me, okay? because you’re not supposed to go through this alone. it hurts us when you isolate yourself.” 

“but i feel so alone,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you finally sit up in the seat, your head whirring, “even when you’re here, even when billie’s here, i feel alone. like no one really gets me. not even…not even God.”

oliver’s face softens, and he reaches out to take your hand in his, his grip warm and steady as you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, “yeah, i know it feels like that. like He’s not there, like no one is. and i love you, so don’t take this the wrong way— but you’re wrong. you’ve got people who adore you, who want to help you. i want to help you. but you’ve got to let me in, okay? you’ve got to stop shutting me out. out of all of us, i think i’m the one who won’t bully you sick about this.” 

you both giggle softly, and his words sink in slowly, the weight of them pressing against your chest in a way that feels almost comforting. you nod, barely able to meet his eyes as you release your hand from his embrace, playing with your rings, “but i don’t know how.” 

“you just start,” he says simply, shrugging like it was nothing, “you tell me when you’re sad. you tell me when you feel like you’re drowning. and then, you let me help you keep your head above water. that’s what i’m here for, okay? that’s what i want to do. because you’re my best friend.” 

his sincerity is overwhelming, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a flicker of hope. it’s small, fragile, but it’s there. 

“okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “okay, ollie. but i…i need you to do something for me.” 

he nods at you fervently, “yeah, anything. anything at all.” 

“i need you to help me get away from her,” you say, your voice steadier now, but still tinged with desperation, “i need you to… i need you to fake date me.”

there’s an excruciatingly long pause, this one heavier than any of the last. when oliver finally speaks, there’s a note of disbelief in his voice. he cocks his head to the side and gives you wide eyes, “hold on, you want me to what?”

“just for a little while,” you plead, your words tumbling out in a rush, “i need her to think i’ve moved on or— or that i’m not interested or something. i just need to put some space between us, and this…this is the only way i can think to do it. i just need her to leave me alone. please. while i figure things out.” 

“y/n,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to piece together the logic behind your plan, though you can tell by the look on his face that he thinks it’s stupid. “are you sure this is the best way to handle this? i mean, fake dating me? that’s… kind of extreme. and honestly, batshit crazy.” 

you shake your head at him. you’ll pretty much do anything to get away from billie right now, and this seemed like the only option. you’d much rather do this with oliver, someone you know and trust, rather than some random, icky dude in one of your classes. 

“i don’t have any other options, oliver, please. i just need you to do this for me. just for a little while. you’re the only person i can trust to help me with this.”

he sighs, and you can tell that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he’ll roll with it just to help you out. he takes a good look at you, weighing your request. and finally, he speaks up, “a-all right. i’ll do it.” 

relief washes over you as you sit up even straighter, a lazy grin on your face as you nod at him.

“thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with gratitude, “thank you so much.”

“yeah yeah, whatever.” he laughs gently, but his tone firm, “but— you’re going to have to tell me everything. the whole story. no leaving anything out. you need to at least tell me what’s going on if i’m going to be your new boyfriend.” 

you nod, “okay, yeah. um…i’ll tell you everything.”

“good,” he says, and then you start. 

well, you try to. but the car is too quiet, the only sound that’s audible is the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of oliver shifting in his seat. you sit there, staring out the window as cars flash by, headlights and flashing colors streaking the glass like a kaleidoscope. everything outside feels distant, unreal, like you’re a side character in your own movie. 

“you good?” oliver’s voice breaks through the silence, soft but firm. it’s not the first time he’s asked, but this time, there’s something heavier in his tone. you can tell he’s a little worried, and you really don’t want to stress him out, so you nod, though it’s everything but true. 

you shift uncomfortably, your hands twisting in your lap. you’re not good. you don’t even know what you are right now. all you know is that your chest feels tight, and the words sitting on your tongue are heavy, weighted down by years of fear and uncertainty.

“i told you what happened,” you mumble out, “why do you keep asking?”

“because i don’t think you’ve told me everything,” he says, glancing at you, “i mean, yeah, you told me about billie and the fight, but… there’s more, isn’t there? you wouldn’t be this upset if there wasn’t. so, let me hear it.” 

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to push the lump down. he’s right— of course, he’s right. oliver always sees through you, always knows when you’re holding back. you don’t know why you thought you could avoid this. 

“ollie,” you start, your voice trembling. you pause, unsure if you can even do this, but then his gaze flicks to you again, patient and steady, and it’s enough to nudge you forward, “i need to tell you something. something… kind of big.”

he straightens a little in his seat, his brows furrowing in concern. he’s kind of scared, because based off of the events of tonight, he has no idea what you would have in store. but he just nods, trying to keep enough cool for the two of you, “okay. i’m listening.”

your hands are shaking now, and you clasp them tightly together, trying to keep yourself steady. you take a deep breath, “okay…um…i’ve been trying to figure this out for a long time, and honestly, i’ve been scared to say it out loud. so…um…i’m—?”

he doesn’t say anything, just waits, his expression soft but focused. he’s looking at you like he’s ready to hear what’s next, and you swallow thickly, looking out the window, and then at your hands. 

“i-i’m a lesbian, oliver.”

it goes awkwardly quiet. for a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, shaky and uneven, as the weight of your confession hangs in the air. you kind of feel like you shouldn’t have said it, but it’s too late— so you just wait impatiently for him to speak. 

“oh,” oliver says finally, his voice quiet, like he’s processing. and then, a little louder, “oh. well, okay.”

you glance at him, your stomach twisting with anxiety. what the hell did he mean ‘well, okay?’ was this a bad idea? should you have kept it quiet? 

“ollie…w-what? just okay?”

“yeah,” he says, and there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. he leans up against the arm rest to get a good look at you, “okay. i mean, what do you want me to say? ‘oh shit, i never knew!’ like, it’s not like this changes how i feel about you or anything. you’re still you, y/n.”

his words hit you like a wave, but you can’t help but offer up a hearty laugh, even though there are tears streaming down your heated face. oliver disregards your laughter, though— he’s more worried about your ever flowing tears that haven’t seemed to fade since he picked you up. 

“hey, hey,” oliver says quickly, his hands hovering awkwardly like he wants to comfort you but he doesn’t know how, “why are you crying? what’s wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you manage to get out between shaky breaths, “i just… i’ve been so scared to tell anyone. i thought maybe you’d… i don’t know, look at me differently or something. i don’t even know why i thought that, considering— yeah. but…”

“girl,” he interrupts gently, laughter laced in his tone, “i really don’t care who you like. as long as they’re treating you good, that isn’t my concern at all. you’re still my best friend, and that’s never gonna change. you hear me?”

you nod, sniffling as you wipe at your face. “yeah. i hear you.”

he smiles, soft and reassuring. “good. now, is there anything else you need to get off your chest? because i’m already pulled over, so we might as well make this a full therapy session.” 

you laugh weakly, the sound broken but genuine, and shake your head, “no, that’s… that’s it for now. promise.” 

“all right,” oliver says, “so, let’s get you home, yeah? you’ve had a long night.”

you nod at him, returning to the refuge of your comfy spot in the backseat, your limbs stretched out and weary as you steady your breathing. 

as he pulls back onto the road, you lean back in your seat, the weight on your chest a little lighter now. for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like you can breathe, like everything is setting in stone. 

୨ৎ

by the time you get home, the weight of the night feels like it’s pressing into your bones, leaving you heavy and raw. you sit up on your seat as oliver wakes you, rubbing your eyes gently, “home?”

“yeah, c’mon.” he states, grabbing your bag for you and opening your door as you step into the night. it’s cold outside, and you wrap your jacket tighter around you, facing oliver and reaching out to take your bag, “thank you for taking me home. and…for everything. you didn’t have to do that.”

“no, but i wanted to,” he gives you a warm smile, “you can always talk to me. always.”

you nod as he hands you your bag, and you sling it over your shoulder as you start to walk back to your dorm. you expect to go alone, but oliver follows, insisting on walking you to your door. and you’re too drained to argue, so you let him, your legs feeling wobbly as you climb the steps to your room, his hand hovering behind your back like a safety net.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, for what feels like the tenth time, but you know that he’s being sincere. 

you pause with your key halfway to the lock, turning to look at him. his eyes are wide and concerned, and you can see the way he’s itching to say more, to fix something. you give him a tired smile, “i’ll be fine, ollie. seriously. i just need to sleep this off, for real.”

he doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway, “if you insist. if you need anything— like, anything at all— just call me, okay? no matter what time, you know i’ll be up.”

“okay,” you promise, though you know you probably won’t. you weren’t exactly fond of the idea of using oliver as your night-time therapist, although he swore up and down it was okay. you just nod with a lazy smile, waiting for him to bid you goodbye.

he hesitates for a moment longer before finally stepping back, “well, goodnight, y/n. i love you, if you need something, just holler. and… hey, you’re brave as hell, you know that?”

he pulls you into a gentle hug before he goes, giving you a small kiss to your forehead. it’s got no romantic context behind it— oliver had always been the type to be affectionate towards you when you were down, or vulnerable. plus, he laughs afterward, and you know it’s because of your whole ‘fake dating’ ordeal, which makes you laugh, too. 

you watch as he leaves, making sure that he gets to his car safe. and when he waves at you and speeds off, you twist the doorknob into your dorm, stepping inside.

it’s is dark when you enter, save for the faint glow of a lamp in the living room and emma’s bedroom’s light that shines underneath her closed door. sometimes, she’d forget to turn it off before she fell asleep, so you figured that’s why it was on. 

you shut the door softly behind you, your bag slipping off your shoulder and landing on the floor with a dull thud. the silence feels different— heavy, almost suffocating, but you push it aside, determined to jump into your bed and finally go to sleep. 

“so, you’re back.” a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and pointed.

you freeze, your breath catching as you turn to see emma standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

so she wasn’t in her bedroom. or, asleep.

her arms are crossed over her chest, her red hair pulled into a messy bun, and she’s clad in one of your victoria’s secret sweatshirts and a pair of red sleeping shorts. her expression is unreadable— somewhere between anger and concern, and you really hope it’s the second one.

“emma,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, but she cuts you off almost immediately.

“do you have any idea how worried i was?” she snaps, stepping closer, “you didn’t answer my texts, my calls— nothing. and then— this shit is what blew me— oliver calls me, telling me you’re drunk at some bar? what the hell, y/n?”

your stomach twists with guilt, and you look down at your feet. “i’m sorry,” is all you can mumble. you’re honestly too tired and too drunk to deal with emma’s shenanigans tonight.

“sorry?” she repeats, her voice rising. her arms are flailing everywhere, her curly hair bouncing, and it’s clear that she’s more angry than you thought, “that’s all you have to say? you disappear for hours, get drunk off your ass, and pick a fight with billie— yeah, oliver told me about that part too— and all you can say is sorry?”

“i didn’t mean for it to get that bad,” you say, your voice cracking, “i just… i don’t know, okay? everything’s been so overwhelming, and i—”

“and you what?” she interrupts, her eyes narrowing, “decided to self-destruct instead of talking to me? i’m your best friend, y/n. you’re supposed to come to me when you’re struggling, not push me away.”

her words hit you like a punch to the gut, and tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them. you were sick of crying— it’s like that’s all you’ve doing recently, but you can’t stop it. 

“emma, you were the one that was being distant from me, so i just gave you space. i didn’t know how to tell you, okay?” you cry, your voice shattering, “i didn’t know how to tell you that i’m falling apart, that i feel like i’m losing myself. i didn’t know how to tell you that i kissed billie and freaked out because… because—”

you choke on the words, your chest heaving as the tears spill over. emma’s expression softens instantly, the anger draining from her face as she steps closer. when she sees you break, it’s like she can’t even be mad at you anymore, and she rushes over to you, grabbing your shoulders softly.

“hey, hey,” she says gently, “it’s okay. you don’t have to say it all right now. just… breathe, okay? i’m sorry that i was angry with you. i understand…i was just worried. but i’m here.”

you nod shakily, trying to get your breathing under control. emma guides you to the couch, sitting beside you and waiting patiently as you wipe at your face with trembling hands.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, your voice small.

“stop apologizing,” she says, shaking her head at you, “i’m not mad anymore. i just… i want to understand what’s going on with you.”

you hesitate, your fingers picking at the hem of your sweater. “i told oliver tonight…that i’m….”

“you are?”

you breathe in. you weren’t really expecting to tell emma this soon— you honestly didn’t mean to tell oliver either, but you were here now, and you might as well tell your own best friend this secret that was haunting you. 

“i’m…” you huff, looking down at your hands, “i’m a lesbian, em.”

emma doesn’t react right away, just tilts her head slightly as she processes your words, resting her chin into her hands as she looks at you with sweet, sparkling eyes, “okay,” she says slowly, “and… how do you feel about that? about saying it out loud? i mean— really, y/n, this is not a surprise, i think you know that.”

you laugh, “yeah. but…just thought i should let you know what’s going on with me.”

“uh huh,” she hums, a smile glued to her face, “i’m proud of you. this is a big step, honey! so tell me, how are you feeling?”

“scared,” you admit, giggling softly, “but also… relieved, in a way? like I’m finally being honest with myself. but it’s complicated. billie— she made me feel things i didn’t know how to handle, and then everything spiraled, and i just…i liked her. i’ll admit it, but— i-i can’t. i have too much to deal with, and i’m still not really all that comfortable with what i’m feeling. but it’s too late, so whatever…”

emma reaches for your hand, squeezing it tightly, “babe, you don’t have to figure everything out tonight. it’s okay to take your time. but you’re not alone in this, okay? i’m here, and so is oliver. we’ve got you. just, focus on what you need to focus on. see what happens— but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. you’re smart, and i guarantee you that you’ll figure this thing out, alright?”

emma’s words are a balm to your aching heart, and you nod, leaning into her shoulder as exhaustion starts to take over. she pulls you tighter into her side, giving you a light squeeze as you both sit there for a second, basking in comfortable silence.

“thanks, em,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut.

“always,” she whispers, running a hand gently over your hair, “have you told jules and naomi yet?”

you shake your head gently, still resting on emma’s shoulder, “nope. i haven’t really talked with them all that much, but it’ll come when it comes. i don’t really feel like dealing with all this at the moment. i’m just trying to make sure of my own feelings, first. y’know?”

emma takes a deep breath, nodding at your words, but she doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate. she could tell that all you needed was a little acknowledgement, and your heart smiles at that. 

after a few more minutes of talking, you find yourself in your room, slipped underneath the covers as emma laid next to you, scrolling on her phone. now that you were home, she insisted that she keep you company until you sleep, just incase you needed to talk. 

you hadn’t told her about the fake dating with oliver, but it seemed irrelevant right now, so you’d just save it for later. 

you spend your last waking moments thinking. you felt warm at first, finally getting everything out into the air, but now you felt like you were swarming with guilt. was this what God wanted? was He frowning down at you, disappointed and confused?

but you couldn’t think about that right now, or you’d start to downward spiral again. so you just squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to finally rest.

and then, just as sleep is about to fully claim you, your phone buzzes on the coffee table, the sound jarring in the stillness. emma reaches for it, frowning as she glances at the screen.

“y/n,” she says, her voice tense.

you force your eyes open, groggy and confused, “huh? what is it?”

she holds the phone out to you, and your stomach drops when you see the name flashing across the screen.

it’s billie.

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[mayadoesfandomstuff]

Now with reading summaries of the podcast episode and watching some of the clips, it genuinely triggers my anxiety hearing about how Dream treated his friends and especially those who are more vulnerable than him (like Tommy being a teenager), especially since I experienced the same kind of thing with one of my ex toxic friend from about last year this time and it's so unnerving.

Tommy saying that he tried settling things privately, keeps getting empty apologies, and then for Dream to just keep doing what he was doing without changing anything really brought me back to my own conversations where I would basically almost beg her to reflect on how she's hurt me and her apologizing with a "I'm sorry you felt that way." and then continuing on to act the same way.

Tommy and Jack talking about how it was almost like he didn't understood what he did was wrong and it taking so much to explain things to him and in the end the whole thing not clicking, reminded me of long conversations I had with her trying to make her understand why she was being hurtful and still, at the end of it, still not agreeing with me on why her words were hurtful to a mutual friend.

Tommy questioning whether or not he's accurate on how badly dream treats him and only having very few people to vent to really hit hard and it brought me back to when I could only talk about how bad my ex friend was to me to only one person who wasn't trying to play devil's advocate for her. Someone who was also hurt and has also publicly expressed her disdain for her to the rest of the friend group and we honestly felt like conspiracy theorists half the time who couldn't speak about this publicly or outside our most inner circles (i.e. just us and maybe my family members).

There's so much of this that they talked about that I'm seeing disturbing parallels to me and that relationship and it does make me wonder if it was just a toxic friendship or outright emotional abuse or both or am I crazy or whatever because it's not like we had a large age gap and the only thing she may have over me was that she was physically abled while I was housebound and nearly isolated except with my family and online conversations with our same mutual friends and maybe she was lighter skinned and was actively colorist against me and my other friend that she also hurt but man, this is really making me think.

My heart goes out for Tommy and I do hope that he closes this chapter of his life and finds success in his new ventures and hoping that he never has to interact with Dream or his associates again.

[coffeecat1983]

@dreamyluigi (I apologize in advance for any mistakes, I'm not well versed in the Paper Mario games)

TW: Blood, mention of suic*de, character death (be sure to read to the end!)

     "Ugh..." Mr. L hissed again, clutching at his head. The figure in red before him blurred. "What is th-this?"      "Weege?" Mario reached out, recognizing the signs of a severe migraine. "C'mon, lil bro, you gotta rest."      "Don't tell me what to do!" L snapped. He groaned again, stumbling backwards.

   A room in a little house. A warm, inviting bed draped in green blankets. Sleep. He just wanted to lay down. The bed beside him, the red one. It was empty.

Again.

   He fell to his knees, clutching his head in sheer agony. Unable to take it he ripped off his hat and mask, the fabric felt suffocating. He looked up, his steel grey eyes glimmering with a mixture of fear and hatred.      "Wh-What did you do to me?!" he cried out, doubling over. Words flooded his mind's eye, memories.

   He was there. Always there. Since they were kids that constant safety had always been there. Whenever he needed his brother he would just call and he was right there. Then he became a hero. Then their world changed. Their lives, changed.     "I'm sorry Weege, but maybe you should stay home this time."     "It's okay Weege, I got this, you can stay here."      "Heh, Mario left him behind again," a toad at the marketplace  said to another, thinking they were out of earshot. "Bet it's because he's useless."    He woke from a nightmare with his brother's name screamed out into the night. Yet no reply. He was alone, the one who claimed he would always be there was gone, risking his life for others.    Leaving him feeling forgotten.    It hurts. It hurts! IT HURTS!

   Mario went to step towards the now trembling figure only to freeze at the low voice.      "You left me." It wasn't the harsh condescending tone Mr. L had been using. It was that rusty, soft voice. A voice that normally would have made the older twin's heart sing. And yet something this time sent an icy chill through him.      "Weege?"      "You always leave me." Two voices chorused from the one man. "You said you'd always be there. You lied."    He looked up and Mario couldn't help but take a step back. It was like a scene from a horror movie. His brother's face split in two emotions, one grey eye filled with hatred, the other a sapphire blue filled with pain as tears streamed down his face. When he spoke, Mario again heard two voices.      "You always leave me." a shuddering sob as Luigi/L stood, moving like a drunken ragdoll. "They tease, they taunt, you never hear it." He lurched forward only to fall again as the room spun. "So much pain. It hurts... Mario, it hurts."      "Luigi, I never meant...!" Mario jerked back as Mr. L snarled, lunging at him before falling again.      "You're never there! You've dedicated yourself to everyone except me!" Mr. L howled before collapsing, writhing as he clutched at his head. Gasping he looked up, both eyes wild with inner conflict.      "Heh. Hehe." the laugh was cold, vacant. "You have no idea, d-do you?" he spoke in just L's voice. "He's screaming inside right now, screaming over what you've done." His hand slid down to his left leg, the hidden weapon Count Bleck had gifted him gliding neatly from it's sheath.   Mario felt sick when he saw the glint of the dagger. He held his hands up, taking a cautious step forward.      "Weege..."     "Don't call me that!" Mr. L slashed out, forcing Mario back. "Y-You, that name is a spell, isn't it? It does something to my head! MAKE IT STOP!" he was gasping now, his eyes flashing a mix of dull silver and sparkling blue. Mr. L paused as if listening to something. To someone.    If cruelty itself became human and could grin, it would wear the smile that briefly danced over L's features.

Continued in pt 2 here.

a brief moment of clarity