#some were hurt and all were very scared but

[theartofsimpatry]

Ghost Relationship Imagine 👻🪖🎖️

-SUPER HARD TO GET INTO A RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM!

-Hell its hard for you to even sleep with him in the 1st place.

-You’re probably someone who lives near his house, maybe a neighbor or maybe someone who just visits the same bar as him.

-He visits the bar about once or twice a week as he prefers to drink at home by himself.

-He usually sits farthest away from everyone else in his own little corner of the bar, nobody dares bother him as he’s intimidating as hell.

-Even outside of deployment, he still wears a mask, he lifts the mask enough just for the drink then lowers it again.

-If it was up to him he’d drink while facing the wall but he’s too affected by his PTSD to actually turn his back on everyone.

-To get his attention, you’d need to respect his space. Maybe have the bartender send a free drink his way and wave at him from the other side of the bar.

-If he’s in the mood, he’ll sit across from you at your table and ask what do you want. Be honest, he likes that. If you tell him that you want to spend the night with him, he’d say something about stranger danger. “I doubt that rule applies to handsome strangers”, “The handsome ones might be the most dangerous for all you know.”

-You strike up a conversation with him, you two don’t really talk about the past but more talking about the area before asking him to walk you home. He might as well use his intimidating nature to help you back home.

-When you two are at your door, you slowly peel his mask up over his lips and kiss him, he lets you. His eyes are open during all of this as he still doesn’t trust you. You ask him honestly if he wants to come inside, he says he shouldn’t. You understand and tell him goodnight.

-He felt butterflies in his stomach but quickly turns around and walks home. The scene replays in his head for a while afterwards.

-He starts to visit the bar more frequently, and every time, you sit away from him and make him come to you. Like earning the trust of a stray cat, don’t approach or you’ll scare them off, let them approach you.

-You two end up with doing a routine of talking a bit over drinks and him walking you home when the night is done before you two actually sleep with each other.

-After you two had sex, he leaves afterwards, very quietly while you’re asleep.

-He hopes him leaving hurts you, so you can see that he’s a piece of shit and doesn’t deserve anything resembling normalcy. (Lies)

-He stays away from the bar for a few days, he doubts you’d wanna see him after what he did.

-When you see him at the bar and send him a drink, he sits at your table again.

-“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.” “Don’t you know you make an ass of yourself by assuming?” He slightly smiles against his mask, you can tell by his eyes slightly creasing.

-You two might’ve never said it, but you two are together now. He sleeps over now and you two start visiting places other than the bar. A nice little restaurant that serves the best fish and chips (in his opinion), going to a farmers market up north, etc.

-He’s your intimidating guard dog now, nobody dares bother you anymore. Once he went to the bathroom at the train station, a group of men approached you and you were intimidated by them till they saw Ghost standing behind you and staring at them menacingly.

-He worries for your safety, especially if he’s deployed. You soon discovered the downside of dating a man in the military when he suddenly woke you from bed and forced you into a black unmarked van.

-He drives you 2 hours away while some man named “Price” explains to you that you need to stay in a safe-house up north for a while. Someone threatened your life. Ghost feels guilty and doesn’t say a word while he drives.

-He came into your life and now is practically removing you from your life, your family, your friends, your job, etc.

-When you get there, you grab his face and tell him to look at you in the eyes. You tell him that you understand. And Price reassures you that your family knows that you’re alive and he gave an excuse of medical emergency to your job. You kiss Ghost and tell him to kill whatever “big bad” that forcing this onto you two.

-“Yes, ma’am.” He’ll be back real soon.

[kaivenom]

OP dilfs making it up to an s/o after they really fucked up? Like they accuse their s/o of cheating or something and it gets their s/o so upset or mad that it’s like an entirely different person? So then they’re like “FUCK I WENT TOO FAR” and then go about their grovelling?

How the OP Dilfs apologize when they went too far with their s/o

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He leaves you your space, he knows that he is not the person you want to see right now.

He feels like he has his heart on the edge of the throat, the castle feels like falling down on his head without you near.

After a couple of hours he leaves a note under your shared room door.

Seeing that you didn't come out, he began writing more letters and leaving them from time to time.

Reminding you how much he loves you, saying how much he is sorry, and begging you to come out and talk so he can apologize in your face.

Finally you came out and he just opens his arms, waiting for at least a hug from you.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He doesn't let you leave the room, even if he has to force you to stay.

He stays silent while you yell at him, he even lets you throw things at him until you are somehow calm.

Then his smile dissapears and he starts breaking things.

If it was any other situation or person he would have killed them but it is you, and he made a mistake that could cost your relationship.

His behaviour made you feel scared and that only made him more angry.

"Get out, I am sorry but if you stay here I would hurt you. I will reach you when I can apologize."

No one told you how he was afterwards, but all afternoon crushing noises and screams could be heard on all Dressrosa.

Sr. Crocodile

Same strategy and mindset as Mihawk, but different solution.

Instead of notes, he starts buying you things, all your favourite things even if you already have them.

In his defense, he was really desperate so he started buying anything he could think of, like some compulsive manner.

You even came out of the room to yell at him.

"Crocodile, stop buying things for me or I will start breaking all of them"

He was so happy thinking that you were ready to talk and was met with that, completely justified but he still was desperate.

He stopped buying, but he started leaving your favourite flowers around the house to cope with the stress.

So when you got out of the room, you were met with a forest of petals.

Smoker

He is so frustated with himself that he is the one who gets out of the room.

And he didn't come back until late at night, and he was a little drunk.

He didn't ring the doorbell, but you could see his figure from across the window.

WHen you oppened the door, you met with some glassy eyes and some tears.

He began trying to apologize while also whimpering a little.

You tried make a mad face, but he was being so vulnerable and so small that you ended up hugging him.

"I am sorry, really sorry, i felt insecure that you were passing so many time with.... and that you were hagin fun and... i couldn't live without you"

He started sobbing so much that you couldn't understand anything, but it was clearly that he was sorry and you couldn't deny it.

Akagami Shanks

He doesn't let you leave either, but he doesn't force you to stay.

If he really sees that he is forcing you then he will let you go, but he will try until the end to not make you go away.

He grabs you by the arms while you are yelling at him and surprisingly he encourages you to continue screaming at him and taking everything out.

He even kissed you to make you more angry at him, he was obliging you to say everything you've been keeping to yourself.

Cause he knows that even though this fight was the big one, he is a very insufferable men and that he gets on your nerves really often.

You try to kick him, punch him and everything to free from his grip, but you end up crying.

"Why can't you trust me."

"Cause I am an idiot who doesn't see thing the right way, and I am sorry for that and i won't balme you if you want to leave".

"I won't leave, but right now i want to be alone."

He noded and kissed your forehead, leaving you alone and waiting for you to come back to him.

[filthyjoelslvr]

The Other Woman (3)

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Content: jackson!tommy x reader; jackson!joel x reader (previous chapter)

Synop: Tommy isn't the same after you told him about you and Joel. His heads hung low, his smile falters, his eyes scream of the pain he feels. You keep running into him and each time breaks you a little more than the last.

Then, Joel tells his ex wife of the affair. And the whole town knows. They stare, they whisper, and Tommy can barely stand it.

Warnings: pinv, fingering, tommy spits in your mouth, tells reader i hate you during sex?, sad tommy, guilty joel, physical fighting (mentions blood), very small mention of SA (past), death of mother, prob forgetting some

Word Count: 10K!

(dividers by: @cafekitsune)

a/n: guys i hope you like this one!! i was in such a stump and then got a random burst of inspiration so i hope i did a good job blending it all together. i literally wanna turn this whole series into a chapter book!!! but i made this so long so another part is coming soon im so sorry yall, ik ik i need to chill. but..... should you have tommy's babies ???? AHH DONT COME FOR ME IM INTO THAT

It had been twenty-three days since you last spoke to Tommy.

Not that you were counting, but every night bled into the next without him, and each morning you woke up hoping the ache would be duller than the day before. It wasn’t.

The last time you saw him — really saw him — was the night everything fell apart. The night he looked at you like he didn’t know who you were. Technically, he never asked you to be his girlfriend, not in those exact words, but you didn’t need him to. You knew it. Felt it in every look, every late-night visit, every time he held you like the world might end before morning. You were his. And he was yours.

But now… now you were nothing.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen the way it did. You never meant to hurt him, never wanted to be the cause of that devastation you saw in his eyes that day. The memory of it still clawed at your insides.

You heard the footsteps before the knock — heavy, sure, familiar in a way that made your throat tighten.

When you opened the door, there he was. Tommy. Sunburned cheeks, wind-worn jacket, smile so big it made your chest ache. “Told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

You had launched into his arms. Laughed. Let him spin you like a girl who hadn’t done the unthinkable. You buried yourself in him because you didn’t know how to be anywhere else. Because you were scared.

You tried to tell him. Tried to say the words. But he kissed you — kissed you like nothing had changed. And you let him. You let him love you, worship you, fall deeper when you knew the truth would tear him apart.

And when he finally said I love you, you broke. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Tommy, I slept with Joel.”

You watched him come undone in real time. Disbelief. Rage. Pain. That gut-wrenching, final line: "Stay the fuck away from me. We're done."

And then the door slammed, and you felt yourself unravel.

Now, three weeks later, you saw him again for the first time.

You hadn’t planned to be in town, but someone had asked for help dropping off supplies. Just some cloth and thread. It was supposed to be a quiet errand — quick. Anonymous.

But then you saw him.

Tommy walked through the square, not ten feet from you. And the sight of him made your stomach flip and your eyes sting.

He looked terrible.

Not rugged or tired. Wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes hollow. Posture slumped like the world weighed heavier than usual. Tommy, who used to light up Jackson just by passing through, didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t speak. He just walked — silent and angry and broken.

Then he looked up. Just for a second.

Your eyes locked.

It was like being struck. His face flickered — just barely — before he looked away again, fast. Like you were something painful to behold. Like remembering you hurt worse than forgetting.

You didn’t move. Didn’t follow. You couldn’t.

You’d seen the damage. You saw what you did. How far he’d fallen from the man who used to dance with you in the kitchen just to hear you laugh.

You broke him.

So you let him go. Again.

You turned away, heart hammering, eyes blurry, breath shallow.

You wanted to run after him. To explain. To beg. But that wasn’t love — not anymore. Love, real love, was giving someone what they needed. And right now? Tommy needed space. Distance. Time.

Even if it killed you to give it. Even if he never let you close again.

Because if he needed time to hate you before he could begin to understand you, then that’s what you’d give him.

Even if it meant losing him forever.

The first time you ran into Tommy again after that morning in the square, it was by accident. You turned a corner near the stables, arms full of fabric bundles, and nearly collided with him.

He stopped. Looked at you.

Just for a second.

And then he walked around you like you weren’t even there.

It knocked the breath from your lungs. You stood there, holding that stupid cloth to your chest like it might keep you from falling apart.

After that, it kept happening.

At the gate post. By the greenhouse. Outside the mess hall. Always unplanned. Always painful.

And always the same.

He’d glance at you, just once — eyes heavy with something that looked like grief — and then look away, jaw clenched, chest rising a little faster. Sometimes he’d adjust his jacket, or rub at his mouth like he could scrub the memory of you off his lips.

Each time you saw him, he looked a little worse.

Like he was unraveling slowly. Skin paler. Beard uneven. His usual spark — gone. Tommy had always been a light in Jackson. He made people laugh. Made things feel easier just by being around.

But now? Now he barely spoke. He avoided crowds. Didn’t show up to half the community meetings he used to help run. And when he did, he’d sit in the back with a far-off look in his eyes like his body was present, but nothing else was.

It was like he couldn’t stand to be in a world where you also existed.

And still, you said nothing.

You wanted to run to him. To beg. To explain it all again. But you stayed quiet. You gave him the distance he so clearly needed, even when it felt like it was killing you a little more each day.

Sometimes you’d go to the trade stalls to stay busy. Sort items. Help with repairs. Anything to get out of your own head.

That’s where you’d see Joel.

Not often. Just enough to notice.

He never stayed long — always stopping by for parts or ammo, sometimes to drop off gear from a patrol. When he saw you, he’d nod once. Give you a polite hey or mornin'.

Nothing else.

No private talks. No apologies. No pressure.

He had stopped coming to see you, just like you asked.

And the silence between the two of you felt like a second kind of punishment. A colder one. Because even though Joel had been the cause of it all, he wasn’t the one looking at you like you’d destroyed him.

That was Tommy.

And somehow, seeing the pain still written across his face every time he caught your presence — like your shadow alone was enough to make him sick — it hurt worse than anything you could have imagined.

Because you were the one who did that to him.

And you didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to make it right.

The silence didn’t get easier.

If anything, the more time passed, the heavier it got. It filled the corners of your house like smoke. Settled into your sheets. Clung to your skin.

Some nights, it felt unbearable. So you started writing.

Not because you expected him to read it. Not because you thought it would fix anything. But because keeping it all inside was rotting you from the inside out.

The first letter was messy — half tears, half ink. You didn’t even bother starting it with his name. Just dove straight in. I think about you all the time. I keep seeing you in crowds. Sometimes I think I hear your laugh and then remember you haven’t laughed in weeks.

You didn’t mean to keep going, but you did. The words kept spilling out. Page after page. You wrote about the little things — how you still caught yourself reaching for his favorite mug when you made tea. How you didn’t listen to music anymore because everything reminded you of that night he danced with you at the town square. How you couldn’t stop replaying the sound of his voice when he said, Stay the fuck away from me.

You folded that one and tucked it into your dresser drawer. Told yourself you’d burn it later.

But you didn’t.

You kept writing.

A second letter. A third. A tenth.

Some were long, aching pages of apology. Others were just fragments. You looked tired today. I saw you touch your ribs — did you get hurt? You smiled at someone. I was both relieved and sick over it.

You never sent them. Never would.

But writing them was the only way to keep yourself from going to him.

Because the truth was, every time you saw Tommy — every time he looked at you and then looked away — it felt like losing him all over again. The glances were killing you more than outright silence ever could. Like he still felt something, but it hurt too much to let it show.

You knew that look. You wore the same one when you were begging for Joel's love.

So you wrote. Because writing didn’t cost him anything.

You gave him his space, his time, his absence. Even though it made you ache. Even though you missed him so much it sometimes felt like you couldn’t breathe.

And still, he didn’t speak to you.

Which meant you were alone. So you wrote. Even if the only one who would ever read the letters was you.

The bell above the trade stalls door jingled, breaking the quiet rhythm of your work.

You didn’t even look up at first. Most people came in for standard barters — thread, blankets, maybe a new pair of gloves. But something in your chest tightened before you even saw Joel because you knew today you'd talk to him.

He hesitated in the doorway, like he was unsure if he should even step inside. Then, with that familiar heavy gait, he walked toward one of the side shelves, not looking at you.

You let a beat pass. Then another.

“…Hey,” you said, voice low but steady.

His head snapped up like you'd thrown a rock at him. “What?”

You stepped out from behind the counter slowly. “I was... wondering how you’ve been.”

He blinked at you, completely thrown. “You told me to stay the hell away from you.”

“I know,” you said softly, glancing down. “I meant it, at the time. But… I also meant what I said back then — that you needed to work on yourself.”

He frowned, jaw tight, arms crossing. “So what’s this? Curiosity check-in?”

You offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. Just figured if we were gonna keep running into each other, we didn’t have to pretend the other didn’t exist.”

Joel snorted under his breath, leaning a little against the shelf. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to start a damn conversation, I’ll tell you that much.”

You watched him carefully. “So… how have you been? Really?”

He scratched his beard, eyes narrowed like the question was somehow offensive. Then he exhaled, slower this time. “Better. Some days. Worse on others. But I’ve been tryin' to get my shit together.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

Joel nodded, grumbling like the words hurt to say. “Ain’t drinkin’ as much. Talked to people about helpin’ out more on the patrol rotation. Saw a counselor a few times, if you can believe that.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Didn’t talk much at first, but… I’m listenin’ now. Tryin’ to understand why I did the things I did. Why I kept goin’ back to pain like it was comfort.”

You studied his face, and for the first time since all this began, he looked almost… vulnerable. Not proud, not defensive — just tired and trying.

And it hit you, suddenly, how much further behind you were.

“I’m happy for you,” you said. “I really am.”

He tilted his head. “And you? You look like hell, no offense.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes even though they weren’t crying. “That obvious, huh?”

Joel’s face softened slightly. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

You hesitated, and when you answered, your voice was small. “I’m not. Not really. I miss Tommy so bad it makes me sick.”

His expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t speak, so you kept going.

“I told him. About everything. The night he came home. He told me he loved me and I—” your breath caught. “I told him what happened. With you.”

Joel’s face fell. “And?”

“He walked out. Said we were done. That he doesn't want to see me again.”

Joel looked away. “Yeah… I figured.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean?”

He took a breath through his nose like he was bracing for something. “Tommy came to my house that night.”

You stared at him. “He what?”

“Stormed in like a damn fire. Said he wanted to look me in the eye before he broke my nose.”

Your breath caught.

Joel gave a dry, humorless laugh. “And he did. Couple times.”

“Joel…”

“I didn’t stop him,” he said simply. “Didn’t raise a hand. Just let him. Took everything he gave me.”

“Jesus…”

Joel nodded. “Threw me into a wall. Told me I broke the only good thing in his life. Asked me how long I’d been watchin’ him like a damn vulture, waitin’ for him to turn his back so I could crawl into bed with his girl.”

You felt like you might be sick.

“I tried to tell him it wasn’t like that,” Joel continued. “That it wasn’t planned. But he didn’t want to hear it. And truth is, he had every right not to.”

You pressed a hand to your stomach. “I didn’t know he— God, Joel."

Joel shrugged. “He said what he needed to with his fists. We haven’t talked since. Tommy is scary as hell when he wants to be.”

The silence hung thick between you, full of shame and pain and words neither of you could take back. You remembered that night you told the lie about the guy harassing you — how Tommy's expression turned unrecognizable. You know now Tommy meant it when he said he could find the guy.

Joel looked at you again, more carefully now. “You still care about him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

He nodded once, solemn. “He’s stubborn as hell, but he ain’t made of stone. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have shown up at my door.”

Your eyes welled, and this time, you didn’t stop the tears. “I think I already lost him.”

Joel shook his head. “I really am sorry."

You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded. The two of you stood there for a while, surrounded by the quiet buzz of the shop, the weight of everything still hovering — but maybe just a little lighter than before.

Joel finally turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I’m trying,” you said softly.

He nodded once, then stepped out, the bell jingling behind him like punctuation on something that wasn’t quite closure — but maybe something close.

You didn’t want him.

Not in the aching, dizzy way that once made you forget what was right and wrong. Not in the sleepless, guilt-laced quiet after you let him crawl into your bed like a ghost begging to be remembered. That part of your story was over. Done. You weren’t his. Not anymore.

But watching Joel now — steady-voiced, clearer-eyed, softer somehow — still felt like swallowing glass.

Because he looked like someone learning to live. And you? You were still just surviving.

It wasn’t envy, not quite. Just a strange, heavy sorrow. Like watching a storm break over someone else’s house while you’re still knee-deep in floodwater.

You were proud of him. You were. Even if it felt like a betrayal to admit that out loud. Because Joel was trying. For once, he wasn’t running from the damage — he was naming it. Owning it. Carrying it like it was his to hold. And maybe that’s what made it harder: he was finally becoming the man he should’ve been before he met you.

But the part that hurt most didn’t live between you and him anymore.

It lived in the space between two brothers.

You hadn’t meant to tear them apart. You didn’t want that. God, you never wanted that. But when Joel told you — quietly, without flinching — about the fight, your stomach dropped so fast you thought you’d be sick.

Tommy had come to his door with all the fury a broken heart could hold. No words. No warning. Just fists.

And Joel had let him. Didn’t block, didn’t swing, didn’t shout.

He just took it.

Because he knew what he did. What you both did.

But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to live with. It doesn’t unmake the silence that now stretches between them like a scar across the years they’d built.

You’d already lost Tommy.

But knowing you might’ve helped him lose Joel too — that settled differently. A dull, throbbing grief you couldn’t outrun. You had touched something sacred, and you hadn’t been careful. And now they both carried that weight in their own quiet ways.

Joel with his guilt.

Tommy with his silence.

And you… with both.

You watched the wind roll through the trees above you, aching in your chest like you’d been hollowed out.

You didn’t want Joel. You never would again. But you wanted them to find each other. Somehow. Someday.

Even if it meant you never stood between them again.

Tommy,

I saw you again yesterday.

You didn’t say anything. You never do. Just that same half-second glance before your eyes drop like you’re afraid of catching something from me. Like I’m the infection now. And maybe I am.

I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry in a way that mattered. I wish I could hand you my heart in pieces and let you see how much of it still belongs to you. Even now. Especially now.

You looked tired. Not just the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but the kind that lives in your bones. I used to know how to make you laugh. Now I can’t even make you look at me without flinching.

It guts me, Tommy. Not just what I did. But what it did to you.

And about Joel.

I never meant for you two to stop speaking. I never meant to wedge myself between blood. I didn’t think. I didn’t protect you. I didn’t protect either of you.

And the worst part? You were both trying to love me in your own broken ways.

I still can’t breathe when I think about that night. You holding me like I was something soft. Something yours. And I was. God, I was. Even if I didn’t know how to show it right. Even if I let the wrong person tell me who I was and who I didn’t deserve.

You told me you loved me. I never said it back.

Not because I didn’t mean it.

Because I meant it too much.

And now you won’t even let me get close enough to say your name.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t even know if I’ll ever have the courage to hand it to you.

But I had to write it.

Because pretending I don’t miss you isn’t working anymore.

Love always

Thanksgiving in Jackson wasn’t about turkey or cranberry sauce — not really. Not anymore.

There hadn’t been a turkey in years. Probably never would be again. The food had changed, stripped down to what the community could grow, trade, or salvage. Beans, rabbit, maybe dried cornbread if they were lucky. But it wasn’t about tradition — it was about normalcy. Or the illusion of it. About carving out a moment that felt familiar before the world lost its shape.

The whole town pitched in — tables made from repurposed wood dragged into the square, covered with mismatched cloths and cracked ceramic dishes. A makeshift fire pit burned low in the center, its scent curling into the air, a poor man’s incense for the ghosts of better holidays.

You almost didn’t come.

You’d stood by the door for a long time with your coat half on, debating. But in the end, the thought of free food — and a few hours outside of your own damn thoughts — pushed you out the door. You told yourself you’d stay thirty minutes. Just enough to show your face, eat something, maybe even smile like your bones weren’t aching with guilt.

But the second you stepped into the crowd, you knew something was wrong.

The air was wrong.

Too still. Too sharp. The way it gets before a thunderstorm or a fight.

People were looking at you. Not glancing — staring. Some subtly. Others, not at all. A few whispered to each other, heads bowed close like conspirators at a wake. Their eyes flicked up every few seconds, straight at you, as if you’d grown horns or started bleeding from the mouth.

You tried to convince yourself it was in your head. You hadn’t been around this many people in weeks. Of course it felt overwhelming. Of course everything felt too much.

But then it kept happening.

Someone who normally smiled at you — a woman you’d traded flour with two weeks ago — turned her head sharply when you passed. Wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

A man you used to laugh with at the greenhouse suddenly got real interested in a plate of carrots.

By the time you reached the food table, your chest felt like it had been filled with wet cement. Your hands were shaking. Your skin hot and cold all at once. The walls of the square seemed to close in, every table too close, every whisper sharpened like glass.

“…heard it was Joel…”

“…Tommy’s girl, wasn’t she?”

“…no wonder he looks like hell…”

You weren’t sure if you were going to faint or vomit.

And just as you turned to leave — just as you told yourself forget it, just go home — a hand gripped your arm and tugged you sideways into the alley behind the mess tent.

You barely had time to react before your back was against the cool stone of a wall and Joel Miller was standing in front of you, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

His voice was low, urgent. “You okay?”

You blinked at him, disoriented. “What—? What are you doing?”

“Could ask you the same damn thing,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You swallowed hard. “People are… looking at me. Talking. Joel, what’s going on?”

He shifted, jaw working. You could see it — that hesitance. That frustration.

“I told her,” he said finally. “My ex-wife. ’Bout us.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I told her. Sat down and told her the truth. ’Bout me and you. About what I did.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came.

Joel continued, voice rough, like gravel dragged over pavement. “Didn’t expect her to forgive me. Sure as hell didn’t think she’d tell the whole damn town. But… she fuckin’ did.”

The words crashed over you like cold water.

Everyone knows.

The whispers. The stares.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, feeling sick. “God.”

“She said people had a right to know,” Joel muttered. “Don’t know why she thinks it’s their business but it’s not like I could’ve stopped her. Didn’t know she was gonna do that.”

You backed against the wall, head swimming. “She’s not wrong. She— she has every right to be angry.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

You were quiet for a beat.

Then you whispered, “But if they’re looking at me like this… then what about Tommy?”

Joel’s expression tensed.

Your eyes burned. “He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t do anything wrong, and now he’s being looked at like he’s broken, like he’s the idiot who got played—”

“Hey.” Joel took a step closer, softer now. “I know. Believe me. I know.”

And just as you were about to say something else — to ask what Joel had seen, if Tommy had said anything — someone stumbled into the alley behind you.

Fast. Breathing hard. Gasping like he’d run the whole town.

You turned sharply. And there he was.

Tommy.

He didn’t see you at first. His hands were on top of his head, fingers laced as he paced two frantic steps forward, then back, trying to slow the breath rattling out of his lungs.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, voice low and wrecked. “What the fuck. Fuck." He put his hand across his heart as if to slow its beat. He looked like he was having a panic attack.

You froze. Joel did too.

He looked like panic made flesh — red-faced, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. His clothes were damp with sweat despite the chill, curls stuck to his forehead, his chest rising and falling like he’d outrun his own thoughts.

And then — he turned.

His eyes landed on Joel first. Then you.

His whole body went still. And the silence that followed was sharper than any scream.

At first, he just stared. Then — he laughed.

But it wasn’t the kind of laugh you remembered. Not the soft, throaty one he used when he was teasing you in the garden, or that boyish chuckle when you surprised him with a joke. This laugh was sharp, broken at the edges. It didn’t sound like relief. It sounded like something inside him finally cracked.

He kept laughing — once, then again, a breathless huff that collapsed into a sniffle. Like he was going crazy. He dragged a hand across his face, but his eyes never left the two of you.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking,” he said, voice hoarse.

He took a shaky step closer. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and dark like they were drowning in everything unsaid.

“Back here?” His voice trembled, then rose. “Hidin' back here, together, while the whole goddamn town is whisperin' about us?”

“Tommy—” you stepped forward, but he flinched.

“Don’t.” He pointed at you, then Joel. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it’s nothin'.”

His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. “You two back here doin' — what? Fuckin' again? Thought you’d sneak off for another round while they’re out there lookin’ at me like I’m a fuckin’ stray dog that got kicked in the ribs?”

Joel stepped forward too, hands half-raised in surrender. “It’s not like that, Tommy. We were just talkin’, I swear—”

“Yeah?” Tommy barked. “Just talkin’? Like last time? Or the time before that?”

“It’s not what you think—” you tried again.

“It’s exactly what I think!” he shouted, voice cracking. “’Cause I know what it looks like. I know what people are sayin’. Do you have any idea how many people came up to me today, eyes all soft and sorry, like I just got left at the fuckin’ altar?”

You felt it then — a deep twist of guilt in your gut. His pain wasn’t subtle. It was all over him, in the way his arms stayed stiff at his sides, in the way his mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to break right there in front of you.

“They’re lookin’ at me like I’m pathetic,” he spat. “Like I’m too stupid to know what’s good for me. And you two—” his voice caught, and he finally blinked away the first tear that slipped free, “—you’re just back here. Hidin'. Doin' whatever the fuck this is.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Joel said, voice low.

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him. “You’re the last person I want to hear from.”

Joel fell silent.

You stepped forward again, slower this time, heart in your throat. “Tommy, please. Just listen. I didn’t know she was gonna tell anyone. I didn’t want this—”

“You did it though,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And now the whole town knows. And I get to be the fuckin’ punchline.”

His face crumpled, a fresh wave of hurt surfacing just beneath the surface — but he swallowed it back down. Didn’t let it rise. He didn’t yell again. Didn’t cry. He just looked at you like you were someone he didn’t recognize anymore.

And then he turned.

You reached for him without thinking. “Tommy—”

But he stepped out of your grasp. “Don’t,” he said, not angry anymore — just tired. “Just… don’t.”

And he walked away.

Not fast. Not storming. Just… left.

And it hurt worse than if he’d screamed.

You stood frozen for a moment after Tommy disappeared into the crowd — like if you stayed still enough, maybe time would reverse itself, maybe he’d come back. But he didn’t.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Even the wind seemed to hush around you, like the whole world had heard what just happened.

Joel exhaled slowly beside you, his arms hanging limp, eyes downcast. “Well,” he muttered, voice rough and low, “that went to hell real fuckin’ fast.”

You didn’t answer.

Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. You could still see the look in Tommy’s eyes — disbelief, betrayal, something splintered and sharp, like it physically hurt him to look at you. You hated it. Hated knowing you put that expression on his face.

“I shouldn’t’ve said anything to her,” Joel added, more to himself than you. “I knew she’d be pissed, but I didn’t think she’d… tell the whole goddamn town.”

“She had a right to be angry,” you murmured. “We hurt her, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair, “I was ready to deal with her bein’ angry. Not every fuckin’ person in this settlement looking at us like we pissed in the water supply.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. “You alright?”

You shook your head. “No.”

And for once, he didn’t press. Didn’t try to smooth it over. He just nodded.

“I know you said you were working on yourself,” you said, your voice quiet and thick. “And I believe that. But I’m not… I’m not okay, Joel. I haven’t been okay since that night. Since I lost him.”

He looked away. You could see the guilt set heavy on his shoulders.

“I'm lost,” you admitted, eyes stinging. “And now… now he thinks I’m still sneaking around with you, after everything. After I tried so hard to give him the space to heal.”

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, scowling at the dirt. “He’ll calm down.”

You frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice dry. “I don’t.”

You both stood there in the quiet, the sounds of the Thanksgiving celebration still echoing faintly beyond the building — laughter, music, a child yelling for another piece of bread. It all felt miles away.

Joel finally spoke, gravel in his throat. “I didn’t wanna make things worse for you. I know what people are sayin’. I know what it looks like.”

You turned to him, heart aching. “I don’t care what it looks like for me. I care what it looks like for him. He didn’t do anything wrong, and now he’s the one people are whispering about. Staring at.”

Joel didn’t respond.

You crossed your arms over your chest, squeezing them tight. “He looked like he was about to fall apart. He was—he was running, Joel. From them. From all of it.”

Joel’s eyes closed for a beat. “I didn’t think he’d take it this hard.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You should’ve. We both should’ve.”

Another long silence.

“I deserve it,” Joel said finally. “The looks. The talk. Whatever comes.”

You nodded, a bitter smile tugging at your mouth. “Maybe we both do.”

But even as you said it, your stomach twisted with something else — not guilt, exactly. Not shame. Something softer, sadder. Regret.

Because maybe you did deserve the judgment. But Tommy didn’t. He just loved someone he thought he could trust.

And now?

Now he was alone in it. And you didn’t know how to fix that.

Tommy,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this.

Maybe I’ll leave it in a drawer with the others until the paper yellows. But I needed to write you — even if it’s only into the quiet.

I keep thinking about your hands. How they never reached for me in a rush. How they held me like I was something worth protecting — not because I was fragile, but because I was yours. You made me feel steady, even when the world was still shaking under my feet.

You loved me like I had never been broken.

And I think… I think that’s part of why I broke everything.

It doesn’t make sense, I know. But love like yours — it asks you to rise. And I didn’t know how to. Not then.

I was still mourning something I couldn’t name. The future I’d lost. The person I used to be. There was a storm in me I didn’t know how to quiet, and sometimes when Joel and I sat in that silence together, it felt like breathing underwater — wrong, but familiar. He knew the dark. I think I mistook that for safety.

But please believe me. I loved you.

Even when I was with him. Even when I chose wrong. Even now.

It wasn’t about choosing someone over you — it was about losing myself. And in the wreckage, I hurt the one person I never meant to. You didn’t deserve it. You never did.

I remember the way your voice softened when you said my name. The way you smiled when you thought I wasn’t looking. The way your fingers brushed the small of my back like you were memorizing me. God, Tommy — I loved you so quietly, I think you never realized how loud it lived in me.

And now I’ve stained it. I’ve stained us.

The worst part is knowing I can’t take it back. That no matter how many times I whisper your name in the dark, you won’t be there to answer it anymore.

I don’t expect anything. Not forgiveness. Not understanding.

But if there’s a part of you — even a splinter — that still remembers what we were when it was good… please hold onto that. Not for me. But for you. Because what we had was real, Tommy.

Even if I broke it.

I need you. Still. And always a little too late.

Love always

It had become a cruel joke at this point — how often you and Tommy ended up in the same room. Same roads. Same shops. Same town that felt smaller and smaller every time he looked through you like you were a stranger.

You hadn’t seen him at the counter when you walked into the diner — your mind too tired to scan for him, your stomach louder than your anxiety. But there he was, three seats down. Hunched over a half-eaten plate of food, nursing a cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. The place was packed, and you were already late.

Tommy didn’t acknowledge you, but you saw it. The way his jaw tensed. The way his fork slowed down just slightly. He knew you were there. Of course he did. And the silence between you throbbed louder than the low hum of conversation around you.

You just wanted a quiet breakfast. Something warm. Something simple.

The man who sat down next to you smelled like sweat and old cigarettes. When he noticed you, he looked at you like you were a meal he’d already half-finished and didn’t particularly respect.

“Well, look who it is,” he muttered, loud enough for the next table to hear. “Didn’t think you’d show your face again.”

You didn’t look at him. “Not interested.”

“Bet that’s what you told Joel the first time, too. And Tommy. And who knows who else.”

The words hit you like ice water.

“Please leave me alone,” you said under your breath.

“Why?” he laughed. “Ain’t like your legs were closed before. You really gonna act shy now? After the whole town knows you were screwin’ around with both Miller brothers like it was your own little soap opera?”

You stiffened. People were starting to look over. The volume of his voice was rising, and so was your shame.

“Heard you like it rough. Heard you like to beg. How’d the Millers allow a little slut like you to ruin their family?”

You looked down, eyes stinging. The whispers were back, growing louder. You could feel them clinging to your skin.

You felt it before you heard it — a sudden, unnatural stillness beside you.

The scrape of a stool. Then the sound of wood skittering against tile.

Tommy was on his feet.

Not rising — erupting.

His chair tipped backward, clattering to the ground, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look down. His eyes were locked onto the man beside you, and there was nothing soft left in them. Not anger. Not pain. Not grief.

Just something unhinged.

Something raw.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Tommy said, low and dangerous.

His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was quieter than you expected. Quieter than it should have been. But somehow, it carried through the room like a warning bell — low and deadly, the kind of tone that makes your stomach twist before your mind even catches up.

The man — greasy, smug, half-drunk — let out a laugh. He spread his arms like he was performing for the audience that was already starting to gather.

“Jesus, man, I’m just sayin’ what everyone else is thinkin’. You’re the one who got played. She—”

He didn’t finish.

Tommy’s fist hit his jaw so hard it made a crack like splitting bone.

The man reeled back into the counter with a grunt, clutching his mouth — but Tommy was already on him, fists flying with brutal, bone-breaking precision.

One. Two. Three.

You heard flesh meet flesh. Heard the man groan, then whimper, then go quiet as Tommy drove his fist into his face again and again — not just to hurt, but to erase him.

Curses spilled from Tommy’s mouth like venom. His breath ragged. His whole body shaking as he pressed forward, knuckles smeared red, eyes burning with something wild.

“Tommy!” you cried out, voice cracking.

But he didn’t hear you. He didn’t hear anything.

It was like watching someone drown from the inside out — a man unraveling, coming apart blow by blow.

The man had fallen to the floor now, barely conscious, one eye already swelling shut — but Tommy kept going. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him partway up just to drive another fist into his ribs. The sickening thud echoed like a gunshot.

Someone screamed. A chair scraped. Then another.

It took three grown men to finally drag Tommy off — his fists still swinging, legs kicking, his voice hoarse and cracked with rage. He struggled like an animal in a trap, teeth bared, his breath coming in ragged bursts that sounded more like gasps than anything human.

You stood frozen, rooted to the spot, hands trembling.

Tommy’s face was smeared with blood — some his, most not. His eyes darted around the room as they held him back, chest heaving, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white beneath the blood.

And then — it stopped. Like someone had pulled the plug.

No one spoke. No one moved.

The diner had gone completely still. Forks hovered mid-air. Half-eaten food sat forgotten. Every eye in the room was on him — on the blood, the wreckage, the man everyone thought they knew.

Tommy looked down at his hands, and something in him shifted.

Like he’d just realized where he was. What he’d done.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing more blood across his cheek. His gaze found you — just for a second.

And in that second, he didn’t look furious anymore.

He looked shattered.

Then, without a word, he shrugged off the hands holding him, turned, and walked out the door. Leaving silence and blood in his wake.

And you sat there, tears brimming, your heart in your throat.

It wasn’t just the shame that burned — it was the truth.

He was still protecting you.

Even now. Even after everything. And it was killing him.

The cold hit you first. Bitter and sharp against your skin, the kind that makes your lungs ache. But you didn’t care. You just ran — out the diner, past the wooden porch, boots scraping against the icy gravel road as you tried to catch up to him.

“Tommy!” you called, breathless. “Tommy, please— just wait!”

He kept walking. Fast. Determined. Like if he didn’t stop, none of this could catch him. Like if he just moved fast enough, he wouldn’t feel it. Wouldn’t feel you.

But you weren’t giving up this time. You couldn’t.

“Tommy—!”

He spun around so fast you almost ran right into him. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving from more than just the fight. His voice, when it came, was fire and fury and grief all wrapped into one.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped, sharp enough to cut you in half.

You staggered a step back, breath catching in your throat. He looked like he could explode all over again — jaw clenched, hands curled at his sides like he didn’t know what else to do with them. You’d never seen him like this. Not even the night he left.

“Tommy, I— I needed to talk to you. I just needed to say—”

“I’m losing my fuckin' mind,” he cut you off, voice shaking now. “You think I wanna feel like this? You think I like that I can’t stop giving a shit even when I want to?”

He laughed then — a dark, miserable sound that cracked somewhere in the middle. “I feel so goddamn stupid, you know that? All this shit people are saying about me— whispers, stares, fuckin' sympathy— I should be brushing it off. I shouldn’t care. But I do.”

His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

“And you know what that means?” he continued, stepping forward like the weight of it was too much to carry still. “It means I’m a fuckin' idiot. ‘Cause it proves I never got over you. That I thought I could, and I couldn’t. That maybe I never will.”

The words hit you hard, hollowing you out from the inside. But he wasn’t finished.

“I hate that I care about what they’re saying. But I hate it more when I hear them talkin' about you like that. Like you’re nothin' but some goddamn whore.” His voice cracked, his face twisting. “And after what that guy said in there…”

He looked down at his hands — still bloody, still trembling.

“I don’t even remember throwing the first punch,” he admitted, softer now. “I just saw red. Thought about everything. The whispers. The looks. Thanksgiving. You and Joel. I was already chokin' on all of it. And then that bastard had the nerve to bring up your mom and it just— snapped.”

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. “And I lost it. I fuckin' lost it.”

You stood still, barely breathing. You could still feel the tension radiating off of him like heat. Still hear the echo of fists on skin, that sick, awful crack that had made your stomach twist.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, so quietly you barely heard it. “When I saw your face after, the way you looked at me…”

You stepped forward before he could finish. “I was scared,” you said honestly. “But not of you. I was scared because I didn’t know how much more either of us could take.”

His eyes met yours, and in them you saw something flicker. Guilt. Sadness. Love that hadn’t gone anywhere — it had just been buried under the rubble.

“And I need you to know,” you continued, “what you saw at Thanksgiving? With Joel? We weren’t doing anything. He was just warning me… that his ex wife told people. That everyone knew. That’s it.”

Tommy looked away, jaw tight. “Didn’t feel like nothin'.”

“I know,” you said. “But it was. I swear it was.”

A long silence stretched between you, brittle and cold. You watched him breathe, eyes fixed on the horizon like it could offer him answers.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered eventually. “You broke my heart. I don’t even know if I can forgive you yet.”

You nodded, your chest aching. “I’m not asking you to. I just… wanted you to know the truth. And I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

He stared at you for a long time, the anger slowly bleeding from his features. Replaced by exhaustion. By wariness. By that familiar softness that hadn’t quite died, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

“I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to do now,” he admitted, voice rough.

“Me either,” you whispered. “But maybe we figure it out. Or maybe… we don’t. I just didn’t want you carrying all of this alone anymore. Let me explain everything with Joel. Please Tommy."

He stared, you could see him debating the offer in his mind. But then he nodded — once — and started walking away, indicating he wanted you to follow.

The morning air was thick with tension as you followed Tommy through the sleet covered streets, your footsteps echoing in the silence. He hadn't said a word since you left the diner, his posture rigid, his pace quickening with each step. You hesitated, unsure if you should speak, but the weight of the moment pressed on you.

Finally, you reached his doorstep. Tommy paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Without turning to face you, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "Don't mind the mess. Haven't really had it in me to clean lately."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know."

He exhaled sharply, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

Inside, the house was eerily quiet. The usual warmth and comfort seemed absent, replaced by an unsettling stillness. You followed him into the living room, your eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. It was as if the walls themselves held secrets, memories of a time before everything had changed.

Tommy led you down a narrow hallway to the bathroom. The fluorescent light flickered overhead as he stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the sink, turning on the cold water and splashing it onto his face. The blood from the earlier altercation began to mix with the water, swirling down the drain.

Frustration etched deep lines into his forehead as he scrubbed harder, trying to erase the evidence of his actions. You watched him, your heart aching at the sight. This wasn't the man you knew — the gentle, kind-hearted soul who had shown you what love could be. This was someone else, someone broken.

You stepped forward, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. "Tommy," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Let me."

He stiffened under your touch but didn't pull away. Slowly, he sank onto the toilet seat, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly together. You moved to the sink, wetting a washcloth with warm, soapy water. As you approached him, you hesitated for a moment before gently dabbing at the blood on his face.

The action was tender, soothing, a silent apology for the pain you had caused. As you cleaned him, your thoughts spilled out, raw and unfiltered.

"I've been with Joel for a while now— little over a year," you began, your voice trembling. "I knew he was married, but I thought... I thought I wanted him so badly. He made me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time. I thought he loved me."

Tommy's body tensed under your touch, his jaw clenching. You paused, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "I wasn't delusional. I knew he had a wife. But something about the way he made me feel... it made me think it was okay."

You continued, your hands moving carefully over his skin, wiping away the remnants of the morning's violence. "Over time, his love felt like hate. We were addicted to each other, but it was toxic. He never opened up to me, and I finally ended things."

His eyes softened, but the pain was still there, lurking beneath the surface.

"That's when I met you," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "At first, I was in a dark place. But you... you pulled me out of it. You showed me what love is supposed to feel like."

Tommy's breath hitched, his eyes closing as if to block out the flood of emotions.

"But then Joel came to me," you continued, your voice breaking. "He was jealous. He said he realized he truly loved me. He left his wife for me. And I... I didn't know what to do."

You paused, your heart heavy with the weight of your confession. "I wanted you, Tommy. That's why I spent so much time with you. I wanted to avoid Joel. And when you went on that supply run, I knew he would come. And he did. He made me feel like I wasn't good enough for you. Like I was a bad person."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke. "He opened up about his past, and I was so confused. He said we belonged together. He manipulated me. And I believed him. I thought you deserved better. And that's why I did what I did."

Tommy's hand reached up, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. His touch was gentle, hesitant.

"I understand if you hate me," you whispered. "But I needed you to know the truth."

Silence enveloped the room, thick and suffocating. Tommy sat there, unmoving, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

You nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "I don't expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to know everything."

The cloth had turned a deep rust color, blood clinging to the fibers no matter how many times you rinsed it. The water swirled pink in the sink, warm and steady, but your hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Tommy hadn’t said a word since you finished cleaning his face, finished dabbing at the streaks of blood with a gentle touch.

He looked so different now. Tired. Hollowed. Quiet in a way that didn’t suit him. Like joy had been scraped out of him with something sharp and careless. Like he’d been living on borrowed breath ever since.

You didn’t know why the words started pouring out.

Only that they’d lived too long in your chest. That this silence between you was wide enough to carry them.

“She wanted me to come,” you said, barely a whisper. “My mom. We were down to a single can of beans and a couple stale crackers. She said she’d feel better if we went together. That two pairs of eyes were better than one.”

Tommy looked up, slow and careful.

“But I was… I was scared,” you confessed, fingers tightening around the cloth. “It was getting dark. I didn’t want to be out there when the sun went down. I begged her to go without me. So she did.”

You let out a breath that trembled as it left you.

“She kissed my forehead, told me to bar the door behind her, and promised she’d be back before moonlight.”

You blinked hard.

“She came back with a broken lantern and a ripped jacket… and a bite.”

Your throat swelled shut at the memory, your voice a fragile thing breaking against the edges of your teeth.

“I believed — I still believe — that if I’d gone with her, she wouldn’t’ve been bit. Or I would’ve been. Or we would’ve both made it. I don’t know. I just know I didn’t go, and she died.”

A beat passed. Tommy's eyes filled with sorrow.

“When I saw the bite, I begged her to cut it off. I screamed until my voice broke. But it was already too late. Her hand was gray. The veins were turning. She knew.”

You stared at the cloth in your hands like it could wash the past clean too.

“She held me, told me she loved me, and then she made me promise to lock myself in the back room when it started. I tried. I did. I held the door shut and covered my ears. But I could still hear her.”

Your voice splintered.

“And when it stopped— when it went quiet— I waited for hours. And then I opened the door.”

You didn’t have to say what you saw. The image lived behind your eyes every time they closed.

“I used a fireplace poker,” you said, quieter now. “It took more than one hit.”

Tommy’s mouth parted, but no sound came. His eyes shimmered like they were carrying the weight for you.

“I didn’t cry until it was over. And then I couldn’t stop. I buried her behind that barn with my bare hands. No shovel. Just dirt under my nails and blood on my wrists.”

You sat back against the wall and laughed softly, bitter and aching.

“After that, I wandered. I ended up with this man who said he’d keep me safe. I didn’t know what safe was supposed to look like anymore, so I believed him. He was kind at first. Gave me food, taught me how to shoot. But it turned fast.”

You wiped your eyes, only for fresh tears to take their place.

“He got possessive. Controlling. Said I owed him for everything. And one night… he tried to take what I didn’t owe. I ran. I didn’t stop running. Left everything behind. Everything but the scars.”

You traced a faint mark on your forearm, barely visible now, like a ghost trying to fade.

“I didn’t trust anyone for a long time. I fought for scraps. Slept in trees or crumbled houses. Stayed feral. And then… I found Jackson.”

You looked over at Tommy then. Really looked at him.

“And for the first time, people didn’t look at me like I was a stray. They gave me a home. A job. A name that didn’t feel like it came with blood.”

You drew in a shaky breath, your voice cracking again.

“So when Joel started looking at me like I was worth something, I couldn’t help it. I mistook it for love. I didn’t know better. I was still learning what love’s supposed to feel like.”

Your chest felt too tight to hold the truth. But you said it anyway.

“Until you.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of your tears.

“I was already damaged by the time I met you,” you said. “But you… you made me feel like I wasn’t broken beyond repair. Like I could be something soft. Something whole again.”

You stood slowly, walking to the sink and rinsing the rag one more time. The last of the blood twisted down the drain, disappearing into the dark.

“But I ruined that,” you said, voice low. “And I’ll live with it for the rest of my life.”

You turned back to Tommy.

He hadn’t moved. Not really. But something in his face had shifted — not softened, but cracked. A splintering of something buried deep.

If he spoke, you’d let him. If he didn’t, you’d understand.

You had no right to expect anything anymore.

You just wanted him to know who you really were before you lost the chance to be known at all.

You collapsed before you even realized your knees had given out.

The sobs had clawed their way up your throat so violently, you weren’t sure if you were breathing anymore. They weren’t dainty, quiet cries — they were guttural, trembling things, born from the deepest pit of memory. From the moment her hand slid from yours. From the way you waited for hours by the door until she came back bitten. From the awful silence that followed after you had to do the unthinkable.

The fire poker. Her eyes, no longer hers. The smell of blood and burnt iron.

The first swing. The second. The third.

You curled into yourself on the cold bathroom floor as if that could somehow undo the memory, or at least contain it.

And then there were arms around you.

Tommy didn’t speak. He didn’t try to hush you or ask questions or pretend to understand. He just gathered you into him with a tenderness that broke something else inside you — something quieter. Something long-starved.

You buried your face in his chest and let yourself fall apart completely.

“I’ve never told anyone,” you gasped eventually, your throat raw. “No one knows. They knew my mom died but not— not how. I never wanted to say it out loud. I was so scared. I should’ve gone with her. If I had, maybe— maybe she wouldn’t have been bit.”

Tommy’s grip around you tightened, protective and grounding.

“You were a child,” he murmured, his voice hushed like a prayer. “You were scared. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

You shook your head fiercely. “I had to kill her, Tommy. With a fucking fire poker. It took more than one hit. She didn’t even look like her anymore. But I saw her face. I saw it in the way she flinched before I— I just wanted it to stop.”

You started sobbing again, harder now, and he guided you gently back against his chest, cradling your head, his palm rubbing soft circles into your spine.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry for all of it. For Joel. For the way I left things. For hurting you.”

Tommy’s voice broke when he finally answered. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve listened. Should’ve let you explain. Maybe we wouldn’t’ve ended up in pieces.”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him — eyes red, cheeks blotchy. He reached up and brushed a tear from your cheek with a knuckle, like the gentlest thing he’d ever done.

“I ended things with Joel before you got back,” you whispered. “He told me he loved me and I couldn’t even say it back. I told him to leave. That it was over. I didn’t want him. Not anymore.”

Tommy swallowed, eyes searching yours. You could see the pain still there, beneath the surface. But you saw something else, too — that warm, quiet flicker that had always made you feel like home.

“I think about you every single day,” you said, voice trembling. “About what I lost. What I gave up. You made me feel like I wasn’t broken.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look away.

“I missed you,” he said finally, like the words had been waiting behind his ribs for too long. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt like hell.”

You reached up and took his hand in yours. “I love you, Tommy. I never stopped. Not even when I hated myself.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

And then he kissed you.

It was soft and slow, mouths trembling against each other, tasting of sorrow and healing and all the time you’d lost. You didn’t rush it. You just held on — fingers in his hair, heart splintering open in your chest like a window cracking to let the light in.

When you pulled back, your breath hitched. You didn’t want to let go. But some part of you still felt like you didn’t deserve to stay.

So you stood.

“I should go,” you murmured, voice quiet as you reached for the rag still clutched in your hand.

Tommy stayed on the floor, staring at the tile like it held the answers.

Then — softly, but with no hesitation — his hand reached out.

He caught your fingers in his, callused and warm, holding them like something sacred. Both of your eyes were still swollen. Both of your hearts still trembling. But the air between you had shifted — lighter now. Honest.

“Stay,” he said, voice low and aching. “Please stay.”

Your chest cracked. The ache, the guilt, the love — all of it swelled so fast it felt like it might knock you down again.

But you didn’t fall. “Okay.”

You knelt back down. Took his face in your hands. And kissed him once more.

This time, it wasn’t goodbye.

It was the beginning.

It started slow. Careful. Like the two of you were afraid of what you might find in each other’s mouths after so long. His lips trembled against yours like he didn’t trust the shape they made when they remembered your name. And you — you kissed him like someone starving for something you had no right to taste.

Tommy had every reason to push you away. Every reason to hate you. You cheated. You broke the one thing he gave you freely. His trust.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t recoil. He just held your face between his hands, like you were something fragile he hadn’t decided whether to keep or crush.

“I should hate you,” he said against your mouth, voice gravel-thick and shaking. “I want to. Jesus, I want to. But I don’t.”

The words cracked something inside you.

You’d cried before. At the diner. In the hallway. At night when no one could hear you. But now, in the quiet wreckage of his bathroom, with the moonlight cutting through the window like a witness, you shattered.

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest, fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing holding you to earth. His heartbeat was wild beneath your palm—chaotic and human and so, so full of pain.

“I don’t deserve this,” you whispered. “I don’t deserve you.”

Tommy pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling through his nose like it hurt to keep breathing.

“No,” he admitted, eyes shut tight. “You don’t.”

It would’ve hurt more if he’d lied.

“But I still fuckin' love you.”

That’s when the kiss deepened.

It turned desperate. Hungry. A kind of grief-driven hunger that came from needing to remember everything you were terrified you’d forgotten. His hands roamed — slow and reverent — across your ribs, your waist, your jaw. Yours mirrored his, like you were rediscovering a map your heart still knew by memory.

The bathroom floor was cold beneath you. His hands were still stained with blood, your cheeks streaked with salt. The air between you carried the heat of unspoken apologies, of regrets that couldn’t be undone.

Tommy’s breath caught as he kissed down the curve of your jaw, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say.

“I tried to forget you,” he rasped. “I thought if I hated you enough… if I stayed mad long enough… it’d go away. But it didn’t.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to the pulse in his throat.

“I didn’t mean to ruin us,” you choked. “I was so lost, and Joel— he twisted everything in my head. Made me believe I was too broken to be loved the way you loved me.”

Tommy flinched at his brother’s name but didn’t pull back.

“I still trusted you,” he said, voice like crushed glass. “Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when I saw you with him, part of me kept hopin' you’d look at me the way you used to. Like I was enough.”

“You were always enough,” you swore, the words barely breathing between you. “I just didn’t believe I was.”

Tommy’s eyes shimmered — red-rimmed and raw. He looked at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you again or run. But instead, he touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, like you were a ghost he hadn’t dared reach for.

“I didn’t know how badly you had me wrapped around your fingers,” he whispered. “Not until you were gone.”

You curled into him, your tears soaking into his shoulder.

When he kissed you again, it was slower. More cautious. Like he was sealing a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.

Your thumbs traced the curve of his cheekbones and relearned the softness beneath the man hardened by grief.

He kissed you deeper, tongue slipping passed the curve of your teeth, exploring like the territory was new to him. He wasn’t going to stop this, not with the way your hands began to drift down his chest, his sternum — slipping underneath the fabric of his worn flannel, exploring his body all over again. Not with the way his fingers curled against your waist like he was terrified of letting go again.

And not with how long it had been since he last touched you like this — with worship and ache and hunger all braided together.

You kissed him back slower this time, deeper — like your lungs knew his breath better than your own. You felt the way his lips were cracked from the cold. The way his rough stubble scraped your skin like a memory you welcomed.

The tension, the grief, the time — it all burned through your veins as you rocked your hips against his, feeling the way his length was already bulging through the fabric of his jeans. It’s been too long since you felt the drag of his teeth against your jaw, leaving a trail of saliva along the way. Too long since you curled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging to keep yourself upright. Too long since your name slipped from his throat like a prayer, sounding like he was waiting for this day too.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

You didn’t respond. Just pressed closer until there was nothing between you but the restricting fabric. So close your knees dug painfully into the cold tile.

And when he groaned — low and guttural — you felt it in your spine.

He wrapped his arms around your back, laying you carefully on the hard floor — hips grinding into yours for any sense of relief, fingers brushing the stray hairs from your eyes. He was full of lust, full of hunger. Full of grief and devotion.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he muttered against your skin, mouth moving along you jaw, your neck, the hollow beneath your ear. “I should fuckin’ hate you.”

“I know.” You whispered.

“But I can’t.”

You didn’t realize you were crying again until he kissed your tears away.

“I tried to hate you,” he said, hands slipping beneath your shirt, rough palms mapping your ribs like he had to memorize every inch before sliding higher — grazing against the curve of your nipples already peaking. “God, I tried. But my heart was still reaching for you every time our paths crossed. I couldn’t scrub you outta me.”

You swallowed a sob, your body arching beneath his touch as he pushed your shirt above your chest — revealing your needy body underneath. His hands traveled all around the hills of your breasts, his head trailing kisses slowly down your body — hovering just over your curves. You instinctively arched up, trying to meet his mouth. His eyes flicked to yours, dark and hungry. He looked mad, yet his touch indicated otherwise.

“I still love you,” he confessed. You’re breath hitched, his lips trembled. “Even after everything you’ve done. Even after you ruined me. I still fuckin’ love you.”

Then his mouth was everywhere — desperate and sure — like he was reclaiming something sacred. And you let him. Let him bite at the soft flesh of your breasts, marking the skin no one else had touched in over a month. Your back screamed in pain against the bathroom tile, your fingers clung to him like a lifeline.

He was clumsy. Licking circles, flicking his tongue against your aching nubs. Taking your nipples between his teeth — sending electic shocks through your body — before sucking them into his mouth, tasting every part of you. His curls fell messily into his eyes when he pulled away with a loud pop. He’s never looked more unkept. But the way his eyes found yours underneath his curls had you squirming.

He trailed his fingers down to the clasp of your jeans, undoing the button and pushing them down to your ankles. You kicked them off, spreading your legs — ready and pleading. The soft cotton of your panties darkened in the center, proving how much you needed this — him.

His palm rubbed on the outside of the cotton — a soft whimper escaping your lips at his touch. He never broke his eye contact with you as his finger hooked, pulling your panties to the side and revealing your glistening pussy.

One of his fingers trailed achingly slow through your folds, collecting your juices and rubbing small circles when he came into contact with you swollen clit. He was killing you slowly, that was for sure. You spread your legs wider, begging for him to push his fingers through your entrance. But still, he trailed his fingers between you with that deadly eye contact you couldn’t stand anymore.

“Soaked.” Is all he said after a while. You didn’t know if he was trying to torture you. If maybe he was doing this to you as some sort of sick revenge plot. Have you ruined from his touch, begging and pleading for him, and then walk away without finishing what he started.

But finally, he pushed two fingers inside of you — sucking in a breath when he felt how ready you were for him. He started a slow pace, watching the way his fingers were soaked as he pulled out — just to push back in harder than before.

“Tommy…” You quivered. “Tommy please. I’m hurting— I.”

He leaned in close, lips hovering over yours. He rubbed your temple with his thumb, caressed your face.

“God, no one’s touched you in a while, have they?”

You shook your head harshly, mouth making a small O when his fingers started thrusting into you faster. A disgusting squelch filled the air.

His eyes had a fire behind them as he asked: “Was I the last person to touch you like this? The the last person to fill your pretty pussy with their fingers, huh?”

“Oh— god, yes Tommy. Just you.” You moaned. His fingers now curved inside of you, his thumb rubbing hard circles against your throbbing clit. He smirked, the fire fading out knowing that you’ve been waiting for him. Knowing you’ve been wanting him and only him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna take good care of my girl.”

My girl.

You know you probably shouldn’t take that as anything, that maybe it was a heat of the moment thing. But you couldn’t help the way you heart swelled. Couldn’t help the smile spreading across your mouth. 

You heard him throw his belt on the bathroom floor with a rough clank. Heard the fabric of his jeans being tugged down as he finally frees himself. You physically gulp, prepared and aching for him.

He rubs his tip over you clit, slapping it against it soflty — teasingly. Your nails dig into his arms. Pleading words escaping your lips.

Tommy grabbed you cheeks with his free hand, looking you dead in the eye as he pushed his cock between your walls. You clenched around the feeling — burning sensation shooting through your body as you attempt to stretch to his size.

“I fuckin’ hate you.” He mutters, pushing himself deeper when he knows that you can take it. Your body trembles, you deserve this. But then his hand is trailing through your hair, tugging slightly — forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“But god do I love you.” He says then. I love you. And he actually, genuinely smiles — a deep moan leaving his lips as he bottoms out. Your nails are scratching him now as you try to adjust to his size. But the burn is pleasurable at the same time. “Open your mouth.”

And you do, knowing that from then on you’ll always do whatever Tommy wants. That you’ll always love Tommy. A string of spit falls between his lips, right into your mouth. You don’t swallow — keeping it open so he can see the way his saliva hits your tongue, pools into your mouth.

"That's my girl," he chuckles lightly, quietly. He finally starts moving inside of you, slow at first. Until he’s going rough, skin slapping skin. “Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart, you can swallow now.”

And you watch the way his eyes blacken, the way he bites harshly at his bottom lip as you swallow his spit. Tasting the inside of his mouth. His hand traces your throat, watching it bob when you drink him.

Tommy sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and pulling your hips into him. His thumb circles your clit while he burries himself deep. Your back is arched off the bathroom floor, tears streaking you face from the pace.

A tight heat coils in the pit of your stomach and your legs shake uncontrollably. Walls clench around him and a groan from deep within leaves his mouth at the feeling.

“Tommy,” you moan, hands tightly wrapped around his wrists to keep yourself steady. “Tommy, come with me.”

“Shit. Yeah okay, babygirl.”

He lies back on top of you, one arm wrapping around your back, the other gripping your thigh as his pace quickens. Hitting you deeper and deeper every time. You’re screaming at this point, body convulsing. And when his thrusts finally falter, you come hard around him and he follows. White strands shooting inside of you. His cock twitches with every pulse.

He gives out, putting his entire weight on you — nothing but breath and bruised hearts, limbs tangled like roots desperate to hold — Tommy moved gently. Tender in a way that nearly broke you. He cleaned you up with warm hands, wiping the sweat and remnants of need from your skin like you were something sacred. Like this was something that mattered.

He helped you to your feet, still unsteady, still shaking from all the things that had been said and the things your bodies couldn’t help but confess. And without a word, he led you through the quiet house. Back to the place that once felt like home.

His room looked the same.

Maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The blankets were still slightly uneven, the corner of the rug still curled like always. His gun sat on the bedside table, unloaded but close. Your side of the bed — the left — was untouched. Like he'd never let himself forget.

He laid you down carefully, like you might shatter, and climbed in behind you without hesitation. You shifted instinctively, curling into him, your back pressed to his chest, his arm sliding around your waist like it had never left.

His warmth enveloped you — all muscle and tension and safety. He smelled like salt and sweat and sex. And still, somehow, it smelled like home.

“We probably shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, voice hoarse and small, swallowed by the hush of the room. You weren’t sure if you meant it, but the weight of everything hung heavy between you.

You felt him breathe in deep behind you, chest rising slow and steady against your spine. Then, softly — so softly — he answered:

“Stay with me.”

Your breath caught.

No hesitation. No conditions. No more pretending.

You blinked hard against the sting in your eyes, your fingers curling gently around the arm he’d wrapped around you like a shield.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that maybe love could survive this too.

Tag list: @looneyleo @emmaaas-posts @demo-bats @aphroditesblunt @staley83 @immyowndefender @magicxmiller @wow-life-love4 @thaliagracesgf @sugarminsss @keseqna @ijustrepost @cakesandtom @lovelyc @vampiredoggies-blog @hjzghi-blog

[the-oracleof-delphi]

PAC: What is stopping them from reaching out?

May you get the message that you are meant to!

Pile One [KofW, QofW, The Sun, 4ofP, AofC]

:: The person comes from a family which is both close-knit and values professional success above all. Love and relationships do not seem to be a priority. This person may have a mother-figure who is a source of material stability for them. With the father the relationship is confusing, unpredictable, and sometimes fearful for the person. But both parents/ parent-figures are social and outwardly successful and place a lot of weight on appearances. This person has learned the same. Love and relationships are not a priority. This person may also be a bit emotionally stunted since they were never taught how to deal with emotions in a healthy way.

:: Right now, there focus is elsewhere. They recently achieved something, it has to do with their career. They hit a big milestone! There is a grand celebration or a serious of celebrations happening. They are spending time with their friends and family. There is an energy of "showing-off" their success.

:: They are thinking about you though, they know they owe you an apology. In spite of the celebrations you are constantly on their mind. A steady presence is what I heard. I feel like they also want to hold you close. ^_^ He he. Strong sense of nostalgia, longing, the urge to make an offer of some sorts.

:: I think they will approach you, but once they are done with this celebration. They have intense feelings for you, but they are holding this together for the time-being. Maybe because it is intense and not something they are comfortable with (?) They are waiting for things to calm down. The overall spread was very positive. There was a good energy to it. Live your life, things will fall into place! :)

Pile Two [9ofC, 10ofSw, 6ofP, The Star, The Hanged Man]

:: This person is probably known for being prideful, confident, a leader of sorts - but that is a front, they have truly been hurt by someone in the past and hence they are very guarded and do not like to appear vulnerable. But this connection has stripped them of this front and brought about some very raw emotions. They were emotionally overwhelmed and a bit all over the place, very unlike their usual self. Their ego is bruised and pride injured.

:: They are holding back from approaching you because they don't want to be perceived as vulnerable. Their ego will not allow them to "crawl back" to you. They find this to be humiliating. There is also a bit of guilt, if this connection was of you giving more than them. If they were inconsistent initially and "bread-crumbed" you, they feel if they approach you now you will leave them in the cold.

:: Additionally, they are a bit unsure about your motives too, this person is used to transactional love. Since, you were so free and giving they may have felt you have some ulterior motives. They are scared of emotions and emotional displays.

:: Finally, this person is very independent and self-sufficient both emotionally and financially. They don't want to be tied down to be honest, they feel like they will be held back if they invest in a relationship right now, they want to enjoy their independence. Their "Young, Wild, and Free Era", lol. They care but they also find emotions to be too messy. Hence, they are taking a strategic pause.

Pile Three [KnofC, 9ofC, AofC, 7ofP, The Hanged Man]

:: They wished to, but they fear being rejected. They fear that they have nothing to give, that their own cup is not full then how will they nourish the other person. Additionally, work-wise too they seem to be starting something new. They probably completed a degree very recently and they are starting with their work. So that too is taking up much of their time and focus. hence, they have postponed the idea of approaching you.

:: They may have had a tumultuous and intense relationship with a woman in his life, probably a mother-figure. They loved him but a bit too intensely, he felt suffocated by their emotions. So that is how they view emotions - suffocating, if you are someone who is more emotional then somehow you remind them of this mother-figure. This may also be one of the reasons they are holding back.

:: They were hoping career-wise they would be in a more stable state. But that did not happen. They put in a lot of work and effort but they feel defeated, things did not turn out how they expected it to be, although the defeat feels more momentary. I think they will be back on their feet before they know it.

:: But right now they are in a position of instability, they have nothing to offer emotionally or materially. There is also a theme of lack of family support coming up, him being robbed of an inheritance that can also be one reasons but the overarching theme is the lack of material stability that he is currently facing in his life. There is nothing he can do, he feels like his hands are tied.

icons and divider credits: @/amorespell @/strangergraphics

[womanofwords]

Darling Demon (Part 10)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

TW: allergic reactions.

You spend three days in your room after the birthday cake fiasco, only coming out to shower and use the bathroom. Bruce, of all people, was the one to lure you out.

"Y/N, I would like to talk to you," Bruce said. "I want to spend time with you."

"Why now? Too scared to talk to me when Azrir was around?"

Bruce grimaced, but refused to give a yes/no response to that question. "Azrir is violent and . . . sexually explicit. We were fearing for our lives and your safety," Bruce said.

"Azrir didn't want to hurt me. They were so gentle with me." You rolled your eyes at your father. "For someone who's so concerned about my safety, you did nothing about Damian hunting me down for sport and ripping my self-confidence to shreds."

"Y/N, I cannot describe how sorry I am. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear it. As a token of my remorse, allow me to take you on your very first father-son dinner."

Your heart took refuge in your throat. "Are you serious?"

"100%. You're going to come with me to a restaurant I own. You can eat whatever you want in whatever quantities you want. Just . . . come with me, please."

Bruce looked desperate. Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, kneeled in front of your bed, looking at you as if it would break his heart to hear you say no.

So, even if your stomach rolled with concerns about everything going wrong, you said yes.

Bruce spent three days straight getting you ready, since you had nothing to wear and the restaurant had a dress code. You needed a suit and a little bow tie and some shiny black shoes and you would look just adorable.

"My little boy," Bruce said, patting your head. "A chip off the old block, huh?"

You weren't sure what to say. You were nothing like Bruce. Or, more accurately, you hoped you were nothing like Bruce. You didn't want to have things in common with someone who could forget people so easily. But he'd already bought the matching suits, so this restaurant meet was inescapable.

Shit.

*_*_*_*_*_

"So, Y/N, how does it feel to be here?" Bruce looked like someone who wanted to impress, because he was.

"It's . . . big. And glittery." You stared in awe at the chandeliers above your head. "Very pretty."

"It is. I knew you'd like it, Y/N," Bruce said. "You love pretty things. I just wish I'd noticed earlier."

"Sparkly things remind me of my mother," you admitted. "She loved them. All her jewellery sparkled and she'd let me pick some out for her, sometimes."

"If you want me to get some shiny things for your room, I'll do it," Bruce said. "I'll buy those shiny chandeliers off them, if you want them that badly."

"No, no, it's OK," you said. "I'm getting hungry. Could we eat?"

"Oh, of course. I took the liberty to get you something you'll love . . . mango chutney with sticky rice!"

Mango chutney? Sounded exotic.

You got your meal and you ate. At first, it was just rather sweet, but soon, it became uncomfortable. It was getting difficult to swallow. Bruce noticed you slowing down and took your utensils.

"You know, Y/N, I never got a chance to feed you. Let's fix that," Bruce said. You couldn't fight him off as he carefully fed you more mango chutney, mouth too full for you to speak.

And it wasn't just full of food.

"Y/N, why are you itching your neck so much?" Bruce asked.

You tried to say "It itches" but your tongue was so swollen, your words came out as mumbles. That got Bruce's attention.

"MY SON NEEDS MEDICAL HELP!" Bruce screamed. "I-I think he's choking on something!"

"Sir, calm down!" A harried waiter rushed out. "I'm on the phone to 911. What are his symptoms?"

"He can't talk, and he's itching his neck," Bruce said. "Your food did this. You poisoned him!"

The waiter stiffened. "No, you poisoned him," he said. "I've seen this before. Those look like hives, which mean that this is an allergic reaction. Do you know what your son's allergic to?"

"Um . . . no," Bruce admitted. "Our butler prepares his food."

You choked on your own tongue as it swelled within your mouth. You were going to die because your dad didn't have an epi-pen for you. What a needless death. The other patrons felt the same way, disdainful muttering burning your ears.

Everything went by in a chaotic twist. Paramedics rushed in and took you out of the restaurant on a stretcher. Bruce rushed out with them. "Wait! Let me come with him! He needs his father!"

"He needs medical attention," a paramedic coolly said. "And there's only room for EMTs in there."

You were carted off to hospital, while Bruce was left standing in the middle of the chaos, feeling like the worst father in the world.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @c4xcocoa, @darkmoka, @fightmebissh, @bloobewy, @chi1lllb, @cqerrz, @heart-cream, @noone1233nobody, @type-ink, @sonyboos.

First

Previous

[4kozy]

‘25 bonnie and clyde

manon. ( without you, i got nothing to lose )

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

pairing | manon x fem!reader

wc | 8.5? 8.6k?

tw 🥏 | violence, blood, angst, implied mental illness, major character death, slight nsfw, fluff that may rot ur teeth or make u feel even more terrified, mentions of suicidal ideation/suicide, food mentions, light mention of drug use. ( not proofread )

genre | angst, fluff

syn | manon never expected to be on the run with her bestfriend–but here she is anyway, in far too deep; far too in love; far too insane to stop herself from seeing this all the way through. a.k.a, your life on the run with manon bannerman.

an | lost motivation on this half way through, so ignore the rushing at the end… i love u manon…

━ ★

Manon once told you that you could come over anytime: she’d always be there for you.

You were sure that it applied to now: banging on her door, in the cold, covered in blood, bruises, and raindrops. You needed her now more than you ever had before, and to be fair, she was your best friend after all. And it isn’t like you had any other option, given the state you were in.

There’s a muffled yell of “I’m coming, I’m coming,” from inside.

You take a glance around you, the world still and quiet, despite what had just taken place.

Despite what you had just taken: a life.

A life, that while kept you alive, probably wasn’t a good thing for the people that knew the guy–oh, and him too. It definitely wasn’t a good thing for the dead man.

A life: and you were covered in it. Covered in a man’s blood. Blood that was once very warm; now freezing against your skin.

You hear a flurry of stomps heading towards you from behind the door, and it swings open, revealing an extremely tired Manon.

“Whoever the fuck you are, it’s really fucking weird to do that shit at–“ she pauses, wide-eyed.

Manon’s always had the kind of eyes that knew more than they let on. The kind that observed, no, analyzed everything thoroughly with a doe-like gaze that made it seemed innocent.

And this is anything but. She’s looking at you like you’re the every bit of evil you believe you are, seeing through you completely. Seeing all your sins, like she’s some saint, and you’re the one she’s purifying with that stare of hers.

You don’t look away; you’re unable to.

“Get the hell in here, and hurry up,” she says.

You listen.

━ ★

You sit in silence in her dining room, as she’s in her bathroom looking for first aid.

It’s the same as always. That lonely light hanging over the table; the antique table you two thrifted when she first moved in; the flowers, the dozen-count box of half eaten donuts: it’s all so familiar. If you could pretend the blood-soaked bag wasn’t in the corner, it’d fill your heart with fondness.

Now you’re sitting and feeling as though you’re dirtying the atmosphere just by being here.

She walks in after what feels like forever.

“Take them off,” Manon whispers gently.

She’s got her kit in her hand, while she looks at you expectantly. It takes no further elaboration. You let your leather jacket fall to the floor with a heavy thud and clack, and take off your bloody shirt.

She doesn’t say anything else after that, choosing to instead pull up a chair and get to work. Manon knows it’s not enough for you: the way you were limping, she assumed you sprained your ankle and both your eyes were swollen. Knots and lumps were forming on you like bug bites, your nose was leaking like a faucet, and cuts were littered all over you–you needed serious medical attention. Not the kind that you could get just anywhere.

But worryingly, for whatever reason, you were too scared to go. Or maybe you were too stupid.

She lifts your right arm gently, but you snatch it back in fear. It’s definitely the latter. Her hand balls up in annoyance.

She raises her eyebrow at you, as if to say, are you serious?

“It’s gonna hurt, Manz!” you say, looking at her for mercy, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit moved.

Her eyebrows knit together in irritation. “Have I hurt you before?”

You don’t answer verbally, resorting to a lift of your head and a sneer; keeping your own arm hostage.

“I promise you’ll be okay,” she groans. “Now come here.”

Your eyes dart back and forth, from your arm to her hands, which curiously enough, have loosened from a fist to an open palm.

You begrudgingly surrender and grimace when she begins to disinfect the open wounds.

It reminds her of the times she patched you up before. The first time she’d ever done it was when you were 5. You had scraped your knee playing tag, and she had to sneak you in as best she could, trying not to get in trouble. You were snotting everywhere, shaking, and wailing like a siren when she sauntered up to you and stuffed half a cookie in your mouth.

Here, she said. Your half, my half. She took your cookie-induced silence to her full advantage, placing the crayon themed bandage over the red and giving it a tiny kiss afterwards.

The other times she’d done it? You were just clumsy at work. But she still took it seriously anyway, each incident like a way she showed she cared.

She still does care, even now. Even when there’s disappointment lingering behind eyes that show worry.

As the time passes, you can feel her irritation growing.

You audibly swallow, the need to apologize starting to force its way through your sense of reason, because of course, Manon feels the need to take care of you–pity you, as if you two were still those naïve kids who had too many ideas, and not enough sense.

She snaps her head up at the noise. “Don’t.”

Usually, you had better judgement, obviously she doesn’t want to hear you, but the warning falls on deaf ears.

“Manz, I–“ you start.

She cuts you off a glare. “Hush. I’m working.”

You wince when she rubs alcohol a little too hard on a particularly deep cut on your arm, but you continue. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“If you were sorry, you would’ve put this off until morning, Yn,” she sucks in a breath, clearly trying to keep her cool. “You know I’ve got work tomorrow. It’s 2 in the damn morning.”

“I didn’t mean to do this to you, Manz, I just–“

“You’re always doing this,” she interrupts. “I told you to hush. You can be sorry when you’re done looking it.”

You stay quiet. She’s pissed, as anyone else would be, and the point was made.

She was angry. In fact, you’d be terrified if she wasn’t. But Manon was a lot of things, and loud and angry wasn’t one of them. Most of the time.

She was always expressive in subtle ways. Her face could speak more than necessary, without a word ever leaving her lips. Though, she definitely could’ve been screaming at you in this moment, she wasn’t.

She didn’t need to. You could feel it. Could feel it in the way that she almost threw the bottle of rubbing alcohol every time she was putting it down. Feel it when she grumbled under her breath, and the weight of guilt began to crush you with every single word and without reservation.

But you could also feel the hesitation in her fingertips, like the gentle touches were little reminders of her attentiveness, her intrinsic need to keep you safe, even when she was trying to make you feel the tiniest bit hurt.

You could feel it when she was cleaning you up, taking care of you, and not once asking about what happened. She didn’t need an explanation–she didn’t even need a hello. She saw you, and that was all she needed.

And even though she was pretty harsh with you, you couldn’t help but to be grateful.

She takes your other arm, dropping the bloody tissue to the floor, and spends the next thirty minutes cleaning that one too.

It’s only when she looks up that you notice it. Her eyes are red and glossy. Your chest tightens; it’s suddenly so much harder to breathe in here.

“Manz, I’m sorry.” There’s pathetic tone in your voice.

“Look at me,” Manon says, grabbing your jaw and your attention. She moves you around gently, examining you as if she’d never seen you before, her fingertips like fire, making you burn hot. “You look like shit, girl. Be sorry to yourself.”

She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, forgiving. Kind. Subtle. All the things that make you feel nervous, all the things you weren’t anymore, before handing you more tissues for your nose and walking away to get something cold for your eyes.

“You’re crashing at mine tonight.”

You can’t help but release a choked sob, a gut wrenching feeling taking over you as you cry like you’ve never cried before.

━ ★

You wake up the next morning on the couch with peas on your face, in her clothes, and in confusion. You’re in a daze trying to recall the events of last night, them feeling more like a nightmare than reality.

Checking the time, 10:57, you figured Manon was already at work, so you got up with a yawn and struggled to the kitchen to make yourself something eat–until you see the note stuck on the fridge.

food is in here if you want it! yk i can’t cook so don’t talk shit if you CHOOSE to eat it:( i love you, rest well - manz ( who else would it be )

A smile grows on your face with the words you read. It was just like her to be a big baby in a written note. You take the plate out and heat it up.

It’s not very good, admittedly.

Okay, it’s bad. Really bad.

In your relationship, she was more of the eater; you were her chef, if you could say that. But the thought counts, you figure, lifting the fork to your mouth for another bite of burnt eggs. It was definitely thoughtful!

You laugh to yourself, thinking of ways you could make fun of her for this as you cut on the TV.

And then your blood runs cold.

Right on the screen is the man from last night, and reporters swarming the crime scene.

You can’t hear anything anymore, and you can’t even pretend to. All you can hear is blood pounding your ears; you feel dizzy–but curiously, you can’t think about anything but Manon. How she would react, what she would do to you, how you wouldn’t ever see her again…

You don’t know what to do.

It’s no secret anymore, no hushed meeting in the dark of morning: they’d know it was you without a doubt. You’d be sent to prison for life if you were lucky, and if you weren’t? You’d end up dead.

It’s not like you meant to either! One moment, you’re walking home, trying to navigate dark alleyways and claustrophobic spaces. Trying to ignore a man following behind you. Trying to ignore the way your chest is pounding and the way air just can’t seem to stay inside you, hurriedly escaping while you hopelessly try to keep it in, to no avail. Trying to ignore the fact that your legs are moving faster than your rationale.

The next moment, he’s pressing forward; a glinting dark object in his right hand, and his left hand coming straight for you. He steps on your left leg, knocking you to the ground with a hard punch. And it’s in this moment that you realize it.

In a fight or flight situation, you fight.

He’s on top of you: gun to your face like he’s got something to prove, demanding that you hand over your bag, and you snap. In an instant, you rocket your fist straight into his jaw, and you don’t even give him the chance to reel back, rocking your hips upwards so that you can turn over, knocking the weapon out of his hands in the process.

You’re possessed. You’ve never moved like this before, ever. Like there’s a desire–beating, thrumming, alive; it’s underneath your skin, yelling at you to live by any means necessary. You kick; bite; scratch, becoming animalistic in the moment.

He’s reminding you that he’s also just as desperate–fists flying just as furiously as yours, and just as strong, if not stronger. He’s clawing at you, leaving deep marks, as if the cracked asphalt beneath you isn’t do that as well, while you two toss and turn, nearly dancing around each other.

But he gets the upper hand at some point, and his hands shoot towards your neck, squeezing every bit of essence out of your body. You can’t reach his face anymore, the first mistake he made already teaching him enough. You don’t even think he can feel your nails digging into skin–the adrenaline making you both turn into something you probably weren’t.

And you swear, under any other circumstance, you’d hesitate–but you knew full well that only one of you were going to leave this place when you first punched him, and you also knew that you weren’t ready to die today. And so you reach. Reach like there’s nothing else you can do–nowhere else you can go. All you could think about then was getting home, wanting nothing more than restart or rewind or whatever the fuck could get you out of there.

There’s a grin of relief on his face when he sees your eyes flutter.

Then there’s two shots. Fired unceremoniously, like there was no thought behind them. Like there was no question: they were destined to happen.

And then a third for good measure.

And you’re winded; heaving and ears ringing like fireworks had gone off in your face. He crumples on top of you, hands loose and limp. His warmth is leaking onto your hands, and your clothes, and you can’t think–hell, you can barely feel anything, but he’s dead, it’s over, and you’re alive.

You’re alive.

But there’s a part of you trapped there, it’s grave now stuck in a dingy, unsanitary, and lonely alley, to be trampled by others who can’t rewrite their fate quite as well as you did yours.

━ ★

The doorknob wiggles and Manon bursts in, bag of groceries in hand. You struggle to get up from the couch, pain in your ankle making every step hell.

“I bought all this hoping you could make something with it. Not sure if you can put this in anything, but yeah!” she says, shaking the bag with a fresh Maine Lobster, humming to herself.

“I’ve gotta go,” you mumble, hobbling up to her.

“Not like that, you aren’t,” she glances to your ankle. “You’re staying here, where you should be getting better,” she says, with an authoritative tone.

“Manon, I have to–“

“Can you make something with the lobster or not?” she whines, throwing the bags to the table. “It was hella expensive.”

You nod, a silent acknowledgment that you can, but you don’t make any effort to move, instead crossing your arms.

She dramatically rolls her eyes. “What?”

“I told you that I can’t stay and you aren’t listening,” you reply sharply.

“You can’t fucking walk either?”

“Manon? Have you even seen the news? About that guy?”

“Yeah, I have!” she answers, too casually for your liking. “That shit was brutal–I mean, It was–“

“It was me!” you confess shakily. You’re ashamed, and it burns.

Admitting it out loud burns unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s hot. Constricting. You can’t breathe; you’re not sure you want to.

She blinks, an unreadable expression making its way onto her features, with unreadable body language to emphasize it as she backs up from you with a sigh.

“I know,” she says quietly, as if saying it with a lower volume would make the gravity of the situation disappear.

“You know? You… knew?” you gape.

“Put it together when I saw the news,” Manon pauses. “I didn’t say anything to you because you didn’t say anything to me.”

Manon knows fucking everything. She could recite everything about you like she was reading a book–like she was the book: the encyclopedia of all things Yn.

And of course, she never said anything.

She looks up at you, as her eyes bulge with wetness. “You want to leave? Then fine, but I’m going with you.”

“No, you–“

“Stop trying to tell me what to do,” she says loudly. “I was gonna come anyway.”

“But I’m not turning myself in!“

“I promised you, didn’t I?”

Your teeth grind against each other as you answer. “You did.”

“Then stop trying to act all tough and shit–you’re my best friend,” she points between you and her. “So act like it.”

Manon brings you into a tight embrace, sniffling into your chest. You wrap your arms around her, but you bite back the urge to strangle her just a bit.

━ ★

You poke your head out of the driver’s window. “Do you have everything?”

Manon stares at you, tossing her duffel in the backseat, and closing the door.

“I’ve got everything that matters,” she responds simply.

The passenger seat door opens, and Manon slides in with a deep breath.

You’ve got the leather jacket on, her clothes peeking out from under it. Your hands are trembling around the steering wheel, eyes still as you sprint deep into your thoughts.

Manon’s a little shaky–to be expected when you leave your world behind for your criminal best friend, who just yesterday was at your doorstep, looking like a disgruntled serial killer, who is now driving your car like an outlaw, running from the cops, but more than anything, she’s nervous for you.

God, she could only imagine what you’re thinking right now, being the one to go through that, and instead of imagining, she really wishes you would say it.

“Yn..?” you don’t answer.

She says it again, louder this time.

“…Huh?”

She wants so badly to ask to you, What happened? followed by a, Why don’t you wanna talk about it? and finished with a, Do you not trust me?

“Nothing… you were spacing out, is all,” Manon doesn’t pry.

“Thanks. You wanna go now?” you ask.

She nods. “I’m ready,” though you’re not sure she is, by the quiet fear lurking in her tone.

You side eye her, before nodding forward, gesturing to the fact that you finally pressed on the gas.

Once she gets settled, she kicks her feet up on the dashboard, pops in her airpods, and watches Steven Universe, even when she’s not sure that you won’t send her car wrapping around a pole.

━ ★

You’ve been driving for hours. Manon’s asleep.

To be fair, you don’t know where exactly you’re going, you just wanted to leave.

Now, there’s no motel in sight, nobody for miles, not that you’d want to see them, and your gps isn’t working–fucking great.

It’s dark as hell, headlamps more like flashlights in the all-consuming night. You make the executive decision to pull onto a darkened street, before blocking the windows and locking the doors, hoping to sleep tonight.

You don’t.

━ ★

“You know, waffle house is so much better in the middle of nowhere,” Manon says, mid-bite. “Do you want some?”

You weren’t particularly in the mood to eat, last night’s nightmare making you feel too queasy and paranoid. “No, I don’t want your peanut butter waffles.”

Manon drops her fork dramatically, placing her hand to her chest. “You said it like you have a problem with my order… like I’m not the one paying…” she says it with a funky British accent, sighing when you look at her like she’s crazy.

“That’s ‘cause peanut butter waffles are gross,” you say matter-of-factly. “They probably stick to your mouth 10 times more than normal peanut butter and syrup waffles do seperate.”

Her mouth drops. You’re a traitor. “You’ve never even had one before, liar!”

“Don’t need to. I know they’re gross,” you say, punctuating your statement with a pointed look and cross of your arms.

“What’s next…? You don’t like bojangles biscuits either?” she asks, shocked.

You hum, sipping your coffee. “They’re dry as hell.”

Her mouth drops even lower, the accent getting heavier by the second. “Cannot believe you right now.”

She’s quiet after a dramatic sigh, continuing to eat her waffles and bacon.

You chuckle softly: you’re appreciative of her attempts to be normal. Like going to diners in Nowhere, Nowhereland is a normal Tuesday morning after murdering a man ( in self defense ) for you two.

And in all honesty, it feels normal enough. Well, the ambience of the waffle house is as normal as it can be. There’s a bustling about the place: truckers and workers making light conversation; music, Human Nature by Micheal Jackson, playing on the jukebox; broken lights flickering near the hallway to the bathrooms; grease stains everywhere, along with it’s odd smell. It felt natural.

It made you sort of uneasy, in the way that only familiar things tend to do. Especially when you feel the eyes on you. Everyone’s in the know, except for you two. You two are outsiders. Outsiders are suspicious; they get caught; they–

“Hey!” Manon interrupts your thoughts. “Try it. I won’t have you knocking on peak if you’ve never had it before.”

You give her a look of disgust. “I’m not trying sh–“

Your mouth is filled with sticky peanut-buttery goodness. Your eyes widen, as a smirk grows on Manon’s face.

“See,” she laughs. “I told you it was peak!”

You feign disgust almost immediately, and refusing to let her get the last word, you gulp down the rest of your coffee. “That was so nasty, bitch…”

“Yeah, okay.”

When you leave, you take two coffees to-go. And two orders of peanut-butter waffles, one for you and her.

━ ★

You’re focused on the road when the thought pops into your head.

You’ve ruined your life, not that much was going on anyway, but it still hurt. You ruined Manon’s life, who had big things coming for her: modeling gigs, photoshoots, interviews with agencies–things that screamed, hey, I made it. And she threw it all away for you.

Your hands tighten on the wheel until your fingers go numb.

“Hey, breathe.”

And the devil reveals herself beside you, like a bad memory that won’t leave your mind.

Manon tries to rub comforting circles into your leg, moving your jacket as you shout a panicked, “Wait!”

“What the fuck is that.”

Your jaw clenches as you try to avoid looking at her. Manon’s fingers are tracing your pockets, a rough outline of something sinister living there.

“I asked you a question.”

You mumble the answer, not wanting to start anything.

“What was that?” she says, eyes narrowing in skepticism.

“A gun…”

There’s a look on her face that speaks volumes. Says more than a thousand things. “A what?”

“A–“

“You brought a damn gun with you?!” she screams at you, scolds you, more like, as if you’ve lost your mind. Part of you thinks you have.

“To be safe!” you retort, glancing at her with worry.

Oh, you’re in huge trouble.

“And you had that in my house?! Is that the same–”

You cut her off with a shameful, downcast look. “Yes.”

She glares at you, huffing indignantly before turning the radio up to obnoxious volume levels.

The radio speaks.

On the hunt for a suspect identified to be Yn Ln. Cameras around area of incident placing the young woman at the scene of the crime, DNA evidence further incriminating the individual. If you have any information, ple–

That’s why we have the gun, you want to say. Your jaw wrenches shut. ‘Cause people don’t talk when they’re dead, you’d say right after, turning your gaze to meet her watery eyes. ‘Cause I can keep running with you if there’s nothing in our way, you want to confess.

But nothing leaves your lips.

The radio doesn’t speak anymore, Manon choosing to turn it off and turn away to sleep ( or more accurately, sulk with her eyes closed. )

━ ★

You finally find a motel by the end of the night, and you’re hopeful that rest will come to you for the first time in 5 days.

It won’t.

Not when you enter the room and realize there’s only one bed, and Manon is still pissed off.

She shoulder-checks you when she walks by, tossing her stuff onto the bed and gruffly mumbling about taking a shower first.

By the time she gets back, you’re already in bed, pretending to be asleep.

You know you can’t. You don’t ever sleep when she’s upset with you.

Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the bed dip as she slides into it, feel the jolt of the bed as she tries her best to turn off the light, feel when she’s turning away. You can hear her hushed whispers, her shifting around, and then there it is–a hiccup.

Her back is turned to you, so you risk opening your eyes.

Her back is moving with a sharp rise and slow fall: she’s crying. And you’ve made her cry too: great going.

You want to press your fingers against her. Tell her you’re sorry for scaring her, sorry for everything.

But you don’t.

You just close your eyes again.

A moment passes before you feel the bed shift and creak beneath her movements. A gentle hand cups your face. A sniffle rocks your spirit. You’re trying your hardest not to move or breathe, scared that like a deer, she’ll run away from you like earlier.

Heat fans across the bottom half of your face. “I’m sorry for being an asshole,” and it’s so quiet that it might as well have been the broken fan in corner, wheezing and rasping to life when it wanted.

“You mean everything to me. I just hate when you act like that… like you know what any of this means,” she pauses, only to hold back a sob. “You don’t. I don’t. But we’re supposed to not know, together.”

You hold back everything that’s threatening to come spilling out.

“I’m sorry,” she lets out a sorry chuckle. “I’m just scared of what’s next. I’m trying hard not to be, though.”

“You’re probably way more terrified than I am.”

When she falls asleep, you hold her hand, hoping that in the morning, when she wakes up, she won’t let go.

━ ★

The morning after, you don’t mention it. You don’t even look at her.

You just take her hand in yours when you get into the car again; big feelings lingering behind the smallest physical intimacy.

━ ★

You stand in the mirror with effort, deadpanning at your reflection. “This is really unflattering.”

Manon smirks, holding up 2 different skirts for you to try. “You say unflattering–I say your ass looks amazing in those jeans.”

“Why do we even have to do this?” you groan.

“You should know better than anyone that you need to change up that appearance,” her voice gets suddenly ominous. “Anyways, that jacket has been fugly, babe, you desperately need a wardrobe change.”

You roll your eyes. She’s right, unfortunately. You’d draw too much attention in it. It was insane how nobody called you out before.

“Okay, fine, Manz. We’ll do a makeover. But don’t call Lucy fugly again. She’s an acquired taste.”

You let Manon forcibly take you around on a mind-numbing shopping spree. It was torture: for hours you tried on the most egregious displays of fashion you’d ever had the displeasure of wearin–

“Girl,” she says, taking pictures of you from the bench. “Smile, it’s literally just baggy jeans and a white t-shirt. It makes your muscles look really good.”

You feel warm all over at the compliment but you decide to be stubborn anyway. “Manz,” you whine, letting her name come to a long drawl. “We’ve been at this dumb store for hours, I genuinely can’t think of a worse way to spend our time.”

“We’re in Denver, baby, which I’m not even sure we had to come this far, but I digress, ” she argues. “This is the land of bad decisions, like even the name is bad, and we’ve only been here for an hour.”

You grimace. “An hour spent is an hour lost, to this.”

Manon raises her eyebrows at you. “Fine then,” she says.

You have half a mind to stand on what you said, but Manon doesn’t even half-stand up before you take it back. “Wait–no. I’ll… I, uhhh, I love it!”

Against your will entirely, you start posing in front of her, ignoring the throb in your ankle, hyping yourself up like how you thought she would. You are eating, girl, is not something you thought you’d be saying in an Old Navy in Denver, Colorado.

She bites her lip. Air flies through her nose. And she doubles over, laughing so hard she falls to the ground. You can’t help but laugh right along with her.

“So you’re buying this, right?” you ask.

“Nope. You are.”

You’re at the register when you realize she’s very much so serious about not paying.

“That’s 157.63. Cash or card?”

You stammer like an idiot. You don’t have shit on you. “Give me a minute,” you smile, jaw tense.

You pull Manon over to the side, trying to make things quick as a line starts forming behind you. “I don’t have anything, Manz,” you say quickly.

“Girl, neither do I, if you want some gas money and something to eat tonight,” she replies. You really really do want gas money and something to eat.

“Fuck!” you curse, leg bouncing as you come up with a plan. “You trust me?”

“‘Course I do. What’re we doing?”

“This.” You drag her back over to the cashier, and Manon waits for something to happen.

But nothing does.

At least, until–

“Lady,” the cashier says, checking her nails. “There’s a line, I need to–“

You scream. “I can’t believe you!”

Manon is frozen for a second, looking between you and the poor girl who’s supposed to be ringing you up. She melts when you yell again.

“You’re such a bitch,” you stop to read her nametag. “…Casey! My boyfriend? My fucking boyfriend? You’re supposed to be my bestfriend,” you bury your head in Manon’s chest, hoping to God she sells it.

Manon ignores the way her eyebrow twitches when you mention having a boyfriend, or another bestfriend, deciding to help you out just this once. “Casey, I can’t fucking believe you. You’re just a whore–a stupid whore!” she growls, throwing outfit number 4 over the counter at Casey’s head.

Casey’s both dumbfounded and pissed, not knowing what to do but stammer out a pathetic “What?”

The customers are backing away, recording and standing there shocked.

You lift your teary face up to scream at her again. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

You lunge at her, Casey’s yelling for security, and Manon’s using all her strength to hold you back without cracking up. The bystanders are being bystanders.

You’re hollering and hurling obscenities like candy at parades, and Manon knows better than to laugh. She’s determined to finish your improv strong.

Casey runs to the backroom, only for a second, but the damage is already done. You snatch your bags from behind the counter, and attempt to run away, but it’s not very effective with the whole sprained ankle business.

Manon scoops you up with a grunt of effort and a determination you rarely see her have. She hates running.

She’s doing it for you.

You feel hot again; you push it down with a smile and kiss to her cheek.

You two ( Manon ) run all the way back to car, and speed off, you cackling the whole way through.

━ ★

So you killed a man, ran from the law, and stole 160 dollars worth of clothes. All in the span of nine days.

You are becoming a bonafide criminal genius; Manon, your partner in crime.

Her phone is plugged into the car, playing music from your shared playlist, you finally allowing her to drive you after nine days of If you touch that wheel, I’ll throw you in the backseat.

You guys are singing to Drunk in Love, well, Manon is. You’re ad-libbing as best you can, the talent of a singer not being given to you, but still wanting to enjoy something with Manon.

It makes you think about another thing that’s been on your mind. Her.

Manon looks gorgeous all the time, even more so when she’s like this. Smiling and genuine. Her side profile is highlighted by the sun that’s not blocked by her visor. You can see everything, from the mole on her chin, to the sunspots dotting her cheeks. You want to absorb everything, take it in like you’re a flower, and she’s the sun.

“You’re staring,” she grins, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I love it when you look at me like that,” her grin gets wider.

“Like?”

“Like you need me. It’s sweet.”

You open your mouth to say something snarky, but nothing comes out, so you turn in faux irritation.

She giggles at your reaction before placing her attention back on the road.

You’re starting to learn how much she means to you, and not in the way you’ve grown so accustomed to. Featherlight touches were starting to feel like needles in your skin, going so deep, you could feel it in your nerves. Every compliment that would make you roll your eyes so far back they’d disappear before are now making you heat up. You were beginning the crush phase of horny teenage boy and you didn’t even realize.

On one hand, yeah, it’d be great to kiss Manon, the way you imagine yourself doing in your dreams at night or during the day, when you think it’s not obvious. On the other, there was too much going on right now. Too much to think about, and too much to deal with.

You’re starting to get scared of it. Of her.

━ ★

It’s a quiet morning in a new motel.

Well, it was.

“Oh my god!” Manon shrieks.

You drop your toothbrush in the dirty motel sink, rushing to her aid. “What’s wrong?!”

She drops to her knees, clutching her wallet like it’s her long lost child. “I’m BROKE. That’s what’s wrong,” she sobs, before adding, “We’re broke.”

You cry with her.

━ ★

“Do you trust me?” you ask Manon, pulling a black shirt over your head.

“Not sure… This seems really dumb,” she answers honestly.

In her defense, this is quite possibly the dumbest thing you’ve done since the clothes incident yesterday, but then again, you’re broke. There’s not much to go around.

You peer at her through the poorly-cut holes in your makeshift mask. “It’s not like we have anything else,” you argue.

You step out of the car, and open the door for her.

You stagger into the gas station, and whistle with the gun in the air. People start screaming, as expected. Manon flinches a bit, the gun reminding her of her previous freakout, but stands still as she can by the door, hands in her pockets to make everyone think she’s armed too.

“I want everyone to shut the hell up and get the hell down!” you shout.

They comply, terror etched onto their faces.

“We have to make this quick, babe!” Manon shouts, looking outside the glass doors.

“I know, I know,” you grit. You roll up to the cashier, trying to look as menacing as possible. “I need all the money in the register, please.”

“Okay, okay,” he splutters. “P–Please don’t shoot me!”

You gawk at him, I didn’t even do anything yet, you have half a mind to say. “Can you just… get the damn money?”

“Okay!” he whimpers, pressing buttons behind the counter.

You tap your foot impatiently, hand on your hip as you wait for the boy to get his life together. It’s been at least 10 minutes. You’re sure that if the tables were turned, you’d be acting with a little more…urgency.

“Can you hurry–“

“NO, DON’T!”

You stare at him in disbelief, pausing to turn to Manon. “I literally didn’t even do anything?!” you wave your hands around wildly, gun swinging like a hollow threat. “I’m just talking to him??”

Manon shrugs her shoulders, looking at you with big eyes. “I don’t know. We really need to hurry this up, like now, though.”

You gawk at her too. “I’m trying! He’s being so difficult…” you groan, index and ring finger rubbing your temple.

The boy is still fumbling with keys and buttons, tears streaming down like waterfalls on his face.

“Look–Why are you crying? I haven’t even…?!” you scream in frustration, the boy clearly not operating with haste. “Stop CRYING, and give me the money, please,” you beg.

The people on the ground, once crying in fear, are now confused, looking up and–just like before–recording.

He finally throws the money at you after entirely too long with a trembling, “Here!”

“You know, kid. Taking your time gets you killed. It’s important to do as told first, and cry later. Lives are at stake when you aren’t aware. Don’t do it,” you scoop up the money and hobble away as fast as you can.

“Oh, get snacks too, love,” you tell Manon.

You got out of the gas station 20 minutes laterwith a handful of takis and plenty of cash. This isn’t the last robbery you guys commit, either.

━ ★

The next night, you two are on the news. Manon’s fast asleep right next to you, despite this motel having two beds.

Two viral recordings of some of the strangest robberies we’ve ever seen, they said. Two women in the first video, staging an argument to get out of an Old Navy, and the same two are suspected of being the gas station robbers lecturing on how to be robbed?, they said.

You’re quiet with fear, desperately praying they don’t identify you; that they can’t identify yet.

The blurry quality makes it hard to identify them, but we will keep a close eye on them, they said.

You breathe a heavy sigh of pure relief.

━ ★

A week and some change of running away from your problems, and you’re sure this is the hardest thing you’ve done by far.

You stare blankly ahead, watching Manon take her turn of driving.

It’s dark.

You’d been riding for almost ten hours straight.

You’re antsy.

You’ve been trying this whole time not to be a hornball; not to make this weirder than it is. It’s one thing to kill a guy: you did that in self-defense, but like an idiot, you ran instead of telling the truth. It’s one thing to rob a store: you needed the clothes. It’s one more thing to rob a gas station: you needed the cash.

But it’s an entirely different thing to be attracted to your friend, your bestfriend, who’s doing nothing but making things hard for you.

If you didn’t know her like the back of your hand, you’d say it’s all friendly–a coincidence. But you know better.

Everything this seductress does is intentional, deliberate. Like how she’s driving one-handed, jawline illuminated by the LEDs, hand on your thigh–not because she wanted to pounce on you–but just because she craved the intimacy with you.

She craved the intimacy with you.

“Pull over.”

“What?” she asks, turning off at the exit. “We’re like 10 miles from the motel. It can’t wait?”

“Pull over, Manz,” you urge, grabbing her by her shirt and kissing her hard.

She gapes at you before the biggest smile finds its way on her face… until she frowns.“Hey! Don’t do that while I’m–“

You roll your eyes for what seems like the millionth time during this journey. “Nobody’s out here, Meret. Are you gonna pull over and fuck me or what?”

And normally, you’d be cowardly, God, you wouldn’t have even brought anything up, but it was like you were drowning in your physical attraction.

She’s off the road with a vigor that you’ve never seen anyone pull over with, kissing you again with urgency and need.

She grins breathlessly. “I plan on it.”

Somehow, you two end up in the backseat, going at each other like you’ll die if you don’t.

You swing your leg over her lap, pulling away from her to take off your shirt, and she honest-to-god whines, like she can’t be without you for a second. You smile.

Manon doesn’t waste anymore time, rushing forward to kiss you. It’s messy, borderline gross–the way she licks into your mouth, the way your breath mixes with hers as the heat starts making you feel dizzy. It’s needy, desperate, uncomposed. The way you two could be with each other.

You can feel her palming your breast through the fabric of your bra; feel her warm and without the barrier of friendship in the way; feel her heart rate speeding up as her unoccupied hand finds purchase on your hip, making you grind against her.

She mouths on your neck, leaving soft kisses and harsh bites like a crumb trail of where she’s been.

You can’t help but roll your head back.

But at her insistent, “Look at me, please,” you comply, mouth already becoming kiss swollen as she presses forward to capture your lips once again.

━ ★

You’re in a daze.

Not like when you’d defended yourself at the expense of another life. Not like when you ignore everything like this is normal, and you two are normal, average, everyday people.

This daze is extremely different.

“You good?” Manon murmurs, like the air’s been snatched from her lungs.

You turn your head lazily, meeting her eyes. “Are you? I just ate you out… like, 3 minutes ago.“

“With that weak head? Don’t make me laugh,” she jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. You came twice, loser,” you sit up, giggling at her antics. “Now drive me to that motel.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. “I just–“

“I thought it was weak head, baby,” you mock, rolling your eyes again.

“I was lyinggggg, you know that!” she whines, grabbing your arm. “I’m tired… I don’t wanna drive,” she pouts. “I really don’t see how you drove that long with that leg.”

You shrug, rolling your shoulders before you climb into the front seat. “I felt like I owed you for this. I still do.”

“I chose to come along, Yn,” Manon says quietly. “You never had to ask. I made up my mind when I met you–I’d go anywhere you go.”

You freeze at her confession, if only for a moment. “I owed you for leaving everything behind. Making you give it all up because I was selfish,” you swallow thickly. “Owed it to you for being my distraction from everything I’ve done. I’m not sure I would’ve made it this far without you.”

Manon doesn’t look at you. Only speaks. “I would’ve never let you do this alone. I love you,” and she says it like it’s so simple–like this is something she would’ve chosen to do in every other life.

“I didn’t know you loved me that long,” you chance to say.

The bravado of horny drunken babble had escaped you, turning you into the coward you were by nature again.

“You didn’t need to,” she breathes. “As long as you felt it. Did you?”

“Did I?” you repeat, confused.

“Feel it,” she answers softly.

You start driving again. “Yeah, I did.”

She smiles.

You two sleep in all day.

━ ★

You burst into the motel room in a panic that night, grabbing your stuff and rummaging around like a junkie.

“We have to go,” you grit out, jaw clenched, eyes watery. “Now.”

She doesn’t say a word, nor does she question. She silently packs her things up and you two take off, trying to get as far away from Stillnowhere, Nowhereland.

What was supposed to be your run for dinner tonight ended up being your second and third murder.

You pull over, breaking down in her arms.

“I’m a bad bad person. Fuck, I’m horrible,” you stammer, holding your chest as you try to breathe with what little you have left. “I killed her–she didn’t even…S-she wasn’t even–I just–“

You can’t even speak.

You had pulled into another dingy diner with barely anyone inside, and it was pitch black outside–the atmosphere was beginning to shake you up.

And then it happened.

A man–bigger than you, bulkier than you, towering over you in every way possible walked in.

The woman takes your order.

Then his.

He’s staring at you, with something in his eyes you’d seen before. Something that shakes you to your core: His eyes.

Eyes of a predator, certain he’d find prey tonight.

But you know who you are.

You’re a person who yearns to live: whether it be for someone else, or yourself, that desire would burn, and scorch the ground to hell itself before the fire was put out.

He shadows you in the restaurant, until the woman hands you the bag. She looks at your predicament with an almost tepid expression, before looking down, reading you the cost of your order.

You book it when you lose eye contact. And you didn’t want to–you didn’t want to steal again, or kill again, or even blink wrong again; something was just nipping at you, telling you, get out, get out, get out.

You’re outside. Halfway to the car you parked in the dollar tree lot because of your paranoia,

And it happens.

He grabs you. Nails-cutting-into-your-skin until-you’re-bleeding grabs you.

And unlike the first time, where you waited until fate looked you in the eyes, and tried to end you–you just shot.

You pulled out this gun, that had gotten you into all of this mess, that was somehow magnetized towards your very being, and shot.

No warnings.

No fighting for life.

Just shot. Like it was part of your body. Like it was part of you.

And that lady, bless her soul, went chasing after her money, and witnessed the whole thing.

And dead people can’t talk.

━ ★

It’s over, and you know it.

The viral video suspects shown 2 weeks ago have been identified, well at least one, finally. Yn Ln, suspect of three other murders: One in L.A, Two in rural Houston, Texas. She is also wanted for several other robberies, they said.

Manon is quiet. You haven’t left the new motel in a week–but you know they’ll find you.

But you can think of one way this ends for the both of you.

One way you can make this work.

━ ★

You’re speeding down the freeway, law finally catching up to you. Windows rolled down: you feel free, like you’ve never felt before, swerving through cars too stubborn to move for you.

Helicopters screech above you–the manhunt for current serial killer and robber finally coming to a poignant conclusion.

Manon’s unable to speak. There’s nothing to say, though it’s not like she’d be able to, with you screaming with joy and laughing like nothing’s wrong.

“Manon!” you yell, over wind whipping through the car.

She’s sitting there. Wide-eyed. Teary. Doesn’t make any move to answer.

“Manon!” you yell once again, this time much louder.

She snaps her head towards you. “What,” she hisses.

“Can you scream with me?!”

She looks at you with shock.

You scream once, yelling out something along the lines of, Fuck you, coppers! like what you used to see in the crime movies you and Manon would watch without your parent’s permission. You’re beaming.

You glance at her–a pleading flicker in your features: eyes, nose, mouth… everything begging her to just go along with it.

She can’t resist it.

It lurches out of her mouth before she can even bite it back down.

You both can’t stop laughing.

“Manz, do you trust me?!” you yell, after a moment’s passed.

“Why? Are you gonna do something stupid again?!”

You roll the windows up. “Manz. Do. you. trust. me?” you say seriously, making her take pause.

She answers without thinking. “Yeah, I do.”

You brake so hard, she feels her brain shake. “What the–“

You cut her off with a soft press to her lips. “I was a coward before,” you take a deep breath. “That’s how I got us into this mess. But I know how to get us out too. I won’t be afraid, so you better not be either.”

“I won’t be–what the fuck are you planning?” she asks with fear lacing her voice.

“Don’t ask questions,” you sternly reply. “Do you trust me?”

Manon trusts you. More than she’s ever trusted anyone before. More than she could ever describe. More than she could ever say out loud.

But she doesn’t need to.

Her face says it all.

She is scared. She’s terrified. But she does trust you, and that’s good enough.

You kiss her one last time.

“Close your eyes, okay?” she listens, and you rub her shoulder reassuringly. You grab your gun. “When I grab you, fight me like you mean it. Because I definitely will.”

You shoot yourself in the leg.

She can’t even scream.

“Yn Ln! Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

That’s when you and Manon go tumbling out of the passenger side door, her horrified shrieks and sobs filling the freeway with terror.

You put her in a headlock, the gun to her head threateningly, before mumbling a quiet, Improv, baby, in her ear.

You can’t feel your leg bleeding out. You can’t feel anything but her.

“Back off!” you shout, tightening your grip on her. “Back off, or I’ll fucking kill her.”

You hear a radioed, “hostage situation” and you smile.

It’s working.

And Manon’s a damn good actor.

She’s begging for help, and though it’s for you, nobody else can tell. It’s genuine. Nobody else can tell. You smile harder.

“Just put the gun, down, Yn!” An officer says through a megaphone. “Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“This bitch…” you cringe at your own performance, “This bitch shot me! She’s not fucking walking away.”

“Stop!” she screams. “Cut it out, l–let me go, you don’t need to–“

You whisper a hushed, love you. I love you. And I’m sorry.

“You’re not getting out of this, Yn. You can leave this peacefully. You escaped before but it won’t be happening again. Surrender.” The officer says again, sternly.

Then she turns to look at you one last time. Teary, but with those same eyes she had all her life. As if she’s some saint, purifying you for all your sins, all your mistakes, all your–well, everything.

She’s your saint.

Her eyes, ever expressive, say all that they need to. I love you, you don’t need to this, we’re in this together, I love you, I love you, I love you.

You ask her one final time.

“Do you trust me?”

“Y–Yes, I do.” she sobs aloud.

“Then run. I’m the monster they think I am,” you swallow. “That’s what I need you to act like this time. Run, and don’t stop for any reason. And don’t turn around, okay?” your fingers graze her shoulders, a final reassurance.

You push her forward, and she doesn’t stop. Your lips weakly curve upward, pleased. And she doesn’t stop.

Not even when she’s crying so hard she can’t see.

Not even when a single shot rings behind her.

━ ★

“And on today’s segment of Survival, Meret Manon Bannerman–Kidnapped by crazed serial killer, Yn Ln,” the computerized voice announces.

The reporter looks dead into the camera for five seconds before speaking. “It’s been 6 months since Meret’s horrifying ordeal. 3 weeks of traveling across state lines and being subjected to horrors we haven’t had the pleasure of imagining until now,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Now, she quells our morbid curiosity, and tells us everything that happened…”

Manon walks in. Face hardened, body trembling: clearly not ready.

She spins a long fabricated tale: practiced for months after she lost you. Practiced because it was all she could bring herself to do. Because that’s what you told her to do, and she trusted you–hell, she still does.

But when she gets home, she stares at your picture. White tee, baggy jeans. Posing because you wanted her to stay. Smiling. Laughing.

Happy. With her.

And she’s just hoping that in the next life, you can both start over. Rewind. Restart. Whatever is she has to do to see you again.

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

[beuxwhoyouare]

A Way Out

Priya had been married for 20 years when it hit her, she didn’t even like her husband. She had 3 great kids with the youngest, Ty, soon to leave off to college. She had all of them young and by most standards even got married young but she was tired of the man she slept next to every night.

Barreling through the door, Ty barged in with his best friend Max, breaking Priya’s somber train of thought. Ty droned on about how they were gonna go upstairs and play some game or something…but she was phoning in her attention. Max stayed back in the kitchen but lingered a bit longer than usual sparking something in Priya to ask if he was okay?

“What’s on your mind Max?”

“Ahh nothing Mrs. Smith. I just don’t wanna graduate and other stuff.”

“Oh? I thought you were excited for college and getting away?” Priya remains surprised at the lack drive she had seen previously in Max.

“I mean I’m excited to be done with high school but I don’t really want to go to college…and truthfully I’ve been questioning myself a lot. Like am I really this guy? This guy that plays games and wrestles around? I mean it’s not fun like it used to be.”

“Oh Max. This is a transitional period of your life. It’s natural to be scared and worried about what’s next. Have you spoken about this with your parents?”

Almost cutting off the completion of Priya’s sentence, Max blurted out—

“I think I want to be a woman. No, I know I do. And actually I’ve done a lot of research. And—and I found this crazy scientist guy who made this device and I mean I wouldn’t have believed him but we tested the thing out and it worked.”

Priya cautiously approached Max to try and calm him down during the frenetic moment.

“Max what is it? Are you okay did he hurt you?”

“No no no see I’m messing things up I just meant all this to say. It’s a body swapping remote.” He gestured as he looked to his side to pull up the device the size of a smartphone.

“I just point it at the subject and we swap poof done in an instant, with a jolt or two I guess. And —and I know it sounds crazy but Mrs. Smith I wanted to see if maybe you’d let me be you?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you Max but this prank isn’t very funny.”

“I swear it’s not a joke and I mean I could even just have brainwash swapped you so you wouldn’t even known it happened but I believe in consent and I wanted to make sure you were okay with it. It—it doesn’t have to be permanent maybe just a trial to like let me see if I really do want to be a woman. I mean you guys are like my family, mine doesn’t even know if I’m there or not and I just thought it’d be a safe place?”

Priya’s mind raced. Could Max be telling the truth? Could a solution to her dissatisfaction in marriage really have just presented itself to her like this? But if it hadn’t what if this was all just a cruel joke?

“Max, assuming this isn’t a joke, what are you gonna say to Ty? Or what do I say to my John my husband?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’m ready to come out yet, can’t this just be our secret?”

Priya nearly salivated at the thought of the opportunity placed right in front of her. This is it, a way out of this dead end marriage and even better she wouldn’t have to abandon her family. She’d still be close.

“All right let’s do it Max, but let’s just have you spend the night so if you have concerns or worries you can reverse it.”

“Well Mrs. Smith don’t you mean you spend the night?”

Max winked and before he even let Priya digest the magnitude of what she agreed to he slapped the remote and the jolts consumed them for what felt like ages.

A ringing filled their ears and then thumping. Wait that was pounding on the steps, Ty came rushing down the stairs to yank on Priya’s arm.

“Dude! Max lets go! I’ve got the game readied up we’re in queue let’s go!”

Max in Priya’s body already acclimated to the sensation from his first swap quickly informed Ty that Max was spending the night tonight before winking at the disheveled 18 year old still trying to understand what happened.

The new Max blindly followed Ty up the stairs as John walked into the kitchen side door.

The new Priya greeted her new husband with an uncharacteristic smile, hug, and forceful going in for a kiss. John surprised by the show of affection caved and wrapped his arms around her rear. Clearly things were going to be different.

Later that night, Priya laid in the guest room bed when she was woken up by peculiar yet familiar sounds. She got up and walked around the halls until she pinpointed the sound in her former bedroom. When she pressed her ear into the door she gasped. Creaks and squeaks of coils rang out along with deep moans….she smiled with her new masculine face. This really was a way out for both of us.

That was 4 years ago now…

Priya, now for obvious reasons going by Max now, was a personal trainer and fitness coach. He didn’t go to college but instead focused on chiseling out his once skinny frame. She didn’t have to go the cliche route of becoming such a dude when she became Max but it just felt easiest. Plus the pump sends her young hormones raging and she was addicted to pump and dumping. Must come with the age…or lack there of.

Max, as Priya, found a renewed interest in her husband and even recently found out she’s somehow pregnant. Much like Priya, Max found it easier to cave into cliche gender roles and John being a fine specimen of a man didn’t really hurt either.

Max invited Priya over because the family was set to celebrate Ty’s graduation. Being an empty nester, Max needed extra help to decorate the family home for the party. Priya’s last client at the gym made her run later than expected pushing her to text Max.

“Hey running behind with this client. Can I freshen up at your place before the party?”

“That’s okay with me Max 😘” Max replied with the not non-chalant emoji placement.

Priya and Max filled each other in on the latest goings on in their lives as their hung up balloons and streamers when Priya deemed it close enough for her to get ready.

“Shit. All this clothes is too tight now that I’m bigger I guess.” she said as she tried to wear old formal clothes Ty left at the house before moving for college.

Just then Max came in without knocking, hand full of John’s formal clothes dropping to the floor as he stood agape in the doorway.

That’s definitely not the body I left behind, he thought to himself. Priya started turned and then quickly began to use her hands to cover herself for modesty before grabbing the nearby towel.

“Mrs. Smith! I’m getting changed in here!”

“Max when did? I guess….I made a decision before I really saw what I could achieve?”

“Well Mrs. Smith. I put in the work and you had other desires you know? Like you’re gonna be a mom again!”

“I know but maybe. Don’t you want your life back Priya?!”

Max almost hysterically began pleading with Priya to give him his old life back. Just minutes ago they were having a good time updating each other on how good their lives have been recently and now this? Priya was shocked but also nearly vengeful. This man wants a life she built for herself? She got out of a miserable marriage and found happiness for herself. He’s not taking that from her.

“No, MRS. SMITH. This is my life and I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m Max Euceda and I’ve always been.”

“You know I could just get the remote and change us back. But I was being nice.”

The pregnant mother made her way to her bedroom and as she pulled the remote from the drawer, the personal trainer came swiftly barreling through to snatch it.

“Nice people don’t call themselves nice.” Priya shouted at her former body before running back to the restroom and locking the door.

Sifting through the settings she found the setting Max once told her about. Brainwash! This would fix this issue once and for all. Max slapped the door calling and crying for Priya to let him have her beefy body. Priya opened the door to the sobbing mess and stood her ground.

“No. I didn’t work my ass off for all this just for some man to take it from me. But if you want this meat so bad you can have it.” Priya said as she slapped the remote. The jolt was one sided this time and when it stopped, the crying pregnant woman shook her head and looked up at the scantily clad best friend of her son…or so she now thought.

“Hey Mrs. Smith. I just don’t know if I can do it I mean you’re married and happy! But if you really want to do it in the backyard let’s do it before they all get here for the party.” Priya’s male hormones were getting the best of her but she also knew her former body well too. Every pregnancy made her so feral.

“Get on your knees Priya. You’re gonna love this.” Priya cockily smiled as she began to warm up her hardening meat.

[swanincrisis]

Fractured Strings - Pinocchio x f!Reader

Some things were just destined to end.

- warnings: angst, i died for like 6 months this is very ehh - word count: 1k

You’ve been distant.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed. He always does.

He noticed the shift long before you said anything — back when the warmth in your gaze started dimming. Back when your hands stopped lingering in his. Back when silence became your answer.

He had changed. He knows that.

Since the beginning, he was created with a single purpose. To follow his father's instructions without question. He did it willingly — maybe out of love. Or perhaps out of something he can’t quite name. Affection? Loyalty? Desperation to be worthy?

But then came you.

You were never part of the plan.

You were the light in the hotel windows when he returned.

You were the gentle voice that reminded him he was more than just a weapon.

You were the one who wiped the blood from his hands. Who cleaned the soot and grime from his face with hands far too kind for this world.

He is convinced he loves you. No — he knows it. It is the first truth he’s ever felt in this mess of a life. So he confessed. You smiled. You said yes. And for a fleeting moment, the world was something beautiful.

But something changed.

You stopped waiting for him. You stopped speaking when he entered the room. The silence between you turned sharp. He saw it — the way you flinched from his touch, the way your eyes darted away. There were no more soft words, no more comfort.

Only coldness.

The kind that mirrored the fallen ruins of Krat.

And he knows you saw the pain it caused. Of course you did. Because no matter how much distance you put between you, you still cared. And that hurt more than anything else.

So you decided to end it. Before it tore you both apart.

---

It was early morning when Pinocchio returned — the kind of quiet morning when the world still clung to sleep.

He stepped past the reception desk. Polendina greeted him like always.

“Welcome back, good sir. I trust you had no trouble tonight?”

He only shook his head. He was tired — not just in body, but in soul. Anyone with half a heart could see it.

“Ah. Before you go,” he added, “the young miss left a letter for you. She seemed…in a hurry.”

That made him freeze.

He took the letter from his hands, and tore it open right there at the counter.

“Meet me at the training garden when you return.

— [Name]”

His hands trembled.

First came joy. Then came dread.

Something was wrong. He knew it. You wouldn’t call him like this for no reason. But it didn’t matter. He had to see you.

And you were there — pacing, whispering to yourself. You looked small in the morning light. Small and scared.

When your eyes met his, you stopped. He smiled — just a little. But you didn’t return it.

You got straight to the point.

“You’re not supposed to love me.”

Silence. His chest caved at the sound of your voice cracking.

“I know you think you do. I know you’ve tried. But this — whatever this is between us — it isn’t what you were built for.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You’re supposed to save this damn city, Pinocchio. That’s the point of all this, isn’t it? The pain, the blood, the burden — you weren’t made for me. You were made for them.”

He couldn’t breathe. Your voice…it was so steady. So final.

You continued.

“I keep getting in the way. When you look at me, you hesitate. You listen to my voice instead of your instincts. That’s not love. That’s danger.”

He stepped closer. He saw it now — the tears clinging to your lashes.

“I don’t want to be the reason you fail. I don’t want to be the reason you die.”

You exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

“So I’m ending this now. Not because I don’t love you — but because I do. And because you’re meant for something greater than me.”

He reached for you. His hands trembled as they cupped your cheeks — as if holding something fragile, precious.

But you pulled away. You turned to leave.

“Goodbye, P—”

“Wait.”

He grabbed your wrist. His grip was gentle, desperate.

“Please…don’t go.”

The way he said it shattered you.

“I can protect you. I will. You don’t have to—”

“It’s not about protection, P. It never was.”

Your voice shook.

“You’re meant to save this city, not waste your time on someone like me. I see it in Geppetto’s eyes every time I’m near you. Like I’m a flaw in his design. And maybe…maybe he’s right.”

He flinched. Of course — that man. The one who called him precious and then sent him into ruin over and over again.

“You said you loved me,” he whispered.

“I did. I do.”

His eyes brimmed with something too human.

A cruel trick of the old man’s craftsmanship — to make him capable of feeling like this.

“But love isn’t enough,” you said. “Not when the world needs you more than I ever will. I won’t be the reason you have to choose between me and humanity.”

He held your hands again. Pressed them to his chest.

“You’re not in the way,” he choked out. “You’re what keeps me— You’re what makes me—”

You pulled back. You kissed his knuckles. And that was the last kindness you gave him.

“You don’t have to understand it now. Maybe you never will. But one day, when this is all over… maybe then you’ll see that I did this for you.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said softly. “But you have to let me go.”

And then you did.

“Please…” your voice broke as you turned away, “don’t follow me this time.”

---

He ran.

He didn’t know where. It didn’t matter. Let the city swallow him whole. Let a rogue puppet break him. Let a carcass tear him apart. He didn’t care anymore.

But the rage inside him burned like nothing else.

He fought. Everything. Anything. Until there was nothing left to fight for.

Because now, he had no purpose.

---

Time passed.

There was quiet. There was a sliver of sunlight that broke through the clouds. Maybe even peace.

And if one wandered far enough through the hollow remains of Krat, they might stumble across a beautiful puppet beneath a tree, face streaked with dried tears, unmoving, peaceful.

Almost like he had finally stopped searching.

@bloodbrown this took so long oh my god some things have been happening in my life and it has been kinda eh but HEYY I'M BACK also i hope you're happy because i was banging my head against the wall tyring to think of something this boy is too precious i can't make him sad like that—

[thejesterstears]

So I saw someone say this some time ago and I don’t think it’s a generally agreed upon opinion but it’s been on my mind, that some people apparently think Pomni acts like she’s the only one suffering because she’s trapped in the circus…? And it just made me think are we watching the same show because I did not ever once get that impression from Pomni and I think it discredits her character arc a bit to think that way.

Like, I’m analyzing her behavior in the pilot and ep2 because that’s when she was at her worst as far as struggling to adjust to her new life goes. In the pilot she was understandably terrified and panicking, not only being thrust into a ridiculous situation and finding out this was her new life but also being chased by a horrifying monster that could end up being her one day if she ever loses her head. In ep2 she’s starting to resign herself to her predicament but she’s understandably depressed and withdrawn, she’s still overwhelmed and she feels alone. But I didn’t think any of her behavior was especially self-pitying—think about how you would feel if you had your old life and your identity torn away from you, stuck in a strange new place with strange new people and being told you could never go back home, and struggling to process that this wasn’t just some bizarre nightmare. Of course you’d feel lost and scared and desperate for an escape, and at least at first you’d be thinking of yourself and the life you left behind because you haven’t had any time yet to adjust to the situation you were suddenly forced into unlike everyone else. I don’t think Pomni’s reactions were at all unwarranted or indicated that she was behaving selfishly for being upset that she couldn’t leave. We haven’t seen for ourselves how everyone else reacted to ending up in the circus but I can’t imagine it was all that much different from how Pomni reacted.

(I’ve already discussed at length before whether Pomni was acting selfishly by abandoning Ragatha in the pilot—my consensus is still that she was not committing a selfish act on purpose, she was scared and reacting on a fight-or-flight impulse while still trying to convince herself it was only a dream, but Ragatha wouldn’t be in the wrong to be upset by this either. It was a bad situation for all involved but I don’t think Pomni would have wanted her to be hurt and wouldn’t repeat the same mistake. So putting that aside for now.)

Also, and this isn’t to knock the other circus members, but everyone sort of had a very lackadaisical “oh look a new person trapped with us for eternity” response to Pomni’s arrival, because they were already so acclimated to the situation while Pomni very much wasn’t. They all behaved like nothing was weird or wrong about it so I kind of don’t blame Pomni for initially feeling very alone and closed off from everyone else, because it didn’t necessarily seemed like they cared. Ragatha was the only one who really made any attempt to help her adjust but even then it was more pacifying than helpful—again, not that Ragatha didn’t care, just that her method of coping didn’t align with Pomni’s needs when she just wanted to be heard and understood. Again this isn’t to say the other circus members purposely rebuffed her, just that they were so used to it that they didn’t really have much of a reaction or go out of their way to try helping her adjust, so Pomni ended up feeling isolated and alone in processing what was happening to her and questioning how the others could accept it as normal. I think I’d feel sort of hurt and alone too if I were in her shoes.

But Pomni has also proven that she isn’t only thinking of herself and wallowing in her own misery like?? She actually adjusted fairly well when you consider only maybe a week or so has passed since her arrival at this point in the series. She listens to others and cares about the people around her and responds emphatically to other people’s suffering, wanting genuinely to help them. That doesn’t sound like the behavior of someone who thinks they are the only one suffering in a situation. It makes me think of when people were complaining that “anxiety” was her only defining character trait, back when we only had the pilot to go off of—you need to give her time to adjust, and show what she’s really like. That’s not all there is to her character and you can’t base that assumption on the few episodes out so far where she’s still coming to terms with her new life.

TLDR I don’t understand when people assume Pomni is selfish or self-centered for being reasonably upset about her circumstances and when she’s shown to be a genuinely kind and caring person when she’s in the right headspace. In short, she’s human and will make mistakes and get fed up by her situation, but that doesn’t mean she thinks she’s the only one who has it bad here.

[freeluigihesbae]

𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 (𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖) - 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 3

(4,104 words)

summary: You and Luigi finally talk, over fluffy pancakes and several doubts.

𝗍𝗐: NONE! just teasing, tension and prelude to smut :)

You wake up, feeling the familiar softness of your bed. Your hands are angled in awkward directions, a place you often found yourself waking up in because you never slept straight. The sheets are crumpled, making your neck sweat before you realize you feet are sticking out, making you feel extremely co-

Luigi.

Luigi Mangione. The sex. The stalking. The leftover Thai food. Specifically the very dubious but extremely enjoyable sex.

You fucked your stalker that you were facetiming at least once every week. Who you were very much into and spoke about to your pilates bestie telling her he could break into your house and fuck you.

Oh my God.

You shoot up out of the bed, gasping when you look down and see your body tightly wrapped in a towel. You have nothing on underneath but at least he had taken the time to give you some sense of dignity once you had woken up. Ruffling you hair and groaning, you scoot to the edge of the bed, wincing at the random pains in your body.

Because last night was…rough.

Hanging your head down, you mindlessly reach your arm out to scour the breadth of your nightstand before your fingers touch a glass. You squint, looking to side and through the hair strands hanging in front of your face.

A glass of water. You blink incredulously before pushing your hair back and yawning. Opening your eyes entirely, you move a bit closer before realizing it’s not just a glass of water, but it’s complimented by a tissue with an Advil placed on top and a small note.

It strikes you weird that he had the lack of shame to stalk you (which you actually didn’t care about but because you forced yourself to maintain objectivity…) but all of a sudden became a gentleman to give you Advil. The thought strikes to perhaps not take this asshole’s (the asshole that fucked you really well) help, but you do because your legs and back and screaming bloody murder.

Who are you to deny yourself some comfort (and pleasure even if it’s from a guy that was stalking you)?

You’re too scared to open the note, so you quickly throw the Advil down your throat, swallowing it with water before nearly choking it up. Your throat hurts and your go frozen, blushing because you suddenly remember how he held you hair, fucking himself into you.

You feel your fingers shaking because at some point, you were going to have to go downstairs, much less walk across your room without freaking out about everything that happened last night.

Taking a few deep breaths, staring at the folded note the entire time, you remember what Luigi and told you right before you were knocked.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Well, damn. You scrunch your face in distaste because he obviously wasn’t in the room without you. At the same time, that’s probably a good thing because you would’ve gone through I’m Officially Dying ™ part fucking 2 which you weren’t really ready for.

You finally gather the courage to grab the note, squeezing it in your hand. What would it say? Maybe thanks for being a slutty fuck I’ll keep staring at your pilates ass. No, there’s no way. Luigi was too disciplined to talk to you like your daily unwanted Instagram DMs that you started to ignore. Your maybe? Options were endless so you went for it.

You open the note.

You had a rough night last night. We have a lot to talk about. I might be not be right next to you when you wake up, just to give you space. I’ll be downstairs, waiting until you come out of your room. Advil and water on the table. Would’ve left some food but you should brush your teeth.

On another note, I’m sorry if the note feels stalker-ish. I didn’t think talking to you like your favorite work colleague after yesterday would make you feel comfortable. If that would’ve been better, well, come down and you can tell me that yourself.

Luigi.

You stare, jaw dropped. What the actual fuck were you even supposed to in response to that? This guys waltzes into your house after stalking you and then leaves you water, Advil, and a mildly threatening note which you might be overthinking.

You grab your phone, opening it up pressing on the Phone app, wanting to enter 911. But something stopped you. If you had really said you didn’t want it, would he have done what he did yesterday?

You think hard before deciding. Fuck it. The only way through this was through it, which meant you were going to get ready, get dressed, walk down there, and face Luigi himself. In all his glory.

Which was probably a pant, a t-shirt, and a GodTier Dick ™.

You check the time, thankful it’s just 6:30am which means you could have ample time to talk to Luigi, who you were half-creeped at knowing he was sulking in your house downstairs. Running to your bathroom, you brush your teeth before quickly doing your hair and getting ready, covering yourself entirely this time.

After fixing yourself up in the mirror, you walk over to the bedroom door. Afraid to open, you wonder why. It doesn’t take too long to realize that you’re scared Luigi might jump-scare you, perhaps standing right in front of the door, or even at the end of your foyer.

The doubts starts to creep up as you take a few steps back, apprehensive to even move from your position. Looking around the room, you’re lost, unsure of what to do and how to defend yourself if something wrong were to happen.

That’s when you spot your phone. Walking over, you check and thankfully, it has full charge. You don’t have any notifications from Luigi, which in part you expected, but it makes you feel unsettled.

Unlocking your phone, you quickly type and send a message before falling back on the bed and squeezing your eyes shut.

You: im scared to come down.

Taking deep breaths, you pray that answer comes quick. You count the seconds, eventually allowing two minutes to pass before a ding jolts you into standing up. You gasp hard, breathing unevenly before checking the message.

Luigi: totally get that. no idea what to tell you.

Huh. Not so bad. But before you can respond, he sends another message.

Luigi: If it helps, not everything I said yesterday is tru.

What? What did he says yesterday? You think hard, blushing every now and then as you recall his words.

Accessed all your call logs. Messages. Pilates at 6. We both love Thai food.

You’re probably missing a few but funny enough, you snort. Him not liking Thai food isn’t going to help in making you feel better.

You: tell the truth then? How am I supposed to trust what u say.

You get an instant reply.

Luigi: I gave you an Advil.

You: That could’ve been poison.

Luigi: u still took it tho, right?

Damn. He got you there because that’s true.

You: too-shay or however u say it. That’s right.

Luigi: So u do trust me to a certain extent.

You: yes but not entirely

Luigi: so u trusted me to fuck you inside out and give u advil which u took… but not to reveal some minor epiphanies.

You: minor and epiphanies don’t belong in the same sentence

Luigi: u get the point.

Luigi: listen. ill do my part. Just pls come down so we can talk and ill tell u everything.

Luigi: i know ur reading these. I made u breakfast. Surprisingly idk what u like so its choco chip pancakes with vanilla i-scream

Speechless, you stare at your screen without any clue about how to respond. But the breakfast is inviting, especially since your stomach is slowly demanding it. You hear the grumbling and as much as you’re physically trying to stop it, it won’t go away.

Without responding to his messages, you take in your last deep breath before opening the door. Your heart pounds against your chest.

Nobody is standing in the foyer, much less in front of your door.

Whew, you think, before slowly making your way down the steps, trailing your fingers along the banister while checking both sides. Sure enough, the air is smelling of a mix of chocolate and vanilla, infiltrating your nostrils and making you betray your initial plan of giving Luigi an icy cold shoulder.

You walk towards the kitchen with small and deliberate footsteps, you see Luigi’s back, toned and muscled facing you. You’re not sure what he was doing until then, but there are active sweat drops slowly rolling down and for a second, you wonder if this sight is enough to fill your hunger.

Unfortunately, your stomach does the honors and grumbling the loudest is ever has, making your location known.

Luigi turns around, furrowed eyebrows before letting out a small gasp when he sees you.

“Oh. Hi.” Luigi gulps, before he looks down at himself. “Sorry for not having a shirt. Tore it while I was coming down.” He rubs the back of his neck before crossing his arms over his chest.

“You tore it where?” You have your arms crossed too, unknowingly protecting yourself as you’re still standing on the carpet that separates your living room from the kitchen.

Luigi gives you an unreadable look before blinking.

“While I was walking down the stairs.” His eyes motion towards the staircase but you don’t care to turn around.

“Can I see it?” You ask with uncertainty in your voice and he seems to freeze, before letting out a sigh.

“I-“ Rather than doubt, he shows significant irritation. “I threw it out. In your garage. In the trash can.” Your guards go up listening to his broken answers.

“Of course you did.” You roll your eyes before leaning against the wall. Luigi buries his head in his hands before standing up, prompting you to take a few steps back. Upon seeing your reaction, he puts both hands up, showing a stop to you before talking.

“Listen. You’re scared. I got it. If you want me to swim in your very full trash can and find that t-shirt, I’m happy to do it. But I think it would help everyone-“ “There’s two of us.” You quickly cut him off and for a second, you see the look flashing on his face. The same one which he had when he was-

“I think it would help us both,” Luigi takes in a deep breath before talking, “if you stopped getting scared everytime I do something human.” His response infuriates you and without thinking, you take a few steps forward.

“I’m sorry are you lecturing me about being scared? What do you say I should do when I see my leftovers licked in clean in the sink? Or when my bedroom window is left open before you jump scared me and then fucked me into next year? What should I do?” You don’t realize it, but the entire time you’ve taken a few steps forward, now having to stare up at him because he towers you by at least four inches.

“I-“ Luigi looks to his right, unable to find words. And even before he can, you take a swing, resulting in a tiny crack to be heard.

Luigi nearly falls over, barely avoiding hitting his head on your island before he stands up and walks backward.

“I totally deserve that. But I still haven’t told you everything and the only person delaying this entire process is you.” He still has his hands up as a precaution, worried you might swing at him again.

You chuckle a bit before walking around your island to sit in the chair next to it.

“Right, I’m the one who broke into the house and fucked myself. How could I forget?” You take a jab at him, rolling your eyes before you look the other side. At this point, you’re too pissed off to look at him. Even though you can, you don’t, fighting the urge to do by replaying the conversation you’ve had until now.

A very uncomfortable silence floods the space between you two, leading for absolutely nothing to be said the entire time. You’re lost in your head, trying to figure out ways to diffuse the situation you’re in. You can’t keep your head turned to the side forever and you are sure as hell couldn’t avoid Luigi forever.

“Look at me.” After what seems like forever, you hear Luigi speaks. It’s both soft and commanding, leaving room for what he said to sound like a question. That’s how you take it, letting out a mumble before turning your entire body towards the wall you were looking at the entire time.

“Please.” His voice comes a bit firmer, slightly more conviction, and equal demand. You can tell he hasn’t moved because there isn’t more than 10 feet of distance between you two. But soon enough, you hear footsteps shuffling closer which prompts you to tighten your muscles.

They stop right behind you, which is further confirmed by the waves of body heat that slowly circle you. You barely register the remnants of his cologne that are still around you. And because of his jeans, you can tell that he’s moving.

You close your fingers into your fists before taking a deep breath, not allowing yourself to jump when you hear him speak in your ear. You do, however, let out a breathy whimper which seems unfair to expect yourself to not make.

“I’m not going to touch you, but there’s a few things I want to make clear. After I had you bent over, I asked you if you wanted to continue. I asked you twice. Both times you gave me enthusiastic consent. And now, I understand that maybe I shouldn’t have done so afterwards, but before I had you screaming my name. Nevertheless, you said yes. Let’s not forget that you had more than enough time to call the cops on me before coming downstairs. You didn’t. Instead you’ve spent all this time bickering with me. Now I’m going turn this chair around,” you hear his hand fall on the chair and this time you jump a bit, “and I’m going to ask you to look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m the only one at fault.” And sure, with one swift movement, your eyes are peeled from the wall and now stuck on his chest, specifically his sternum. You see that now both of his arms are either side of you holding your chair, effectively caging you in.

Without too much thought, you look up with your lips parted. The closeness, his voice, and the tension has made you riled up again. But before you let that get to you, you have to admit in the heat of everything, you forget the fact that he did ask it was okay. And it’s true that he asked twice in which both times you spoke through tears telling him that if he didn’t fuck you, you’d call the cops because you needed him badly. So, it’s true. Were you being a drama queen? In part. Was it justified? In part. Was it his fault? In part.

Everything was in part which meant you… were the ‘part.’

You stare into his eyes, which don’t move closer or get any farther. Rather, they stay right where they are. That’s when you whisper it.

“It’s not your fault Lu. Not entirely.” And right after saying it, you see his smile. A small one appearing on his face and it’s just so perfect, leading you to prop yourself up slowly and make your lips find their way to his.

But he pulls back, letting go of the chair and walking over to your microwave, leaving you in shock before you turn around, staring at him in anger.

“How da-“ “I didn’t have access to your messages. Or videos. Or anything. Promise on my life.” His back is facing you again as he pulls a full-stack of pancakes which make your mouth water. You stare at the way his muscles twist and turns as he’s walking around in the kitchen.

“Liar.” You bite the word out, too distracted by how good he looks.

But he ignores it.

“And your number? I was talking to a colleague who was friends with your ‘bestie’ as she termed it, Bea. I told them I was interested in you-“ “What?”

Luigi turns and look at you, raising an eyebrow as he’s about to take the vanilla ice cream out of the fridge.

“If you shut up while I talk, this will be easier.” He huffs his words out while pulling out a tub of ice cream.

“I guess you might want to help me with that too.” You say it irritation laced in your voice, seriously both turned on watching his back and annoyed at how calm and composed he seems to be.

But that comments seems to have done the trick before he slams the spoon down and now, full body, turns towards you.

“DAMN you when I’m trying to explain myself. You don’t call the cops, but you make me freeze every time because you can’t keep your mouth shut. You said you had questions and when I’m trying to answer them, you keep fucking talking. So the only I can help you shut is by leaving. I refuse to do anything with or to you unless you specifically ask me to or we resolve this conversation. So you tell me, would you like to fuck without letting me talk or can I get some stuff out of my system first?” You look down and see him, angrily but carefully, scooping out ice-cream and neatly placing it in a fresh plate. Guilt makes your body feel hot as you quietly nod.

“Sorry.” You look up at him, settling back into your chair before he sighs.

“Thank you. I told a certain colleague I was interested in you, after which they asked Bea and gave me your number. When I asked if it was okay to message you, they said it’s fine. I took their word for it and did exactly that.” He pushes a plate towards you, and you realize that he gave you four pancakes that had the most chocolate chips and two very big scoops of ice cream, which made you feel even more guilty.

“Eat.” He gives you a fork and knife which you swiftly take before cutting into the pancakes, quietly appreciating how soft and fluffy they were. He stares for a few seconds before walking over and sitting next to you.

“These are really good.” You don’t whisper, but you don’t talk too loud either. He smiles a bit before nodding.

“Good. You want chocolate syrup?” He tilts his head but once you tell him no, he doesn’t probe further.

“In terms of knowing that you, well, jerked off thinking about me,” you choke a bit on his words but keep eating, give him a side-eye before he returns a hesitant smile, “there was one time when we were in a Slack call-“ Oh no. You realize that you may know where this is going.

“—and I think you thought that you left the call, I don’t know how you missed that you didn’t though, because I was confused you hadn’t left. So I stayed a bit longer and withing, like, 2 or 3 minutes I heard you moaning. I didn’t really know what to do because at first, I thought you were in really bad pain and I was about to call the cops. But then I heard you say my name, and by say I mean say it. Moan it. Breathe it out in a way I realized you were doing… something else. I take responsibility here, because I stayed and listened. Luckily your camera was off. If it was on I would’ve left. But yours was off. Mine? I turned off. So I just stayed until you had came,” Luigi covers his face, which you can tell is turning red. You yourself are eating away at the pancakes in absolute shock which your food was helping distract you from, “a-and I could tell ‘cause you practically screamed. At which point I left.” Luigi reaches over and drags the pancake plate at which point, you wordlessly add another two to your plate, making him laugh.

“In terms of coming into your house, I went through public records. And for pilates, I never came and visited. Just that my sister goes to your class and showed me a picture of all of you together, at which point I recognized you. Didn’t tell her about you but just asked about details regarding his specific class. And lastly, in terms of breaking into your house. I’m-“ He looks at you when you give him a hard glare which he sighs out in response to.

“I-I’m guilty. But you’re also pretty stupid for keeping your keys under your fucking doormat. That’s just too easy.” Luigi laughs and all you want to do is slap him, but you realize that he’s right.

A few seconds pass before he talks.

“So… are you going to say anything or are you going to keep avoiding it by stuffing your mouth with my pancakes?” From your peripheral vision, you can tell that he’s smiling at you which makes you blush. But you don’t answer because you were planning to eat all six pancakes, stall, and wait until you were finished to give him any type of answer.

He seemed to understand that too, because he too sits back in his chair, lowly humming as you ate. It was comfortable, for the time being.

You take your time in enjoying what he made for you, happy with the taste until you take the last bite.

After that, you turn the entire chair to face him. At some point, he had to know what you were thinking.

“I think it’s freaky that you broke into my house. I need to see proof of everything you’re saying. And if you’re okay with it then I totally have a crush on you and I’d love for this to become something more, but you’ll need to show me you deserve it.” You end with a smirk, a bit surprised at your own boldness. His own features contort into confusion before he returns the smirk.

“Showing that I deserve it? I see. What comes first, the proof or my hard work?” He spread his legs, seemingly teasing you which makes you laugh. You stand up, walking over to your fridge and pulling out whipped cream.

“Well,” you pull the cap of before shaking the can, “unlike you,” then taking the time to place a long line of whipped cream from his abdomen up to his collar bones, “and how you forgot how important whipped cream is with pancakes,” after which you tilt your head, silently asking if he’s okay, at which point he nods enthusiastically, “I won’t be forgetting about the proof.” You toss the can behind you, uncaring of where it lands and the sound it makes before you’re bending over, pushing your hips out and sticking your tongue out, placing the tip at the very bottom of the whipped cream.

You watch him flex his abdomen as you slowly lick the entire thing up, leaving no trace of the sweet cream as you make your way up. You make sure to grab his arms while you do it, digging your nails into his biceps which makes him groan.

As soon as you make it all the way up to his collarbone, you swallow it all, licking away at the excess that makes it’s way out of your mouth but before you can finish, he grabs you face.

You open your eyes, only to see him gathering it on his fingers. Smiling, you part your lips and stare at him with doe eyes, savoring the way he slowly pushes one finger in at a time before pulling it out. As a courtesy, you make a pop with each finger he pulls out.

Drawing a finger up the same path you left, you pull his chin down to look at you before talking.

“I’m willing to forget for a little bit, as long as you show me a damn good time in that duration, Mangione.”

~

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~

author'r note: hello! not much to say another than here's the highly requested part 3 <3

[wowzyee]

hiiii could you do yandere 007n7 x reader and some HCs? Im also from AO3 by the way!

🧼🌸 anon <3

Sure!

:]

007n7-

❥│Before he was Forsakened, he probably had his eye on you

❥│You better believe he’s taking advantage of his exploits

❥│He’s calmer than when he was younger, but he can be violent if needed

❥│He would get jealous of people you spent your time with

❥│If you liked someone else, he would be absolutely devastated

❥│The others are already wary of him, so he probably wouldn’t kill anyone, especially since they would just respawn

❥│It’s not stalking, it’s just walking extremely close behind

❥│Anyways, he stalks you constantly and probably has cameras or microphones hidden in your cabin

❥│He’s not clingy, but he hates not being able to see you

❥│This man is absolutely touch starved, you can barely hug him and he’s putty in your hands

❥│He’s less toxic of a yandere compared to someone like Shedletsky or Two Time

❥│I lied, he’s very clingy, he hates not being able to cuddle you 24/7, if you let him touch you at all

❥│He totally doesn’t “borrow” your things

❥│He would be very overprotective of you, you would cause him lots of panic attacks if you’re a reckless person

❥│He wants to try to get you to hang out with him, but he’s too nervous to ask

Here’s the Oneshot!

“P-Please, don’t scare m-me like that ever a-again.”

007n7 shook as he wrapped his arms around you, kneeling down. How did you get here?

Well, you had practically thrown yourself at the killer in the start of the round, a feeble attempt to stun the killer. Instead of stunning the killer, you got a sharp, oozing gash to the side.

After that, you wandered aimlessly through the map before passing out due to blood loss.

007n7, who had realized you were no longer in his sight, began to panic, frantically trying to use his CoolGUI to find you.

Lucky for him, it worked, but he almost wished it didn’t; the sight was horrid for him, your bloody body draped over a generator, clothes soaked in the coppery red liquid, your form barely breathing.

He had immediately rushed to your side, hands shaking as he lifted you up.

“Please, please wake up. Please, I need you to wake up.”

He took off his sweater vest, attempting to wrap it around your wound to stop the blood flow. It was then that 007n7 noticed the metal piece lodged into the deep gash. He would have to widen the incision in order to remove it and clean your round.

Hands still trembling, he pulled a spare knife he had “borrowed” from Two Time and brought it to your wound. You hazily opened your eyes, head throbbing and side aching, a painful, almost burning sensation.

“Pl-please, don’t hate me for this.”

He drove the knife into your wound, gripping the handle tighter as you flinched. You covered your mouth, muffling your pained noises as to not alert the killer.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .”

007n7 continued mumbling apologies and condolences as he widened the slash in your side.

Meanwhile, Elliot, who had realized someone was injured, was making his way towards your location. He froze the moment he arrived, the hot pizza slice falling out of his grasp.

“What the HELL are you doing to them?!”

007n7 froze, looking at Elliot before rapidly shaking his head.

“N-no, Elliot, i-it’s not what you think, I swear, I’m-“

“You’re WHAT? Dissecting them like some-some PSYCHOPATH?? I-I left you both out of my sight for TWO MINUTES-“

“Elliot, PLEASE, I need you to believe me, I’m trying to help them! Please, they need a medkit, I-“

Elliot grit his teeth, throwing a medkit down at 007n7.

“Take it. But after this, stay the Hell away from them. I don’t need you ruining their life as well.”

007n7 paused a short while before immediately grabbing the medkit and taking out a bottle of medical alcohol. He gripped your hand after rolling up your shirt, attempting to open the bottle with his teeth. It shook back and forth, some of the clear liquid spilling onto the grass and his pants.

“O-oh, shit. H-hey, this is going to hurt. Squeeze my hand, okay? Ready?”

He nodded to himself before pouring the alcohol onto the deep slice. It took all of your willpower to not scream.

It burned and stung more intensely now, and it only got worse when 007n7 stuck his gauze-covered hand into the wound and gripped the large metal plate stuck inside of you.

At least it didn’t puncture your lung.

He pulled it out as fast as his ever-shaking hands would let him. You groaned as he finished bandaging the wound.

“S-sorry, I’m so sor-“

He froze in place as you hugged him.

Which brings you to now; 007n7 shaking, beginning to sob as he clung to you, his breath ragged.

“Y-you scared me s-so bad. I-I’m so glad I got here on t-time, because if you would’ve died-“

‘-I’m not sure I could live with myself.’

Odd words, considering that you would just respawn. Though, it was probably more convenient to have gotten that metal slab out of your body first, and besides, maybe 007n7 just didn’t want to let you feel the pain of respawning.

The round ended not too long after, and you ended up back in the lobby, still being cradled in 007n7’s arms. He had buried his face into your neck, letting you feel the warm tears that rolled down his face.

The other survivors, excluding Guest, Taph, and Dueskkar, were staring at you two.

Elliot clenched his fists, pulling 007n7 off of you and helping you to your feet before turning around to yell at him.

“I told you to give them the medkit and GET AWAY from them!”

Elliot rolled his eyes as 007n7 pathetically stammered out a response.

“U-uh, t-they- w-what if-“

“Just . . . leave me alone. Leave them alone, too. No one wants you here, especially not them!”

007n7 gripped the rug tighter, pursing his lips shut and praying that no more tears would flow out.

Elliot grabbed your arm, gently pulling you outside to your cabin.

He sat you down, putting his arms on your shoulders. Elliot’s voice softened as he spoke to you, returning to his normally sweet tone.

“Are you okay? I swear, if that bastard HURT you-“

You nodded your head no, reassuring him you were fine and that you didn’t need anything. Eventually, Elliot gave in and sighed, planting a small kiss on your forehead before freezing.

“S-sorry, was that too forward?”

You winced and blushed, looking at the ground before pulling him into a kiss. It was short, but to Elliot, it seemed like an eternity.

In a good way, of course. He blushed again, sheepishly running the back of his neck as his eyes darted in the other direction.

“R-right, uhm, I-I’m going to go help Shedletsky heal the others. B-bye!”

He zoomed out of the cabin.

007n7, who had watched the entire thing, felt his heart drop. He crumpled the daisy he held in his hand, more salty tears welling up in his eyes.

Of course you didn’t love him, why should you?

He wasn’t worthy of love, especially not yours.

Elliot was right; no one wanted him around, especially not you.

He should milk himself again like he did before he got to this Hellish place.

He shook his head rapidly, trying to dispel the thoughts from his head. He watched as you lay there on your bed, slowly falling asleep.

He wanted to have you.

No, he didn’t want you.

He needed you.

He needed you to be by his side in the morning when he wakes up, needed you to hug him and tell him everything is going to be alright when he had those terrible thoughts and the pain of losing C00lkid.

And if he had to hurt you, he would if it guaranteed you were his.

You woke up the next morning to find the lights in your cabin were all out. It was pitch black outside, per usual.

You looked out your window; too dark and too dirty to see anything.

As you stood up, you felt a sudden prickle on your back; something or someone was watching you.

You shuddered.

It was cold.

Why was it cold? Your cabin was usually warm.

Odd.

As you searched for a match, something brushed against your foot, causing you to jump.

You were then pinned to the bed as something was put on your mouth; tape.

A familiar voice then rang out.

“I-I’m so sorry, my love.”

CRACK! POP!

The grotesque sound of 007n7’s hammer slamming into your bones echoed in the small room.

You screamed, muffled and drowned out by the tape.

SNAP! CRUNCH!

He brought the hammer down on your other leg, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed out meaningless apologies.

He dropped the hammer to the ground, pulling a cloth from his pocket and drenching it in a strong-smelling liquid. He placed it on your nose over the tape covering your mouth, forcing you into his lap and holding you there.

“I-it’s okay, shhh. I-I’m going to take good care of you, I-I promise I’ll make you happy, I’ll fix your wounds . . .”

‘. . . He could never love you as much as I do.’

I sincerely apologize if this sucked. 💔

[theoceanoasis]

Can I offer some angst?

Late one night Hot Rod wakes up after a nightmare which also startles Soundwave awake. Snuggling closer to his conjunx Hot Rod slowly starts to calm down and explain what the nightmare was about.

When Hot Rod was still a young sparkling his carrier Perceptor had started to date a co-worker. One day he invited them over to eat dinner and meet Roddy for the first time, things went well at first considering it wasn't very long after Percy had divorced his former conjunx. However after some time his carrier's new partner started treating Hot Rod harshly, saying awful things when his carrier wasn't around or even daring to raise a servo at him. Claiming that he was just in the way of their happiness.

One day when Perceptor was at work the co-worker took Hot Rod at a small park at the edge of town. At first things were fine, no yelling or screaming just fun. But as the hours passed and the sun started to set Hot Rod quickly realised that his caarrier's partner was no were in sight, leaving the young sparkling to fend for himself. Roddy tried to remember the way home despite not being able to fully read the street names, stumbling down the crowded streets the sparkling found help in the paws of a small pack of turbo foxes who were resting in an allay. The foxes kept him warm and safe, they even shared their food with him while a scout went out to look for his carrier. An hour later Perceptor found him with tears running down his face and energon on his servos. The tangy scent of blood energon will always be burned into his memory but the comforting scent of his carrier always chased away those bad memories.

He woke up with a gasp, nearly falling out of bed. Soundwave was also woken up by the noise and turned on the light. He scanned the room for danger and then turned to him.

"I'm fine."

He tried to dismiss, and Soundwave pulled him into his arms.

"I'm sorry for waking you."

"I don't mind."

Soundwave rubbed his back, and he pressed closer.

"What was the nightmare about."

"When I was a sparkling, my carrier started dating someone."

"Really?"

Soundwave looked at him in surprise because he'd never seen Percy date or even show interest in other people.

"It was shortly after my carrier divorced my sire. He was a coworker of my carriers. At first, things were fine. When my carrier first sat me down, I was happy for him, excited even. I wanted him to be happy, and when I met his boyfriend for the first time, I could tell he makes my carrier happy."

Hot Rod shivered, and he pulled him closer.

"As things became more serious, my carrier started trusting him to watch me. Sometimes he'd be needed at the lab at odd hours. That's when his true colors revealed themselves. He started telling me all these horrible things. He even laid hands on me occasionally. Wanting to punish me for existing. He'd lock me in my bedroom or outside all day or night. Not wanting to deal with me, and would only let me out when my carrier came home. He'd scream at me and wouldn't feed me. He hated me and always told me that I was getting in the way of their happiness and that my existence was running my carriers life."

Hot Rod sobbed, and Soundwave comforted him. His carrier must not have known because he would have never allowed his partner to hurt Hot Rod.

"I tried to be good. I tried so hard. I thought it was my fault and that my carrier hated me. I thought I was running his life, and if I said anything, I'd only ruin it further."

"No, Hot Rod, that's not true at all."

"I know that's just what he wanted me to believe."

Soundwave kissed him, and Hot Rod continued.

"One day, he took me to a park across town. I thought I'd been good and that he no longer hated me. He didn't scream or try to hurt me; instead, I had fun. When it started to get dark, I went to find him and couldn't find him anywhere. I was so scared, and I tried to find my way home. However, I couldn't remember the way and I got lost. I remember crying when a pack of turbofoxes found me. They took me back to their den, and we snuggled for warmth. They even gave me some of their food."

"I'm sure Perceptor wasn't happy when he found out."

"He eventually found me. I remember tears were running down his face, and he had blood on him. It smelled gross, but I was so happy to see my carrier. I ran into his arms and cried. I never saw that coworker again, and my carrier told me he was gone and was never coming back. At first, I was upset thinking I ruined things for my carrier; however, he quickly reassured me that it wasn't my fault."

Listening to his story, he thought back to the first time he met Perceptor. He'd been terrifying at the time, but now he realized why he was so protective of Hot Rod. He wanted to make sure I wouldn't hurt him like his partner had.

[lizzieisright]

Omgea abby on a feral nesting spree and getting really sad when she realizes theres no baby she can put in it—smut and fluff please 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Honestly I didn't get the appeal of nesting until I wrote this one, but after a small research into fellow a/b/o connoisseurs' opinions and getting into Abby's head, I must admit - nesting is pretty cool.

It's more of a hurt/comfort than fluff, sorry, I love some suffering.

female alpha!reader x omega!abby

Tags: a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), modern AU, hurt/comfort, nesting, there's some smut. around 2k words.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

That pregnancy scare really threw both of you off: of course you had the talk about your future, if you even wanted children, about at what age both of you want children and the fact that two of you were stupid enough to not take goddamn contraceptives. You didn't want to put Abby through this stress, so you started taking the meds instead, and then it all seemed normal.

Then Abby came back home with a new soft blanket.

"Touch it, it's so soft." She told you excitingly and you touched the blanket. It was like touching clouds.

"Wow, where did you get it? Fuck, I wanna smother my face in it."

Abby preened at your praise and her scent was so full of love you wanted to rub the new blanket on her scent glands and then wear it as your pyjamas.

"It's synthetic wool." Abby said and let you wrap yourself in it.

This blanket became a part of your bed.

Then Abby came home with another blanket, but now it was crocheted and you praised the pattern. Then it was a set of pillows that had a great neck support and you couldn't shut up about it for three days. The space on your bed was disappearing at alarming rate, Abby looked very pleased, and that's when it hit you.

Nesting was not something Abby did: she felt safe in your home, so there was no need of a blanket fort of the ultimate comfort, and she told you that before you she was too busy and stressed to even think of it. ("What the purpose of the nest if I'm studying 20 hours a day?" she told you, and you felt so fucking sad for her.)

So now, suddenly your girlfriend was going all out on dragging every soft thing into your bed and you unintentionally praised all of them. She didn't smell stressed, or sad, she was pleased, so you had no idea what was happening.

You didn't want to bother Abby or god forbid embarrassing her (that girl believed in such bullshit as "I'm being omega wrong"), but for your own sanity you had to talk to someone about it.

The choice was: Lev or Ellie, and you didn't want to ask Abby's baby brother about her nesting habits. So Ellie it was.

Obviously, she laughed at your distress.

"Look at this." You showed her the picture of your bedroom. "This is a DIY market now."

"Holy shit." Ellie took in the whole picture. "She wants your babies bad."

You blinked.

"Uh."

"She is not pregnant, is she? I swear to god, if she drops out-"

"No! Fuck you, I won't baby trap her or something. No, but we had a- we synced. And we were not on birth control. Emergency pills, yada-yada, but it scared the shit out of me."

"How- She is a med student!"

"No the point, Ellie. Do you think it's like- aftermath? Her hormones still being in the mommy mode?"

"Eh, probably. Look, you told me she feels safe with you, and as far as I know, omegas do it for two reasons: they want to feel safe or they feel so safe they suddenly want to have a baby."

You remembered Abby's stubborn face when she said she won't take the pills.

"No."

Abby who got what she wanted no matter what.

"No."

"Yup." Ellie smiled like a little shit. "Wanna be a mommy?"

You threw her a truly nasty glare.

You braced yourself for the talk that would probably upset Abby, and you hated it. You hated that you couldn't give your girl what she wanted, even if it was the craziest fucking idea ever, but your caveman instincts were yelling at you like a group of pissed off aunties.

You two were lying in the bed - nest, now - and Abby was nuzzling your neck, relaxed and comfortable. You rubbed your hand over her back and the other over the new blanket.

"I really like what you've done to our bed." You said, because it was true: you both slept like - ha-ha - babies now.

"Thank you." Abby purred playfully and you nipped her nose.

"It's a beautiful nest."

Abby tensed for a second, definitely embarrassed she called the nest nest, but she still smelled pleased.

"I'm happy you like it."

"Why have you started building it?"

"Don't know. You're just so safe and so good to me, and you take care of me when I'm being an idiot, so I guess I wanted us to have a space like this. Smelling of us, soft and comfortable. I mean, I know we talked about it, but.."

Abby paused and now she smelled a little upset, but not the sour kind - the faint lavender of regret, of I'll never get what I want.

"Baby?" You nudged her gently.

"I want us to be a family one day. And I know it's stupid to try and have a baby now, it's literally our last year of uni, but then I'll have residency and it'll be so stressful- and-"

Abby sniffled and your heart sank.

"Come here." You hugged Abby tightly and rubbed your cheek over hers to bring some comfort. "Baby, I want us to be a family too. We are one, just- you know. Without a little bossy creature screaming its lungs out at us. We will work it out, okay? I will be happy to be a stay-at-home mom while my badass doctor wife saves lives. It will take a little longer for us, but we will make it work."

"You can't just bombard me with the mom and wife, you asshole." Abby laughed through her tears.

"Well duh, if we're getting you pregnant we're definitely getting married first. I'm an honest woman."

"This is ridiculous." Abby laughed louder now. "I get all hormonal, have a baby fever and you go all in, huh? Marriage, being a stay-at-home mom? I don't know who is fucking crazier."

You laughed too and poked her ribs in revenge.

"I don't know what you mean because this is a solid plan. We graduate, we work, we have some sort of financial stability, we get married and bam! You're pregnant. The road's longer, but we get there."

"Okay, yeah, you're the one who is crazier."

"I'll take your last name and I'll draw hearts around it every time I'll have to sign something."

"I hate you." Abby giggled and kissed you.

The kiss was playful at first, but then Abby traced her fingers down your neck and suddenly all the laughter stopped.

"Baby?" Abby murmured.

"M?"

"We should make love. Make this nest ours completely."

Oh holy shit.

"Yeah. Yeah, we should."

You kept kissing and grinding against each other until the clothes became too hot to wear, so you slowly took off each other's pyjamas (which was just two t-shirts you stole from each other). Everything was soft and smelled of your combined scent, and you just relaxed under Abby as she kissed your neck, blissed out and high on- well, on everything. On Abby, on the scent, on the nest, on the fucking future plans and the hearts around your signature.

"What do you want?" You asked her, and Abby sat up.

"I wanna ride you."

You nodded and kissed Abby again, sitting up so you two would stay close. Abby didn't let you do anything: she slicked her hand and slowly stroked your cock, making you sigh and grunt while he smiled at you, her eyes sparkling gold.

"Let me take care of you for once, sweetheart." Abby said, her voice a sweet, torturous trickle. "I'm so happy with you. I'm the luckiest omega to ever walk this Earth."

"Baby- fuck. Me too. Fuck, I wanted you the day I met you." And you didn't have to say more, Abby new what you meant: you wanted her soul, her love, her presence in your life.

Abby chuckled and slowly sank down on your cock until she was fully seated. She bit her lip and you stopped breathing, enveloped in her, so overwhelmed you were shaking. It felt better than any heat sex, any sync sex, and seeing Abby, her blush that went all the way to her big shoulders, her undone bun and open mouth was like seeing some blessed deity.

"I love you so fucking much." You whimpered and Abby giggled before rolling her hips and making you both moan. "Shit. Keep going, baby."

Abby just laughed at your desperation and set a slow, sensual pace, that got you both breathing heavily, watching each other obsessively. You roamed your hand all over her, lips glued to her skin, moving smoothly from her jaw, to her neck, to her nipples and all the way back so you could kiss her. Abby smiled into your mouth and put her hand on your shoulders for leverage, but you held her tightly, bringing her as close as possible before thrusting up into her.

Abby wanted to say something, but your quiet growl only made her giggle.

"I wanted take care of you."

"You did." You kissed her sweetly. "You made this beautiful nest for us. Now it's my turn."

When you mentioned the nest, Abby whined so lovely you couldn't help but thrust into her harder and just a bit faster until Abby turned into a pretty, whiny mess you loved so much. She clang to you, nuzzling into your neck, vulnerable and sweet, and you started to lose it.

"Baby, I'm gonna-"

"Tell me." Abby whimpered. "Tell me to cum, come on."

Your eyes sparked red, you grabbed Abby by her hair so she would look into your eyes and you growled at her, using your voice.

"Cum."

Abby shook, her eyes rolling as she mewled and whimpered, her thighs trembling, her pussy contracting, the intense smell of lust filling up your nose enough to make you growl and thrust into her for the last time.

"Love you, good omega, my lovely girl." You kept growling as her cunt squeezed every drop out of your cock, mixing up your releases as they spilled out of her right onto your bed.

Abby sank into you, tired but smelling so happy you couldn't help but leave a ton of butterfly kisses on her face.

"Love you too. You owe me a baby."

"Deal." You chuckled into Abby's hair. "You owe me a marriage."

"Deal."

[imsparky2002]

Conversation about Bigots

(Marc and Kiran are watching a cartoon together on the TV. Marc notices his little brother is looking rather down.)

Marc: You doing alright, Kir?

Kiran: Marc... what's a groomer?

(The older boy's face falls. He looks right at his brother and tries to keep his voice steady.)

Marc: W-where did you learn that word?

Kiran: Mr. Alec was doing a storytime at the bakery. He looked really cool, like someone from Nath's comics.

(Marc nodded, knowing that the drag story hour had gotten pretty popular with the kids, albeit with a few notable complainers. If it was the bakery that belonged to Marinette's grandpa, he was pretty sure he knew where this was going.)

Kiran: Mr. Roland. got really mad. He said something about Alec being a groomer. Then he yelled at him for being gay. I didn't get it. Alec wasn't hurting us!

(Marc sighs and pauses the TV.)

Marc: Kiran, you know how I love Nathaniel like how you love Sasha? And how some older girls love girls the way you love her? Like how Miss Bustier and Giselle are both mommies?

(Kiran nods)

Marc: Well, there are some people who don't like this. They think that queer people are trying to change kids to be like them, trying to do bad stuff to them. They're afraid and don't like things are different. But you have to understand, people like me are not groomers. We're just trying to live our lives.

Kiran: I know, but why couldn't he see we were happy? He made us all feel really scared.

Marc: Because people like him are very hard to reason with. If he ever tries to say stuff like that again, tell me or Mom and Dad, ok? Or tell Marinette's parents. Trust me, they know how to deal with him.

Kiran: Ok, Marc. I promise!

(He hugs his little brother, holding him tight.)

Hope you enjoy this little thing I made for Pride Month. As you can see, I despise Roland. Lemme know your thoughts. Make sure to reblog and reply. @booksrbetterthanpeople @nerdy-chocomallow @msweebyness

[queenofbaws]

FOR WRITING PROMPTS: We've both talked about the metaphorical cannibalism the UD group commits in the basement by shooting Em-- would love to see your take on if that basement cannibalism became literal! (PEAK IRONY...)

Hannah had made it thirty days. The journal had told her so. Thirty days of thirst, of pain, of loneliness, of unimaginable grief and fear and hunger. She'd been tormented, then chased, then fallen, then gotten up, then buried Beth, then starved, then starved, then starved, then starved, then unburied her only when her body began to eat itself.

Thirty days. That was a long time.

But Sam didn't have anywhere to bury Emily.

She couldn't remember how she'd ended up in the basement again. Behind her eyes, the world was tv static and dark, swirling mist, all the things she'd been warned about her in first aid classes. She remembered finding the journal, and God help her, she remembered finding the grave, and she thought maybe Mike had been with her, but then again, maybe he hadn't been. Maybe that had been later, upstairs, where she'd been so, so scared, but...why?

The fire and its smoke had pushed her down and down and down some more, and before she'd stopped to think about it rationally (all those stairs, all those calories, all that effort and energy) she'd been in the safe room again. Hopeful. Helpless. And glad, for the first time that night, for how very, very cold it was.

"Oh, Em..." It was for her own benefit, really, proof that her voice was still there, still worked, that her throat hadn't been scorched by the fumes she'd choked on upstairs, pounding at the door Josh had taken her through a lifetime ago.

This was the place where she apologized, wasn't it? The moment where all of her regrets came spilling out in one big, ugly glut? Only they didn't, no matter how long she stood in the sickly green glow of the monitors, the snow in her brain made real on their screens; she didn't fall to her knees and weep, she didn't beg for forgiveness, she didn't even bother saying sorry, because what was the point?

She was sorry - for believing, for ignoring, for trying so hard, for not trying hard enough, for expecting the others to manage, for knowing that they couldn't. She was sorry for herself, sorry that it had come to this. But sorry for Emily? For what had happened to her? No.

"He told you he was going to do it," she muttered, leaning over Josh's desk to stare into the monitors, basking in the artificial light as, one by one, the final feeds went dead. "But I guess you always thought you were special, huh?"

*****

She took her jacket on the second day, thinking again about the journal. It was harder to do than she'd expected - from a purely physical perspective, of course - because without blood, Emily had frozen. Her joints were rock-solid, her position unchanging, and she'd been curled up so tight when Mike had shot her. It was like she was still fighting even now, gripping tight to the material things she'd always been so proud of.

It might've taken minutes. It might've taken hours. Either way, Sam was sweating by the time it was all said and done, her hair pasted to her forehead and already beginning to freeze. She held the jacket in her hands, the fur (real fur too, because all of Emily's favorite things came at someone else's expense) lining too soft, too alive against her skin.

All at once, Sam realized how angry she was, how furious. It came on like a thunderclap, a wave of indignation and hurt she did her best to swallow down before remembering they were alone now, they were alone, and even if they weren't, she needed to be found.

She screamed until her vision spotted and her knees gave out. Then, fingers splayed on the concrete, she screamed some more.

Through the ringing of her ears, her echo made some good points: "WHY COULDN'T YOU LET IT GO? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU? HE TOLD YOU TO LEAVE, HE WARNED YOU! WE ALL DID! YOU ALL DID IT TO HANNAH - WHY WOULDN'T YOU DO IT TO YOURSELVES TOO?!"

And when the ringing stopped, when she found herself lying face-up on the ground, her teeth chattering from cold and shock and adrenaline, she didn't feel better, but she didn't feel worse.

She eased herself to her feet and began unlacing Emily's boots.

*****

On the third day, she climbed the stairs. Slowly. Carefully. Constantly compensating for Emily's boots, a size too large on her feet. A part of her (the sentimental one) had hoped the experience would lighten her, somehow; 'walk a mile in someone else's shoes,' or whatever. But neither her boots nor her coat nor the torn sweater beneath had shed any light on everything she'd done wrong that night, much less the ones that had come before it.

If anything, each step she took made her feel less human - they'd never really been friends, no matter what the photos or the yearbook signatures said. Sam had never liked Emily and Emily had never liked her, and every late-night phone conversation they'd had, every girl's trip they'd taken, every Facebook tag and candid video clip and surprise birthday party was just another move on some bullshit social chessboard she'd been too naive to second guess.

Sam gripped the railing. Took another step.

If Emily hadn't come up with that stupid prank, Hannah would still be alive. If Hannah hadn't run out into the snow, Beth would still be alive, too. If Hannah and Beth were alive, then Josh would be alive, and if Josh was alive, then...

She reached the landing. Doubled over with her hands on her thighs until she caught her breath. Started up the next set.

If Emily hadn't started that fight with Jess, she'd still be alive. And if Emily hadn't abandoned Matt in the mines, he'd still be alive. If Emily hadn't, by her own admission, panicked in the radio tower, someone would've come to their rescue before the others could die in the explosion, because of course they had, there was no other reason they would've left her, no chance that they'd made it out and not come looking, no...

It wasn't until she reached the basement door that she realized how tired she was. She raised her fist to pound on it, opened her mouth to shout, and simply slumped against it instead, her eyes slitting shut against the stinging air.

If Emily's feet had been the same size as hers...

If Emily had listened to her...

If Emily had just...

Later, when it was clear no one could hear her (or at least that no one cared enough to answer), Sam started down the stairs again, scooting on her bottom like a child. She didn't like the way her thighs and calves had started shaking, but she liked the gnawing in her stomach even less.

*****

The fourth day, she was sorry. The fourth day, she was scared.

Whatever had happened upstairs had finally reached her, the monitors cutting off and going black as the power grid gave up. In the dim light of her headlamp, the saws on the ceiling seemed to quiver, and every shadow seemed to have a life of its own.

Maybe it did, she thought, caught between the instinctive need to keep moving, keep her blood pumping, keep warm until help arrived and the animalistic urge to stay still until the threat had passed. Maybe there were things moving in the shadows, things with legs too long and arms too sharp, things with wide, milky eyes rolling in their sockets like they didn't quite fit, things that didn't come from bites, so if Emily had only just fucking left like they'd asked so they could read the stranger's journal in peace -

"You've should've known better," she murmured, her breath barely fogging the air anymore. "You should've known she'd run away. You should've known what would happen if they all laughed at her. You should've stopped it, you could've stopped it, you had every chance in the world and you didn't do anything."

From the table where she lay, curled tight and mostly naked, Emily didn't answer. Didn't try to defend herself. And maybe that was for the best, because as she stared into the darkness above her and steeled herself for the coming days, Sam realized she wasn't sure Emily was who she'd been talking to.

*****

Hannah had made it thirty days. Of thirst, of pain, of loneliness, of unimaginable grief and fear and hunger.

Thirty days. That was a long, long time.

Sam lasted five.

[returnofahsoka]

season 4 hoLY FUCKING SHIT

[ ] oh no the conses are quencing

[ ] "i'll rest when... i'll rest later"

[ ] oh this is very well written. i hate to see him like this

[ ] donatello can have some ecoterrorism. as a treat

[ ] leo he's.... he's missing a big chunk of his shell i'm-

[ ] "if leo's in trouble, i'm the first one in there" insane that raph is the one now who knows when to stand back from a fight. but also look who's keeping the little brothers in check and is also ready to step in the moment leo goes too far

[ ] leo and raph are really like. one of us, at all times, has to be the responsible one. and if leo can't or won't, raph will step up and do it, no questions asked. they've kind of grown to be co-leaders this way and i'm so here for it

[ ] y'all weren't lying that 2000s cartoon can sure write a depression arc

[ ] donnie, with the biggest smile on his face and a hand on mikey's shoulder "man, it stinks to be you :)"

[ ] "training, michelangelo? but there are comic books i could be reading instead" not splinter too afshfksjdkj

[ ] "it's for my superhero team up scrapbook!" of course. of course he has a superhero team up scrapbook

[ ] "hey look an alien invasion! you don't see that kinda thing every day! oh wait. yeah we do."

[ ] splinter used to take them trick or treating when they were kids that is so good, that is so smart, i love that. of course halloween is their favourite holiday

[ ] "i think you should lay off the poor guy. i mean, it can't be fun, always being the responsible one. and we're the ones who really benefit! raph's free not to think 'cause leo does all the thinking for him, don's free to dream and i'm free to take it easy. all 'cause leonardo's busy being responsible for all of us!" michelangelo. you. you get it

[ ] i always said he was the most perceptive

[ ] "a true warrior accepts what he cannot change" "thank you for your concern usagi but i will decide what i can and cannot change"

[ ] what if in your trying to keep your family safe you ended up hurting them. what if you lost yourself in the process

[ ] oh leonardo

[ ] he did the best he could do you understand he did the best he could there's nothing more he could have done!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ ] i am. experiencing shrimp emotions about this btw.

[ ] "i guess i've been obsessed with failing. i hardened my heart like a rock, wrapped up in my own shell" yeah you gotta love being a turtle, that's like the ultimate metaphor for this

[ ] it's that. instead of freeing karai to be her own person, without the shredder's influence, they pushed her down this path of becoming him. this show is about cycles and none of them will ever escape huh

[ ] "let him know i destroyed his family. let him know he is the last of his kind" girl they were. your friends.

[ ] mikey. baby boy. huddled up by the subway tunnel with his cat. oh little guy

[ ] "yes. i can see it in your eyes. i have my son back" god. yeah. good lord.

[ ] no! i'm pretty sure that's how the mutant zombie monsters get you! don!!!!

[ ] "what strange dimension are you from?" "new york city" pffffffft

[ ] "master splinter you're never gonna believe what-" "stop. please. it is probably better that i do not know" King Shit

[ ] i do worry about don. he's got a cold. he's slower. he's getting sloppy

[ ] "this cold of yours is gonna be the end of us" i'm saying!!

[ ] wait. fuck. the cycles. the hamatos are at it again.

[ ] "vengeance is like a splinter, it gets under your skin and can poison your life" EXCUSE ME

[ ] "mikey you take the left, don you cover me from-" "uh. don's home sick from school today leo"

[ ] little guy. he really looks like shit

[ ] oh the broken voice as he calls for casey and april. oh no donnie

[ ] he's trying to go home!! he's sick and hurting and confused and scared and he's just trying to go home!

[ ] mikey on his knees beside the containment chamber. raph putting his hand on his master's shoulder. splinter as he's seeing his son in this state. STOP THIS MADNESS RIGHT NOW-

[ ] this. is killing me btw

[ ] oh good he doesn't remember it

[ ] kudos to leonardo for recognizing what donnie needs is for things to get back to normal again and being like. okay. boys night out. as a treat.

[ ] the overdramatic "oh no i'm changing ahhhhh" and then chasing his brothers around the rooftop. never underestimate donatello's ability to go through the horrors and bounce back

[ ] yo what

[ ] may i repeat myself. yo what

that's wrap on season 1, here's some highlights from my notes app

[  ] they are fifteen???? like i know i'm aware the title goes teenage mutant ninja turtles but oh my god???

[  ] "poor choice raphael"

[  ] gosh. they were so tiny.

[  ] "how many times have i told you not to sneak up to the surface?" "this month or-"

[  ] teenage boy activities

[  ] i live for splinter's fake japanes proverbs

[  ] "whoever lives here just made the mistake of snatching one of ours" "and we'll level this whole city to get him back" yooooooooo

[  ] the shredder strikes back and tales of leo. what banger episodes. this is exactly what i was talking about babes.

[  ] he is their foundation! their rock to lean on and steady themselves!! the one to lead them home!!!!!!

[  ] love a symbolic rebirth through forging a new weapon ngl

[  ] donatello got his hands on a giant rocket launcher. run.

[  ] "i can finish this, raph" "i know. but where's the fun in that?"

[  ] aaaaaaaand now we got the aliens. scully you're not gonna believe this

[  ] this was such a BUSY season