#that is a HARD thing to pull off believe me

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIFTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of abortion, grief & health issues;

Rafe was a hundred percent sure the lack of oxygen made him delirious.

His palms were still clammy from the panic attack earlier—vision spotty, heart galloping so hard it scared even him. Sarah had stared at him like he was a mangled dog limping on the freeway and for once, she hadn’t said anything smart or mean, just driven him home without a word. No fight with her that night, he hadn’t screamed at her, hadn’t said something he’d regret—he kept his shit together for once. He said thank you, but his sister didn’t need it when she’d grown up watching him break down and build back up a thousand times, never quite whole.

Therapy hadn’t miracled him into some new person or whatever. He wasn’t going to start quoting mantras and hugging strangers in the street. He was trying, alright? Not to ruin everything he touched, not to say shit that hurt people only because he was hurting. It wasn’t gonna happen overnight—he knew that, it might not even occur in a year. But cleaning the water with you, of all people, that was something, a start and he had to start somewhere, or he’d drown.

That’s why he was parked outside your place, headlights off, keys still in the ignition, trying to talk himself out of going in. His fingers hovered over his screen guessing you’d follow up your text with a quick “nvm” or “that was a mistake.” But nothing came, just that green bubble, staring back at him, fucking terryfing.

This had to be some kind of trap, you hadn’t said two nice things to him in the past four months, except tonight, but his brain was foggy.

Rafe rubbed his face, still buzzing with adrenaline, a headache forming low behind his eyes, he should just go home, stop chasing something that always seemed to blow up in his face. But his hand was already on the door handle, legs half-numb as he stepped out into the night air. His heart started doing that thing again—erratic—and he wondered if he was about to pass out on your front steps.

That’d be poetic.

He was idling outside your gate, the one that used to open the second his Range Rover pulled up, he knew the code, now he had to buzz, like a stranger.

Rafe hated that.

He pressed the button, swallowing hard, already regretting it. He half-expected silence, or your voice telling him to go to hell. Instead, there was a click, then the slow swing of iron, groaning open like it, too, couldn’t believe you’d let him in. By the time he reached your front door, his hands were damp again, chest aching with everything he wasn’t saying.

Then—door swings open.

You didn’t make him knock, there you were barefoot, dressed in some enormous hoodie he hadn’t seen in months. Hair twisted up, eyes dark from either crying or just not sleeping. You weren’t supposed to look like that.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” he echoed, like a fucking idiot. It came out raspy, his throat wasn’t working right, still scratched up from earlier. His lungs hadn’t fully clocked back in from that panic attack and now this. “…You let me in.”

“You rang the gate.”

You seemed tired, not just physically, and he did that thing again, almost stopped breathing because air wasn’t a thing he deserved around you.

You stepped aside, sighing. “Come in. Before I change my mind.”

He did, swallowed hard, and crossed that threshold like he was sixteen again, sneaking in past curfew, scared your dad would catch him, but now it was just the two of you. You sat curled into the corner of the couch across from him, arms wrapped around your knees while Rafe sat stiff on the edge of the opposite one, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped like he was praying.

(He was.)

He dragged a hand down his face, his lungs were feeling funny again, but it wasn’t a panic attack this time, it was you, sitting right there, after all this time. He wanted to say something, but everything in his brain came out wrong before it even hit his mouth.

So he sat and you stared. This is probably where she slaps me, or tells me to get the fuck out. Or worse, says nothing, he thought.

He wanted to tell you that he hadn’t slept right in weeks, sometimes he thought he saw you out of the corner of his eye, and his body would react like you were real—as if he could still fix it. He wanted to admit he’d been spiraling, white-knuckling his days just to get through without texting you, begging or showing up like this.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

You looked like you’d bolt if he breathed wrong.

Rafe blinked, looking away. "I don’t know where to start."

That made your mouth drop, not quite a frown but close, he tracked it, all the little changes in your expression like they were landmarks in a city he used to live in. He didn’t know if that map still existed for him anymore.

“Start somewhere.”

Where the fuck was “somewhere”? Before the fight? Before he said all that shit he didn’t mean because it was easier to make you hate him than admit he couldn’t live without you?

“I didn’t think I’d be let in.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Everything felt surreal, as if he’d left his body behind in the car and now he was just watching this shit play out on a TV screen. You across from him, this house, this conversation—civilized, if you could even call it that. He didn’t know how to be calm around you, maybe this was hell, he died somewhere between the panic attack and your driveway and this was just the afterlife: stuck in a loop with the one person he couldn’t stop loving but always hurt.

“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore,” He confessed, his leg bouncing, nervous energy bleeding out of him. None of you were yelling, crying, rolling your eyes like usual, that scared him.

He kept seeing it in his head, how things used to be—even after a screaming match, you’d curl into him like nothing ever broke. you'd text him "come over" at 2 a.m. and he’d be there in ten, because it was understood. It was always understood.

Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, when his dad was on his ass, when he was fucking up every other part of his life—you were the one place he didn’t have to explain himself. This didn’t feel like the two of you, more like strangers in borrowed skin.

Rafe hated that he kept looking for you—the old you, who would tilt her head and laugh through her nose and throw a pillow at him when he said something stupid. The girl who could read him in a second and didn’t need him to find the right words. You didn’t look like her anymore, that was a good thing.

What the fuck happened to us.

He was what happened, if he hadn’t shut down, pushed back, said the worst thing at the worst time—he dropped his gaze to the floor, hands flexing again against his thighs. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would change what he’d already done.

You still weren’t uttering a single word, and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t sit here another second without doing something—saying something, but then, as if you'd taken a peek inside his excuse of a brain—

“I think we should get our excuses out of the way.”

He looked up.

Your hands were fidgeting—thumb picking at your sleeve, eyes not quite on him. God, he remembered those hands, you used to touch his face like he was something soft, you hadn’t touched him at all in months.

“I mean it. No more bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?”

You met his eyes.

“I mean, I’ve got my own shit to say,” you said. “So if you’ve got something to say, I want to hear it now.”

He suddenly felt sick, his ears were ringing again, the way they had earlier when Sarah pulled the car over and told him to “breathe, Rafe, it’s anxiety, not a heart attack”.

“…I don’t know how to say it right,” he muttered almost swallowed by the quiet. “Every time I try, it comes out fucked.”

“Give it a try.”

You didn’t say anything else, the you go first was visible in your eyes.

That was the least he could give you, right? He’d been taking and taking, his soul already hurt from just the thought. But you were offering him honesty, one chance, without the screaming, the throwing things.

Rafe cleared his throat, eyes glassy and wild and stupidly, desperately hopeful. Alright, somewhere. Fuck it.

“I regretted it the second you left.” It it hurt to say it, “I didn’t say it then. I was too—” He laughed once, humorless. “—too proud. Too fucked up, drunk.”

He rubbed his palms against his jeans, focusing on everything he hadn’t said properly for months. It haunted him, how your face had crumpled but you still didn’t cry in front of him—too proud or too hurt or both. The sound of the door slamming after you was louder in his head than the gunshots from his worst nights.

“The shit you said that night… messed me up. I know I messed you up too, but—” He stopped, jaw flexing. “I didn’t think it would come from you.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

He could take the hits, the rumours, Ward yelling in his face, his so-called friends talking behind his back. Even Sarah calling him an asshole—he could take all of that. But you? He’d spent so long thinking you saw him, even when he didn’t deserve it, especially then.

When you threw his pain back at him that night, when you looked at him like he was just another spoiled rich boy crying over his daddy—fuck, he’d felt something in him break in half.

“I thought you’d get it,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “That’s the part I couldn’t stop thinking about. You—of all people. You lost your whole family. You know what that’s like. You were there when my mom died. We were kids, but you were the only one who talked to me about it. I thought—” He shook his head. “I thought it would be like that again. That when my dad—when he was gone… I thought if anyone would understand what that felt like, it’d be you.” His mouth twisted. “But you didn’t.”

He blinked, and his vision went fuzzy again—not from panic this time, just pain, remembering too vividly.

“I deserved it, I really did. But that night?” he said, “I couldn’t forgive you. You weren’t wrong—" He bit his cheek, hard, until the taste of blood hit his tongue. “—but it was you. And I didn’t want to stop loving you. That’s why I didn’t chase you, just drank, a lot, figured I’d black out enough nights and eventually stop thinkin' about it.”

Another dry laugh.

“Didn’t work, if that wasn’t obvious.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, “I kept waiting for you to come back, thinking any day now, you’d text me. Say you were sorry too. But you didn’t and I didn’t know how to fix somethin' you were the one who broke last.”

His pride had cost him everything, but it was never stronger than his hurt. And even now, with your hand resting on your stomach and his gut screaming, he was still reaching for the version of you who used to understand him without either of you saying a word.

Rafe swore that was it—you were gonna walk out, leave him sitting there like some pathetic, washed-up version of the guy you used to love.

“Is that why you started seeing Sofia?”

"I didn’t…" He paused, shaking his head, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t see her like that.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded, slow and silent: go on.

“She was the bartender at the club. I’d see her when I went in—most of the time I was drunk off my ass anyway. Half the time I didn’t even remember what I said to her. I didn’t know her name for a while.” He hated himself for saying it out loud. “She was just there.”

His leg started bouncing again, and he didn’t even notice.

“She asked if I was okay once. That’s all it took, one person acting like they gave a shit. And I was pissed at you, I was pissed at everything, but mostly I was pissed at myself for not being okay and for needing you anyway.”

His hands came up, gesturing vaguely between you.

“I kept thinking—you left me. You left. When I needed you the most, and I knew I’d done so much wrong, pushed you so far that you didn’t have anything left to give me, but… I still thought you'd understand. I thought if anyone was gonna sit with me in grief, it’d be you. But you didn’t, you treated me like I was a fucking monster, it didn’t matter that I’d just buried my dad. All I was, was Ward’s son, and not just some kid trying to make sense of losing the only parent he had left.”

You looked like you wanted to interrupt. You didn’t.

“And I know he was a bad man. I know that, ’m not fucking delusional,” Rafe snapped, voice rising for a second, frustrated with himself, before softening again. “But he was still my dad. The guy who used to drive me out on the boat at sunrise and teach me how to cast without tangling the line. He was still the man who told me I could be something. Even when he lied through his teeth—he still said it.”

He dropped his eyes to floor again, voice going nearly hoarse.

“And I missed him. I still do, even when I hate him, I miss him. You made me feel like that was something to be ashamed of.” When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “That’s when it clicked. You were gone, you weren’t coming back. And I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. I didn’t even realize you were already hurting, mourning me while I was still sittin' right fuckin' next to you.”

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours again.

“That’s why I didn’t stop her,” he said, quietly, defeated. “When she kissed me the first time… I didn’t stop her. Because I wanted you to know what it felt like, to feel what I’d been feeling every second since the door slammed behind you. I wanted it to hurt when you found out.”

Rafe saw your jaw twitch, you were trying not to cry or scream or both while he admitted what you’d already known in the deepest part of your chest. He hated that you were sitting so far away, arms wrapped around yourself when all he wanted was to cross the space and warm you up with everything he hadn’t known how to say until now.

He hated that he’d ever wanted to hurt you.

“You didn’t have to make it worse.”

His head dropped, ashamed, nodding. He knew, fuck, did he know.

“You could’ve called. Texted. Showed up like this—months ago.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You did. You just didn’t want to.”

You were right, he had let pride drag him deeper into the hole, let the silence rot what was left between you because at least in the silence, he didn’t have to see your eyes look at him like that.

That night—shit, that night—he’d said things he didn’t even remember, the kind of bullshit you don’t come back from. It scared him sometimes, what he’d become. He’d wanted to win the fight more than he wanted to keep you, twisting his grief into something cruel the following weeks, just to make you bleed a little too.

Rafe swallowed hard, voice low now, ashamed. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t even like her,” he admitted, a little more broken. “Not like that. She was just… there, a good friend. She wasn’t you, didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect anything from me. And I hated myself more every time I saw her because I knew what I was doing. I was punishing you, for something I couldn’t admit was my fault too. I didn’t think there was anything left to fight for.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

“That’s the difference between us,” You muttered. “You give up when it’s hard. You made it look easy.”

“I needed you to hate me enough to stop trying.”

You let out the breath you’d been carefully holding.

“Congrats. It worked.”

“I didn’t want it to. I was a mess. Still am. I never stopped—”

“I thought I was going to die when I saw you together, Rafe.”

Your eyes weren’t angry or accusing, just….sad.

“I—I saw you in the bathroom,” you continued, “Thought I was going to throw up right there in the hallway.”

Rafe’s heart stopped.

“The door was open just a crack, enough to see her.” You swallowed hard, and he could see how your hands were shaking now. “She had her arms around your neck. You were smiling, laughing even. You kissed her neck, she was touching. You fucking let her.”

His soul caved in.

“I stood there for maybe ten seconds. Long enough to see you tie the strings of her bikini behind her back like you’d done it a hundred times already.” You let out a little laugh, but it sounded so wrong. “It used to take you five tries to tie mine without getting flustered.”

He felt sick to his stomach.

You shook your head slowly, eyes closing.

“It felt like someone had just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. I couldn’t breathe, my face went cold, and all I kept thinking was you didn’t even flinch.”

Rafe opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His heart was fucking breaking.

You tilted your head, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to keep it together. “I slept on the bathroom floor that night, in your hoodie, because it smelled like you. Didn’t eat for two days.”

A pause.

“And I still would’ve taken you back if you’d just shown up. Said you were sorry.”

Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. “I was sorry,” he said, hoarse. “Every second. I swear to God, I just didn’t think I—”

“—deserved it?” you finished for him, not unkindly. “You didn’t.”

He flinched.

“But I would’ve still tried,” you whispered. “Because I loved you that much.”

No vindication or closure. Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, exhaling hard, his whole body burning with guilt.

“I didn’t like her,” he repeated, knowing it couldn’t erase what he’d done.

"You liked her enough to keep her around."

“She was there. That’s all it was, she wasn’t you. I couldn’t even look at her without thinkin' about you.”

You shook your head, eyes gleaming. “Then why didn’t you leave?”

He looked at you, words choking in his throat. “Because I was scared you’d already moved on. You were gone for two months, I felt like a stranger."

You let out a bitter breath, “You were a stranger. The moment you let her touch you like that… you stopped being mine.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, a punishment, he deserved worse.

“I didn’t know how to come back from it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t come back from something like that."

He nodded, devastated. “I never stopped loving you, that never changed.”

You looked at him for a long time, it almost hurt worse than all the yelling in the world — because you weren’t angry anymore. You nodded once, slowly. “I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Your eyes were still fixed on him, lips parted like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure where to start.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said that night.”

That pulled his eyes back to yours.

You nodded to yourself, needing to work up to it.

“I was angry. I was—I was tired.” You sat back, and pulled your knees tighter into your chest. “From watching you ruin yourself over and over again for someone who didn’t give a single fuck. You were breaking your own heart every day, and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you like he was trying to breathe you in all over again.

“I knew he was your dad, what that meant. But watching you keep chasing something you were never gonna get from him—his love, his pride, a real apology—it made me so fucking angry, it was killing you and I couldn’t save you from it. Every time I tried, we fought, when I tried to be patient, you snapped. Even when the good moments were good, they started to feel like pit stops before the next fight."

You bit your lip, eyes glossy.

“So yeah, I said shit I shouldn’t have said. I threw your grief back in your face, it wasn’t right. It was fucked up. And I hate that I did it, because I do get it—I do know what that kind of loss feels like and I still made it about me in the moment. That’s not fair, you didn’t deserve that, especially not from me. I'm sorry."

You weren’t done.

“But you’re not the only one hurting” you continued, “You weren’t the only one grieving. I lost you, little by little, every time you pushed me out and let Ward pull you in. It felt like I was loving someone who didn’t want to be loved anymore and I broke, too.”

Rafe blinked fast, chest rising with shallow breaths while you were still picking at your sleeve, eyes down.

“And you were right, back then. When we were younger, you were always the one to fix it. Every time we’d break up, even if it was just for a week or two, you came crawling back. Even when I was the one who started the fight, even if I flirted with someone else afterward to piss you off.” Your voice wobbled, but you didn’t stop. “You were always the one who showed up.”

His head dropped for a second, eyes squeezed shut.

“I told myself that made me better than you somehow,” you murmured. “I had the upper hand because I could make you come back, but that was just me being a bitch, you weren’t the only one who needed to grow up. You weren’t coming back and I didn’t want you to.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

Not the Cut High Society who asked what kind of psycho gave up a Cameron. Or your old friends from college who wondered why you weren’t mourning louder. None of them got it, you didn’t stop loving Rafe, you’d just spent so long dragging his broken pieces out of the fire that eventually, you forgot you were burning too.

You both looked at each other, older than you used to be, still cracked in all the same places, bleeding a little. “I had to be better on my own and I have been.”

You didn’t say it with pride, but you had learned how to exist without him, even when it broke you. Rafe’s eyes flicked to your stomach.

You rubbed your hand over it, “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t keeping it.”

You weren’t keeping it.

He couldn’t blame you, not when he’d made it feel that way. His gaze dropped to your hand resting gently over the swell that wasn’t there yet, still small, but he saw it now. He wasn’t supposed to know. that’s what killed him most still, you hadn’t even told him because he’d already proven he wasn’t worth telling.

“You weren’t gonna keep it,” he repeated, like saying it might help it sink in.

You gazed up at him again, eyes wet, but no tears spilling. “No.”

“Because of me?”

You didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

His heart was splitting open, right there on the floor between you both, and he still couldn’t move or close the gap. Couldn’t hold you the way he wanted to because you’d already had to learn how to live without him.

“It wasn’t fair,” you tried not to twist the knife even as you twisted it. “To bring a baby into that… into what we were.”

Rafe nodded once, a jagged little motion because it hurt to agree, so fucking bad. You weren’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier.

“I would’ve been better,” he sounded completely desperate now, his voice breaking. “If I’d known, if I’d—fuck, if you’d just told me, I swear to God, I would’ve been—”

“You don’t get to promise that now,” you said, but there was no venom in it, only resignation. “That’s why I was so upset when Topper found out, called the clinic.”

“Have you talked to Topper?” Rafe asked, he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You shook your head. “Not yet. I will.”

He nodded once, “He meant well.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “He’s not a bad person. Just… socially dumb.”

That almost made Rafe huff out a laugh, but it didn’t quite land.

“I think he was trying to protect you.”

“And I didn’t need protecting,” you snapped, “I needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat me like a bomb about to go off.”

That shut him up, because it was true. You’d needed stability, and all they ever gave you was a headache. He knew better than to push you when it came to family matters, so he changed the subject again.

“You didn’t go through with the abortion."

“I was past the legal limit in North Carolina. The place he called was in New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?”

“I had to fly there.”

“But you didn’t.”

“There were… complications.” You didn’t elaborate, your voice was already trembling, “They said it might mean I can’t… that I might not be able to…It wasn’t my choice anymore.”

Your voice died, you didn’t say it, but Rafe heard it.

He felt like he’d been shot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice pitched up, breath hitching, "Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”

“Because you weren’t mine anymore, Rafe.”

He blinked, and it hit him all at once. The beach clean-up, you fainted, he manhandled you into the car, yelled at you in the parking lot. Told you to stop being dramatic. Dragged you to the hospital because he thought you were being reckless.

He forced you there when you were already in pain.

“I didn’t know I was sick then. I thought I was just tired, it wasn’t until the bloodwork came back that they realized something was wrong. Dr. Harris said it was severe anemia, that if I had gone through with it… I might not have made it through the bleeding.”

Rafe’s breath left his lungs like he’d been punched. “Jesus.”

Your lip trembled even though you were trying so hard to stay composed. “They said even keeping the baby might… it might not save me either. Giving birth could be just as dangerous. And the baby might not make it.”

Rafe wanted to crawl away.

“And you’ve been going through this alone?”

“I’ve had Sarah. She’s the only one that knows.”

His eyes flicked to the side like maybe if he didn’t look at you, it would hurt less to absorb all of it, the guilt drowning him.

“She should’ve told me,” he muttered, but even that felt weak, it wasn’t Sarah’s burden to carry.

“I told her not to,” you said softly. “I begged her.”

That part gutted him all over again, you were in pain—but you didn’t trust him with it, you’d believed so deeply that he wouldn’t show up, that you chose to suffer in silence.

“I don’t know how I let it get this bad,” he whispered.

“I do,” you said, without accusation. “You stopped seeing me. I was standing in front of you, hurting, and you were too busy trying to be someone else’s son.”

Rafe pressed a hand to his face, red-rimmed eyes that happened when he was trying not to cry. “I see you now.”

A weak apology wrapped in a confession he should’ve made months ago. It was a small thing, such a simple sentence, but it cracked something in you, too.

You swallowed hard, “It doesn’t change everything.”

“I know.”

You both sat there in that painful stillness. So much unsaid even after everything, the past had finally caught up to both of you and didn’t know where to go from here.

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” You didn’t let him look away. “I was scared every second. Of what was happening, of what it meant, of what I was gonna do. And I was more scared of telling you than I was of bleeding out.”

He winced but you didn’t stop.

“If I told you, and you didn’t show up, it’d break me in a way I wouldn’t come back from. And if you did show up just to make it about you, to throw it back in my face like you did everything else that scared you—” You shook your head, blinking hard. “I couldn’t survive that version of you.”

“I wouldn’t have—” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

He rubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair like he was trying to physically pull the memory of who he’d been out of his skin.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

It was the first time in a long time you felt like you weren’t bleeding out alone.

You watched him, and for the first time in months, he didn’t look like the boy who broke your heart. He was a man trying to find a way to put it back together—piece by piece, even if it was too late.

You took a shaky breath, “I don’t want to get back together.”

Rafe didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, there was a bomb. It was fair, and he knew that, he expected it. The words ricocheted in his head, over and over. It made sense. Fuck, it made perfect sense. He’d been a ghost of himself, lost in Ward’s shadow, drowning in every toxic version of what he thought strength was supposed to be. He’d made you feel alone when you were most vulnerable, hadn’t seen you when you were falling apart.

“I didn’t say all this so you’d take me back. I just…” He exhaled shakily, head in his hands. “I need you to know I’m sorry. And that I—I’m still here. I can’t change how bad I fucked up, but I can show up now. However, you’ll let me.”

He observed you again, eyes rimmed with guilt and love that had aged in the dark, misshapen but still there.

“I’ll drive you to the appointments. Sit in the parking lot if you don’t want me in the room, do the night runs for ginger ale or whatever the fuck else you need. You don’t owe me anything back.”

He wasn’t offering to fix it so he could be your boyfriend again, he was offering because he could finally see past himself.

“I don’t want you to go through any more of this alone.”

He was a boy you'd loved so hard you forgot how to live without him once. And now here he was, offering to stand beside you, to hold space, to carry what you couldn’t anymore.

“You say that now, but you have no idea how bad this could get. I might not make it,” you reminded him. “There’s a real chance this ends with me gone, and if it doesn’t, it could still mean I’m sick."

You weren’t trying to be cruel, he understood that, you were being honest.

“I know it’s serious, but—”

“No,” you cut in, “You don’t know. This doesn’t end with you waiting outside the delivery room and me holding the baby with a tear-streaked smile.” Your voice failed you. “This could end with a funeral, mine, the baby’s, or both. And if that doesn’t happen, if I survive, it still might not feel like a win. I might never stop resenting that I didn’t get to choose.”

He hadn’t just failed you, he’d failed everything he ever said he’d protect. He could taste the bitterness in his mouth, that acrid sting of regret, it made his bones ache. Of course you had a right to be angry.

Rafe’s fingers twitched in his lap, itching to reach out. To touch your knee, your hand, your shoulder, anything, but he didn’t dare.

“They took that from me, my body did,” you admitted, “I don’t know who I’ll be when this is over. I don’t know what will be left of me, if I’ll still be someone who can look at you without seeing every moment I didn’t get to make for myself.”

He didn’t know who he’d be either. What if you died? He couldn’t unsee it now—your body going limp, blood-soaking sheets, hospital lights, helpless. What if you lived and he lost you anyway? Could he watch you walk away—alive, whole—but still broken in all the places he helped crack? He loved you so fucking much it made him hate himself.

And that love—it didn’t ask for pretty endings or promise healing, it watched you, knowing the most honest thing he could do was not fix it, but feel it with you.

“We can be friends, maybe.”

Friends.

It wasn’t a bad word, but for him, it wasn’t neutral when it came to you. He’d tasted your breath and held your dreams and mapped the small places only lovers know, he’d once believed you were it for him.

But that’s what you needed and that’s what you could give, this time—this fucking time—he wasn’t going to take what wasn’t his.

“I’ll be your friend.”

The words nearly choked him. It was how it started, wasn’t it? All those years ago—mud-streaked knees and popsicles melting down your wrists, sunburns and scraped palms, long summer days, nights spent hiding from the storm under porch roofs, hearts still too young to know what they'd grow into.

He stared at you, the girl he’d known since she wore glitter nail polish and refused to eat the crust on her sandwiches. The woman you were now, trembling and brave and a thousand kinds of soft steel.

“I’ll be whatever you need.”

So what if he only ever got to be the one who drove you to your appointments and waited in parking lots and left ginger ale on your porch when you were too sick to eat? That was love too. Rafe let out a breath like he’d been holding it since he was seventeen.

He could do that, he would do that. It wasn’t closure, it was a better version of grace from two people who’d seen the worst of each other.

“Sarah told me you’re in therapy.”

Rafe blinked, like you’d spoken in a language he hadn’t heard in years, the conversation rerouted so quickly it gave him whiplash.

“…How does she know I’m in therapy?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “Wheezie.”

A dry chuckle escaped him—one of those stunned, of course kind of laughs. He shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Girl has ears like a bat. Probably listened through the vents.”

That tugged a smile out of you.

“It’s not…a big deal,” he added, “I mean, I guess it is, but it doesn’t feel like it yet. It’s just me sittin' there trying not to lie to someone who’s already read through all my bullshit before I’ve even said it.”

“It is a big deal, Rafe.”

He peered down at his hands, they were shaking. He tucked them under his legs. “I only started recently. Didn’t think I’d make it past the first session, almost didn’t go in.”

“But you did.”

“I kept hearing your voice—old stuff. Before I started proving you wrong.”

It stung because you remembered those days too, when you believed in Rafe so fiercely it made you blind.

“I wanted to be that guy again,” He confessed, and the guilt in his voice was so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Not for you. Well—yeah, okay, maybe a little for you. But mostly for me. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror anymore.”

You reached over then—hesitating for only a second—and placed your hand over his.

His breath hitched, the tears coming suddenly, stinging the backs of his eyes before he could shut them down. He stared down at your hand resting on his, a goddamn miracle he didn’t deserve.

Jesus Christ, he thought, I forgot what this felt like. It was pathetic, really. He’d gone so long without this kind of softness form you, he didn’t know how to take it. You were still offering him pieces of something when you had every right to keep it to yourself.

Rafe was so touch-starved for you, from how you used to bump into him in the hallway, or grab his wrist mid-argument to make your point, or how your leg would press up against his under the table and you didn’t move away. He missed all of it.

He turned his hand slowly, almost scared you’d pull away. When you didn’t, he slid his fingers through yours like muscle memory.

“I’m glad you went.”

He sniffed hard, wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, “Yeah, turns out I really am fucked in the head.”

“Don’t say that. I’m serious,” you said, squeezing his hand once more, then pulling away before it became too much. “You’re not fucked in the head. You’re hurting, that’s not the same thing.”

Rafe almost whimpered. He swallowed it down fast—the sound sat heavy in his chest. Your hand left his like it had never been there, and he ached in the space it used to be. His fingers twitched, they hadn’t gotten the message you were gone.

He wanted to grab your wrist and put your hand back.

He didn’t. He sat there, palms burning with the echo of your touch, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. Get a grip, he told himself. He wondered if you felt it—how much it had cost him not to lean in when you pulled away.

His throat burned. “Feels the same. Still got a million things wrong with me, still get mad too fast, still got shit I haven’t unpacked.”

“I know. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Rafe gave a small nod, that wry little smile faltering as fast as it had come, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, it’s not.”

He knew you two were broken people, bruised by what they’d done and what they’d lost, sitting in the ashes of something that might’ve once been beautiful, trying to decide if they could still survive what was left.

Rafe wanted to try, more than anything.

It was the closest thing to forgiveness you could offer and it would have to be enough. Healing wasn’t going to come as an apology or a promise. It was going to be long, ugly, forged in therapy sessions where he had to say things out loud that he’d spent years trying to ignore beneath anger and loyalty and all the wrong kinds of pride.

“Why tonight?” He gripped his own thigh like if he let go, he’d lose the nerve. His voice scratchy, “Why’d you answer my text tonight of all nights?”

You spine straightened like it was a question you hadn’t wanted to ask yourself, either.

“Was it ‘cause you felt bad for me? A-after the gala?”

“Rafe—”

He exhaled, eyes wet again. “W-Was it pity?”

“I missed you.”

You missed him.

It was enough for the part of him that still woke up reaching for a body that hadn’t shared his bed in months, that still kept your contact saved with a heart next to it, even after you’d blocked him.

He recognized that tilt of your chin when you were holding in too much. He used to kiss that jaw. Bite it, even, when you were play-fighting on sun-drenched bedsheets. Now all he could do was watch.

Rafe’s shoulders hunched, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I missed you more.”

“I’m scared. That even this—whatever this is—"

“I’m scared too,” he cut you off, with that same wreckage in his voice.

It nearly destroyed him, the way you were looking at him—memorizing him. You used to kiss like that. It felt almost wrong, like opening a box you’d locked for good.

It wasn’t reunion or redemption or the kind of love that got wrapped in ribbons and returned in the third act. It was grief, stretched between two people who used to finish each other’s sentences and now could hardly finish a conversation without bleeding all over it.

Then, almost like it wasn’t real, you asked, “Do you ever wish we’d never met?”

Rafe looked at you like you’d just shot him with a rifle, his breath hitched, his lips parted— “No. Fuck, no.”

You nodded slowly, maybe you did, he wouldn’t blame you if you had wished that, no matter how good it started, it left bruises when it ended.

“I think about that sometimes. Not because I didn’t love you. But because I did and lost myself in you. And then I lost my body and the baby. And now… I don’t know who I am without all that loss.”

He was shaking his head. “You didn’t lose the baby.”

“Not yet.”

Rafe had no words that wouldn’t sound like hope, and that felt cruel now. You’ll be okay, or the baby’s strong, or we’ll get through this, those were promises made in ignorance. And his therapist had told him just three days ago, “ignorance isn’t innocence. It’s just fear in nicer clothes”, and while he hadn’t understood it at the time, he understood it now.

“Do you h-hate me?”

“No.” It hurt more than a yes would’ve. “I don’t hate you, Rafe. I just… don’t trust you.”

“Do you think—” he started, stopped, tried again. “Do you think I could ever be the kind of person you’d let in again?”

You looked at him, long and sad.

“I think you could be, I just don’t know if I’ll be around to see it.”

[luster-less]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ your body is his birthright

this man does not believe in personal space. if you’re in the room, he’s touching. doesn’t matter if he’s got a match in an hour—if he catches a glimpse of your bare thighs under one of his shirts, he’s already hard. you’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’s coming up behind you, lazy grin stretching across his smug face as he presses his cock right against your ass. “didn’t even know ya were awake, sweetheart,” he’ll say, voice still rough from sleep, and then he’s bending you over the sink like it’s nothing. just lifts the shirt, pulls your panties to the side, and slides in with a hiss through his teeth. he doesn’t give you a second to process—he’s already fucking you before your toothpaste hits the counter.

his mornings start with cum leaking down your thighs and his mouth on your neck, whispering “such a good girl f’me.” and if you try to resist? if you whine that you’re sore, or that you have work, or that maybe he should chill for like five seconds? he just growls a soft “nah, you don’t get to tell me no, not when you walk around this fuckin’ house leakin’ from the night before.”

miya atsumu believes in full access. free use isn’t even a kink to him—it’s how he shows affection. you sit on the couch to relax? he’s got your legs spread across his lap, hand already sliding up your inner thigh, fingers dipping into your soaked folds like he owns them (he does). you’re making dinner? he’s got you bent over the kitchen island, one hand gripping your throat and the other fucking you from behind so deep you forget your name. food burns on the stove because he’s got you gasping, drooling, eyes rolling back while he mutters filth in your ear: “you love this, don’tcha? love bein’ my little fucktoy. can’t go a day without my cock, huh?”

and don’t even think about saying no when you’re wearing something cute. short shorts? he’s dragging them down your legs and licking into you from behind while you try to hold yourself up on trembling knees. his favorite shirt on you with no bra? he’s sucking your nipples raw while grinding against your heat until he’s desperate enough to take you on the floor, the bed, the fucking hallway.

this man has a mouth like sin. he eats pussy like it’s a reward, like it’s holy, like he needs to be buried in you just to keep breathing. tongue everywhere—circling, sucking, dipping inside—his arms locked around your thighs while you squirm. he lives for the mess, for the taste of you dripping off his chin, for the way you beg him to stop when you’re already cumming again and again and again. but he never stops. he keeps going until you break.

and the filth he spews while inside you should be illegal. he’ll hold you down, cum spilling out of you from the last round, and say “bet ya love bein’ filled up, huh? you’re made for my cock. fuckin’ greedy little thing. can’t get enough, can ya?” every single time you finish, he’s praising you like you’ve given him the world. “atta girl. look at ya, takin’ it so good. let’s do it again.”

refractory period? he doesn’t know her. he’ll cum, take a breather, and slide right back in while you’re still twitching from the aftershocks. your legs are shaking? pretends he doesn’t see them. you’re crying? he kisses the tears away and fucks you deeper. he’ll pin you down, rub your clit until you scream, and thrust until you’re writhing, completely brainless beneath him.

he’s not satisfied until you’re crying, drooling, covered in his cum, and still begging for more—because you will. he makes sure of it. you’re addicted, ruined, owned. and atsumu? he’s proud of that. he’s cocky, sweaty, flushed, breathing hard while he watches you collapse and says, “fuck, ya look so pretty like that. think i’m ready for round five.”

[woozinhos]

Hello dear, hope you're doing well!

Can you write a smut for Woozi where the reader is needy for sex but she doesn't know how to ask for it bc she's shy?

Next time just ask||Woozi x Reader

Notes: I’m doing great thank you hope you enjoy the fic!!

You've been thinking about Woozi all day, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of him. You're feeling needy and frustrated, but you're too shy to ask him for what you want. As you lay in bed that night, you toss and turn, unable to get comfortable. Your body is on fire, and you know that the only thing that will satisfy your craving is Woozi.

You try to push the thoughts away, telling yourself that you're being ridiculous. But the more you try to ignore it, the more intense the feeling becomes. Finally, you can't take it anymore. You decide to text Woozi, hoping that he'll come over and take care of you. You type out a message, your fingers shaking as you hit send:

"Can you come over? I need you."

Woozi responds almost immediately: "Be there in 10."

You wait anxiously for Woozi to arrive, your heart pounding in your chest. You're nervous about how he'll react, and whether or not he'll be able to tell how desperate you are.

Finally, you hear a knock on the door. You take a deep breath and get up to answer it, trying to calm your racing thoughts. When you open the door, Woozi is standing there, looking at you with a mixture of concern and desire. "Hey," he says softly, stepping inside. "You sounded like you needed me."

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as he walks in. You close the door behind him and lead him to your bedroom. Once inside, you sit down on the bed, fidgeting with your hands. You're not sure how to start, or what to say. Woozi sits down next to you, sensing your nervousness.

"What's going on?" he asks gently, taking your hand in his. "You seem really on edge." You take a deep breath, trying to find the words to express what you're feeling. "I'm...I'm really needy," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about you, and I just...I need you to touch me." Woozi's eyes darken with desire as he hears your words. He pulls you closer, his hands roaming over your body.

"You don't have to be shy about it," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want you just as much as you want me." You melt into his touch, your body responding to his every move. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss.

Woozi responds eagerly, his tongue exploring your mouth as he pushes you back onto the bed. He hovers over you, his body pressed against yours, and you can feel how hard he is already. You moan into the kiss, your hips bucking up against his. You're so turned on, you can barely think straight.

Woozi breaks the kiss and starts to trail kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "You're so needy," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I love it." Woozi's hands slide under your shirt, pulling it up over your head. He tosses it aside and takes a moment to admire your body, his eyes roaming over every inch of your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts. "I can't believe how lucky I am to have you." You arch into his touch, your breath hitching in your throat. "Please, Woozi," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I need you to touch me more." Woozi grins, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Don't worry, baby," he says, his hands moving lower to unbutton your pants. "I'm going to take care of you."

Woozi quickly strips off his clothes, revealing his toned body to you. You can't help but stare, taking in the sight of him standing naked before you. He notices your gaze and smirks, enjoying the way you're looking at him. "Like what you see?" he teases, climbing back onto the bed and hovering over you once again.

"I need you so bad," Woozi repeats, his voice rough with desire. "I've been thinking about this all day. About how tight you are, how wet you get for me." You moan at his words, your body already slick with anticipation. "Please, Woozi," you beg again, desperate for him to take you. "I need you inside me." Woozi wastes no time in positioning himself between your legs, his hard cock pressing against your entrance. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so ready for me," he groans, running the tip of his cock up and down your slit. "I can feel how wet you are." You nod, your hips bucking up in a silent plea for him to fill you. "Please, just fuck me," you whimper, unable to take the teasing any longer.

Woozi grins, clearly enjoying how desperate you are. "As you wish," he says, and with one swift thrust, he buries himself deep inside you. You cry out as he fills you completely, your body adjusting to his size. Woozi lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"You feel so good," he gasps, slowly pulling out before slamming back into you again. "So tight and wet." He sets a rough pace, pounding into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"I can't get enough of you," Woozi growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrusts harder. "You're mine, all mine." You're lost in the pleasure, your mind blank except for thoughts of Woozi and the way he's making you feel. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you meet each of his thrusts.

"I'm close," you gasp out, feeling the familiar heat building in your core. "I'm gonna cum." Woozi's pace becomes more erratic, his own orgasm approaching. "Cum for me, baby," he urges, his voice strained. "Let me feel you come apart around my cock." You do as he says, your body trembling as you reach your peak. You cry out his name, your walls clenching tightly around him as you come.

Woozi follows soon after, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he spills inside you with a loud groan. He collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. Woozi peppers your shoulder with kisses, his lips trailing up to your neck. "Next time," he says, his voice still a little breathless, "just ask me to take you. No need to beg."

[tammyu-2]

Can we get the rottmnt boys (separate) being proposed to by S/o? (They say yes) S/o was acting distant for a while, working late, but was really getting them a ring to fit their huge fingers lol

Ooo this is sorta creative

ROTTMNT MARRIED TO THEIR S/O BUT THEIR S/O STARTS ACTING DISTANT

Swearing, no pronouns used, not proofread, flufffff

Let's get into it yar

LEO

Leo is a very over dramatic jump to conclusions type bf so the mere SECOND your distant for 12 hours he will think you hate him.

Now let's go back a bit. Back when you and Leo first started dating you were going through a rough patch and Leo always knew how to cheer you up in your darkest days. He always gave you the attention you though you didn't deserve and he lifted your spirit as a person. You felt forever indebted to him the way he treats you like his princess. And you've loved him ever since.

With Leo your life got fixed and it felt way more better and freeing (minus the acasional kidnapping from a villian but that's like every 2 weeks now). You has more energy and you genuinely felt happier with Leo as your boyfriend. Therefore you decided after a year or more you wanted to officially tie the note. With Leo.

Never thought I'd see that day coming

But you were nervous. I mean Leo is the type to not even be bound to labels and what if he feels like marriage isn't meant for him?? I mean it's a big step of commitment and no offense on him but the only thing he ever committed on in like (or than your relationship) was the tela Novela he has been watching since he was a baby.

But you pushed aside your doubts and decided to go for it. However due to him being a turtle mutant obviously it would be hard to find a ring that will fit or a jewelry shop that won't question. So you started skipping you hangouts with him on the account of your searching far and wide.

Leo was DISTRAUGHT! I mean the love of his life, his soul, his trust, his sun and his vida had betrayed him by canceling on him MORE THAN ONCE! I mean just say you hate him.

So one day, when you had finally gotten the ring but decided to wait till you had a plan on how you were gonna ask him, he decided he would confront you.

So you when to visit him and his brothers and went into his room only to be greeted by a pointed finger.

"YOU!"

"...me?"

"Do you hate me or something!?"

"Leon what the hell are you talking about."

"Your cheating on me! Who is it huh!? HUH!?"

"No??"

"Oh you must of fallen out of love with me!?-"

"Babe get to the point please."

"You have been neglecting me. Running off to go do whatever and blowing me off!! And not to mention you have been typing non stop on your laptop when I'm over for your stupid 'research project' WELL I DONT BUY IT WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!?"

"Leo..oh my dear Leon I can't tell you."

"Then I don't know why are we doing this."

"...are you crying? Oh my gosh babe no it's okay-"

"YOU DONT CARE ABOUT MEE"

I could continue but let's be honest it will go on for half an hour so let's just skip this hit because Leo has always been suck a drama queen.

"Okay can you step back a bit"

"What will that do-"

"JUST. do it please."

He steps back as you take a breath before kneeling down on one knee. Leo is utterly confused by now. Then you pull out a beautiful ring and suddenly he is dreaming cause there is no way your doing this right?

"Leon you have brought sunshine to my darkest days and you've stayed when I felt my world had left me. You sat by my side and made sure that even when I thought it was impossible you made me feel joy. There is no better person that I would love asking this to. Leonardo Hamato will you marry me?"

"Are you actually doing this is this actually happening!?"

"It's very real babe."

"Oh my gosh fuck yes!! I'd love to marry you!!!!"

After a very very tight hug and a tender kiss you two laugh at how stupid Leo had been. He couldn't believe that you actually asked him to marry you before he could mostly. But in the end he was just glad you hadn't actually cheated on him.

DONNIE

This is Dontron we are talking about HOW can you possibly keep a secret from him at all. He can hack into anything including your search history or track your phone to see where you go if it's really really important. HOW could you possibly pull this off? Easy. Ask a friend in a sound proof room with no electronics in it.

So you had done just that. Your friend being the kind and generous soul they were decided to help you. So every So often they would come back to you will research they had gathered on rings and sizes and stuff. And you almost got busted one time by him.

"Why were you measuring me in the middle of the night during out sleep over last Tuesday? Specially at 3:45."

"I had a hubba Bubba gum string and wanted to see how many I can wrap around you to make you a giant bubble gum mummy."

"You know you could have just asked me to calculate that instead of just doing it at 3am?"

"Whats the fun in that?"

Not only did you lie out your ass but you made it damn good realistic ish. And he believed it. Mostly because he was half playing a game on his phone but you still managed to get past the Donnie lie detectors.

But ofcourse since he is a mutant with strange hands it was getting harder and harder to find a ring for him. So you had to meet up with your friend more than preferred. And enough that Donnie notices.

First thing he does? Detective research. He searches at where you go to and finds out You've been going your friends house alot more than normal. Especially since you two only ever talk in your friends sound proof studio room. So he can't hear shit because his sound proof breaker had been borrowed and broken by Leo the other week so he was left up to his genius imagination.

So once you got the ring you visited him very veery happy because you wanted to get the lies out of the way immediately knowing Donnie would find out in a matter of time.

"Heyyy Dontron."

"Greetings my not so lovely s/o"

"What do you mean 'not-so-lovely'"

"You don't think I know your hiding something from me?"

Oh your fucked. Your screwed.

"Okay Donnie before you gon on your normal tangent I have something for you that will explain everything!"

"SIGH. Go on.."

You cleared your through and got down and one knee and pushed forward the ring you had bought for him.

"I know your not one for big boring speeches and I also know you like to cut to the chase of things so I'm just gonna say it. Donetello Hamato will you Marry me?"

"Okay."

"YIPPEEEE"

RAPH

You see raph is clueless when it comes to things so hiding a secret proposal from him was pretty easy. You know what wasn't easy? Finding a fitting ring for his big mutated turtle finger. It was HARD. Anything that was close to the side was sold out for inappropriate use. And the rest were WAY out of your price range so you were running a bit low on chance.

So you decided on one however you had no money for it so he took the initiative to bust your ass till you finally got enough for it. You worked day in and day out, taking longer shifts, you did some side gigs and did weekend jobs. You were working and working on the clock that you accidentally forgot your darling boyfriend Raph.

He had been noticing you had been not really cold but more exhausted and closed off. You seem to be tired and you barely ever have time for him which hurts alot if he's honest. Your always busy even in the late hours for work but he knows for a fact that you never work that late. So he began to get paranoid. Especially since he wanted to surprise you with something special he knew you would have liked.

So after weeks of miscommunication and work you finally had enough and more for the ring for Raph. So you decided to treat him to a rooftop picnic as an apology. He accepted it ofcourse and you two just sat on a random apartment building just star gazing and eating pizza. That's when you released his arm from your shoulder and stepped back making him look at you in confusion.

You step back and get on one knee bringing his ring from behind your back.

"Raph I have a very imp-"

"WAIT! Before you do there something you should know."

He shyly pulls out a gorgeous ring for you. Oh my god he was going to propose to you aswell.

"Oh raph...you shouldn't have."

"Uh Raph has been planing this for a while but everytime Raph gets a bit nervous."

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about now because I guess we both accept. So Raph will you marry me?"

"Only if you would marry me"

"I do"

"I do too"

MIKEY

This poor baby boy is easy to hid things from. Like you could hid a rubber duck from him just by putting it on his head and he wouldn't know a thing. So when you decide to marry him because he had always been there for you. He was the reason you woke up every morning a trudged through the stinky sewer. It was all just to see him face lighten up with joy whenever he spotted you.

So you immediately thought of marrying him after 2 years of bliss. And so due to him kor being a human it took you quite a while. But due to his cluelessness you don't really try that hard to hide it. You just research when your in your house.

However it took you longer than you liked to find not only the perfect size but also the perfect design for your artist boyfriend. So you searched far and wider you took trains after trains to travel to different jewelry stores to find the perfect ring for Mikey because he deserves a proper ring.

However against your better judgement you had no choice but to put your focus on the ring rather than your Mikey. And although he might not be that good at catching onto things he would notice your not as close with him as you were. And it just made him sad that he thought his favorite person hated him.

So one day as you two finally get some alone time as he is painting a wall you decided now is the perfect chance to do it cause you hated lying to Mikey even if it was easy to get away with.

So as he had his back turned, you had gotten on one knee and held his ring out.

"You think that dot of red- OH MY GOSH!!"

"Michelangelo Hamato will you-"

"YES YES YES YES A MILLIONS TIMES YES!!!!"

"I didn't even-"

You were engulfed in a suffocating hug but honestly you didn't care as you hugged back your now fiancé.

Hope that was good and I realise know I accidentally skipped a req whoospie sorry diff req I'll do it eventually.

But I hope you enjoyed and don't be shy to request something from me and my diff fandoms. Just know that I will get to them when I can.

Stay healthy and stay safe!!!!

~Tammy<3

[lolasangelz]

https://www.tumblr.com/lolasangelz/780845099324227584/httpswwwtumblrcomlolasangelz7808443333772083

When you get a chance can you write about a time hen Gigi accuses Rafe of cheating and both of their feelings and reactions

Btw i absolutely die over your arranged marriage au

Accusations

w/c: 1,125

a/n: eek thank youu!! why have i been so angsty recently omg

reblogs are much appreciated :))

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

gigi stared at the collar of his shirt.

she didn’t even need to get close- her eyes locked onto the faint scent of perfume, one she didn’t recognize. it wasn’t the faint trace of her own scent. no, this was something different. stronger, more seductive, more… foreign.

the kids were in bed, and rafe had just walked in, the familiar quiet sound of the front door creaking open and then closing. gigi’s stomach twisted. she stood in the living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at him as he removed his jacket. the tension in the air was palpable.

he looked up at her, his brow furrowing as he noticed her gaze fixed on him. "what is it?" he asked, his voice low but laced with something unspoken.

"what is it?" georgia’s voice came out sharp, cutting through the quiet night. "what’s that smell?"

rafe froze, a sudden flicker of guilt crossing his face before he masked it. "it’s nothing."

"nothing?" gigi’s voice cracked slightly as she stepped closer, her chest tightening. "you think I’m stupid? you think I don’t know when something’s off? ive been smelling it on you for weeks, rafe. you’ve been out late, you’ve been distant, and now… now I’m smelling perfume that isn’t mine, and something i would never even own."

her voice trembled, but she forced it to stay steady. the old, familiar ache of suspicion twisted in her gut, gnawing at her until she couldn’t hold it in anymore. "are you seeing someone else?"

rafe’s jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. he stepped toward her, trying to close the distance between them, but georgia backed away, raising a hand to stop him.

"don’t," she whispered, shaking her head. "i can’t… i can’t do this."

"i’m not- " his words faltered for a second as if he was trying to find the right way to say it. "gigi, you know I would never do that to you. you’re the most important person in my life. i would never- "

"then why is this happening?" gigi’s voice broke. "why does it feel like you’re walking away from me? why does it feel like you’re doing everything you can to keep me at arm’s length?"

rafe stood still for a moment, his heart racing in his chest. he wanted to reach out, pull her into his arms, reassure her that it wasn’t what she thought, but every time he tried, something inside him froze. they hadn’t been like they used to be, not in months, not even after everything that had happened. he was here, but in so many ways, he wasn’t.

he took a breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "it’s not what you think, georgia i swear it. the perfume—it’s from my PA, olivia. you don’t like her, i know. i… idon’t know why she wears so much of it. but there’s nothing between us. she’s just a damn assistant. and as for me being distant, i don’t know what you want me to say. things have been hard. i’ve been distracted. but that’s not an excuse for how i’ve made you feel."

gigi’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to keep her composure. she wasn’t sure what was more painful—the fact that he had an explanation that she almost believed, or the fact that she had to ask him if he loved her, if he cared at all, and he didn’t even say it when she needed to hear it.

"i’m not going to stand here and let you tell me i’m imagining things," she said quietly, her voice cold. "i know you, rafe. i know when something’s wrong. i can feel it. don’t act like i’m the crazy one."

rafe’s face softened, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. he reached for her, but gigi stepped back again, her eyes welling up with tears. she wasn’t going to let him touch her right now. not when he felt like a stranger.

he sighed, looking at her with raw frustration, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes too. "i’m not cheating on you, georgia. I’m not. you’re the only woman for me."

she scoffed, shaking her head, trying to blink away the tears threatening to fall. "you never say it. you never say it enough, rafe. i need to hear it from you. i need to know that you still love me, that you haven’t just stayed here because of the kids, because of this damn family and all its expectations."

his expression faltered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, gigi saw vulnerability in his eyes. "i do love you, gigi," he said quietly. "i just don’t know how to show it sometimes."

gigi wanted to scream. she wanted to rage at him for being so distant, so cold. but instead, her voice trembled as she asked the question that had haunted her for so long. "do you even want me? or do you just want the idea of me? this life? this image we’ve created? because i don’t know how much longer i can keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not."

rafe’s heart sank. he reached for her again, his hand gently cupping her cheek this time, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t noticed fall. "i want you, angel. i always have. i’m sorry for how i’ve been. i’m sorry i made you feel this way. i didn’t mean for you to feel like this."

gigi looked at him, her chest tightening as all her fear and hurt came rushing to the surface. she wanted to believe him, but a part of her was terrified to.

"i just… i don’t know what to believe anymore," she whispered.

rafe closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead against hers. he could feel the weight of everything between them, the distance, the unspoken words, the growing emotional chasm. but in that moment, all he wanted to do was hold her, make her feel safe again, make her believe in them again.

"i’ll prove it to you," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "i’ll prove to you that I love you angel. that I’m here. i won’t stop showing you."

georgia swallowed hard, still unsure, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe the words. she let him pull her close, resting her head against his chest. the scent of perfume was still in the air, lingering, but this time, it didn’t feel like a threat. it just felt like another weight they had to work through.

for now, it was enough.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[ghiblygirl]

Hi hi, I requested the barty x reserved!reader and I LOVED it. If you don’t mind, could I request another fluffy fic in which his beloved has a habit of chewing/biting on her lips and he does whatever it takes to make her stop 💕

Barty Crouch Jr x Reserved!reader who bites her lips [279 words]

CW: Barty is being a flirt with suggestive undertones.

“Regulus is a right twat. Can you believe he actually said that to me? To me, Treasure, this bloke is supposed to be my best friend.” Barty huffed. According to him, Regulus had ticked him off by insulting the way he was wearing his cloak. You hummed in response. It’s not that you weren’t listening, but rather that you were just a bit far away.

“I just cannot believe he– Treasure? Are you listening?” Barty looked to you before sighing, “Treasure, you have to stop biting your lips, my love.” He said softly, pulling your lip from your teeth with his thumb.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize–” You mumbled.

“Don’t apologize, sweet thing.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Barty was good with things like that, you thought. Although he never seemed to be focused on other people, he always was. He noticed little details that most would miss, and you think that’s what made you fall so hard for him.

Listening to him ramble on was your favorite part of your day; you loved his voice and just being around him.

“Treasure, do I need to put spices on your lips so you stop biting them?” Barty huffed, taking my face in his hands. “You know you need to be nicer to your pretty lips, hmm? What else am I supposed to kiss? Well, I could always kiss your other–” You had to cover his mouth with your hand.

“Okay, I got it, Barty.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestive comment. He smiled at your soft laugh.

“I’m serious, Treasure. I will put peppers on your lips to stop you from biting them.” He grinned.

[seoulmatez]

𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁

boothill happens upon your conversation with a friend back home — a conversation that leaves you considering what exactly you're meant to do with these feelings of yours.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 2k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ non-sexual partial nudity ﾉ light teasing ﾉ petnames (darlin')

previous part ♡ masterlist ♡ next part

It’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. You can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. Beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. They’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. You can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home. 

“So,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

You snort at Meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. As much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. She keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

You have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“Fine.” You draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. Despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of I know you’re hiding something. Even through the phone, she can see through you. “I might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

She gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. You’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. Though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “What happened? Are you okay? Why the hell are you just now telling me?”

You relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. Her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“What are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. Boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, Meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. You brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“Probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” You can hear the smile in her voice. You pucker your lips in annoyance. You didn’t think telling her about the way Boothill makes you feel would result in Meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. Though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. She’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “He’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“It’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“Even better!” Meg squeals. The shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “If he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. He’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

You chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. You’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about Boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. Sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. You’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“Ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” Meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Never! I’m not telling him anything.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here and, more importantly, I have no idea if he even likes me.”

“And you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

You’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. Because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if Boothill reciprocates them.

“I’m not—” Not running away? Not going to tell him? Not ready to tell him? You huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “Not now, Meg.”

“That’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I know.” You nod even though she can’t see you.

She’s right. You’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. The what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“It’s getting late,” you tell Meg, “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Sure,” she hums. There’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “Good night.”

“G’night.” You pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. You should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. Slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and Boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

Though, the sound is cut off by another. It comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. Your fantasy comes to an end when you see Boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

He meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. It’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. You rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

You gasp at the sight and turn around. He just wanders around the house half-naked? Carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? You might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to Meg on the phone.

The call.

You quickly turn around to face him once more.

“How long have you been there?” The question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

He shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “I don’t know. Long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

The confession makes your heart jump into your throat. You choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “It’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“My apologies.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

You stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. His perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. He’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you were talking about.

“Want some advice?” Boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

You look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. Boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. It seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

He doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. You’re still giggling when he gets there. He’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. As captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. A cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry.” You try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. You turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “It’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“Hello?” He straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. That’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “You’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

You don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. You just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. Strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. After all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as Boothill called them.

“So, how about it?” He rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. You hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “Wanna hear my opinion?”

Your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. Because he’s this close to you and practically naked? Because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? Because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so? 

Maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “Okay, go for it.”

That seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. He doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “I say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. And if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. Because you, darlin’, are a catch. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

You know Boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. Every word he says, he means. Is that the case here, too? Any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“I'm headin’ to bed.” He groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. You watch him silently, pondering his words. He doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. All he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “Sweet dreams.”

Just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Instead of following Boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. Your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

Courage it is.

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[minuutvanverval]

I Won’t See You Tonight (Part 1)

description: following his disqualification from eurovision, joost finds himself breaking down to you.

words: somewhere around 1.4k <3

warnings: angst, rpf

a/n: based on the song ‘i won’t see you tonight’ by avenged sevenfold, one of my favourites! i haven’t written any fics since 2021, when this used to be an mcr account, so pls excuse my awful structure while i get back into it!!

<3

The rain was restless, pouring down from a sky that seemed to echo Joost. You watched him from where you stood, underneath the thin shelter outside the store, the cold from the night air cutting through your clothes. The streets were deserted, except for the occasional car speeding by, headlights cutting through the downpour. The light from the streetlamps flickered overhead, casting a pale glow over everything, making everything feel surreal.

You could barely hear the sound of your own thoughts over the rain’s beat against the pavement. The sound of Joost’s harsh breathing, however, was unmistakable. He was standing just a few feet away, hunched over, staring at the ground like it could offer him some kind of solace. His shoulders were tense, his hoodie drenched, but he didn’t seem to care. The storm outside mirrored how he felt.

You knew the news had hit him hard. You could feel it in the way he moved, the way his voice had shaken when he’d hung up the phone this morning. His dream had been shattered in an instant. But it wasn’t just the disqualification that was breaking him. No, this was deeper. It was the crushing weight of everything he’d invested — the hope, the effort, the time, the hope the belief.

And now he was standing there, in the rain, pulling further and further away from you with every second that passed.

You had tried to talk to him when he first got back, but he had pushed you away, retreating into the quiet shell of himself. His eyes - usually full of life and energy - were now dull, as if some part of him had already given up.

“Joost…” You stepped forward, your voice barely audible.

His body stiffened as you approached. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge your presence at first. His hands clenched into fists in the pocked of his jacket, the muscles in his back taut as though he were holding onto whatever tiny shred of control he had left.

“Joost,” you repeated, a little louder now, stepping closer. Yet still so softly. “Please, talk to me. I know this is hard. I know you’re hurting.”

He finally moved then, his head moving up to look at you, and you saw the emotion in his eyes. It wasn’t just sadness. It was rage, pure and raw. The type of rage that came from feeling completely helpless, from losing something you had worked so hard for.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped, his voice a mixture of frustration and despair. “What’s there to talk about? I fucked up. That’s it. It’s over.”

You flinched at his tone, but you couldn’t give up. You couldn’t let him drown in this darkness alone.

“You didn’t fuck anything up…” you said gently, your hands reaching out to him. “You did so well. It’s not over, Joost. You can try again. There’ll be other things-”

“No!” He snapped, his face twisted in a grimace of pain and fury. “Stop saying that! You don’t get it!” His voice cracked, the anger quickly giving way to something darker. “I thought this was it. I thought I had it. And now it’s all gone…”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You could see it - the way his entire body shook, the way his chest heaved as though he couldn’t catch his breath. You had seen Joost angry before, but this was different. This wasn’t just anger. This was the kind of grief that came from losing everything you had worked for, everything you believed in.

You reached for him, your hand trembling as you gently placed it on his bicep lovingly. “Joost, please, look at me. You’re not nothing. You’re not. You have so much-”

“Stop it!” He suddenly pulled away, violently shaking off your touch like it burnt him. His breath was coming faster now, erratic. “Stop trying to fix it! You think you can just make it better? You can’t. You don’t understand how this feels. I’ve worked my entire life for this. And now it’s all over. I... I can’t-!”

The frustration in his voice cut through you like a knife. It hurt. You had never seen him like this - completely unraveling, tearing at the seams. He was falling apart, and you were standing helplessly in front of him, wanting to catch him, but knowing you couldn’t. Not like this. He was too far gone.

You stepped back, instinctively giving him space. But even though you were only a foot away, it felt like you were already so far away from him. You had never felt this kind of distance, even when you argued. This was different.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper now. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, his face crumpling in exhaustion and grief. “I didn’t mean to… to yell. It’s just… It’s just so fucking much, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know what to do with all this shit. And you-“

“I’m here,” you interrupted softly, your heart breaking at the sight of him, at the way he was breaking down in front of you. “I’m always here, Joost. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He shook his head violently. “No,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You don’t get it. I need to be alone. I need space to… to breathe. To think. I need time.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The words felt like a dagger. You had known, deep down, that he was pulling away, but hearing him say it out loud - he needed to be alone - like the last thread between you both snapping in an instant.

“Joost, no-” you whispered, your voice trembling as you took another step closer. “You don’t have to be alone. I can stay. I’ll be right here—”

“Don’t you get it?” he spit, his eyes wild with desperation and pain. “I need to be alone. I need to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with myself. I need time to fall apart. I can’t have you here, watching me break. It’s not fair to you. You don’t deserve this.”

Your breath hitched in your chest, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. The rain still beat down restlessly, but you couldn’t hear anything except the hammering of your own heartbeat.

“You don’t get to decide what I- I just- Joost, please,” you whispered, your eyes welling up with tears that you refused to let fall. “I’m not leaving. I don’t care about what you think I deserve or don’t deserve. I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

But even as you said it, you could see it in his eyes - he was already so far away. And no matter how much you wanted to reach for him, no matter how hard you wanted to hold him together, he wasn’t letting you.

“I don’t want you near me,” he said, his voice breaking as he took another step back, his gaze cold now, distant. “I need you to go. I need to be alone.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, you could hardly breathe. The person you loved, the person you thought you knew, was standing there, pushing you away, telling you to leave. And you had to. There was no other choice.

“I-I’ll give you space,” you sniffle, the words bitter and hollow in your mouth. “But I’ll always be here, Joost. Whenever you’re ready.”

He turned away then, your heart shattering with each step he took. The rain soaked his clothes, his skin, but nothing could numb the pain in your chest. It hurt. Physically. The feeling of loss, of being left behind, was too much. You didn’t know if he would ever let you back in, but you couldn’t force him.

You loved him too much.

a/n: yeah… sorry. spoiler alert i hurt myself more writing part 2 though. please leave a little comment to let me know what you thought!!!!

part 2 here…

[moonlight-prose]

this prompt with husband tommy miller because i know damn well that man writes love letters, i just KNOW it "I tried to burn the letters, the memories, but the fire wouldn’t take them! It’s like the universe won’t let me forget you!"

an old owl calling

a/n: the speed at which i wrote this request shocked me honestly. i haven't had this much inspo for tommy since s1 came out. but us watching the first episode together and barking over how good this man looks is sparking the creativity again. also i'm just a massive sucker for angst and he called for it immediately. i genuinely can't even explain how much i missed him, but hopefully this does that for me.

summary: memories were bullets you could never dig out from a body that had seen too much. flashes of when you were happy together, moments in time you ached to return to. loving tommy was easier than breathing - letting him go took everything you had. he only wished he could say the same.

word count: 3.8k+

pairing: tommy miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, angst, gratuitous prose for the angst (i'm back to my roots), heartbreak, blood + wounds as an allegory for love, past relationship, arguments, tw addiction, ptsd, mutual pining, they're a bit toxic ngl, second chance romance, confessions, idiots in love.

Snow packed under your boots as you trudged forward, a rile slung over one shoulder and a pistol at your side older than you ever thought you’d get to be. Hard to believe three years ago you dug it out of a garage that might as well have belonged to a grandfather. Maybe it did—what with the records piled in disintegrating cardboard boxes, and photo albums housing reminiscent black and white photos of a time where there was no one left.

No person to tell the stories, no one to even remember them.

You supposed that was the way of things now. Memories held weight—too much of it to carry. The significance of time you’d never get back, people who you knew to be dead back in a place you tried to wipe from your memory. Alcohol helped. Pills subdued the grief, the agony of remembering. But their faces took up space in your mind, spreading like a tumor along an already weary amygdala.

“Good morning.” The pleasantry tasted false on the tip of your tongue. Lies you told yourself to appease the ache in your throat; if you ignored the pain it might go away.

Joel’s grim expression never failed to spill comfort into your chest—your own version of old reliable. “Good would be less snow on the ground.”

“Then just a plain morning,” you dryly shot back, glee itching at your heart with the peek of his grin. “Do I have watch today?”

“Not today.” He groaned with the effort of standing too quick, his knees popping subtly. A sound overshadowed by the heavy thump of his boots. “List says you’re out on a patrol nearby. Just to check for any strays that might show up with the cold weather comin’ in.”

“Sounds easy enough. Who’s the partner?” You could feel the regret echo in your stomach, pulling sharp at old wounds you never bothered to stitch up.

“Tommy.”

One day in the near future the mere echo of his name off someone else’s tongue wouldn’t violently split you open. The curve of each letter, the scribble of his own hand writing on that fucking paper beside yours, might be just another person in the long run. Hoping for it felt like a sin, yet ripping him out of your life altogether echoed with a salvation you weren’t strong enough to give yourself.

You tried not to gasp in anguish, but Joel—ever the perceptive man—caught how your face twitched. The shake of your hand, blunt and ripped fingernails buried in the calloused skin of your palm.

Memories were a bitch to hold onto; each one shining with their own brutality. His smile, the feel of lips along the column of your neck, the touch of hands gripping your thighs. He echoed with sentimental domesticity that would never be. A man who allowed his promises to fray at the end of their already thin rope, having forgotten that you were clutching the other end with sore fingers and a hoarse cry for help.

“You don’t have to go,” Joel offered.

A quick fix to an already lethal disease.

“Yes I do,” you replied, blunt and void of what you struggled to swallow down. “It’s what I was assigned. I’ll keep to that schedule.”

“I’m just sayin’ if you wanted somethin’ else-”

“When have you ever known me to run from responsibilities?” The pen held little ink left, the signature of your past scribbled and faded beside Tommy’s. “Let him know I’ll be by the stables.”

“I just…” Joel coughed, thumbing the edge of his jacket. “You should know this. Even if he’d hate me for admitting it. But Tommy requested you.”

Your brows furrowed; the little anger you held onto shuffling to the back of your mind. “Is that even allowed?”

“What can I say he’s got pull with the right people.”

“And he used it for this?”

Joel huffed, scrubbing at the side of his face. “He didn’t use it for just this darlin’. He used it for you.”

“Yeah right-”

“But you knew that already.” He saw through your false need for stability and dug into hot flesh and pulsing veins—determined to find that one singular wound which hurt the most. “I don’t need to know all of it. What my brother does is up to him, but you’re both hurt and this town is too small to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

How could you tell Joel it was easier to forget the existence of someone so hazardous to your already brittle soul? Tommy didn’t remain a man at the end of it all. He existed as the arrow already embedded in your heel, the knife that turned sharp and jagged in an already fragile heart.

No matter how you tried—burying volatile emotions in a grave that reached the core of your being—you couldn’t stop yourself from loving him.

One way or another you’d claw your way back to him, dragging along the dirt and filth to feel the warmth of his smile against your skin.

But to accept that would crack open a part of your heart you weren’t ready to confront yet. Satisfied to float in the oblivious bliss of being a heartbroken hollow shell of who Tommy once loved.

You last saw him a week ago in passing. He was engrossed in a conversation with the town’s council, the lines beneath his eyes dark and apparent, his face paler than you were used to seeing. Passing it off as the cold air—winter making itself known with the hastening snow storm—you did what you could to rip out the feelings of guilt that rose to the surface.

He wasn’t sleeping, this much you knew. Not when he once stumbled into your bed, exhausted and broken from yet another day of fixing what continued to break. He’d find his spot beside you, hands entwined in yours against the steady thump of your chest, face buried in the back of your neck. Healing always came easier when he woke up to the sight of your eyes—the curl of a sleep addled smile pressed against his chapped ones.

The papers stuffed in your coat pocket burned your skin. Familiar scrawls of a handwriting you could picture with your eyes closed, his words carved with ink to haunt you at the end of it all. He wrote three of them—one for each year he loved you.

Paragraphs of the emotions he’d never admit out loud. Pleas and apologies to forgive how he pushed you away, rambling promises that depicted a better man. Someone you could take back with open arms and a delicate heart.

The fictional idealized version of himself he longed to become.

You bundled them up wherever you went. Toying with the thin strand of twine he used to wrap the papers together. A soft touch—the thread entangled and twisted with a love you couldn’t forget.

You didn’t bother to wait for Tommy to arrive at the stables, swinging your leg up and over Comet. His black coat was a stark contrast to the first snowfall of the season. His hooves already packed with white fluff as he trotted out towards the familiar pathway through town—the sway and dip of each shift a comfort you could lose yourself in, your fingers tight around the reigns and knees tapping slightly to quicken the pace.

Tommy would catch up.

“You’re meant to have a partner before heading out.”

The frigid air burned your lungs with each breath. “I’m capable of handling myself out there.”

“Doesn’t matter Soot.”

“We’re resorting to name calling?”

Jimmy scoffed. “Last I checked I wasn’t the master of lighting fires.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The echo of hooves on the ground should have alerted you. The hair on the back of your neck rose fast enough to give you whiplash at the sound of his voice. Just a small shout of hello and yet your insides were turning over, heart squeezed with the strength of his fist as it curled around the helpless organ. He smiled at Jimmy, coming to a stop at your side—the horse’s chuffed breath forming a cloud in the air. As if offering his own greeting to the people who knew him best.

“You plannin’ on taking off without me?” he asked, finally turning his head to meet your gaze.

Eyes you looked into more times than your own burned a hole in the center of your chest. The hue of brown sparked with something dangerous. An understanding that this was more than just a patrol. This was Tommy finally pinning you down, getting you in a space where you couldn’t avoid his words.

The confrontation you never allowed to happen was down the snow covered pathway; you longed to crawl back into your house and cower beneath the covers.

“You took too long,” you snapped, clicking your tongue to kick Comet into gear.

“And waitin’ was too much work?”

He followed close behind just out of sight. A part of you felt grateful for the small convenience of taking the lead, but you could feel his stare burning a hole in the back of your head. No matter how much you tried to run from it this was bound to happen eventually.

What were you to do when your souls were bound long before tragedy struck the world? When you knew him as a younger man—his face free of lines and hair still short enough to fall along his forehead in curls.

“You’re the one who set this up. I just did my job and showed up.”

“I don’t like this,” he grumbled.

“Like what? Patrolling? Then why did you pick it-”

“What you’re doin’!” Clicking loud enough to ricochet off the trees, he caught up to your side. “I don’t like you talkin’ to me like I’m a fuckin’ stranger.”

You sighed, leading Comet down the path lined with hoof prints. “How else am I supposed to talk to you Miller? We’re…”

“A hell of a lot more than strangers.”

“Yeah. You can say that.” Stubbornness is what kept you alive. The instinct to dig your heels in and wait it out was how you found your way to Jackson, surviving alone all those years before Tommy came across you. Half dead, buried beneath snow, and yet still the whisper of your name from his lips sent you careening back to life.

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered, flicking the reigns until you were cut off—Comet reeling back with a displeased sound you felt in the base of your throat. “Talk to me Soot. Yell at me. Call me a fuckin’ bastard for pushing you away. Curse my existence and spit at me, but please stop treatin’ me like I don’t exist.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Tommy.”

The break in his anger, the pain in his eyes, filled you with a sick satisfaction you loathed the second it entered your heart. You didn’t want to hurt him. Not like he hurt you. You were just trying to survive.

“We can walk it from here,” you said, dropping to the ground and slinging Comet’s reigns around an old post hammered into the dirt.

He followed in quick succession, matching your stride as he yanked out the gun attached to his hip—always on edge when it came to protecting you. The anger was palpable, thick enough to slice through as it hung over your shoulders like an ashen colored storm cloud waiting to drown you both. You stewed in what flared to life at the base of your stomach. The rage of a fight never had lingered, peeking its head out no matter how hard you tried to rid yourself of what remained.

The love would always exist. A passion you couldn’t bring yourself to release. You knew that was why you came here today—expecting a fight with bared teeth and growled curse words that would make even Joel blush.

An inevitable explosion of all you were to one another. A ticking time bomb, counting down faster than either of you expected.

“I know what I did was fucked up,” he began, the truth flowing with ease past a mouth you dreamed of at night. “You think I wouldn’t have written those letters if I didn’t know? You deserved a better man than I ever could be, but I wanna be that man baby.”

Your teeth sunk into any part of your cheek hard enough to make you wince. “Let’s just get this over with okay?”

“No. We’re gonna have it out. Right here.”

“We’re in the middle of the woods Tommy. Stop pulling this shit would you? This isn’t the time for your games-”

“Well I wouldn’t have had to pull a move like this if you would acknowledge my damn existence in town.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The stoic expression threw him off guard, his eyes narrowing with the challenge of splitting you right down to the marrow of who he knew. Someone he longed to recognize.

He scoffed, meeting your bullheaded response with horns of his own. “You don’t know what I’m talkin’ about huh? Well forgive me Soot if I call fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Tommy-”

“You’re lying right to my face thinkin’ I won’t see it. But you forget I know you. I know you better than anyone in town ever wished they could.” Your first mistake was leading him to familiar ground—the hard headed version of you that kept him on edge twenty years ago, intent on getting what you wanted. “Better than any of those old men who practically lick their fuckin’ lips at the sight of you.”

The words struck you—caving in a small opening he pried open with his hands until blood ran down his knuckles. He was keeping tabs on you in the two months you were separated. Watching how certain men in the town nearly cheered at the knowledge you were single again. Jealousy ran deep in Tommy’s veins—a trait you learned to love and accept. But this was different.

This held an edge he no longer walked with the trepidation of a man scared to lose you.

He didn’t give a shit about the consequences when he was living them. Tommy reaped what he sowed and sunk his teeth into the end result—a flare of covetousness surging back into an older version of himself. He never liked when you had lovers in the past, always greedy for what they’d never get. Your friendship, your shining attention.

But to see it turned on himself left you gasping for breath. Lust wrapped tight and hot around the base of your spine, sparking feelings that never went away.

“You think I never saw the way they looked at you? I know what I had—what I lost. So you’re gonna stand there and talk to me. I know you probably didn’t read those letters, but that isn’t stoppin’ me from telling it to your face that I’m sorry. That I would take everything back in a heartbeat.”

“Tommy…don’t-”

“And yes I pulled every string available to get you here. Yes I’m a selfish bastard who probably doesn’t deserve your attention anymore. But I need you to hear me-”

“Shut up!”

He straightened, his jaw clamping shut at the roar of your voice echoing off the trees. His words overwhelmed you, dragged you into a place you barely escaped from a month ago. Pain laced each breath you took. But that wasn’t what had your temper flaring, bringing to life the person who fought for everything they had. Someone who learned that life didn’t offer good things unless you were willing to fight tooth and nail for it.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” you growled, watching his lips curve into a crooked grin.

“There you are,” he murmured. “I thought I lost you.”

The fighter he knew still resided just below the surface of your cold front. The person who dragged themselves through hell to get here, seeking a place of comfort after years of torture. You did it without help. You managed without him. And yet you no longer had to, you didn’t want to; the lack of his warmth evident in how numb you felt, how your heart barely fluttered anymore.

Tommy Miller didn’t save you, but he sure as hell was determined to protect the parts you kept alive.

“I read the letters,” you hoarsely admitted, ripping the band aid off without hesitation.

“I know you did.” He sighed, his breath forming in the air and obstructing him from view. “I know why you won’t talk about ‘em.”

“That’s not it.” Sucking in a breath felt like needles puncturing the crumbling remnants of a person who deserved love. You know you did. So why couldn’t you accept it when it came crawling back? “I just… I wanted…”

His solemn nod sliced off another piece of you, dropping it to the ground without a care in the world. “To forget me.”

“You’re so…” Hot tears collided with your frozen skin, the words thick like molasses in the back of your throat. “You were everything to me Tommy. And when you gave up on what we had-”

“I didn’t give up. I’d never do that.”

“You left me!” you shouted, voice cracked and chest heaving for air that wouldn’t come. A match that refused to ignite, striking haplessly against whatever it could reach. “You walked out when all I wanted was to know this version of you. Every part.”

Stumbling towards you he reached out, brown eyes muddled by wounds he tried to hide—grief he couldn’t weigh on your shoulders. He could barely carry it on his own. You knew the man he was before kissing him, long before you dragged him into that bed and let him between your thighs. Horrors trailed after him in a red streak of what he did, the torture he caused, the deaths tainting his hands.

But you still let him touch you. With red stains and all you allowed him to grip your body like a lifeline, mouth meshed with his as tears trailed past your temples.

You loved him in spite of the darkness.

“I wrote it down for you,” he said, eyes cast to the forest—on guard in more ways than one. “I put it all in those letters. All the bad shit I’ve done, all the people I killed. I laid it all out for you to see. But if you want to forget me-”

Throwing your hands up, you no longer tried to stifle the tears—the anguish he should see play out on an already exhausted face. "I tried to burn the letters, the memories, but the fire wouldn’t take them! It’s like the universe won’t let me forget you!"

“Baby…”

Your sobs echoed off an empty forest blanketed by picturesque scenery—such an opposition for the cracking of your heart you were certain he could hear. “I couldn’t start a fire to throw them in Tommy. I couldn’t… I don’t want to forget you. Why would I? When I still love you.”

Silence filled the air, the forest taking over for the words left unsaid. You could hear an owl calling in the distance, the rustle of a rabbit in the bushes as it ripped what leaves still remained to pieces. The forest thrived in the absence of humanity. You could see how it ignored the anger, the frustration that fell a part on the floor.

The forest didn’t need you.

Not the way Tommy did.

The shock dissipated as you stood there heaving in gasping breaths, fighting back whimpering pleas for him to say something—to not let the final piece of you break and land in the snow. He surged towards you, gloved hand gripping the back of your neck to yank your face close, his still chapped lips finding your frozen ones with ease. And for the first time in two months you could breathe.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your open mouth, tongue delving into a space he longed to taste again. “Can’t fuckin’ survive without you baby.”

You didn’t bother responding, slinging an arm around his neck to drag him even closer. His kiss burned you, the match finally striking with perfect ease to light that roaring fire. Loving him came quick, overtaking who you once were in order to build someone new. Someone he could cherish and keep safe at the end of the world.

His grip dropped to your hips, pulling you close enough to feel through the layers of coats and sweaters. Later you might laugh at how careless you were so out in the open. A story told over whiskey, the tipsy relief of contentment fueling teasing words and touches that strayed far past appropriate.

Tucking his hands into your back pockets, he ran his nose along the side of your still frozen cheek—lips curled into a smile you mimicked. “I liked writin’ you those letters.”

“Yeah?” you sighed, catching his lips softly.

“Mhm.”

“Write me some more.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your neck, thumb running along the fluttering vein. “I can do that.”

“I hope you know… I really missed you.” Breathing the words against his cheek, you felt his hold tighten—as if terrified to let you go after all that happened.

“Me too,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck, breathing the scent of your cold skin. “It nearly killed me bein’ away from you.”

“Then stay.”

His head shot up, clear eyes catching yours. “I’m never leavin’ you again honey. Till the day I fuckin’ die I’ll be by your side.”

Heat bloomed beneath your cheeks, eyes shining with unshed tears. “That might be sooner than later if we’re out here any longer.”

That familiar bright smile brought back the feeling in your chest—heart fluttering in time with his. “Then let’s head home yeah?”

Home. A word uttered in the darkness of long days and weary limbs begging for reprieve in the comfort of a squeaky old mattress. It sounded jarring coming from him with ease. As if he’d been longing for your shared space, where love could flourish and a future solidified with each day spent within the walls of an old house.

The space had seen people before you, it might see others after you, but for this brief time on this planet it was yours.

“Okay,” you replied softly, reverence dripping from the word. “Let’s go home.”

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"COME CLOSER, DARLING"

In honor to TLOU 2X01 being released, I wrote this fic with Joel 😉

I hope you like it! 🖤☝😌

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

Anyone who knew Joel knew that going out on patrol wasn't one of his favorite things to do.

Normally, it was Ellie who did it with Tommy and the others, but that day he had plans with Dina, so he asked her to please take his place, just for that day.

Joel agreed because what else could he say to her? It wasn't like he had anything else to do anyway, so he mounted his horse and, after informing Maria of his departure, began his expedition.

He rode for several hours, never straying too far from where he had started.

Suddenly, the horse reared up, and Joel stroked its mane tenderly before looking up at the grassy road in front of him.

"What's up, girl?" he asked the animal in a low voice. "What did you see?"

The animal couldn't answer him, but when it heard a scream coming from about 20 meters away, it was all the answer it needed.

Joel spurred his horse in that direction, hiding behind a thick mass of branches and vines.

He ducked between the cars to hide and walked to the source of the screams.

He peered over one of the vehicles, observing the scene unfolding in front of him.

A girl ran desperately, while several runners chased her. Joel watched as she tried to reload the pistol in her hands, failing miserably due to nerves.

If he didn't do something, the infected would kill her. Joel had seen enough people die.

He didn't want the same thing to happen to you, so he sprang into action.

He emerged from his hiding place, his shotgun drawn, and whistled to draw them toward him.

"Hey, you guys!" he shouted, causing the runners to whip their heads around, momentarily forgetting about you. "Come and get me!"

You watched in horror as the ten infected ran toward the unknown man, who pulled the trigger of his weapon every time one of them approached, instantly blowing their heads off.

Within seconds, a trail of corpses surrounded him.

He took a few deep breaths before focusing on you. His gaze was kind and compassionate.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking around, checking that everything was clear for the moment.

"It could be worse," you replied. "If you hadn't shown up… I would have…"

"But I showed up," he stopped you gently. "I'm here," he repeated. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

"How do I know I can trust you?" you questioned. He held your gaze steadily.

"You can't," he decreed, gesturing to where he had hidden the horse. "Are you coming or are you staying?"

You weighed your options until you ended up choosing the most obvious.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to keep from falling.

He couldn't help but revel in the delicate, gentle touch of your hands and the way you rested your head on his back to nap every now and then.

You arrived in the city as the sun was setting over the horizon, at which point, after he introduced you to Maria, he took you to his house where you would spend the night.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping here for a while," he said, positioning the house a little. "We're working on a construction plan to build more houses before summer arrives," he explained. "This will give us more space in case more refugees arrive."

"Are there still people out there?" you asked, astonished. "Flesh-and-blood people, not infected?"

"Yes, they still exist," he nodded, sitting in the armchair opposite you. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth."

"I see," you murmured. You remained silent for a few seconds before speaking again. "Thanks for saving my life."

"It's part of the job," he replied casually. "What's your name?"

"Y/N," you murmured. He nodded.

"That's a beautiful name," he smiled. "I'm Joel."

"Nice to meet you, Joel," you whispered, bringing your hand to your side in a wince.

Joel's face twisted in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, when I was trying to get an infected person off me…"

"Did he bite you?" Joel asked, fearful. I didn't want to have to kill you now that he was starting to like you.

"I was going to say, he pushed me against one of the cars," you said, partially lifting your shirt to reveal your abdomen, where there was a shallow cut. "… with the bad luck that one of them had a broken rearview mirror." You ended up wincing as you readjusted yourself in the chair. "I don't know if I have any glass stuck under my skin."

"Don't move, I'll get the first aid kit," Joel said, quickly getting up to get the things he needed to treat you.

When he came back, you lifted your shirt, and he put on his glasses to get a better look at your wound.

They fit very well, which made you blush when you realized you were staring at him too much.

"It's not deep, but I have to stitch it up so it doesn't get infected." He looked up at you as he grabbed a needle and thread. "It won't hurt, I promise."

"I'm not… very needle fanatic—you swallowed nervously. He gently fixed his brown eyes on yours.

“Squeeze my arm.”

“What?”

“If it hurts, you can squeeze my arm. I won’t complain,” he offered. You nodded slowly. “Ready?”

“I think so.” You took a deep breath and held it as he began to stitch you up.

You dug your nails into his shoulder a couple of times, but he didn’t seem to notice, as he continued treating you as if nothing had happened.

Then he pulled away and took off his glasses, simultaneously cutting the remaining thread.

"There you go," he announced as he disinfected the needle. "You did very well," he smiled, making you blush violently.

"Thanks," you whispered. "But the credit goes to you. You're the one who cured me."

"It's no big deal. I've stitched up other people before," he said, beginning to gather things. "After a while, you get used to it."

"Sure," you murmured as he disappeared to leave the first-aid kit in the bathroom.

When he came back, he did so with an oversized sweatshirt and pants that were more tailored to your size.

"I thought you'd want to change," he said, handing you your clothes. "You can also take a shower if you want; we have hot water."

"A shower would be nice," you agreed, making him smile. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome, kiddo" he murmured as you disappeared into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, you came out wearing the clothes Joel had lent you.

He looked up from the book he was reading to look at you. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he did so.

"What's wrong?" you asked, seeing him looking at you.

"Nothing, it's just that my sweatshirt fits you like a dress," he laughed, looking you up and down. "It suits you better than it does me."

"It's very warm," you said, putting your hands in your bags. "Aren't you cold?" He pointed at the fireplace beside him. "Of course, I didn't realize." You smiled, sitting back down in the chair you'd been in before.

"I didn't want you to catch a cold," he confessed after a few moments of silence. "So I gave you the warmest sweatshirt I had."

"That's… very kind of you, Joel," you whispered. He held your gaze firmly.

"Have anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" he blurted out suddenly, making your eyes widen.

"I think th-if they had told me, I'd remember." You swallowed hard. "Why do you ask?"

"You're welcome, I'm just pointing out a fact," he murmured. "Even though I can't see you well from this distance, the lines on your face tell me my statement is true." He smiled at how your breath hitched at his words, patting his knees lightly. "Come closer, darling," he asked. "My eyes aren't what they used to be, you know? And I want to see you properly."

Slowly, you sat on his lap. His eyes scanned your face before a smile spread across his lips.

"Just like I was saying," he whispered, lowering his gaze to your mouth. "Perfect," he added more to himself than to you.

"Joel…"

"Y/N," he mimicked you. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, and instantly, he placed his lips against yours with need, your fingers tangling in his gray locks.

He shifted you onto his lap, resting his hands on your hips so you were straddling him as he continued kissing you.

Now his lips were on your neck, his trimmed beard tickling your pulse point.

He held your face in his hands, deepening the kiss, making you gasp against him.

"I have rough hands," he commented when he broke away for a moment. "I guess it's from holding the horse's reins, wielding weapons, chopping wood, and all the rest of it."

"Never mind, Joel, I…" You pressed your lips into a thin line, embarrassed. "I like it."

"I see," he murmured, giving an amused smile. "My girl likes my big, rough hands, right?" he asked, and you nodded slowly. "Because that's what you are, you know, right?"

"What?" you asked, not knowing what he meant

“You’re mine,” he said, kissing you again. “MY girl,” he repeated, taking off his shirt and you doing the same with the pants he had lent you. “Spread your legs, baby,” he ordered kindly. “Spread your legs and look at me while you do it,” he whispered, and you did. “Oh, that’s it,” he celebrated, smiling. “Fuck yes, that’s perfect, good girl,” he praised, making you gasp at the name. “I need to taste you,” he growled. “I want to feel your orgasm when you cum on my tongue,” he whispered. “But first, I must ask you if this is what you want.”

“Yes,” you nodded firmly.

“I want you to forget absolutely everything tonight,” he began. “About your life, about the people you’ve lost, and about those who are still out there,” he whispered. “I want your mind to be focused only on me, on us, on this moment, and on the pleasure I’m going to give you.”

You felt like you were going to faint when his tongue slipped between your folds, finding your clit. It didn't take long for you to come; a couple of licks and two tugs with his teeth, and you were a trembling mess in his arms.

You caught your breath for a moment, and then you kneel down and return the favor.

Then he stopped being gentle, held you by the hips, and sat you on his bed, inserting himself inside you in one swift thrust.

He lightly covered your mouth with the palm of his hand.

"This is what you wanted, right, precious?" he growled, thrusting against you. "Did you want your savior to fuck you like you deserve?"

"Yes!" you whimpered. "Please, Joel, I need…"

"I know, baby, cum for me."

After that, he took you in his arms, and just before you fell asleep, you heard him say:

"I'm glad Ellie asked me to go on patrol instead of her"

[fourorchid]

“Obedient Thing”

— Chapter 3 —

Description: The monotony of your day to day life as a lab assistant is suddenly interrupted upon meeting Viktor, a researcher at the academy, who has a gaze that pulls you apart and knows exactly how to piece you back together. His voice, his actions—they’re dizzying, frustrating—but madly addictive. Curiosity and happenstance seem to render you incapable of avoiding him as you come to terms with the newfound feelings he’s unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) stirred within you.

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (here)

— Viktor x fem!Reader | ~3.6k —

Disclaimer: Chapter three is here! I’ll warn you now, there is a lot of tension and build up in these next few chapters so please be patient with me. Hopefully the wait will be worth it. As always, I appreciate any comments/feedback! Enjoy ~

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The following days of the week go by without much of note—which you are grateful for—until Thursday morning when you received a call from Jayce.

“Look, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me when I say this, but I’m not messing with you—he really could use an extra hand. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s drowning in work right now,”

You couldn’t deny that Jayce sounded believably sick as he spoke over the phone, genuine sniffles and everything. And you were relieved he decided not to come in to work to pass it along, but—

“And there’s not really anything for you to work on with where we are right now in the test trials if I’m not there to run it,” Jayce added, which you knew was true.

“Could I just take the day off instead?” You asked, trying to find a way out of it.

“I mean—“ Jayce paused as you heard a muffled cough on the other end of the line, “You can, but you’ll miss a day’s worth of pay.” He spoke truthfully, but with the intent of pushing you toward a certain answer.

You mulled over the two options in your head before reluctantly picking your poison.

“Fine.” You huff. Nerves tingle through your limbs and you felt a fluttering in your stomach at what you had just agreed to—an entire day of work as Viktor’s assistant. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, the idea of spending time with the man was intriguing. Mostly nerve-wracking—but still intriguing.

“Thanks, y/n, I’ll let him know you’re coming.” Jayce spoke sincerely but you could practically hear his shit-eating grin through the receiver.

“Bye, Jayce—feel better.” You sounded entirely unimpressed but he knew you still wished him well. Your phone landed haphazardly on the bed where you tossed it as you moved towards the bathroom to get ready.

* * * *

Upon reaching the numbered lab room Jayce had provided, you give the door a hesitant knock. There’s a pause as you muster up the courage—with a turn of the handle, you begin your descent into the lion’s den.

Your eyes quickly make their way to Viktor’s frame where he stood over his desk. Setting his work down, he looks in your direction. A glint of something flickers through his eyes as he speaks but his composure makes it hard to decipher.

“Good morning, Miss y/n.” Viktor’s voice travels smoothly across the room.

“Good morning,” You reply politely, giving your best impression of someone whose heart rate hadn’t just jumped through the ceiling. You will yourself to calm down with a deep inhale as you walk into the room.

“Jayce said you would be working alongside me today?” Viktor clarifies.

“Yes, if you’ll have me.” You nod as you respond politely.

“Of course I’ll have you.” Viktor’s voice is measured but something in his words makes your face feel warm. He walks around his workspace to face you. He pats the top of the desk next to him, “Come, sit.”

You find yourself doing as he asks without question, grateful for the invitation as your feet had begun to feel as though they were sinking in quicksand. You move to the desk and half sit on top of it, your legs now hang off the edge, your feet grazing the floor slightly. You feel more steady now with something to brace yourself against. Viktor continues.

“What is it that you usually do?” He asks, trying to gauge your typical duties.

“Usually, I just do what Jayce asks of me.” You offer simply.

Amusement flits across Viktor’s features as he cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow before continuing. “I see. So you just…do as you’re told?”

Immediately, you realize your mistake, stumbling over your words slightly before responding. “Well, given that I’m an assistant, that’s sort of in the job description.”

Viktor wore a careful smile as he nodded, appreciating your attempt at deflection.

“Of course—I suppose it’s my job to make sure you’re up to the task then, hm?” His voice lilts playfully but his words have a certain weight to them. You swallow hard.

Today is going to be torturous.

“Don’t worry, my request of you is rather straightforward.” Viktor reassures you. “I would like you to categorize some articles I will need for reference—first by topic, and then by findings.” He explains simply. You give him a skeptical look.

“That’s it? I was under the impression you had more that needs to be done?” You question.

“Mm…and what is your point?” Viktor doesn’t disagree but clearly has no intentions of changing his mind. You look at him confounded. He notices you falter and offers a reminder in rebuttal.

“You said you do what you’re told—no?” Viktor recounts, his voice a bit deeper than before. Your head spins and you’re not sure how to reply. Knowing it was a rhetorical question, he adds, “This is all I want from you today. No other complicated tasks. No pesky Jayce. No distractions. Just you, sitting and doing as I asked.” He finishes, his words final.

Despite the objections fighting their way up your throat, you offer a silent nod indicating you understand. He seems pleased by your agreement. You move to stand up but Viktor—decidedly liking the sight of you perched atop his desk—stops you. “No, stay there.”

You aren’t sure what to do besides wait idly as Viktor leaves and returns shortly with a folder of articles in his free hand and a small pillow borrowed from the couch in the lounge under his arm. He props his cane against the side of the desk as he passes you the papers.

You’re suddenly caught off guard as Viktor takes his hand and gently pats your knee, gesturing for you to turn to your right and scoot forward. The contact is electrifying. You follow his silent command as he places the pillow flat behind you on the desk.

“Now, move back for me.” Viktor instructs, his voice low and coaxing. You feel dizzy as you follow his instruction, sliding backward to place yourself on top of the pillow. “Comfortable?” The single word from his mouth is sincere but also taunting in nature.

“Mhm.” You reply stiffly as you bring your gaze to the file of papers he had handed you. Viktor moves to sit at the desk, now facing you as he begins his work. Your legs hang directly to the side of where he sits in his desk chair. If you weren’t careful, you might accidentally bump into him. Viktor brings his attention to his unfinished calculations from yesterday, seemingly unfazed by the current set up.

“Relax, Miss y/n.” Viktor’s voice gently pulls you from your thoughts. His gaze remains fixed on the spreadsheet in his hand.

“I am relaxed.” You retort, suddenly all too aware of how you are holding yourself; every muscle in your body feeling unnaturally taut.

His eyes flicker up from his work to appraise you. “I can see your body language. You’re tense. Would you prefer to sit somewhere else?” Viktor offers almost mockingly, daring you to forfeit.

And you’d rather die than admit defeat to this man—so you take the challenge.

“No, this is fine.” You breathe out.

“Good.” He purrs back in approval.

And you immediately knew Viktor had you right where he wanted you.

* * * *

It took a moment, but focusing on the task at hand allowed you to forget the circumstance you had found yourself in. You felt more at ease now as you meticulously sorted through the folder in your lap. Flitting between the piles you had constructed, you realize some paperclips might be helpful. You turn to Viktor to ask but notice a container sitting on the other end of the desk. You get an idea. Without warning, you lean over Viktor and swiftly take the paper clips in your hand. You hold your position just a bit longer than necessary before returning.

“Careful.” His voice dropped to a soft and low warning as you moved back over him.

“Sorry, just needed some paperclips,” you say convincingly.

“Right—just paperclips, hm?” You feel your face heat up as you realize Viktor had caught on to your ploy—a subtle attempt at a power play. Unfortunately, now it had backfired. Your mouth runs dry as you quickly avert your gaze back to the papers in your lap. You berate yourself in frustration over what little willpower you seem to possess while in Viktor’s presence.

You continue sorting for some time until Viktor’s voice draws your attention. “You are doing a very good job so far.” His tone is level and complimentary as he speaks.

“Are you trying to make me feel patronized?” You quip back in suspicion at the simplicity of the task he was flattering you for. He chuckled softly at your skepticism, finding your defensiveness somewhat endearing.

"I’m not trying to patronize you. I am simply being honest." He paused, his eyes flickering up to look at you directly before he adds in a softer but more deliberate tone. “I believe you deserve praise for following instruction so well.”

To your surprise, Viktor seems entirely sincere in his response. The notion stirs something in you.

He carefully sets his pen down, glancing to the clock. “Hungry?” He asks. You notice it was almost time for lunch.

“Mm, not really—I’ll eat later.” You shrug as you offer your response. You knew you should eat now but the thought of acting in accordance to how Viktor expected brought out an uncharacteristically oppositional side of you. Maybe because disagreeing gave you control—something Viktor always seemed to have, and something you were always desperately trying to get back.

He nods to you as he stands, presumably to get his own lunch. Mid Viktor’s movement, your stomach lurches with a loud growl giving away your bluff. He raises en eyebrow providing a knowing look as his eyes trace from your face down your torso. Heat licks at the side of your neck, but Viktor doesn’t say anything as he walks toward the kitchen that was attached to the lounge. Once his frame disappears through the doorway, you let out a shaky exhale in relief that he hadn’t pushed further.

Viktor returns with a container and utensils in hand. And…a bag? Oh—you quickly identify your packed lunch now hanging from Viktor’s hand. He strides back to the desk, setting his food down. He hands you the meal you had packed for yourself, sporting a faint grin as he speaks.

“You are hungry—so I figured you might need this.” He says matter-a-factly. You roll your eyes, setting your packed lunch to the side in defiance as you continue your sorting. Viktor’s gaze remains trained on you. Your cheeks begin to burn as you do your best to ignore his stare—hoping to appear unaffected.

You are too shy to look up as you hear Viktor’s footsteps circling around the side of the desk to stand behind you.

Suddenly, he places his hand around the nape of your neck, gently gripping your skin. Leaning closer, he whispers.

“Eat.”

You freeze at the simple command. You feel dazed and pliant under his touch. At a loss for words, you find yourself reaching for the bag next to you.

Viktor keeps his hand there on your neck, his touch unexpectedly reassuring as you take your first bite. He observes as you begin to eat, a hint of satisfaction crossing his face. Slowly, he removes his hand—but not before giving a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze. You don’t even know how it happened—it was as if he had found some sort of miraculous pressure point that made you surrender.

He returns to his own meal as you both continue chewing silently. You feel your face burning as you swallow. Your knuckles turn white as you grip the napkin in your hand like it was the only thing tethering you down to earth at the moment. You don’t know which would be worse; trying to say something coherent right now or letting the silence speak on your behalf. You settle on the latter, decidedly not wanting to make a fool of yourself more than you already had.

After what feels like an agonizing amount of minutes, you finish your lunch. Viktor shortly follows suit. You move to get off the desk to throw the remnants of your lunch away but Viktor stops you.

“Sit.” He gestured with his hand, indicating for you to stay put. “I'll take care of it." His tone was more relaxed now but still firm.

You do as you’re told, too overwhelmed by how you were still feeling to care. He gives you a once over, clearly expecting you to talk back. Nothing. The corners of his mouth turn up in subtle appreciation of the state you were in.

Viktor walked back to the kitchen with the empty containers. As he returned, he once again leans over your shoulder and whispers in a low, hushed rumble.

“Good girl.”

A jolt of heat runs through you at Viktor’s praise. The two simple words jump start your brain back into motion and send your pulse into hyperdrive.

You let out a wavering breath as you attempt to steady yourself before finally speaking.

“So, am I allowed to get up at all?” You sound weaker than you had hoped but your frustration was still evident.

Viktor moves back to the desk and brings his arms up, crossing them over his chest as he studies you before responding.

“Of course—when you are given permission.” His tone is teasing but part of you has trouble telling if there is some truth to his answer.

You roll your eyes but still find yourself playing along. “May I get off the desk?” You ask formally.

Viktor chuckles as you go with it. “Since you asked so nicely—yes, you may get off the desk.”

You waste no time quickly standing up from the desk. You smooth out your skirt before promptly excusing yourself to the bathroom, desperately needing a break from Viktor’s all-consuming presence.

You take a few minutes to self assess in the bathroom mirror. Before leaving, you run some cold water over the pulse points of your wrists and neck, trying to soothe your rapid heart beat and flushed skin. It barely helps.

Upon your return, Viktor hands you a second folder of articles to sort through. His hand brushes against yours as you take it. You can’t help but assume it was intentional.

“This should be the last of it.” Viktor explains. You nod and resume your seated position on top of the desk to get back to categorizing. But before you can start, the sound of Viktor’s voice commands your attention.

“You know—you are very…responsive, Miss y/n.” Your eyes flick to Viktor’s amused expression as he speaks.

“Do you like this? How it makes you feel?” His voice becomes quieter and deeper, his tone hypnotic as he continues.

“How I make you feel?”

The world suddenly closes around you at his words. You feel as though a spotlight were pointing directly down on you and there was no way to hide from it.

“What are you getting at?” You speak through gritted teeth, your disposition suddenly on edge.

“It’s as though you enjoy being told what to do—in a way that most people don’t.” His voice is a low purr as he explains. His eyes narrow on you awaiting your response.

You let out an overwhelmed sigh as your composure slips.

“And…what if I’m not ‘most people?’” You speak meekly. Your cheeks flush pink with embarrassment as your admission hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity.

Viktor finally cuts through the silence as he speaks.

“It does not matter if most people do not feel that way. You clearly do.” His words are stern but reassuring. “There is nothing wrong with that, Miss y/n.” He adds softly. Your breathing becomes steadier as you let Viktor’s words sink in.

“And I, for one, enjoy it.”

His golden eyes read tenderly but his words strike you hot and heavy. Suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself, you move to cross your legs where you sit on the desk. The room feels stuffy as tension floods your senses.

There’s a pause before Viktor brings your attention back to the task at hand.

“That is all—you may return to your sorting.” he instructs. You nod, decidedly glad for the pivot in subject.

Upon returning your focus to the folder in your lap, you begin subconsciously shaking the leg you had crossed over your lap. It was a nervous gesture; one that gave away the unbearable tension you were feeling at present. Your subtle movement had the entire desk vibrating. Viktor looks up at you, recognizing the state he’s put you in. His hand moves toward you, closing over the bottom half of your leg.

You look over to Viktor at the contact but his eyes stay trained on the page of notes in his hand. You feel his thumb begin to rub small, slow circular motions against your skin, his touch almost absentminded but no doubt purposeful.

You feel yourself melt into his touch. Your fidgeting stops but your focus doesn’t return. All you can pay attention to is Viktor’s movement. His touch only has you feeling needy for more. You try to suppress the feeling—but it’s quickly spiraling out of control.

“Viktor,” You speak his name—pleading it, almost. You feel utterly intoxicated by his presence, his words, his touch; everything about him has you absolutely reeling.

He looks up at your plea. Noticing the glossed-over look in your eye, and the way your thighs hugged one another—he understood you were at your limit. He released his hand, returning it to the desk. “Please, Miss y/n. Continue.” He speaks the order gently, trying to help you find your bearings.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, sucking in a deep breath before exhaling through your nose. After a long pause—you manage to pull yourself together enough to continue the task you had been assigned.

* * * *

The following hours go by in a haze. And before you realize it, your day of work has come to a close.

“Have you finished sorting?” Viktor asks. You nod, “Yes, I have.” You affirm, handing him the folders now full of categorized and paper-clipped piles of references.

“Excellent, you may get off the desk now.” Viktor speaks approvingly. You oblige. As you move to collect your things, Viktor’s tone turns curious. “How did you find today? Any objections to the tasks I gave you?” He inquires.

“No, it was all very…simple.” You try to find the right descriptor but a single word can’t even begin to encompass how you felt about the events of today.

He cocked an eyebrow slightly, a hint of intrigue in his expression as he observed you carefully before replying. “Simple…is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

“I don’t know.” You admit softly, overwhelmed at the idea of trying to explain all of the thoughts and emotions swirling inside you.

Viktor notices the hint of uncertainty in your voice. He leans in a bit closer, his voice a touch softer, but still authoritative. “Let me ask you a different question then, hm?"

You nod, indicating for Viktor to continue.

“Did you find your experience today…enlightening? Did it help you better understand some things about yourself?” Viktor’s hands move to clasp the top of his cane as he stands.

“Yes.” You reply sheepishly, your voice nearly a whisper. Viktor takes note of your response before pausing for a moment. You take the opportunity to add your own request.

“May I ask you a question?” Curiosity fans the flame inside you as you speak.

Viktor moves his cane in front of him as he leans his back against the desk. A flicker of intrigue shows in his expression as he accepts. "Of course. What is your question?"

You swallow before speaking more firmly.

“How many other lab assistants have you pulled this on?” You ask. Your tone is more accusatory than you expected but you have the right to know, nonetheless.

“A fair question.” Viktor hums the start of his response, not expecting such a bold inquiry.

“This is not the first time I’ve had this…experience with an assistant.” He explains candidly.

Viktor’s answer is equal parts intimidating and intriguing as you feel your pulse climb up your throat. But there is something about his honesty that you find reassuring.

He offers a subtle but warm smile. “It’s alright, I can tell you are curious. But I’d like to ask one final question in return.”

You nod for him to continue. His gaze steadies on you as the words leave his throat. “How open are you to being…challenged, Miss y/n?”

The concept makes your stomach flip and your head spin.

“I’m…not sure what you mean.” You respond hoping to get clarification. Viktor lets you both sit in silence for a moment before he waves his hand dismissing the thought.

“Don’t worry about it just yet.” He assures you, not needing an answer right now. The seed had been planted regardless.

“You are free to go. I have some things I need to attend to before I turn in for the day.” Viktor speaks, relieving you from your work.

You finish grabbing your things and head towards the door, glad for the day to be over. You feel the cool metal of door handle against the heat of your palm as you turn it to leave.

“I will see you around, Miss y/n.” Viktor speaks his farewell, almost like a promise.

“Good evening, Viktor.” His name falls from your lips in an almost seductive manner. You exit the lab, closing the door promptly behind you.

You run a hand through your hair in an exasperated gesture as your legs carry you out of the academy building and back to your apartment.

You spend the next few hours distracting yourself with mindless tasks—doing laundry, cooking dinner, washing the dishes from said dinner, scrolling through your phone.

Now it’s late and your eyelids feel heavy as you curl up in bed. You will sleep to take you but it holds out. As you lie in limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness, your thoughts wander to the events of today.

But you find that your capacity to make sense of any of it has been utterly exhausted. And what you were left with was something more primitive. An urge—primal and hungry. An appetite that was soon becoming insatiable. Like an animal that had just gotten a taste of something they were positively starved for.

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[forkshighschooler]

All That I Burn For — Part 2

Summary:The fallout from your fight leaves both you and Paul exposed, but neither of you walks away.

Author’s Note-Saw someone reblog the first one and say it made their day better! Here is part 2! I hope this makes it even better!

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3

You didn’t talk much after that.

Paul walked you home in silence, the backs of your hands brushing every now and then, a quiet reminder that the space between you was still full of something unspoken. Neither of you said what you really wanted to. Not yet. But maybe silence was safer.

He stopped at the edge of your cousin’s driveway, the familiar storm behind his eyes. Not rage this time. Just fear. He was always terrified of what came next when it involved you.

“You know you can walk away,” he said suddenly, voice rough. “No imprint, no pack, no ties. Just… go. I won’t stop you.”

You turned to face him slowly. “You want me to go?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “God, no. But I don’t want you staying just because some ancient magic tied your soul to mine. I want you to stay because you choose me.”

You blinked back tears, chest tightening. “You say that like I haven’t already chosen you—like I haven’t been choosing you every day, even when it breaks me.”

Paul took a shaky breath, the muscle in his jaw twitching. His hand lifted like he wanted to touch you again, but dropped just before he did.

“I don’t know how to do this without hurting you,” he said. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“Then learn,” you whispered. “Because I’m not asking for perfect, Paul. I’m asking for real. I’m asking you to try.”

He looked at you like you were the only real thing in his entire chaotic world. Like he’d been drowning and suddenly remembered how to breathe.

“I’ll try,” he said. “But I need you to promise something too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t shut me out when it gets hard. Don’t walk away just because I screw up. Yell at me. Fight me. But don’t leave.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered you.

You stepped forward and rested your forehead against his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat raced when you touched him. He wrapped his arms around you like he didn’t trust the universe to keep you there, like if he let go, the world would tilt off its axis.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” you whispered.

His grip tightened just slightly.

You felt the shift then. Not in the air, but in him. Like something inside him had finally cracked open. Not rage. Not fear. Just… him. Honest. Raw. Real.

You pulled back enough to look up at him.

“Next time you disappear on me,” you said, voice soft but serious, “I’m coming after you. I don’t care if you phase. I’ll throw something at your furry ass.”

He laughed. Really laughed. And it was the first time in a long time he looked like someone who believed he might deserve happiness, even if just for a moment.

“You’re insane.”

“Only for you.”

And before he could say anything else, you leaned up and kissed him—firm, certain, like you were making a promise neither of you fully knew how to keep.

But you’d try.

And maybe, this time, trying was enough.

Ps-Part three in the works! Might release tomorrow! Gonna end it with some fluff!

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[timeagainreviews]

The Robot Revolution Will Be Televised

If headlines were anything to go by, pre-screened reviews of the latest episode of Doctor Who, “The Robot Revolution,” were mixed. The ending was referred to as “controversial.” My gut reaction was worry that it would be yet another lore change. I felt like the Babadook mum screaming, “Why can’t you just be normal?” There were a couple of moments that I felt could be divisive. Cat fanciers might have balked at the untimely demise of Lucy from number 7’s cat. Then there was the moment when our lovable robot pal, Scoot, vacuums up Alan at his most zygotic. But Lucy from number 7’s cat was quite literally RTD doing the opposite of saving the cat to let you know these robots are bad business. And the sperm and egg line is so camp that it’s going to be one of those “my girlfriend is a paving slab instances.” But we know the real reason this episode might spark controversy.

Was that the first cannon mention of sperm in Doctor Who? I certainly can’t recall another instance of the word in the show’s nearly 62 years of existence. The new Davies era has added quite a few new words to Doctor Who’s lexicon. We now have cosplay, sperm, and even incel. That’s two new additions in a single episode! Bravo! Jokes aside, it’s the incels who may or may not be mad about this episode. I’ve learned to turn down the volume of those types of people years ago. I often refer to it as background static because that’s what it is. The truth is, the only issue I have with Belinda Chandra saying “It’s the planet of the incels,” is that it’s a bit on the nose. But this episode is so camp that I’m not even upset.

The Chibnall era had the unfortunate knock-on effect on people’s perception of a woman Doctor. Because the show wasn’t very good, some people (idiots) blamed it on Jodie Whittaker’s gender. Another knock-on effect was how it made so any legitimate criticism of the era also had to first combat claims of sexism. It was a messy time in the fandom. But when the show is good and people are still complaining, then what is the complaint? No episode of Doctor Who is perfect, but this might be one of those times where if you didn’t like the episode, it’s probably because you’re an incel. You’d have to make one hell of an argument because, baby, I had fun!

My impression of Russell T Davies has always been that he’s a man who appreciates when Doctor Who is a little camp. He even refers to the Robots as “camp” on Doctor Who Unleashed. Part of Doctor Who’s charm is that it exists in a hyper-reality where Doctor Who is possible. This week, he leaned heavily on the retro-futurism of ‘50s B-movies, citing 1955’s “This Island Earth” as one of his main inspirations. Fans of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 will be well-acquainted with This Island Earth, as it’s the film they riff in the MST3K movie. It’s a gloriously corny bit of science fiction from Universal in their post-horror era. The AI Generator’s throne room could easily have existed on Metaluna.

However, the usage of retro-futurism here is also part of a growing trend in sci-fi to embrace vintage tech. In the Alien franchise, we’ve seen the return of the chonky mechanical keyboards of the Nostromo. The computers in Star Wars still look like absolute dogshit. And. I. Am. Here. For. It. It’s nice to see the Doctor using computer panels that resemble something the Second Doctor would have utterly destroyed. I’m reminded of “World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls,” when they took the look of the Cybermen from “The Tenth Planet,” and updated their texture and materials enough to make them seem realistic. Things don’t always need to look how you expect them to, they can look how they need to look. The Doctor doesn’t need to pull up a Tony Stark-type HUD of holographic buttons for me to believe he’s on an alien planet.

Grounding this fantastic wonderworld in a bit of much-needed reality is Varada Sethu as Belinda Chandra. Belinda is a nurse who works hard for the NHS. She lives off of the least spoiled items in a community fridge. She’s a no-nonsense type who treats her work with the utmost sincerity. For the most part, nobody needs to tell us that Belinda takes her job seriously because it’s evident through her actions. Belinda doesn’t just sleep soundly; she sleeps on her stomach over her covers, presumably where she collapsed in exhaustion the instant she got home. This is precisely the sort of character work I’ve been missing from RTD since he returned. His work crafting the Tyler household was so strong that you felt as though you knew Jackie and Rose. I hope he keeps developing Belinda in this fashion.

We first meet Belinda as a teenager, talking to her dickweed of a boyfriend, Alan Budd. It’s clear from the outset that Alan doesn’t respect or even particularly like Belinda. He wants to possess and control her. He names a star after her but needs to associate it with her marital status by adding “Miss” at the beginning of her name. He critiques how she tears open her gift. He also steals the world’s most awkward and unearned kiss from her. In part, Alan is a knob and she knows it.

I found it a bit odd that Belinda would keep the star certificate all of these years later. But despite the irksome “Miss,” or Alan’s name on the diploma, it is still a bit cool to have a star named after you. Alan, as it would turn out, was the least significant part of that equation. In the words of Bilbo Baggins, “Why not keep it?” The episode wastes no time bringing the Robots into Belinda’s life. They drop in, break down some walls, terrify some nurses, and vaporise Lucy from number 7’s cat. RIP kitty. But things don’t happen so fast as to deny us a brief moment with the enigmatic and fourth-wall-breaking Mrs Flood. She’s up to her usual spooky shit. Very little new to report there. The question one must ask, however, is whether Belinda lives near where Ruby lived, or does Mrs Flood get about?

The Doctor tries to save Belinda, but as he’s chasing her, both she and the Doctor experience a “schwup,” in the space-time continuum, causing them to arrive at their destination at different points in time. Their destination? Missbelindachandra One is a planet whose name I would have read as gibberish the first few times in a book but is simply Belinda’s name as it appears on the star certificate, sans spacing, plus one. The Robots are the merciless hatchetmen of an imbicilic AI Generator. This is one of those rare moments where Doctor Who referencing current events doesn’t feel painfully dated, as the AI debate still rages on. You’ll be happy to know that anything you ever read on my blog is always 100% me. Fuck AI.

The Doctor has ingratiated himself into society on Missbelindachandra One. He holds the prestigious title of historian, which, when you consider megalomanics and their attitude toward accurate history must have been torture to the Doctor. Can you imagine trying to spin the AI Generator’s status as a bronze Torbjorn main as something cool? The Doctor truly is selfless. I’d have been stealing shit from the office every day. Call it quiet quitting, I call it fighting the power. My wibbly wobbly timey wimey lunch breaks would redefine the meaning of thirty minutes. Though, I do find the timing all to be a bit off. The Doctor says it took him a long time to rise to the role of Historian, but he’d been there for 6 months before Sasha 55 discovered him. Though, as we’ve learned from the Eleventh Doctor, any time sitting still is interminable. In an episode so fucky, it’s ironic that that’s the only timeline that confuses me.

Spoilers for the 1994 Jean-Claude Van Damme action sci-fi movie “Timecop,” but this episode reminded me of Timecop. Particularly, the moment when the evil Senator MacComb touches himself from another timeline, and the two melt into a puddle. It left an impression on 11-year-old me as it was one more way, like quicksand, which could totally kill me. Previously on Doctor Who, two of the same object or person co-existing has a plethora of effects, especially when those two items or people touch. Rose Tyler holds baby Rose Tyler, and the walls of reality weaken. Amy Pond touches her younger self, and nothing happens. Two of the same sonic screwdriver throw sparks. These diplomas throw us into a trippy Troughtonesque psychedelia where people age in and out of form like a Chris Cunningham video. It's a stunning bit of film making, and that shit reminded me of Timecop. 

Much of this episode reminded me of other stories. We have echoes of “The Girl in the Fireplace,” with a society of automatons (and people) taking a name too literally. My sister and I are watching through modern Who at the moment, and we found weird parallels within “Dinosaurs on a Spaceship.” The villainous Solomon even spurred my sister into saying “Incels make the best villains.” Too true, Rachelle. Too true. But the story which I thought of the most was the Seventh Doctor adventure, “Paradise Towers.” You have a dystopian future where society is thrown into chaos by an overzealous artificial intelligence. My friend Gerry and I both commented that the moment Manny showed up, we both thought of Pex. The big evil robot faces even compliment each other. I also thought of Futurama’s Femputer, which is really secretly a Fembot, which is itself a reference to The Wizard of Oz.

A man behind a curtain is exactly the issue. Alan Budd is our AI Generator. After Belinda inadvertently got Alan kidnapped ten years in the past (thanks to the schwup), he became a sadistic ruler over Missbelindachandrakind. However, due to a fault in programming, he runs on an 8-part cycle, rendering him and his robot thugs unable to hear every ninth word. Because of this, a rebellion was able to form against the AI Generator. But he too is fighting his own rebellion against himself, the Alan part of him that exists within every ninth moment yearns for death. He’s a pathetic figure, really. He’s an idiot’s idea of power. A very apt archetype for today’s leadership. I like to think it was a conscious decision on the effects department’s behalf to make one of his arms way bigger than the other. Alan is clearly working out at Onan’s Gym. It really is the cherry on top of an already stunning design.

Davies’ season openers are usually airier romps. Something to dip our toes back into the world of Doctor Who. Aspects reminded me of “Smith and Jones,” when the Judoon force the Doctor and his new companion into meeting through kidnapping. “Star Wars: The Force Awakens,” while initially praised as a return in tone to the Star Wars franchise, has since been reappraised (perhaps unfairly) as a rehash of the original film. Similar criticisms have been lobbied toward RTD, which accuse him of recycling older concepts from Doctor Who. It comes with the territory when a writer returns to a franchise. You’re bound to see some of the same themes. But Doctor Who does this a lot. “The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood” is basically a rehash of “The Silurians,” with a dash of “Frontios” thrown in for good measure. “Rise of the Cybermen/The Age of Steel” is a reimagining of the origins of the Cybermen, swapping the mirrored “Tenth Planet” of Mondas for an alternate reality Earth. We’re in season two of this new version of the show, expect to see more “remixing” of the classics. You’re old now.

One thing which I hoped Davies would do is chill out a bit. Stop trying so hard and just let loose a little. This feels like that. When Rose Noble gave her speech about being non-binary in “The Star Beast,” I complained that it felt a bit clunky. It had that awkward David Lynch is your uncle telling transphobes to fix their hearts or die energy to it. It comes out a bit weird, but his heart is in the right place. But with this story, it felt more natural. Sure, lines like “You’ve taken coercive control and made it complete control of the whole planet,” are a bit on the nose, but as I said earlier, the camp tone affords those moments. This all feels very deliberate and considered.

Much of the script feels thoughtful, which in turn proves to be thought-provoking. One aspect to science fiction I’ve always wondered about was whether “humans” in things like Star Wars are like us. Belinda asks a question that you seldom hear come up in sci-fi, and that is whether or not Missbelindachandrakind share a similar physiology to humans. I love that not only does Davies ask the question, but he even takes the time to discuss the differences for no reason other than flavour. It’s nice to see Davies having fun with the ideas he’s bringing up. This tells me he’s engaging with his own concepts and developing them in a way that says, “Thank god we have more writers this year.” He’s not just in love with his ideas, he’s exploring them.

Some fans will have been disappointed that the skeletal ray gun effect from the trailers wasn’t the result of Daleks. I even saw fan theories that Alan’s golden form was the new look for Omega. This is exactly why I stay away from fan speculation as it’s never accurate. However, one clarification from the trailer for which I was grateful was the origin of the Doctor’s cream coloured costume. While the annoying side of the internet was busy melting down over the Doctor’s blue kilt, I was quietly hating on the cream coloured costume that he wears throughout this episode. Ncuti Gatwa’s Doctor Who costumes have been rather varied, but generally keep to a few themes. We see a recurrence of tartan patterns, overcoats, and tight fitting shirts. His costume here is the only one from the trailer which felt wrong for the Doctor. So I am very pleased that there was a story reason he was dressed so drab.

Ncuti and Varada have believable chemistry. I like that it’s not so cut and dry. The Doctor is trying to be flashy and cryptic, whereas Belinda is reserved and direct. She doesn’t appreciate the Doctor’s showing off, which is a quality I have always admired in companions. If you read my article about older companions, you’ll know I appreciate their less-than-starry-eyed approach to the Doctor. Donna Noble, Evelyn Smythe, Ian and Barbara, Tegan; none had time for the Doctor’s shit. Belinda is in good company, and I like that she holds the Doctor to a higher standard. Belinda has a good head on her shoulders. She won’t put her skills as a nurse to waste. And she certainly won’t let someone die in her name. She’s also brave in a way I admire. She’s ready to sacrifice herself to save lives.

One aspect of the Doctor and Belinda’s relationship that I’m less into is something RTD seems to be doing more of recently. Instances where two characters experience a lifetime over a short period to insta-bond them is a weak story device. Whatever method they employ to fast-forward character bonding steals real moments of discovery between the actors and the audience. There’s showing, and there’s telling, and this was telling. It doesn’t feel earned, it feels hollow. It’s the weakest element of this episode and I wish they would stop doing this type of shit. What’s the hurry? Why does the Doctor need to state how much he cares about and knows Belinda now? What purpose does that serve other than to reveal too much of the Doctor’s interiority? Shouldn’t we, as an audience, trust the Doctor’s judgment in people by this point? It feels cheap because it is cheap.

Despite the episode’s daft energy, real stakes are established beyond a cartoonish cat skeleton disbursing into the ether. The Doctor’s friend Sasha 55 is unceremoniously cut down by Robots moments after discussing her future travels with the Doctor. The way she was talking to the Doctor like “Take me to the stars,” she may as well have painted a target on her back. It’s the Doctor Who equivalent of a policeman one day from retirement. For their sake, we pretend to be shocked when they die. But we knew. We knew. That isn’t to say that losing Sasha 55 wasn’t an effective moment- quite the opposite. Evelyn Miller gives an effective performance in the short time she’s onscreen. I know people give Ncuti grief for crying too easily, but here it’s totally appropriate. We’re reminded of other would-be companions who didn’t live to see the day. Lynda with a Y. Rita from “The God Complex.” Astrid Peth. And now Sasha 55. RIP Sasha 55. I liked you better than “Orphan 55.”

Watching Belinda walk toward her fate of marrying the AI Generator and becoming incased in gold gave me flashes of Han Solo on his way to the carbonite freezing chamber. The orange lighting pushing through the foggy clouds cast a brilliant glow on Varada’s face, convincing me that she was always meant to be a part of the Star Wars universe. This was her “Empire Strikes Back” moment for sure. The strength in the moment comes from Belinda’s choice not to hide. The Doctor and Manny were working out a plan that sounded foolhardy at best. Anyone within earshot would know it was a doomed mission. Belinda alerts the Robots to her location. She goes willingly. There’s a selflessness to her actions that screams Doctor Who companion far more than the Doctor witnessing her life could ever achieve. Her brand of self-sacrifice is heartbreaking to see, and I wonder if it's completely healthy. I hope they explore that.

The same sombre tone follows us into the ending of the story. When the Doctor fails to bring Belinda back to her own time, we’re shown images of a wrecked earth floating in space. Something or someone has removed or destroyed the earth, and it’s legitimately creepy. It’s giving “The Stolen Earth,” and I’m here for it, again. Though the “Planet of the Apes” style half Statue of Liberty must have been a massive blow to the Weeping Angels. That was like one of their tallest soldiers. I joke, but I also don’t joke. I had to sit through “The Angels Take Manhattan,” and now you’re telling me it meant nothing? It makes you ask the wrong questions in the moment. Questions like “Isn’t that thing alive?” “Is it dead now?” And “Why is it always the top of the statue? Why not the feet?”

I mentioned previously that I might try and write these reviews along with a corresponding Saturday morning cartoon. However, I believe it was my adherence to this bit that delayed this article. After I had watched “The Robot Revolution,” I felt a surge of positive energy about Doctor Who and I really just wanted to sit in silence for a bit. I usually take that as a good sign after watching something. When I sit there quietly absorbing everything I’ve just seen. But when I hit play on that episode of Spider-Woman, the moment ended. So I don’t want to do that anymore. It seemed a fun idea at the time, but I would rather just abide in the time and space allotted to me by Doctor Who. A time which might not always be there. A space so fantastic that Doctor Who can exist within it. Here’s to season three.

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 34

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- uuhhh ohhhh!🥲 Sorry, can’t hear y’all over my own SCREAMING because my drafts are sooo READY for you lately. I love to read all your comments and messages so much btw! 🩷😤

Billie’s POV

I opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the bright rays of sunlight coming in through the little window. To my right, was a passed out Remy, using my arm as a pillow, with the covers all the way up to her neck.

When I finally regained full awake consciousness, my stomach sank.

It was the morning after.

Fuck.

I was supposed to be home before 8pm last night. I promised Ellie.

I quickly, but carefully, got out of bed, cautious not to wake Remy up, and searched all over the place for my phone.

My phone was no where in sight.

I rush to grab my shoes off the floor, and my keys off the nightstand, trying not to waste any more time. I quietly close her bedroom door behind me and leave a note on her fridge, letting her know I went home, and to call me when she wakes up.

If I ever found my phone, I thought.

I immediately race back to my house, cussing myself out while speeding and weaving through cars on the highway, knowing it’s too late either way.

I pull into my garage, running inside the house, probably looking like a hot mess. The only thing I care about is apologizing to Ellie for breaking my promise.

“Ellie?” I look around, my voice echoing through the halls. Not a soul in the living room, not even a sound. No one in the kitchen, no one in the backyard.

I hurry up the stairs, going straight into my room, only to see a ton of clothing items scattered all over my bed, and all over the floor.

“Babe?” I peek around the corner.

“Hey, love.” I see Ellie in the master bathroom, putting a bunch of her things in a huge, reusable bag.

She looks up at me, then back down at her stuff.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I walk in, confused about the mess.

She doesn’t reply, she just gets off the floor and closes the cabinet doors, walking over to my bed. She places the bag next to a large, open suitcase, and begins to fill it with her clothes.

“Ellie, talk to me, why are you packing all your things?” I furrow my brows, freaking out a little bit. This can’t be happening.

She ignores me, walking back and forth from different areas of my room, taking her belongings, and throwing them on the bed.

“Ellie! Stop! Talk to me, please!” I grab her arm, wanting her to just tell me what’s going on.

“I’m done. I’m not doing this with you.” She resisted my pull, “Let go of me! I’m getting my shit and I’m leaving, Billie.”

I let go of her, staring as she walks back into my closet to grab her shoes.

“Ellie, please, I know I didn’t come home in time, but I can explain, just let me tell you-“

She cut me off, turning to face me. “You weren’t just late, Billie, you fucking stayed the night! It’s 10 in the morning!”

“I know, I fell asleep— I swear, I didn’t mean to!”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffs, throwing more things in the suitcase, not bothering to fold any of the clothes before shoving them wherever they fit.

“What do you think happened?” I follow her around.

“If you think I’m really that stupid—“

“Ellie, I swear to you, we just lost track of time! She was completely breaking down, and I just wanted to—“

“You wanted to what? Make her feel better? Take care of her?” She looked furious, her eyes darker than usual, and her brows arched. I can tell she wants to say more, but being hurtful isn’t her style.

“I was comforting her, I was just trying to be a good friend! That’s all it was!” I follow her around as she paces the room.

“She needed me! She’s going through a lot right now, El! I couldn’t just leave her like that. I wanted to wait till she fell asleep first before—” My words came out so fast, hoping she’d believe me.

“I needed you! I’m your girlfriend! Not her!” She raised her voice. “You’re about to leave me for months and all I wanted to do was spend one day with you! Alone, without Remy!”

I ran a hand through my hair, aggressively. “Ellie, stop packing, please!” I stood by her suitcase as she continued to fetch more belongings. “I swear to you, nothing happened! She couldn’t stop crying and—“

She ignored me, picking up her speed.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry that I didn’t come home last night, like I promised. Please, baby, forgive me. It won’t ever happen again!” My heart ached. I could feel myself losing her.

“I stayed up until two o’clock in the morning for you, Billie, I waited for you! You promised me you’d be home last night!”

“I’m sorry, baby! I fucked up—“

“You have no idea how it felt, knowing you— Ugh! Knowing you slept in her bed, and I was here, making up scenarios in my head, thinking of the worst!”

I begin to take things out of her suitcase, desperate to stop her. “Baby, please, just stop packing. Let’s talk about this!”

“No! I’m fucking done, Billie! I can’t take this anymore!” She yells, yanking her clothes out of my hands.

She pointed her dainty, freshly manicured fingers at me, “I’m not going to compete with your friend, I’m just so not that type of girl!”

“Compete with— What are you talking about, Ellie!” I furrow my brows, my arms held out in bafflement, as if I didn’t cause this myself.

“Oh, fucking please, Billie.” She forced the rest of her stuff into the suitcase, struggling to zip it up.

“There’s no comparison, Rem- Fuck! I mean Ellie!”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at me again, shouting, “See! There it is!”

“No— We’re literally talking about Remy right now, that’s the only reason I— God, Ellie! Just please, don’t leave! I’ll do anything! I swear, I didn’t mean to—“

“I’m done! I told you, I’m not doing this anymore!” She refused to listen, putting all of her anger towards shutting the suitcase, and pulling it off the bed, onto the ground for her to roll.

I stood in front of her, walking backwards as she pushed forward, toward the hallway. I shut my bedroom door, standing in front of it.

“Billie, get out of my way! I mean it!” She yelled.

“No.” I supplicated, my eyes fogging up my vision.

“I’m serious, move!”

“Ellie, you can’t just leave like this! We can talk about it!”

She reached for the doorknob before I could block it. I grabbed her arm, trying to keep her from opening it, pushing all of my weight into the door. I began to tear up, feeling hopeless, feeling desperate.

“You have to believe me, baby. Nothing happened! I would never do anything to hurt you!” I shouted, my chest aching.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home, I’m sorry I didn’t call— I honestly don’t even know where my phone is and—“

She stopped, backing away from the door, taking a deep breath.

“Do you have feelings for Remy?” Her voice firm, calmer than before.

I stood still, my insides turning into ice.

“Do you, Billie?” She waited for my answer, her eyes burning holes in mine.

“No.” I lied, my heart pounding out of my chest.

She nodded her head.

I began to walk towards her, thinking she believed me. But I was wrong. God, was I so wrong.

She pulled my phone out of her back pocket. My blood ran cold, knowing exactly what this was all about.

“You lied to me.” Her voice was soft as she burst into tears.

“No, Ellie, baby—“ I panicked, sprinting into damage control mode. “Don’t cry, please.” I begged, as tears streamed out of my own eyes.

She handed me the phone. “It was still in my fanny pack after our hike. You forgot it.”

She opened it and showed me a message thread between Finneas and I, from a week ago. I told him all about Remy and I making up. We talked about my feelings for her and how they aren’t going away. About how I couldn’t stop comparing Remy and Ellie to each other. About how awful I felt, how horrible it was that I couldn’t shake those feelings.

She crossed her arms, dissolving into a puddle of tears. She stood by my bed, weeping into her hands, feeling defeated.

She knew. She wanted to see if I would lie to her.

I want to run over to her, hug her, and make her feel okay again. But, how could I do that when I’m the one who caused her so much pain.

[valravn72]

I’ve been playing a lot of small indie games and god I wish the rest of the game industry understood that the whole point of farming and grinding is so that in some point of the journey the player can go HAHAHA I PLANNED FOR THIS and pull off crazy crap earlier than they should be able to. Like Teenage Exocolonist letting me just walk past all the checks when I’m outside the colony and go to the boss immediately because I farmed the fuck out of my perception skill should technically be game ruining but it’s not. I planned for this so I could get the ascension ending easily while simultaneously putting the rest of my effort into figuring out as much about engineering as possible at the same time so I can pull off a full shield run. Having advantages in certain contexts should allow me to interact with it in a way that opens an entirely new path for me to take. Poisoning the campfire survivors at the very beginning of my Inscryption run lets me take a route where I focus on building up the cards I already have instead of hunting down new ones. Advantages are good!! Grinding so you’re high enough level to beat one boss only for the rest of the game to balance itself by making everything else many levels higher than you once again is unrewarding. If your player cannot face your game from multiple angles then maybe it’s not that worth exploring. If your player over relies on an ability they spent a long time working up and they’ve made the game too easy make it so that steers them into a new situation where they have to innovate on their strategy to get things going again. Just hand me a game like Inscryption where I farm the whole game with fecundity decks and then get to Kaycee’s Mod and realize I have to relearn the whole game from a completely new perspective now that I can’t rely on that anymore. If it’s just a matter of “the numbers are too high we have to turn all the other numbers up too” then do the numbers really mean anything anymore or are you just keeping me stuck in a role where I’m saying to myself “once I have the advantage I’ll be able to explore so many new things” but then never letting me have any advantage until near the end when the world has lost its charm because everything is just a damn numbers game.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

dreaming abt sophomore year class swap bard!riz