#the aftermath left me feeling shattered

[coffeeandinsanityy]

There's a big difference between fake it till u make it and lying to yourself just so u can feel better and people often forget that.

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[aventurineswife]

Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You

SUMMARY: Heavily based on/inspired by Enough for You by Olivia Rodrigo. After months of chasing storms and harboring unspoken feelings, the moment of truth finally arrives. When Tyler returns to the team with someone new by his side, it shatters the hope you secretly held onto. In the aftermath of his abandonment, you're left grappling with heartache, wondering why you were never enough for him. As Tyler tries to make amends for leaving, the conversation takes a painful turn when he confronts the feelings he never knew existed. But some apologies can't fix what’s been broken, and all you want is to go back to the way things were—before you let him into your heart.

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love.

WORD COUNT: 6.3k (sorry, not sorry)

Note: This is angsty as hell! I've been going through some heavy stuff in my personal life that has me feeling extra angsty. This fic is filled with angst and heartbreak so just be aware. This is how I'm coping with what I'm dealing with in my own life. Hope you enjoy xx

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The bathroom mirror reflected a version of yourself you’d rarely put on display. Your hair was curled just the right way, and your makeup, while subtle, was meticulously done. You hadn’t planned on going all out like this initially, but after scrolling through pictures of girls Tyler had been seen with—girls with flawless hair and expertly done makeup—you couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would take for him to notice you.

Tyler Owens. The name that had taken up too much space in your mind for the past several months. He was more than just the leader of The Wranglers team or your boss; he was the man you’d fallen for. Hard. And you didn’t just want him to see you as a friend anymore.

The rest of the team was downstairs already, probably gearing up for the day’s shoot. Normally, you’d be there early too, grabbing coffee with Boone or discussing ideas with Lily. Today, though, you needed these extra few minutes. Maybe, just maybe, today was the day Tyler would finally notice you.

You gave yourself a final look, smoothing down your shirt, and headed out of the room. By the time you reached the lobby, the team was already gathered, discussing plans for the day. 

Boone was the first to see you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Whoa! Look at you! You clean up nice,” he teased, though his tone was genuinely complimentary.

Lily turned at the sound of Boone’s voice and smiled. “You look amazing! What’s the occasion?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you shrugged it off. “No occasion. Just felt like switching things up.”

The compliments kept coming. Dexter, who was typically more reserved, gave you an approving nod. But the one person you hoped would notice? He hadn’t said a word.

Tyler stood off to the side, his focus on something entirely unrelated, fiddling with his storm-chasing gear on his truck. He didn’t even glance your way, and your heart sank a little.

Boone, always quick to read a room, smirked and nudged Tyler’s shoulder. “Hey, man, what do you think? She’s looking good today, right?”

Tyler paused for a brief moment, barely looking up from his equipment. His expression didn’t change as he muttered, “I’m not really the compliment type, Boone.”

Your stomach dropped at his response. You had been hoping—no, counting—on some kind of reaction, but his indifference stung more than you’d expected. You tried to brush it off, hiding the hurt with a forced smile, but inside, the disappointment was palpable.

Lily shot you a sympathetic look, sensing the tension. 

Boone, never one to let an awkward moment slide, gave Tyler an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Not the compliment type? Man, give her something. She looks great.”

Tyler shrugged as if the whole thing didn’t matter. “She always looks fine,” he said simply and then turned his attention back to his gear.

Fine.

The word echoed in your head, and for the first time that morning, you felt foolish for trying so hard. You had put in all that extra effort to be noticed, to be something more in his eyes, but apparently, "fine" was all you were.

You forced yourself to join in the conversation with the others, but the sting of his words stayed with you. As the group began to move toward the parking lot to load up the vehicles, you fell into step beside Lily. She bumped her shoulder against yours lightly.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispered, offering a small, supportive smile.

You tried to laugh, though it came out hollow. “Yeah, well, I knew that already.”

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The Wranglers’ convoy made its way out of town, the early morning sun casting a golden hue over the horizon. The team was running on fumes, both literally and figuratively, so when Boone pulled into a gas station, everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. While the others went about refueling the vehicles and stretching their legs, you spotted a small coffee shop across the street.

A chance to bring back some caffeine, but more importantly, a chance to do something for Tyler.

Without thinking twice, you hurried across the road, the familiar smell of roasted beans hitting you as soon as you stepped inside the shop. The bell above the door chimed, and the barista greeted you with a smile. You rattled off two orders: one for yourself and one for Tyler—black coffee, extra shot of espresso. You didn’t even need to ask what he wanted; you’d known his usual for months, committing it to memory in a way that only someone who cared a little too much would.

Within minutes, you were heading back to the gas station, clutching both cups in your hands. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside you—maybe this would be the moment Tyler noticed. Maybe the fact that you remembered his drink order without needing to ask would mean something to him.

You spotted him leaning against the truck, his arms crossed as he waited for the tank to fill. His focus was elsewhere, probably already thinking ahead to the day’s chase, completely oblivious to the fact that you were heading his way with a small gesture of care.

“Here,” you said, holding out the cup toward him.

Tyler looked down at the coffee, momentarily confused before taking it from your hand. He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

“Black coffee. Extra shot of espresso,” you said softly, your heart picking up speed as you recited his order, hoping the words would register with him. Hoping that he’d realize you didn’t need to ask because you already knew.

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours briefly before he gave a slight nod. “Thanks,” he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips and taking his first sip.

That was it. Just a nod. No smile, no acknowledgment of the fact that you’d remembered his exact order, nothing. The flicker of hope you’d felt moments earlier dimmed into something closer to disappointment.

You stood there, feeling a bit like a fool for expecting anything more. After all, this was Tyler Owens—the same Tyler who never gave out compliments, the same Tyler who always kept his emotions locked up tight. Why had you thought this would be any different?

You shifted on your feet, holding your own cup a little tighter. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up,” you added, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping for... something.

He nodded again, glancing back toward the others as Boone finished filling up the tank. “Appreciate it,” he said flatly, his focus already shifting away from you and back to the task at hand.

You forced a smile, though the sting of his indifference was hard to ignore. You weren’t expecting grand gestures, but maybe just a little more than a nod. With the wind knocked out of your sails, you turned and headed toward the other side of the truck, sipping your own coffee, the bitter taste mirroring the feeling settling in your chest.

Lily caught your eye from where she stood talking to Dexter, and she shot you a questioning look as if to say, How’d it go? You gave her a small shake of your head and shrugged, silently communicating that it hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped.

The team loaded back into the vehicles, ready to hit the road again, but as you climbed into your seat, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of always trying, always hoping—only to come up short.

And the worst part? No matter how much it stung, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop caring, couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, one day, Tyler Owens would notice you the way you’d been noticing him all along.

The Wranglers team hit the open road, the small town shrinking behind them as fields stretched out on either side of the highway. You sat in the front passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, a map spread across your lap, though you both knew you wouldn’t really need it. Tyler had been storm chasing for years, and he could practically navigate these roads in his sleep. Your job as navigator was mostly just for show, a formality, but you took it seriously nonetheless—just like being the DJ.

Tyler drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The rest of the convoy followed behind, the team moving as one unit, always in sync, always chasing the next storm.

You unlocked your phone and scrolled through your Spotify library, stopping at the playlist you had saved specifically for moments like this. The one titled simply “Tyler.” A collection of his favorite songs, the ones you’d spent months curating, learning the words to, and playing on repeat just to feel a little closer to him.

You had watched him during countless drives, noting which songs made him tap his fingers against the steering wheel, which ones he hummed along to, and—on rare occasions—which ones he’d actually sing under his breath. The playlist was like a map of his soul, each song a clue to who he was beneath the surface.

You pressed play, the first song filtering through the truck’s speakers, a familiar beat that you knew he liked. Your heart raced a little as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’d notice.

The music filled the space between you, the silence replaced by lyrics you knew by heart—not because they were your favorite songs, but because they were his.

Tyler’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look over, didn’t comment. He just drove, his eyes fixed on the road as if the music were simply background noise.

You shifted in your seat, trying to hide your disappointment. Maybe he hadn’t realized yet. It was still early in the playlist, after all. You tapped your fingers against your knee, silently mouthing the words to the song, hoping that at some point, he’d notice. That he’d realize you weren’t just playing random songs—you were playing his songs. The ones that made him smile or relax, the ones that you knew by heart because of him.

Another song began, this one more upbeat. You couldn’t help but glance at him again, waiting for some kind of reaction—a nod, a hum, anything to show that he recognized the playlist as his own.

But if he noticed, he didn’t let it show. His face remained unreadable, his focus unbroken as the miles ticked by beneath the tires. He was calm, in control, as always.

You felt the familiar pang of disappointment settling in your chest, but you pushed it down, telling yourself not to get your hopes up. Tyler wasn’t the type to express things outwardly. You knew that. You’d known it from the beginning, but still... a part of you had hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

You swallowed the feeling, keeping your gaze out the window, watching the landscape blur past. The music continued, your playlist running through the songs you’d carefully chosen, each one holding a piece of him. You wanted to believe that, at some point, he’d hear it. That he’d realize how much you’d been paying attention all along.

But for now, the road stretched on, and Tyler remained as distant as ever, his silence louder than the music that filled the truck.`

A week later, after a long day of chasing storms, the team had found their way to a small bar on the outskirts of town. The neon lights flickered in the windows, casting a soft glow over the worn-out booths and the dartboard that had seen better days. You followed them inside, but your mind wasn’t on the drinks or the games of pool and darts that the others had already started.

You slipped into a booth in the corner, away from the noise, with your bag slung over your shoulder. From it, you pulled out a book—the book. It was a self-help book you’d noticed Tyler reading last week when he thought no one was watching. You had immediately ordered a copy, telling yourself that it was purely out of interest, but deep down, you knew why. You hoped that if Tyler saw you reading it, he’d think you were smart. Maybe even that you shared the same interests. Maybe he'd even come over and talk to you about it.

The cover felt smooth under your fingers as you opened it, pretending to lose yourself in the words, but really, your eyes kept darting toward the team as they laughed and played darts a few feet away. Tyler stood at the dartboard, one hand gripping a beer, the other lazily aiming for the bullseye. His concentration was unwavering, just as it had been all day on the road, but you couldn’t help but glance his way every few minutes, hoping—wishing—he’d look over and see you.

You settled back against the worn leather of the booth, opening the book to where you’d bookmarked a random page. The words blurred slightly, not because you weren’t capable of understanding them, but because your mind wasn’t truly on the text. Instead, it wandered to the what-ifs, the scenarios where Tyler would walk over, slide into the booth across from you, and ask what you thought of the book. Maybe he’d smile, that rare but breathtaking smile you’d seen a hundred times, and the two of you would actually talk. Not just the usual team banter or logistics about the next chase, but really talk.

But as the minutes passed, the background noise of laughter and clinking glasses felt like a reminder of just how far away that possibility was. Tyler was still over by the dartboard, chatting with Boone as they took turns tossing darts. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction since they’d arrived at the bar.

You tried to focus on the book again, reading the same line twice before finally giving in and glancing at him once more. Nothing. No flicker of recognition that you were there, no acknowledgment of the effort you had put into reading his book, hoping it would make you stand out.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned your elbow on the table, resting your chin in your hand. Maybe you were trying too hard. Maybe all the little things—the playlist, the coffee, the book—were just things he’d never notice. Or maybe, and this thought stung the most, maybe you were invisible to him in that way. A friend. A coworker. But nothing more.

You looked down at the book again, reading a few more lines as if they could somehow distract you from the tight knot forming in your chest.

A few minutes later, Boone called out to you, holding up a pool cue as if inviting you to join their game. You shook your head, waving them off with a small smile, holding up the book as an excuse. Boone shrugged and turned back to Tyler, who was lining up his next throw.

For a split second, Tyler’s eyes flicked toward you. Your heart jumped, but before you could even process it, he threw the dart and turned back to the game as if the moment had never happened.

The diner was warm, the kind of warmth that came from too many bodies crammed into small booths and the lingering scent of coffee and fried food in the air. You sat across from Boone, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold, staring blankly at the chipped rim. The conversation around you was a low hum, drowned out by the thoughts racing through your head.

Tyler had left without a word this morning. Just gone. No explanation, no heads-up. Just a quick exchange with Dexter about her—Kate. The girl from Storm Par. The girl who’d seemed to have swept Tyler off his feet in the last two days. You hated to admit it, but the jealousy gnawed at you, each thought of them together, of him abandoning the team, felt like another crack in your resolve.

Boone nudged your arm, drawing you back to the present. “You alright?” His voice was low, concerned, but you just nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Across from you, Ben, the British journalist tagging along with the team, was flipping through his notebook, occasionally scribbling something down. You could tell he was enjoying the chaos of American storm chasing, but his eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you, the one Tyler should have been occupying. Everyone had noticed his absence, but no one had said much. Not directly, anyway.

Lily leaned over, her elbow brushing against Dani as they huddled together over their phones. “He’ll call,” Lily said with forced optimism, glancing at you. “Tyler sometimes does this—goes off on his own for a bit. He’ll be back.”

Dexter and Dani nodded in agreement, but Boone wasn’t so convinced. You weren’t either. Tyler wasn’t just gone. He was with her, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

Night came, and still no word from Tyler. You’d tried calling him once, your stomach twisted in knots, but there was no answer. No response. You wanted to believe Lily and the others, that he would come back, but every passing hour chipped away at that hope.

The next morning, the skies had shifted. Clouds churned ominously in the distance, the kind of promising sight that normally would have Tyler barking orders and loading up the gear. But today, there was just a quiet, palpable tension as the team stood in the parking lot of the motel, debating whether to head out without him.

“I don’t know,” Boone muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the horizon. “Feels wrong going out without Tyler.”

You felt the same. It felt like a piece of the team was missing, the driving force behind it all, but the skies were waiting. And so was Ben. You glanced at the journalist, who had been watching you closely, eager for the action he’d come all the way from England to document. You couldn’t let his time go to waste.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice steady, even though your insides were anything but. “We’ve got the van and the RV. We can still get some good footage, even without Tyler’s truck.”

The team exchanged glances, unsure. But you stepped forward, taking the lead. “Lily’s drone can get us the close-up shots we need, and we’ve still got the cameras. We can’t afford to wait. We’ve got to keep the channel going, and we need content.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow, impressed by your sudden shift into leadership, but Boone still looked hesitant. “What about Tyler?” he asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

You forced a calm you didn’t really feel. “Tyler will catch up with us when he’s ready. Right now, we can’t just sit around. The storm’s not going to wait for us.”

Boone finally nodded, and with that, the decision was made. You piled into the van with Lily and the rest of the crew, leaving behind the uncertainty of where Tyler was, or when he’d come back. Ben hopped in last, his camera at the ready, his excitement barely contained as you pulled out onto the open road.

As you sat in the passenger seat, guiding them toward the brewing storm, a familiar weight settled in your chest. You were used to being the one behind the scenes, managing social media, making sure the team’s content reached the masses. But now, as the makeshift team lead in Tyler’s absence, you couldn’t help but wonder—if he ever did come back, would things ever be the same between you two?

Your fingers hovered over your phone, tempted to try calling him again. But instead, you locked the screen and turned your focus to the skies ahead. You had a team to lead now. Tyler’s absence hurt, but it wasn’t going to stop you.

The morning air hung heavy, thick with the kind of heat that settled into your bones. You were leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to let the frustration bubbling under your skin show. Boone stood beside you, his phone buzzing on the dashboard where he’d tossed it. You both glanced at the screen as Tyler’s name flashed across it.

Boone let it ring, his jaw clenched tight. After a few seconds, it went to voicemail. Neither of you said a word, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Tyler was trying to reach out, but neither of you were ready to hear him out just yet.

Moments later, Lily’s phone chimed. She didn’t hesitate, picking it up and putting it on speaker before Tyler had a chance to duck out. "Hey, Tyler," she greeted, her voice neutral.

"You ready for the next chase?" she asked, her tone deceptively light, but you could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

But before she could say anything more, Tyler cut her off. “No, we’re gonna need you guys for something.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, and Boone shot you a sideways glance, his brow furrowing in confusion. You mirrored his look. We’ll? What did Tyler mean by that?

Lily pressed, “Do we need to drive all the way to Sapulpa?”

Tyler’s voice was quick to respond. “No, no. We’ll come to you.”

That we echoed in your mind, sinking deeper with each moment of silence that followed. You exchanged another look with Boone, but neither of you said anything. There was an uneasy feeling settling in, but none of you knew exactly what to make of it.

Minutes later, a text from Tyler buzzed through to your phone. You looked down to see the name and address of a trailer company. “What is this?” you muttered, sharing the text with Boone and the others.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Dexter said, climbing into the van with a shrug.

When you arrived at the lot, confusion still lingered in the air as the team climbed out of the van. The parking lot was full of trailers, rows upon rows of them in every size and shape imaginable, glinting under the afternoon sun. The purpose of being here was still unclear.

Then you spotted Tyler’s truck pulling in. The familiar hum of the engine sent your heart rate spiking, but it wasn’t just him that got out.

Kate. She emerged from the passenger side, her face lit up with that same easy smile she’d been wearing ever since the two of them had met.

You felt the knot tighten in your stomach, the same one that had been there since she’d entered the picture two days ago. Dani was the first to break the silence. “You finally made it,” she called, a hint of relief in her voice.

Tyler gave her a smile as he stepped up to the group. “Ben, you stuck around,” he greeted the journalist, shaking his hand as Ben nodded.

“Turns out there’s more to this story than I thought,” Ben said, eyeing Tyler with curiosity.

Tyler grinned. “We got a new ending for you.”

Meanwhile, Dexter raised his hand in a mock salute toward Kate. “Look who it is. City girl.” He shot her a grin that was almost welcoming. Almost.

Lily wasn’t far behind. “What’s up, Kate?” she asked, sounding a little too casual as she strolled over to them.

Kate smiled, sliding easily into conversation with Dexter and Lily like she had been part of the crew all along. You watched as they started chatting about storm footage, Lily showing her clips on her phone from the chase the team had gone on without Tyler and Kate. It wasn’t just that they were talking, though. It was the way Kate’s eyes lit up at the footage, the way she leaned in closer, asking about Lily’s drone.

"Can you rig that drone to collect data?" Kate asked, her interest piqued.

Lily nodded, explaining how Cairo, her drone, worked and all the modifications she’d made. Watching Kate take such an interest in the team felt like watching her slip further into Tyler’s world. A world that, for so long, had felt like yours.

Tyler, meanwhile, was making his way over to Boone, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he began, his voice sincere. "I’m sorry."

Boone didn’t look at him, his jaw set. "Man, you abandoned me," Boone muttered, his voice tight with hurt. "I don’t know nothin’ about no makeup-"

Tyler cut him off with a smirk. “How about we launch some new rockets?”

Boone’s expression shifted, the tension breaking as he perked up. "You said rockets?" His tone was a mix of surprise and cautious excitement.

Tyler nodded, a grin forming. “I did.”

For a moment, it felt like the old Tyler and Boone—the way they always found common ground no matter what. But that still left you.

Tyler turned toward you, taking a few steps in your direction, his face softening. "I’m sorry," he began, but before he could get out anything more, Dani and the salesman walked up.

The apology hung in the air, unfinished, as you stood there, watching him. He hadn’t called you, hadn’t reached out directly. And now, standing in front of you with Kate by his side, the apology felt... hollow.

The van's engine hummed steadily as you followed behind Tyler’s truck, the road stretching endlessly ahead. You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the trailer lot. The silence between you and Lily was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the sky was bruised with the remnants of a setting sun, casting long shadows over the landscape. But inside the van, it felt like the world had dimmed.

Your eyes were locked on the truck ahead, on the faint silhouette of Tyler’s head just visible through the back window. You knew Kate was sitting there, right beside him, and the thought twisted in your chest like a knife. You blinked, trying to hold it together, but the tears came anyway, silent and hot as they slid down your cheeks.

Lily glanced over at you, her brows knitting together in concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly, giving you space. But you could feel her eyes on you, the way she hesitated before speaking.

“Hey…” her voice was soft, cautious. “You okay?”

It was a ridiculous question, really, but it was all she could say. You shook your head slightly, trying to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your jacket, but they kept coming, harder now.

Lily sighed, her hand reaching across the seat to give your arm a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to say it—you both knew. She had been the only one who knew. The only one you had confided in about how you felt about Tyler. She had believed, just like you, that maybe he’d wake up and see what was right in front of him.

But now... now it was clear. He had found someone else. Someone more exciting, more interesting. Someone like Kate.

The tears fell faster, and you pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to keep the sobs at bay. But your mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let you escape from the reality of it. Tyler hadn’t just left you behind. He had abandoned you without a second thought, without even realizing how much it hurt. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. Gone like you meant nothing.

And you were left wondering what you’d done wrong. Why you were never enough.

Lily’s voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts. “You know… none of this is your fault, right?”

You let out a shaky breath, but didn’t respond. How could it not be? You must have done something—been something—wrong for him to walk away like that, like you didn’t even matter.

“He’s a fool, you know,” Lily continued, her voice firmer now. “I really thought he’d pull his head out of his ass eventually. Realize what’s right in front of him.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He never even saw me.”

Lily didn’t argue, and you were grateful for that. Because it was true. Tyler hadn’t seen you—not the way you wanted him to. You had spent so long hoping, waiting for him to notice, to realize that you loved him more than anyone ever could. But he didn’t. He found someone else instead, someone new and shiny like Kate.

Your thoughts spiraled further, the pain gnawing at you from the inside. You could barely breathe through it. God, Tyler couldn’t have cared less about someone who had loved him more. Loved him with everything you had.

“I’d say he broke my heart,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “but I think he broke a lot more than that.”

Lily’s hand was back on your arm, squeezing tighter this time. “You deserved better. You still do.”

You nodded, though it didn’t feel like that right now. All you’d ever wanted was to be enough for him. Just enough to be seen, to be cared for the way you cared for him. But that had been too much to ask.

The miles passed by, the road stretching endlessly ahead, just like this ache inside you. You watched the truck in front of you, the taillights glowing faintly as Tyler drove on, oblivious. You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of you at all—or if he was too caught up in Kate’s orbit now to even notice the wreckage he’d left behind.

You turned to look at Lily, her eyes full of empathy. “I don’t think I ever stood a chance, did I?” you asked quietly.

Lily’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head softly. “No. I don’t think it was ever about you. He’s just… lost. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You nodded, feeling that hollow truth settle in your bones. You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he didn’t see you or the realization that you might have been waiting for someone who was never really yours to begin with.

The air was still, thick with the calm before the storm. The team had scattered, gathering near the RV to eat lunch and regroup before they moved on. Laughter echoed from where Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat in lawn chairs, enjoying the brief pause in the chase. Ben, Boone, and Tyler stood near Tyler's truck, their conversation drowned out by the low hum of the wind sweeping across the open field.

But you weren’t with them. You hadn’t been all day.

You sat alone in the van, the door open, your legs pulled up to your chest as you rested your forehead on your knees. Your eyes were closed, trying to block out the ache that had settled deep inside your chest. The tears had dried, but your face still felt tight from the tracks they left behind. You just wanted to disappear, to not feel the way you did.

Tyler’s laughter drifted over from where he stood with the others, and the sound made your heart twist painfully. He had no idea, no clue what was going on inside you.

Until Lily caught his eye.

She saw him glance toward the van, saw him hesitate, his body half-turned as if he wanted to approach but wasn’t sure if he should. She knew it was only a matter of time before he’d find out—before your carefully hidden feelings were laid bare. The thought of you sitting there, hurting like this, was eating her alive.

With a deep breath, Lily made the decision. She walked over to where Tyler stood, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Tyler, can we talk for a second?”

He glanced down at her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Lily glanced toward you in the van, then back at Tyler. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. “It’s about her. I think... I think you need to know something.”

Tyler’s expression changed instantly. His eyes followed hers to where you sat, and he felt the weight of her words before she even said them. “What is it?”

Lily sighed. “She’s not just upset about the team. About you leaving. It’s more than that.” She hesitated, then spoke more quietly. “She’s been hurt by you bringing Kate on board. Especially without saying anything.”

Tyler frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Hurt? Why would—”

“She cares about you, Tyler,” Lily interrupted. “More than you realize.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood there, frozen for a moment, processing what Lily had just told him. “Wait… you mean…?”

Lily nodded. “She’s had feelings for you for a long time. And when you left, it broke her. Then when you came back… with Kate...” Lily trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. The silence said enough.

Tyler felt the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. Guilt gnawed at him, the realization sinking in. He looked back toward you, sitting alone in the van, your back to him.

“Damn…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Lily replied softly. “But now you do.”

Tyler gave her a nod, his jaw clenched as he turned and started walking toward the van. His footsteps were slow, hesitant. The closer he got, the clearer it became—he hadn’t just hurt you by abandoning the team. He’d hurt you far worse without even realizing it.

He stopped halfway to the van, watching you. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way your head was bowed like you were trying to hold everything inside. It gutted him. But he wasn’t sure if approaching was the right thing to do.

After a moment, he made the choice. He walked the rest of the way to the van, coming to a stop just beside the open door. You didn’t look up at first, didn’t acknowledge his presence. But you knew he was there.

He sat down beside you, careful not to sit too close. The silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler started, his voice low. “For leaving. For abandoning you guys. It wasn’t fair to put all that on you.”

You still didn’t look at him, but he saw the way your hands tightened around your knees.

“I saw the footage,” he continued, trying to offer something, anything that might make it better. “You did great. You really stepped up. Led the team better than I could have.”

You said nothing, just kept your gaze down, the ache in your chest only growing with each word. None of this was what you needed to hear.

Tyler let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I talked to Lily. She told me…”

At that, you finally lifted your head, your heart lurching at the sound of those words. She told him. You felt the sting of betrayal—Lily had said too much.

“Tyler, don’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

But he didn’t stop. He needed to say it, needed to acknowledge it. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know you felt that way. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky as you tried to keep it together. “Please… just don’t.”

But he pressed on, his voice softer now. “I do care about you. I really do. But not in the way you want me to.”

Those words felt like a slap, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to fall again.

“I don’t need your apology,” you finally said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I don’t need your pity either.”

Tyler’s brows furrowed. “It’s not pity. I just… I want to make things right.”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh that was more of a sob. “You can’t fix this, Tyler. You can’t just… say you’re sorry and make it all go away.”

He watched you, pain flickering in his eyes. He hated that he had done this to you, hated that his actions had caused you this kind of hurt.

“I never asked for much,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to be enough. Enough for you to notice me. To see me.”

Tyler looked away, guilt settling in his gut like a lead weight. “I’m sorry.”

The words fell flat. Meaningless.

You turned away from him, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that felt so shattered. “It was just a stupid crush anyway,” you muttered, forcing a small, hollow laugh. “I’ll get over it.”

But both of you knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just a crush. It had been so much more than that. And now… now it felt like you had lost something you couldn’t get back.

Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“There’s nothing you can do,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe there was a chance.”

He stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. He had broken something inside you, and no amount of apologies would fix it.

You wiped your eyes, standing up from the van. “I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, though it was more for yourself than for him.

And with that, you walked away, leaving Tyler sitting there, watching you go, knowing he had lost something he didn’t even realize he had.

[littlelamy]

the aftermath of the fight: s1!rafe x reader

the tension in the cameron estate was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to every corner of the house. the echoes of raised voices were still fresh in your ears as you made your way down the corridor toward rafe’s room. the fight between him and ward had been explosive—a storm of bitter accusations, angry words, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. both men had walked away from it bruised, emotionally and physically.

you’d hesitated for a moment, but the silence that followed the chaos made your decision for you. rafe was volatile after moments like this, and the thought of him alone in that headspace made your heart ache.

the door to his room was slightly ajar. you pushed it open softly, stepping inside. the sight before you was both heartbreaking and infuriating. rafe sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight, knuckles white. his face, usually sharp and full of confidence, was clouded with something darker—anger and pain, mingled with exhaustion.

“hey,” you called softly, keeping your voice gentle. “you need anything?”

his head snapped up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and something softer, more vulnerable. “what the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, voice rough and raw.

you took a deep breath, swallowing the sting his words left. “i’m here to help, rafe. i heard what happened. you’re hurt.”

he scoffed, turning his head away, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “i don’t need your pity.”

ignoring his harshness, you crossed the room and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away. “i’m not here to pity you,” you said softly. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you knelt in front of him, taking his hands into yours, carefully turning them over to inspect the bruises and cuts that marked his skin.

“shit,” he muttered, wincing as you gently touched one of the scrapes. “this is a mess.”

“i know,” you replied, your tone soothing despite the tension in the air. “but we’ll fix it. let me help.”

he stared at you for a long moment, the frustration in his gaze slowly softening into something like resignation. “why the hell do you put up with me?” he asked quietly, voice barely audible. “i’m a mess.”

you sighed, reaching for the antiseptic. “because i care about you, rafe. and you’re more than just the anger or the pain.”

he looked away, the faintest blush creeping up his neck, shame weighing heavy on his expression. “i just wanted to prove something to him,” he mumbled. “i wanted him to see i’m not just some...”

you waited, dabbing the cloth on one of his cuts. “not just some what?”

“not just some disappointment,” he finished, the words heavy in the quiet room.

you shook your head, continuing to clean his wounds. “you’re not a disappointment, rafe. you’re just... hurting. and that’s okay. it doesn’t make you any less.”

he let out a low groan, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. “i hate this,” he muttered. “i hate feeling so...so weak.”

you paused, looking at him with a firmness he needed to hear. “you’re not weak. it takes strength to admit you’re struggling. and more to let someone help you.”

his hands trembled slightly in yours, and you could see the cracks forming in the walls he always built so high. the vulnerability in him was raw and real, and it tugged at your heart.

“why are you always so damn good to me?” he muttered, half exasperated, half grateful. “i don’t deserve it.”

you finished bandaging the worst of the cuts, sitting back on your heels. “maybe you don’t think you deserve it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

he looked at you, eyes filled with something between frustration and relief. “you really mean that?”

you nodded, leaning up to pull him into a hug. his hesitation lasted only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, almost like he was scared to let go. the embrace was intense, charged with emotion—his anger, your care, and a shared understanding.

as you pulled back slightly, your gaze locked with his, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. the kiss that followed was slow at first, your lips barely brushing his. but then, it deepened, the softness giving way to something more passionate, more urgent. his hands found your face, holding you close as he poured everything into that kiss—his regret, his need, his longing for something more than what his life had been up to now.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment still lingering between you. rafe’s eyes were softer now, a little lighter, like the weight he carried had lessened, even if just a little.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice quiet but sincere. “for being here... for putting up with me.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “i wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

for a moment, the world outside faded away. the fights, the pain, the weight of everything that had happened—it didn’t matter. in that small, quiet space, it was just the two of you, connected in a way that made the chaos of life feel a little more bearable.

[salaimoi]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 — 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒔𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔] after his wife’s death, you became toji fushiguro’s only reliant shoulder. however, unbeknownst to you, your deceased friend’s ex-husband had ulterior motives in mind when he began to pursue you.

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆] angst

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒘𝒄] 2.k

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔] yellow is reader’s pov, blue is toji’s pov. it might sound repetitive and rushed bc i just wanted to get this out of my drafts. i know billie’s song came out like ages ago so it wouldn’t make sense to release this any later than it already is

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart. I wasn't there, but I know.

toji always reassured you a million times; he wasn’t heartbroken over his split with his ex-wife, not in the slightest. he rarely opened up about his past, let alone his previous relationships. and yet, deep down, you knew he hadn’t properly processed their rupture.

the most he ever disclosed to you was the fact that there was nothing left to salvage in his old relationship — so he moved on, and so did she. 

but was that the entire truth? 

you noticed the prolonged glances he would take when opening his wallet. the empty look behind his eyes when he stared down at his naked ring finger. even the faint sniffling at night that he tried convincing you were nothing more than allergies. but you knew he was silently mourning her. 

her – the real love of his life.

She was my girl. I showed her the world, but fell out of love and we both let go. ⋆࿐

i made it my life goal to tend to her happiness. the only reason for my very existence was to see that she had everything she could ever want. hell, that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

i never kept anything from her — except my line of work. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her the man she fell in love with was a deadbeat mercenary who bathed in the blood of others for a living. as much as i tried to protect her from that side of my life, she eventually went digging her nose where it wasn’t needed. 

the aftermath of her discovering the truth about my hidden agenda came at the price of our relationship. 

she couldn’t withstand the constant pain of being by my side any longer, to turn in bed only to see a bastard by her side. she wholeheartedly believed that the man that now stood before her was no longer the one she fell in love with. 

somehow i didn’t blame her.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder. All I could do was hold her.

i still remember it so vividly — how her body trembled against mine like a leaf. tears coursed down her cheeks as she clung to me like a lifeline, seeking comfort in the midst of her anguish. as selfish as it may sound, the weight of her sorrow became almost too much to bear. 

i couldn't offer excuses or apologies; these were empty gestures that wouldn't alleviate the agony she felt at that moment. instead, i stood there, silently holding her, offering my presence as the only comfort.

the guilt washed over me in waves as i cradled her, feeling her heart shatter a little more with each sob. i knew i was the cause of her pain, yet i couldn’t tell her the whole truth. all i could do was hold her, wishing i could undo the past.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Only made us closer until July.

the moment he began pursuing you when enough time had gone by, it immediately felt wrong. he was your friend’s ex-husband, after all. toji had never looked at you twice before, and now, he suddenly had lustful eyes for you? 

you eventually conceded because you wanted to be there for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he had no ulterior motives. but one way or another, every conversation at dinner circled back to her. 

“oh she loved mashed potatoes.” 

“fun fact, she had a strawberry allergy.” 

“did you know this brand of vanilla ice cream was her favorite?”

and as much as it pained you, you became a reliant ear for him — someone who would listen to all the little details he swore he had forgotten the day she divorced him. even if every bone in your body wanted to run in the opposite direction, far, far away from him, you stayed. 

maybe all he needs is time, you told yourself.

right?

Now I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I? ⋆࿐

your affection always remained a constant in my turbulent world, like a gentle rain that falls softly even amidst the storm. but the longer the internal storm went on, the more ravenous the regret and guilt raged on. i found myself unable to fully comprehend the depth of your love for me, but deep down, i knew that your love was unwavering. 

i knew that in order to truly move on, i had to let go of the past and embrace the present; you represented that fresh start i so urgently needed. but the thought of her still lingered, a constant reminder of what once was but should no longer be. it was as if i was being consumed by my own memories, unable to break free. as if a part of me still longed for the past. 

the weight of my conflicting emotions burdened my every waking moment, leading me to push you away with no explanation. feelings for the both of you coexisted, and i couldn't fully commit to one without betraying the other. every time i looked at you, guilt would wash over me for putting you through this hell.

 likewise, every time i looked at her picture, i felt like a traitor for ever moving on as soon as i did.

But I see her in the back of my mind all the time. Just like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign. ⋆࿐

beneath the mask of indifference, i was plagued by shame. it was hard to accept that the girl who once consumed my thoughts was no longer part of my life, and looking at you, i realized that your love knew no bounds; that wasn’t enough for me. 

i hadn’t stopped loving her. 

it felt like a fever that never broke. an unrelenting heat that burned deep inside me, reminding me of the girl who dwelled in the back of my mind all those years ago.

every word about my past, every little detail about my ex, felt like a confession at church – a church where my sins would be revealed to the world. 

talking about my past wouldn’t magically absolve me of my past, now would it? redemption was never an option for me, and i wasn’t asking for it. instead of trying to cleanse myself of my history, i decided to leave it all behind like a forgotten box in an attic. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Well, good things don't last, and life moves so fast. I'd never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me.

he told you to let it go — to let it die like she did that fateful day. it was no use keeping her memory alive, he said, but if that was the case, why did he take her last name months later? 

not to mention they spent years together — even conceived a child together; a child he named after her, but that detail never seemed to make its way to you. 

everyone told you to stop comparing yourself, but how could you not? she was everything you weren’t even after death: soft spoken, graceful, gentle, patient, loving. 

you didn’t dare ask such a redundant question so you didn’t voice it, but your continuous comparison to her was eating you alive; toji noticed it. you hadn’t slept with him in almost a month, internally afraid he’ll blurt out her name instead of yours.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 And I know that you love me. you don't need to remind me.

he went out of his way to send more ‘i love u’ messages than before; they seemed forced, just like your relationship. 

she had previously informed you of things that found their way to the most profound recesses of your mind. you didn’t flinch at the time, because you were mesmerized that he did such things for her, but it affected you later on. 

you learned bitter truths that made you doubt his love for you. and when you finally realized he didn’t do any of the things she spoke of, it dawned on you; toji didn’t love you. 

not like he loved her. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 You say no one knows you so well but every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt.

you’d stay up late at night countless times wondering what toji’s affectionate touch actually felt like. it was something only she ever knew, and you’d do anything to get a semblance of that feeling. 

but it was obvious no one knows the real him — not like she did.

despite everything, you decided to give this relationship one last try by booking a hotel for the both of you. everything inside you screamed that it was a horrible idea, but you did it anyway.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.

and he finally did it. he mistakenly blurted out her name on the most romantic day of the year. 

“i-i’m sorry.” toji rushed to apologize, grabbing a hold of your arm so you wouldn’t walk out the door.

“I wonder, do you see HER in the back of your mind, in my eyes!?” was the only thing you could force yourself to reply in that moment, breaking away from his grip in the process.  

“i do,” toji dejectedly admits with a hint of sorrow behind his voice. or was it indignity?

he pauses, absentmindedly digging his nails into the tender flesh of his balled up fist as he grapples with his conscience. all along, he knew the day to finally hold himself accountable would come, but he didn’t think it would’ve been like this. 

his mind involuntarily wandered, and in the depths of your gaze, he saw glimpses of his deceased wife — a ghost that lingered in the back of his subconscious even after all this time.  

memories of her flood his mind, and for a brief moment, the both of you merge into one — his past and present colliding into one. the familiar shade of your irises, the identical shine behind them, the bright glimmer of light behind them when you smiled — all of it brought a pang of bittersweet nostalgia to him. 

silence overtook the room like a storm, and with it, your heart. so he does see a reflection of his dead wife when he stares into your eyes — the eyes he promised captivated him to no bounds. 

“was all of it a lie, then?” 

“no.” 

“how was it not a lie, toji?”

“it wasn’t a lie, doll-“ 

“don’t call me that.” you interrupt him with words almost sharp enough to cut him, a slight tremble behind your voice. 

tears immediately welled up in the delicate corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. his expression softened at the sight; however, his reluctance to approach you remained. he knew he was the reason behind your hurt, just like he was the cause of hers all that time ago. history does indeed repeat itself, doesn’t it? 

he wished he could find the words that would help ease your pain — the exhaustion and heartache you felt. to take it all away with a mere sentence, that would be quite incredible. but that’s not how life works.

“okay.” he finally whispered, inhaling a deep breath in a mix of defeat and remorse before continuing. “i promise none of it was a lie; i meant every word. i really meant it when i said i adored your eyes…” 

he dry swallows a couple of times, as if doing so would suppress the sorrow lodged in his throat. his eyes darted around the room, as to not meet your own out of the unbearable guilt that simply refused to be consumed. 

the hesitation behind his subtle actions was a telltale that there was a ‘but’ hidden underneath the surface-level flattery. and with an equal amount of incertitude and delay behind your own words, alongside with a hoarse voice, you brace yourself for the moment he finally admits this so-called love of yours was nothing but an illusion.

“but?” 

“…but they’re not her eyes.” 

part 2 here.

[moonselune]

heyo! your writing is phenomenal and I thank you for sharing it with us!

If you're still open to prompts/requests, would you consider writing a matching piece for the Bg3 male companions reacting to no ability to revive their partner? If not, that's okay!

Thanks again for your writing and for sharing your talents!

Goddamn this hit me hard in the feels writing this x thank you so much for your support and thank you for reading it xox

Gale:

The battle had been fierce and unrelenting, the ground littered with the bodies of fallen enemies and friends alike. In the heat of the chaos, Gale had fought with all his might, casting spell after spell to protect his comrades and turn the tide of the fight. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't save you.

When the dust settled and the reality of your lifeless body sank in, Gale's heart shattered. He rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he cradled your head in his lap. Your eyes, once so full of life and love, stared blankly into the void. He could feel the warmth leaving your body, and with it, his own will to fight on.

"No, no, no… this can't be happening," Gale whispered, his voice breaking. He frantically searched his pack for a revivify scroll, but found none. The last one had been used in a previous battle, and now he was left with nothing but despair.

Desperation clawed at his mind as he looked around at the others. "We need a damned scroll, something, anything!" he shouted, his eyes wild with panic. But the somber faces of his companions told him what he already knew—they were out of options.

"I won't accept this," Gale muttered, his determination hardening. "I will find a way to bring you back. I swear it."

Despite the protests from the others, Gale refused to listen. He cast a gentle preservation spell over your body, ensuring that it would remain untouched by decay. He would find a way, to bring you back, to bring you back to him, no matter the cost.

As he carried your preserved form back to camp, his mind raced with possibilities. Ancient rituals, forgotten tomes, divine intervention—he would exhaust every option. Gale's heart ached with the loss, but his love for you fueled his resolve. He would bring you back. He had to.

Astarion:

The battlefield was eerily quiet, the sounds of clashing steel and agonized cries fading into a haunting silence. Astarion's sharp eyes scanned the aftermath, searching for any sign of you. When he finally spotted your lifeless body, his heart plummeted into an abyss of despair.

"No!" Astarion screamed, his voice echoing across the blood-soaked ground. He sprinted to your side, collapsing beside you. His hands shook as he desperately tried to find a pulse, a sign, anything that you were still with him. But there was nothing.

"Please, no… you can't leave me," he whispered, his voice choked with tears. He tore through his own pack, then yours, searching frantically for a revivify scroll. When he found none, he turned his fury on the others.

"Where is it? Where's the damned scroll?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a mix of rage and sorrow. He tore through their packs, heedless of their attempts to stop him. "There has to be one! There has to be!"

But there was nothing. No scroll, no hope. Astarion's strength gave out, and he collapsed onto your body, sobbing uncontrollably. His tears mixed with the dirt and blood on your face as he held you close, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

"I'm so sorry… I should have protected you," he murmured between sobs, his voice filled with guilt and anguish. "I can't… I can't do this without you."

Astarion's cries echoed through the battlefield, a haunting reminder of the love and loss that war brings. In that moment, all he could do was hold you, his tears falling like rain, and call out to every god- every devil, for a miracle that would never come.

Wyll:

The battle had been brutal, the toll high, but the true cost was only just being felt. Wyll had fought valiantly, as he always did, his heart and sword guided by a desire to protect those he loved. But it hadn’t been enough. He found your lifeless body amidst the carnage, your eyes forever closed to the world.

"No… no, this can't be happening," Wyll choked out, his voice trembling with grief. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he cradled your head in his lap. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked and unstoppable, mingling with the dirt and blood on your skin.

"I should have been better," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should have fought harder. This is all my fault."

Wyll's sobs grew louder, his body wracked with grief. He clung to you, his heart breaking with every passing second. The others watched, helpless and heartbroken, knowing there was nothing they could do to ease his pain.

In the back of his mind, a dark thought began to take root. What if he made another pact? What if he sought out a devil, any devil, who could bring you back? The idea terrified him, but the prospect of living without you was even more horrifying.

"I can't lose you," he murmured, his tears falling onto your still face. "I can't do this without you."

Wyll's sobs echoed across the battlefield, a haunting sound that spoke of a love lost too soon. He held you close, his mind torn between his grief and the desperate, dangerous hope that he could find a way to bring you back.

Halsin

The silence that followed the battle was deafening. Halsin stood amidst the fallen, his eyes scanning the field until they found you. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he approached your lifeless body, his expression a mask of stoic calm.

He knelt beside you, his large hands gently lifting you into his arms. The others watched in silence, their grief palpable, but it was Halsin's reaction that truly frightened them. There were no tears, no cries of anguish—just a terrifying, emotionless silence.

Halsin stood, cradling your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. Without a word, he turned and began walking towards the forest. The others called out to him, their voices filled with concern and confusion, but he did not respond.

He walked deeper into the forest, the shadows closing in around him. The sounds of the battle faded away, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant calls of woodland creatures. Halsin's face remained impassive, but inside, a storm of emotions raged.

He carried you to a secluded glade, a place of peace and beauty. Gently, he laid you down on a bed of moss, his hands lingering on your face as he memorized every detail.

"I have failed you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have protected you."

Halsin knelt beside you, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew he would never return to the camp, never face the others again. His place was here, with you, in the quiet solitude of the forest.

Ngl when I did Halsin's all I could think about was him never being seen again and it developing into some kind of myth/legend about the druid in the woods forever mourning his beloved.

mwhahahaah

Hope you all liked it ! - Seluney xoxo

[potatoplace]

The Prophecy

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

the 1 (part 1)

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: In the aftermath of your fall, your sisters stay by your side, comforting you as best they can. The Shadowsinger is lurking, hoping for a chance to apologize. You want someone who wants your company.

Warnings: suicide mention, light angst

Words: ~4.7k

Author's Note: ayyyyy I finally managed to write something!!! I hope you guys like this, it's the third alternate ending for 'the 1.' I actually really like how I wrote this but I also haven't edited it besides properly marking where italics go lol. I hope you guys enjoyyyy 🫶🫶🫶

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🤍💙

Azriel left you in the hallway, leaving you behind in his search for his love.

Elain.

Sweet, beautiful Elain who had chosen him, who had decided to love him for who he is.

Still, he couldn't help but rub at his heart, the sting of the broken bond catching his attention as he rejoined the party. He wrapped his arms around Elain who had taken up a spot at the balcony, her eyes gazing out at the stars.

How the Cauldron had decided that you would be his mate, he would never know. Your company was fine, that was true, but he had never once felt an ounce of attraction towards you. As a human, your face had been... difficult for him to look at compared to the beauty of the fae, or even your sisters. And as a fae, you were simply plain.

His eyes glossed over you every time you were in the room.

And with everything Azriel had gone to, well, he deserved the beautiful female currently in his arms, her eyes so filled with love as she looked at him.

The ring he had picked out for tonight was heavy in his pocket, and he was just about to pull it out when Feyre let out a scream- one so filled with pain and grief that the entirety of the House of Wind silenced, confused and concerned looks following their High Lady as she sprinted out of the main room.

Rhys followed first, only a few steps behind Feyre, and the rest of the Inner Circle exchanged glances before following suit.

Another guttural scream left Feyre as they approached the balcony that she was peering over, her wings springing into existence in the next moment, and then Feyre was flinging herself over the edge.

Less than a minute later she returned, your limp body in her arms.

His mate.

His mate!

Suddenly all Azriel could feel was the shredded bond in his chest, his hand flying out of Elain's to clutch at his heart as he stared at you, unmoving.

Elain and Nesta rushed to your side, careful not to touch you lest they do more damage that would stop your already weakly-beating heart.

Their mouths were moving, but all Azriel could hear was the quiet sound of the muscle he had shattered mere minutes before pushing blood through your veins, working to keep you alive.

Cassian appeared with Madja a short while later, though Azriel hadn't noticed he'd left, his senses entirely focused on you.

Their words went unnoticed until Rhys was in front of him, pushing him by the shoulders away from the balcony.

"What are you-?"

"Madja needs quiet, Az. Come with me. We need to talk," Rhys said quietly, guiding Azriel to the study he kept in the House.

Azriel shot one last, longing glance to your body, but the three sisters and Madja surrounding you blocked his view.

"So..." Rhys began as they sat in the leather chairs around the fireplace, with Cassian shutting the door and leaning against the wall next to the blazing fire.

Azriel hadn't noticed he was walking with them.

"What happened?"

Azriel looked at Rhys and blinked once, twice.

"What?"

Rhys sighed. "What happened? I saw Y/N pull you aside only a few minutes before Feyre discovered her. So... What happened?"

Azriel blinked at him again before answering. "She... Y/N, she's... My mate."

Surprised flickered on both Rhys and Cassian's faces before confusion took over.

"Isn't... isn't that a good thing? I know you and Elain... But... Why did Y/N... Why is she hurt?" Cassian asked.

Azriel didn't answer as shame washed over him, finally realizing the consequences of his hasty choice.

"... Az?" Rhys asked quietly.

"I... I rejected her..." Azriel whispered as tears streamed down his face, the dam having finally broken.

Silence.

He couldn't bear to look at his brothers, see the disgust in their eyes at his actions.

"I'll go tell Madja," Cassian said quietly, leaving the room in the next moment.

"Azriel... Why?" Rhys asked once the door had shut behind their brother, his voice soft.

Azriel managed to meet his eyes, the usual sparkle of stars in them missing. "I... I promised Elain that I would. And really, I... Y/N is... She's very nice but I never thought..." He trailed off, hoping that Rhys wouldn't make him explain further.

"You never thought what?”

"I never thought that my mate would be the wrong sister..."

"So you just... Rejected her? How long did you consider it?" Rhys paused to let him answer, but Azriel couldn't tell him that he'd given it no thought at all, and rather thought it was a cruel joke played by the Mother. "Did you even consider it, Azriel?" Another pause, and at Azriel's continued silence Rhys scoffed. "You didn't consider it, didn't think of the consequences of breaking the bond. You of all people should know just how a rejection can ruin someone."

Rhys was right. He hadn't thought any of it through, and look where that got him. A rejected bond and a nearly dead mate.

"I want to fix it," Azriel said, his voice cracking. "I want... I need to fix this."

Rhys narrowed his eyes at him, looking him over and taking in how wrecked he looked. Tears were still streaming down his face, a hand absently clutching at his heart.

"I suppose... You can attempt to apologize to Y/N, if she'll let you. But you need to decide what you're going to do about your relationship with Elain..."

Elain. How could Azriel give up his sweet, perfect, beautiful Elain? How could he... He would have to. Somehow, he would get over Elain.

"I'll go talk to her now," Azriel said as he immediately stood and made his way to the door, only stopping when Rhys put a hand in front of him, holding the door shut.

"Azriel. I need you to think about this choice. I won't have you harming Elain as well because you haven't thought yet another decision through. Go take a flight, clear your head. Think, brother." Rhys relinquished his hold on the door, allowing Azriel to pass through.

His feet led him to the balcony you had fallen from, quiet now that you had been taken away for further healing. Azriel gazed over the side, his heart clenching painfully when he considered you had done the same, deciding it was your only way forward.

He launched himself into the air, the chilled wind clearing away every thought but you.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

Pain.

That was all you knew now.

When you woke the first time, your bones had screamed out, every muscle in your body flaring in pain and agony.

And then came the overwhelming sensation of the shredded bond in your chest, a scream passing through your lips without meaning to as it tormented your entire being.

"Y/N? Y/N we're giving you more pain medicine, you'll be out in a moment, just don't move sissy," a voice said into your mind, the familiar brush of it the smallest balm to the burning pain of your body.

Twin.

And then darkness washed back over your mind, pulling you away from the pain.

The next time you woke, you heard angry voices.

Pain still ruled you, making it impossible to open your eyes and see who was arguing.

Was it about you? Surely not, you aren't important enough to argue over.

One voice caught your ears.

The voice you had loved over the past year, clinging to every word that dropped from the lips it belonged to.

Now, it aggravated the bond, the jagged edges scraping your soul and bringing you back into your body.

Pain. It flowed through you like the blood in your veins, controlling every fiber of your being.

"She can hear you!" A voice hissed- twin.

Feyre's here. I'm safe.

More words, hushed this time, before a cool hand brushed over your brow.

"Go back to sleep, sissy. We'll still be here when you come back," Feyre whispered into your mind softly, and moments later you fell back into the dark, comforted by the presence of your other half.

The third time you woke, you could hear three heartbeats thudding close by, and one more that was muffled, distant.

Your body ached, and just clenching your fingers lightly sent shooting pain up your arms, a soft whimper leaving your lips.

The ragged bond in your chest still chafed, pain flowing out from it with every inhale and exhale you took.

You opened your eyes, only to close them tightly at the bright faelights illuminating the room. You slowly opened them once more, squinting until your eyes adjusted.

There was a warm weight on your right arm, and when you turned your head carefully you saw Feyre's face, eyes shut as she slept.

It looked like the first time she had slept in weeks.

"Feyfey?" You tried to ask, instead coughing as your dry throat protested speaking.

Feyre was awake in an instant, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her blue orbs met yours, tears filling them in the next moment.

"Oh, Y/N," she cried, her tattooed hands clutching your face gently. "I love you."

A weak smile graced your lips. "I love you too," you said, your voice rough.

"Oh, here," Feyre said, raising your head and tilting a glass of water so that you could drink as much as you wanted, her eyes never leaving yours. "Better?" She asked once you were done, gently placing your head back on the pillow it was resting on.

"Yes..." You whispered.

The distant heartbeat picked up in pace, and the bond in your chest flared again, causing you to clutch at your heart with a hand, even as your muscles protested the action.

You carefully surveyed the room, finding that Nesta and Elain were both sleeping much like Feyre had been, heads resting on the bed as the slumped over in their chairs.

All of your sisters, here at your bedside.

After you had... Had...

"How are you feeling?" Feyre asked gently, drawing you out of your thoughts. She always had known when you were spiraling into your anxieties.

"Not... great..." You said quietly.

That felt like the understatement of the century.

Your body was sore all over, your bones themselves aching just from existing. And the bond...

It was awful.

"I can give you more pain medicine in a bit, but Madja... She said that you might have lasting pains, from... From falling," Feyre said shakily, tears spilling from her eyes.

You just nodded, barely registering the information as Nesta awoke, her back straightening as she blinked her eyes into focus. Tears filled them when she saw you.

"Y/N, you're... You're awake," Nesta sniffled, a noise you rarely heard from your aloof sister. "Don't ever do that again. You are too important," Nesta said heatedly before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Alright?"

"Alright," you agreed, pleased to see the smallest of smiles grace your eldest sister's lips.

Elain stirred last, her chocolate brown eyes welling with tears when they landed on you, her disheveled hair a testament to how worried she was.

You remembered Azriel's words. I think it’s best for you to stay away from Elain and I. I wouldn’t want you getting territorial and ripping my love’s throat out or anything.

How could he have ever thought you would harm Elain? Your sisters were the most important anything in the world to you.

"Bunny, you're awake," she said tearily, her hands grasping for yours over the blanket. "I'm so, so sorry, I had no idea that he was your-"

"It's fine, 'Lainey. I made sure no one knew," you said, cutting her off. "It's not your fault."

Tears fell from her eyes anyways, and you knew she was still blaming herself.

"I want... I want someone to want me for me. Not a bond 'Lainey. He... He would never have looked my way, even if you had rejected his advances," you whispered, thinking to his cruel words before he had rejected you.

Feyre sighed, and you knew she was contemplating whether or not to kill the shadowsinger for hurting you.

"Cuddle with me? Like the old days?" You asked quietly, hoping beyond hope that you wouldn't have to deal with the sting of rejection from your own sisters.

"Of course, sissy," Feyre replied, already peeling back the covers to slide underneath, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

"For as long as you want, munchkin," Nesta said, following Feyre's lead and snuggling up to you.

That left Elain, who hesitated.

"Come in, 'Lainey. It wouldn't be the same without you," you reassured, your worries eased when she laid behind Feyre, one of her arms looping over to meet your hands.

The four of you fell asleep, snuggled together just as you had for so many years. This time to hold you together, your sisters acting as the glue that keeps you from shattering further as your ears listened to that fourth heartbeat, singing to you as it does to the shadows.

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

"You need to get up," a voice said, slightly muffled by something.

"But I haven't-"

"They're all sleeping, you need to go and clean yourself up. You waiting here isn't going to help things," a third voice said.

"But what if she wants to see-"

"Then she will ask for you. Until then, you need to give some space. Go wash up. Eat something. I'll see if Feyre thinks she'll want to see you, and if she does then you can come sit in front of the door again," the third voice ordered, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Alright."

Footsteps, then quiet.

You relaxed once more, sinking into the softness of the bed and warmth of your sisters around you. Pain lanced through your body, and you wished that you had asked Feyre for more of the pain medicine before you fell back asleep.

Feyre stirred next to you, no doubt awoken by soft mental prodding from her mate to ask her if you wanted to see your... your former mate.

"You alright?" She asked quietly, attempting to not wake your eldest sisters.

You nodded. "I hurt everywhere, though," you whispered.

She pulled a vial of pain potion from... wherever she pulled things from, and tipped it into your mouth.

It tasted horrible, but the relief was near-instant, the harsh aches easing into mild discomfort for the moment.

"Thank you Feyfey."

"Of course, sissy. Go back to sleep, hmm?" Feyre suggested, laying her head back on your shoulder and letting one of her hands lock fingers with yours.

You did as she said, drifting back into the peaceful space that your sisters' presences brought, the feeling of their souls next to yours as comforting as ever.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Your sisters were speaking softly when you awoke next, still cozied in between the three of them.

"If he keeps waiting outside, I'll kill him," Nesta hissed quietly, and Feyre shook her head in response.

"You can't do that, Nesta. You can punch him, sure, but I think Rhys would be upset if you killed him."

"Then I'll rip his heart out- oh wait, he doesn't have one.”

"Nesta, stop. Y/N's awake," Elain said. "How are you doing?" She asked, a nervous lilt to her voice.

"I'm alright. What are you two arguing about?" You asked, eyes flitting from Nesta to Feyre.

"Azriel is outside. He refuses to leave," Nesta seethed.

"Oh... What does he want?"

Feyre sighed before explaining. "He wants to beg for your forgiveness, or something along those lines."

You let that sink in. He wanted to apologize... But why?

"I... I suppose I can see him now."

"Are you sure? We can make him go away. You never have to see him again, if you don't want to," Feyre offered, but you shook your head.

You needed to do this.

"If you're sure, bunny..." Elain said, waiting until you nodded in confirmation before climbing out from underneath the covers. "We'll be waiting right outside."

Feyre and Nesta followed her after helping you to sit up against the mound of pillows behind you.

"Let me know if you need us to remove him," Feyre said, tapping a finger against her temple.

"I will, Feyfey. You should all get some food, okay? You need to eat," you insisted, the three of them caving when you narrowed your eyes at them.

"Alright. But if he does anything..." Nesta seethed.

"You'll be the first to know, Nes. I promise."

Your sisters shuffled out of the room, each of them glaring at Azriel as they passed him. Nesta even hissed at him, something that made you laugh internally.

You couldn't laugh out loud, though, as your former mate was standing before you now, looking worse for wear.

"Y/N, I wanted to apologize to you," he paused, waiting a moment to see if you would react. "I feel awful about rejecting you without so much as a thought, without considering the blessing that the Mother has granted us. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm here begging for it anyways. I want you, Y/N. I want to love you, and love the children we will have together. I want you to give us a chance, please.”

The entire time he was speaking, you merely stared at him, wondering how you had fallen for this male. Had it solely been the bond forcing your heart? Or were you now so disillusioned that you couldn't imagine loving him?

"Y/N?" Azriel asked, once you had been silent for a minute.

"You are begging for forgiveness? And that's the best you have to offer?"

Azriel blinked at you, confusion clouding his eyes. "What?"

"That's your apology? You call that an apology?" You scoffed, rage flooding your veins, put there by the bloodied bond in your chest. "You told me that five hundred years of waiting was a waste. You told me that I could not compare to Elain, you thought that me being your mate was a joke, you told me that I was not. Your. Mate. And yet here you are now, 'begging' for forgiveness by informing me that you rejected me without a thought, and that we will have children. You are right on one count. You do not deserve my forgiveness. And you will never have it. Now leave," you demanded, satisfied at the disbelieving look on his face.

He thought you would give in so easily? That you would crumble under a few kind words?

He was wrong.

You are an Archeron. You might not have the typical fire exuded by your twin and eldest sister, but you possessed the stubbornness that ran through your bloodline.

After ten seconds, he still hadn't moved, just staring at you as his wings drooped to the floor.

Perhaps he was beginning to feel the pain that he had condemned you to when he had rejected you 'without so much as a thought' as he had put it.

"Get out," you told him again. "Or I'll let Nesta tear you to pieces."

Still, he didn't move.

You sent your mind out to Feyre's as best you could, tapping on the strong walls of her mind. Can you send Rhys? Or someone? He's not leaving, you whispered to her.

Rhys is on his way, sissy, Feyre replied. Nesta too, as soon as Rhys stood she followed, Feyre sighed into your mind, causing you to laugh softly to her.

That's alright, I threatened him with Nesta.

The two of them burst into the room a moment later, Nesta grabbing your former mate by the hair and dragging him into the hall, faster than you would have thought possible.

Rhys stared at them in confusion for a moment before turning to you.

"Are you alright, Y/N?"

You nodded. "I'm fine, I said everything I wanted to. I just needed him to leave."

Rhys bobbed his head in understanding. "I'll make sure he won't bother you, rest assured. He will be banned from Velaris until you're ready, if you're ever ready," Rhys said softly, a look of understanding in his eyes. "I'm sure Feyre and Elain are headed back with food for you, but I'll make sure something is sent to you no matter what, hmm? Feel better, Y/N." Before he left, he kissed the crown of your head gently, and it was the first time you considered him to be your brother.

Only a couple of minutes after he left, Feyre and Elain returned to your room, both of them carrying a tray of food.

The three of you ate for a few minutes before Nesta reappeared, looking rather satisfied with herself.

"Have you eaten?" Nesta asked you, but before you could respond asked "Has she eaten?" to Feyre and Elain.

You wrinkled your nose at her in amusement. "I'm eating, Nes. You should eat something too, you didn't have much time."

She stared at you, waiting to eat until you had taken a bite yourself, proving that you were eating.

The four of you ate together until all of the food was gone, and you were certain that they had made you eat the majority of it when you laid back, feeling absolutely stuffed.

"Will you... Will you sleep with me again tonight? Not right now, but... later?" You asked hesitantly.

"Of course we will, munchkin. I think we might protest if you said you didn't want us with you tonight," Nesta said softly.

You smiled at her, pleased by the caring side of your eldest sister that you were finally experiencing.

"For now, I think I'd like a bath," you said, the feeling of having slept for multiple days covering your skin.

"I think I can help with that," Feyre said, and began lifting you from the bed.

"Feyre, I can walk!" You giggled as she brought you into the bathroom.

"I know, and you can test it once you've soaked in hot water. Madja said you may have some difficulty using your muscles for a while. So just be patient with me, I don't want you to get hurt. Okay?" Her face held such tenderness that you couldn't help but agree.

"Okay."

🤍🩵🩶🩷🤍

Six months.

Six months, and you felt like your life had changed completely.

The first two months had been absolute hell, with you learning to tame the shattered bond in your chest, slowly filing its edges down into something that still hurt, but wasn't all-consuming. You had also had to relearn to walk, write, swim, sew, knit, crochet- basically everything that you loved to do.

It was hell, but you would do it all again.

Because you had re-perfected your needlework in the next two, embroidering beautiful patterns onto dresses for the upcoming parties of the spring season, earning enough money to rent a small house in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Your own house.

All your own, to decorate as you liked. Of course you had help from your sisters and their mates, the seven of you working to transform the slightly run down house into your pastel dream home.

In the next two months, you had started a business with your new friend- Alina. She had been the junior dressmaker at the shop you had been working for, and the two of you became fast friends.

You were able to work in silence together, drawing peace from your work and each other's presences. And when you talked, you had so much in common. Both of you were... Not confident, for various reasons. And both of you fiercely loved your families, willing to sacrifice anything for them. You both enjoyed reading, but preferred soft romances compared to the smutty fare that Nesta enjoyed.

It turned out that Alina, too, wanted to be loved for who she was, rather than a bond. You found kinship in the story of her mate, the way he had only looked at her differently once the bond had snapped.

The two of you had bonded so much that when the owner of the shop you worked at had fired Alina for no good reason, you had quit in protest. Together, you opened a small shop near your home.

In only a month, the clients that preferred your and Alina's work had started frequenting your shop, leaving the both of you busy nearly every day.

It was absolutely lovely, everything that you had ever dreamed of.

Except... You still wanted to be wanted.

You shoved that desire down deep at every chance, throwing yourself into your work until your body protested, fingers cramping while you worked by a candle in the dead of night.

Some days, though, you could hardly move. The consequences of your choice to fling yourself off of that balcony followed you like a dark cloud, waiting to pour pain onto you at any given moment.

Still, you managed to push yourself forward, taking solace in the life you had created for yourself. You could hardly imagine what life would have been like had you accepted Azriel, but you didn't think it would be a happy one.

Nothing was worse than being the choice that was not really a choice at all, rather the forces of fate.

And nothing was better than being the first choice, you'd soon learn.

Because on the first day of the final month of spring, a Tuesday at 9:53 in the morning, something wonderful happened.

Theo, a repeat customer of yours had entered the shop, holding a dress box from your shop in his hands.

When Theo had first entered your shop a little under a month ago, he had taken your breath away, so, so similarly to how Azriel used to.

His bright green eyes made you blush whenever they fell on you, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hands through his curly dark hair. And his voice! You melted at the sound, how deep and gentle it was at all times.

You would be lying if you said you didn't put extra care into each order he placed, making sure each piece was perfect for him.

He had ordered a couple of dresses from you before, both of them for his sister.

"Good morning, Theo, did your sister need something adjusted?" You asked as he set the box on the counter in front of you.

"Good morning to you, Y/N. This... This is not for my sister," Theo began, and you would almost say that he was nervous, if not for the confident smile on his lips. "This dress is for you, Y/N."

You blinked in surprise, glancing down at the box. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. I was hoping that you would join me for dinner on Friday at Sevenda's," Theo said, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Like, uhm... A date?" You squeaked, blood rushing to your cheeks.

Theo nodded, his smile widening. "Yes, a date. Are you interested?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and a matching smile to his graced your lips.

"I'll pick you up at seven, if that works with you, sweetheart."

"O-okay," you said nervously. "I'll see you then, Theo."

At the sound of you saying his name, Theo blushed lightly, your eyes just catching it before he turned to leave the shop.

"Oh, and you don't have to wear the dress if you don't want to, but... I think you'll look even more beautiful in it then you do now," Theo said sincerely, leaving the shop after flashing a bright smile at you once more.

You covered your face with your hands, your face flushed and grinning.

Theo had asked you out! You couldn't wait to tell Alina and your sisters, Feyre especially. She would be over-the-moon happy for you, knowing how much of a crush you have on him.

Luckily for you, your weekly sister tea time was later today, and you would have something exciting to tell them.

general taglist: @lilah-asteria @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao

'the 1' series taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @historygeekqueen @angelbunny222 @mellowmusings @romantasyreader28 @craybae10 @littlepippilongstocking @littlegirl-bd @casey1-2007 @moonlwghts

[voxslays]

Broken Promises

Featuring >>> Lucifer x Reader; In which, an attempt to kill baby Charlie goes south. Resulting in a soporific curse placed upon the reader, who struggles to deal with the aftermath of its affects.

Part One Part Three

You wake up in the same bed you fell asleep in the next afternoon, due to the quiet whispers of Lucifer and the doctors at the far side of the room. You blink a few times before rubbing your eyes, trying to adjust to the bright light. As if alerted by magic, everyone’s head turns to your wakening form. The doctors quickly approach, their white coats rustling. "Your Majesty," one of them says, bowing slightly. "You're awake. How do you feel? Any dizziness, nausea, weakness?" Lucifer rushes to your side, his expression grave. “I’m just tired.”

The doctors exchange a concerned glance before nodding. "That's to be expected," one of them says. "The soporific curse has left your body weakened. We recommend complete rest for at least a fortnight, with regular check-ups." Lucifer's face is a mask of worry as he gently strokes your hair. “Wait- what?” You ask, giving them a confused look. The lead doctor clears his throat, his expression somber. "The curse…it wasn't meant to put you to sleep, my lady. It was designed to slowly drain your daughter’s life force, killing her slowly over time. Had it not been blocked, it would have…"

Killed her, you mentally finish for him.“But it doesn’t affect me as much?” You ask through a yawn. The doctor nods. "Your bond with the child, combined with your own extraordinary angelic nature, acted as a buffer. You absorbed most of the curse's effects, protecting her life force. However, this means you've taken on a significant burden.” The doctor sighs. “What kind of burden…?” Whatever the burden may be, it couldn’t be good. "The curse may have lasting effects…” One of the nurses chimes in. “A slumber curse such as this could potentially cause an eternal sleep.” You gasp.

Lucifer's eyes widen in horror, his arms instinctively bringing you to his chest. The doctor immediately backtracks as the nurse quickly backs up. "But that's just a possibility!" You couldn’t enter an eternal sleep, you just couldn’t! You couldn’t bare to leave your daughter and husband behind.

Lucifer's grip tightens around you, his face contorted with fear and anger. "You're telling me that my wife, the mother of my child, could be stuck sleeping forever because of my brother’s curse?" His voice rises, echoing through the room. You gently squeeze his hand, silently telling to calm down. His breathing steadies at your touch, but his expression remains tense. "Please… please tell me there's something you can do. Some way to counteract this?" He looks at the doctors with sheer desperation in his eyes.

The doctors huddle in and confer amongst themselves, their voices hushed and urgent. After a moment, the lead doctor turns back to you and Lucifer sadly. "Once she falls asleep, there is nothing we can do." Lucifer's world crumbles at those words, his heart shattering into a million pieces. He buries his face in your hair, his body shaking with silent sobs. Charlie, sensing her father's distress, starts to cry as well, her tiny voice piercing the heavy silence. "No…"

He holds you tighter, as if trying to physically keep you awake. His tears fall onto your skin, mingling with your own. The doctors quietly exit the room, leaving the heartbroken king and queen alone with their daughter. "Please…stay awake…just a little longer…" Lucifer begs. “I will.” You gasp through tears.

“I promise.”

[igotanidea]

Run baby, run: AK!Jason x reader

part 2 to Somebody's watching me.

She looked so peaceful. So innocent.

And completely oblivious to the fact that the casual outing she went to with her friends was carefully observed by a pair of eyes, hidden under a metal helmet.

Or was she-?

He was like a predator.

Waiting for a single mistake of his prey to take a change and lunge at the opportunity fate presented him with.

Whatever the mistake may be in this case.

But sooner or later she was gonna make one.

Part ways with her friends.

Get drunk and bibulously let some guy touch her.

Dance to the music to the point of exhaustion and end up on the couch in a stranger’s house.

And he would be there to prevent the aftermath of that.

***

For the last week she was going crazy.

Ever since that one night when she saw a silhouette on the rooftop it felt like someone has been following her every move, ever step, lurking in the dark, so close to her and yet, just beyond reach. However, when she tried to tell her friends about they look at her like she was making a joke. So obviously she stopped doing as much as even mentioning it, cause the last thing she wanted was to be abandoned by the only people in her surroundings.

Even if those friends didn’t really deserve the name.

But still – those were the only one she had.

Incomparable with the Waynes she used to spend her time with years ago, before all went to shit. But Jason’s disappearance left an everlasting scar. The only thing she wanted was to forget it all, and yet – the only impossible thing in her life seemed to be letting go of the past. And being in the company of Dick, Tim, Babs and the rest of the clan was making her skin burn and her stomach twist and turn with the incoming, checkless panic attack. Like her entire body and mind felt the pressure of the past on her fragile conscience and damaged soul.

And the only thing she felt like doing in the Manor was either screaming or crying. 

So she moved on, or so she tried to convince herself of.

***

Mistake number one was left her drink unattended when she went to the toilet.

Rookie move with the possible grave consequences.

But it was gone when she came back. Only fueling her paranoia.

Mistake number two was letting her eyes off her companionship and being left alone by the exit with some drunken and already horny guys.

But when with shaky hands she pulled out her phone, desperately searching through her contact list for a potential backup, those men were already dragged into the nearest dark alley and knocked down.

But her worst mistake was not calling the cab and deciding on actually walking home. In her opinion it was a way to get some air and calm her rapidly racing heart, but she freaking forgot it was Gotham.

Like a freaking fool.

Under any other circumstances she would never and the fact that the though of going on foot even crossed her mind was the perfect reflection of her shattered mind spinning like a freaking Ferris wheel.

Something was wrong.

Something was awfully wrong and she felt like she was a main character in some horror movie.

Like that girl, who you watch on the screen, screaming at her to not go to that creepy attic from where the most suspicious sounds come, and then do the exact same thing when faced with a threat.

A ruffle of the leaves. The sound of an empty soda can rolling on the street. The flap of bird’s wing.

It all made her feel like a Freddy Krueger was coming after her.

And maybe she was not so far from the truth.

Her pulse was over the moon, heart running out of her chest, breath quickening, legs starting to move faster and faster and faster as she started running. Not really watching where as long as it was forward and away from whatever imaginary individual was chasing her.

With wild hair, tears in her eyes and blurry vision.

She was so stupid. So fucking stupid and mental, belonging in the mental institution due to her damaged brain refusing to stop dwelling on the past trauma.

“WATCH OUT!”

Before she was hit by a car a strong pair of arms grabbed her by the waist pulling her back to the pavement. She closed her eyes in fear letting whoever her savior was hold her trembling form. As weird as it was, for some reason being in this embrace felt… good. And familiar. Like she belonged there.

And if it was another wave of schizophrenic images coming from her brain she refused to accept it, freezing at the spot and waiting for it to pass.

But the stranger’s seeming grip on her body did not falter. For a longer while that seemed both like an eternity and like a second.

“Y/N….”

It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind.

“Y/N…”

The second the voice hit her ears again she turned around abruptly, but there was no one there.

She was going crazy.

With wide terrified eyes, slowly coming back on earth she finally took in her surroundings.

Realizing, to her undeniable terror, that she was right next to Dick’s house. And even worse – noticing the lights in his windows. Which meant he was here and not in Bludhaven. And not patrolling. Which was an uncommon, if not impossible conjuncture.

The past finally caught up with her.

“Y/N?!” Dick noticed her outside and opened the window, holding back the instinct to just jump outside (from 3rd floor) like an acrobat he was. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you ok?”

“No…” she sobbed “No, I’m not okay…” she finally broke down in the middle of the night, on the empty street.

“Damn!” a few minutes later Grayson was downstairs holding her for dear life. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever happened, you are safe with me now, I promise.”

She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Crying from fear and stress and helplessness.

“Shhh… come on, let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. I got you.”

When Dick was slowly guiding her to his apartment, the same predatory red eyes were focused on the pair and the sudden need for vengeance sprouts buds, growing roots deep into the long-petrified heart, crushing down the ice it was covered with.

No one was going to take her away from him this time.

Edit:

part 3 : Smooth criminal is up!

@vaniasagitaa @gone-batty-fics @astrelz @not-herexo @deans-spinster-witch @calicocat45

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does. cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Part 2 here!

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[throwaway-things]

In the silence

The gentle hum of the BAU office buzzed around you, blending with the rhythmic typing of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation. You sat at your desk, your heart betraying a steady pace as you stole a glance at Spencer Reid. He was absorbed in a file, his brows furrowed in concentration, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. You admired how his mind seemed to race, faster than anyone else’s, solving problems in a way that felt almost magical. And yet, as brilliant as he was, you could never imagine him knowing your secret.

You had been harboring feelings for Spencer for longer than you cared to admit. The connection, at least on your side, had grown deeper over time. He was kind, intelligent, and so utterly unaware of the effect he had on you. You were careful—so careful—never to give any hint, knowing that revealing how you felt could change everything. Your heart was fragile enough without risking his rejection.

But Spencer Reid was not like everyone else. He saw things others missed, read people like they were open books. And though you had perfected the art of hiding, you knew, deep down, that no secret was safe from him forever.

One afternoon, while working together on a particularly difficult case, you noticed Spencer watching you out of the corner of your eye. It wasn’t the usual friendly glance, but something more intense. You tried to ignore it, focused on your work, but the sensation of being scrutinized sent your nerves into overdrive.

"Are you okay?" His voice startled you, gentle yet probing. You looked up to find his eyes—those deep, observant eyes—studying you. He wasn’t just asking if you were tired or stressed. It felt like he was asking about something deeper, something unspoken.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, too quickly. "Just focused on the case."

But Spencer didn't let it go. "You've been… different lately," he said softly, almost to himself. "Your body language, the way you avoid eye contact sometimes, the way your voice changes when you're talking to me— its noticeable"

Your heart stopped. He was analyzing you. You’d been so careful, so guarded, and yet, in that moment, you realized it was pointless. Spencer Reid had already figured it out.

"I… I don’t know what you mean," you lied, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control. But the tremble in your voice gave you away. Spencer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said, his tone so calm, so gentle. "I know."

It was like the world shifted beneath your feet. The secret you had carried for so long, that you had convinced yourself could never be known, was out in the open. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly terrified. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You refused to cry in front of him.

Spencer shifted awkwardly in his seat, his face flushed with discomfort. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but laden with regret. "I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. If I’ve done anything to make you feel—" He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "I care about you, but… not in the way you might want."

The words hit like a physical blow. You were mortified, frozen in place as the blood rushed to your cheeks. Your worst fear had just materialized—he had figured it out, and now he was apologizing. It was worse than any rejection you had ever imagined.

"I—" you stammered, the words dying in your throat as shame engulfed you. You had never meant for him to know. You had never intended to put him in this position, to make things awkward or uncomfortable. But now, there you were, standing in the aftermath of something you had desperately tried to avoid.

Your heart broke, a quiet shattering that left you feeling hollow. Spencer was kind, as you always knew he would be, but it didn’t soften the pain. If anything, it made it worse. His apology wasn’t cruel, but it was final. You wished you could disappear, that you could take back every lingering look, every subtle sign you thought you had hidden so well.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice barely audible. You couldn't bear to look at him, the embarrassment too overwhelming. "I… I never meant for you to find out. I never wanted you to know."

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of empathy in his eyes. "You don’t have to apologize," he said gently. "I just don’t want you to feel hurt because of me."

But you did feel hurt. Hurt, ashamed, and humiliated. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry, not to let him see how devastated you were.

Before you could respond, the door to the conference room opened abruptly. Hotch stood there, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Briefing in five," he said, his tone all business as usual. "We’ve got a new case."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. This was your escape. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time.

"Thanks, Hotch," you mumbled, quickly rising from your seat and gathering your things. You didn’t dare look back at Spencer, afraid that any more eye contact might make your carefully held composure shatter completely.

As you stepped past Hotch, you could feel Spencer’s eyes following you, but you kept walking, grateful that the professional nature of the job had given you a way out. You needed distance—space to breathe, to process what had just happened without falling apart in front of him.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. You blinked back the burning sensation in your eyes, your breath unsteady as you hurried toward the briefing room. There was no time to fall apart now. Work was calling, and you had to focus.

When you entered the room, you were greeted by the usual buzz of the team preparing for the case. Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were already seated, chatting about something you couldn’t quite focus on. You forced a smile and took a seat next to JJ, trying to look as though nothing was wrong, as though your heart wasn’t still aching from the conversation with Spencer.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked quietly, giving you a gentle nudge.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... a long day."

She smiled sympathetically, but thankfully didn’t press further. You were grateful. The last thing you needed was more questions when you were barely holding it together.

Moments later, Spencer entered the room, taking a seat across from you. You could feel his presence immediately, your pulse quickening as you glanced down at your notes, doing everything you could to avoid looking at him. He, too, seemed more reserved than usual, his expression unreadable as he set his file down.

Hotch began the briefing, and for the next hour, you did your best to focus on the case. It was difficult—your thoughts kept wandering back to Spencer, to his apology, to the crushing embarrassment of knowing that he was aware of your feelings. Every time he spoke, the sound of his voice sent a pang of sadness through your chest, a reminder of what could never be.

The following days passed in a blur. You immersed yourself in the case, using work as an escape from the overwhelming swirl of emotions you were struggling to contain. You avoided Spencer as much as possible, though it became increasingly difficult with every passing moment. The BAU was a tight-knit team, and it was impossible not to interact with him. Each time you had to speak to him or work alongside him, the tension was palpable, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging between you like an invisible barrier.

Spencer, for his part, remained kind and professional. He didn’t treat you any differently, but the subtle shift in your dynamic was undeniable. He seemed more cautious, more distant, as if he, too, was trying to navigate the awkwardness without making things worse. You wondered if he regretted saying anything at all—if he wished he had kept his analysis to himself.

But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done, and you were left picking up the pieces of your broken heart in silence.

--

Late one evening, after another long day of avoiding eye contact and burying your emotions in paperwork, you found yourself alone in the office. The dim lighting and quiet hum of the computer were a welcome respite from the chaos of the case, but your mind kept drifting back to Spencer. You had tried to push your feelings aside, to forget about that conversation, but it was impossible. The pain lingered, raw and unrelenting.

Just as you were about to pack up and leave, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, tentative.

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing. "Hey," you replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, pretending to be busy.

There was a long pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted him to leave, to let the silence stretch between you until things faded back into some semblance of normalcy. But another part of you—one you hated to admit—wanted him to stay.

“I, uh… I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. "I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant lately."

You let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face him. “Distant? Yeah, well… I guess I thought that might be for the best.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, his expression filled with concern. "I don’t want things to be like this," he admitted. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes filled with that same empathy, and it only made things harder. "I understand if you need space," he said softly. "But I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me."

But you weren’t ready for this conversation. You weren’t ready to confront the tangled mess of emotions that had been suffocating you for days. You couldn’t handle Spencer’s kindness, not now. Not when the wound was still so fresh.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice a little too sharp, a little too defensive. You turned back to the papers on your desk, pretending to be engrossed in work. "There’s nothing to talk about."

Spencer hesitated, clearly not buying your attempt to brush things off. "I know this has been difficult—"

“Spencer, I said I’m fine.” The words came out harsher than you intended, and you winced at the coldness in your tone. You couldn’t look at him, not now, not when the shame was still burning in your chest.

There was a long, tense silence. You could feel his eyes on you, searching for something, but you kept your gaze glued to the papers in front of you, refusing to meet his. You wanted this conversation to be over, for him to stop trying to dissect your feelings like they were just another puzzle to solve.

"I don’t want to push," Spencer said quietly, taking a small step back. "But I can tell you’re struggling. If there’s anything I’ve done—"

“Spencer, please,” you cut him off, your voice almost pleading now. "Let’s just leave it."

You didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to give any hint of what was really going on. You were desperate to keep everything vague and impersonal, to avoid the emotional discussion that was weighing on you. You needed him to walk away, to let the moment pass without probing further.

Spencer stood there, clearly not fully convinced but respecting your wish to drop the subject. "Okay," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "If that’s what you need."

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Yes, that’s what I need."

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your unspoken truth hanging in the air. You could feel his disappointment, the unspoken tension that lingered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. Admitting how you really felt would only make things worse. It would only prolong the pain, and you couldn’t afford that.

Spencer lingered for a moment longer, as if he was about to say something else, but then he nodded quietly. "I’ll let you get back to work," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You simply kept your eyes down, waiting for the sound of his footsteps retreating as he left the room. When the door finally closed behind him, you exhaled sharply, the tension in your body releasing all at once.

You felt sick. Sick with the weight of your own unspoken truth, sick with the realization that you had just pushed him away. The idea of him knowing—of him seeing how much it hurt—was unbearable.

And so, you sat there in the empty office, your heart heavy with the truth you couldn’t bring yourself to say, knowing that, in the end, you were only hurting yourself more.

--

The following days were still a struggle. You continued to immerse yourself in work, using it as a way to avoid confronting your feelings. Spencer was courteous but distant, respecting your need for space. Every time you saw him, the old familiarity was tainted by the unspoken tension.

One afternoon, as you were sorting through case files in the bullpen, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing there, a hesitant look on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Sure, what’s up?”

Spencer took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. The sincerity in his voice was both comforting and heartbreaking. You had spent so much time trying to distance yourself from him, but here he was, offering support in the most genuine way.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really appreciate that.”

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You realized that while you couldn’t bring yourself to discuss your feelings openly, knowing that Spencer cared enough to offer support was a small comfort. It was a reminder that even though things had changed, there was still kindness and understanding between you.

As you went about your work, the ache in your heart was still there, but it was slightly eased by the knowledge that you didn’t have to go through it entirely alone. The journey of healing would take time, but Spencer’s gesture gave you a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, things might eventually find a way back to a semblance of normalcy.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Nobody Cares (Sam Winchester)

Summary: Sam tells you you're not important to him anymore, not when there's a war coming.

Warnings: angst

WC: 886

Read on Ao3!

--

The silence in the bunker was suffocating.

You stood in the middle of the war room, your hands trembling at your sides as the weight of Sam’s words crushed you. You had hoped—no, desperately wished—that they were wrong. That somehow, everything would be okay. But now, standing in front of Sam, your hope was being suffocated by his indifference.

"Nobody’s coming after you," Sam had said, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Disappointment? Fear?

But none of it mattered. The words were final, a cutting blow that left you gasping for air. You couldn’t understand how he could stand there, so calm, so composed, and deliver them with such a cold, dismissive tone.

You had always thought that, no matter what happened, Sam would never be the one to abandon you.

But here you were, standing in the aftermath of that brutal truth.

"Sam," you whispered, barely able to get the word out as your chest tightened, suffocating under the weight of your broken heart. "What are you talking about?"

His face was unreadable, his expression a mask you had never seen before. "You don’t get it, Y/N. You never have."

You shook your head, the confusion building inside you. "What are you saying? Sam, I’m not some… some stranger to you. I’m your partner. I’ve been by your side through everything."

"I know you have." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like this conversation was some sort of tedious chore. "And that’s why it’s so hard to say this."

The words had been building, you could feel them hanging in the air between you, but you didn’t want to believe it. Not from him. Not from Sam.

"Say what?" you croaked, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear.

His eyes softened for just a moment, and for a heartbeat, you thought maybe, just maybe, this conversation would go a different direction. But that fleeting softness was replaced by something else—something colder, something more distant.

"You’re not the priority anymore," Sam said, and the words were like a knife to your chest. "Not for me. Not for Dean. We’re in this fight, and you’re in the way."

You took a step back, your heart shattering with each syllable. "Sam, what are you talking about? We’ve always fought together. We’ve always had each other’s backs."

He shook his head, his jaw clenching tightly as if the words were physically painful for him to say. "Not anymore, Y/N. Dean and I… we’re past the point of worrying about anything but the fight. You’re not part of that anymore. You’re not part of us."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world spun around you. This couldn’t be real.

Sam Winchester, your best friend, the man who had stood beside you through everything, was telling you that you no longer mattered.

The air in the room felt thick with tension as your mind tried to process what had just happened. It was too much.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt impossible. The emotions bubbled to the surface, and the tears that you had been holding back for so long began to fall.

"Sam, you can’t—"

"I can," he interrupted, his voice low and rough. "You don’t get it. You don’t understand what we’re dealing with right now. Dean and I are fighting a war that’s bigger than anything you’ve ever known, and we can’t afford to have any distractions."

You shook your head in disbelief, a desperate laugh escaping your lips as you tried to grasp at the wreckage of your heart. "Distractions? You’re calling me a distraction?"

Sam’s face tightened, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t place. "You’re in danger, Y/N. You always have been. And I can’t keep worrying about you when there’s a war to fight. You’re not my responsibility anymore."

You felt the words hit you like a punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of you. Sam—the same Sam who had always put family first, who had always fought for those he loved—was standing here, telling you that you didn’t matter.

The pain in your chest was overwhelming. You had always known that the life you led with the Winchesters was dangerous, but you had never imagined it would end like this. Alone.

You swallowed hard, fighting against the tears that threatened to consume you. "I never thought I’d hear those words from you, Sam. You… you’re not the person I thought you were."

His expression softened, just for a moment, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

"I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But this is the way it has to be. I can’t keep doing this."

You nodded slowly, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision. "Yeah. I guess this is goodbye then."

Sam didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked away.

And as the sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, the world around you felt emptier than it ever had before.

Because Sam Winchester—the man you had trusted with your life—had just told you that nobody was coming after you.

And that was something you could never come back from.

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 29/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, ANGST, Maybe some triggers (death chances etc.)

Word Count: 8591

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 29 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

The moment the warmth rushed down your thighs and pooled at your feet, the world seemed to stop. You stared down, frozen in place, your breath catching in your throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. Four weeks too early. Too soon. Panic surged through you as a million fears collided in your chest.

“Ben”, you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper, but the crack in it was enough to make him turn instantly. His gaze followed yours to the puddle on the floor, and his face went pale.

“Shit”, he muttered, rushing to your side. His hands were on you in an instant, steadying you as your knees buckled. “Hey, hey—breathe, baby. Look at me”.

You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed glued to the puddle as the enormity of what was happening crashed over you. “She’s not ready”, you whispered, trembling violently. “Ben, she’s not ready. It’s too soon!”.

His hands gripped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His green eyes were fierce, burning with the determination you’d always relied on. “Stop”, he commanded, his voice steady even as his own panic simmered beneath the surface. “You hear me? You don’t get to spiral. Not now”.

“But—”, you started, tears streaming down your face as you clung to his arms. “She won’t survive. I won’t—”.

“You will”, he said sharply, cutting you off as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours. “You both will. I don’t care what the odds are. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re going to fight, just like you promised me. Just like we promised her”.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, his words grounding you even as terror clawed at your throat. “Ben, what if—”.

“No!”, he interrupted again, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “No what-ifs. We’re doing this. Together”.

You nodded shakily, letting him guide you to the couch. Every movement sent sharp pangs through your abdomen, and you knew the contractions weren’t far behind.

Ben didn’t waste a second. “Stay here!”, he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotion in his eyes. He guided you to sit back on the couch, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment before he rushed toward the bedroom. You heard the sounds of drawers being pulled open, zippers being tugged, and the hurried shuffle of his feet as he returned with a fresh pair of pants and your hospital bag.

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you changed”, he said, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands were surprisingly steady as he helped you out of your damp clothes, his every movement careful and deliberate. “I know this feels like chaos right now, but we’ve got this. We’ve planned for this”.

Tears welled in your eyes, and your breath hitched as he gently pulled the fresh pants up your legs, avoiding any sudden movements that might worsen your pain. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this”, you murmured, your voice trembling. “She’s not ready, Ben”.

He looked up at you, his hands pausing for a moment as he met your gaze. “She’s a fighter”, he said softly, his green eyes full of conviction. “Just like her mom. And just like her dad. We’re going to get through this. You both are”.

His words steadied you, if only for a moment. You nodded, wiping at the tears on your cheeks as he finished dressing you and carefully helped you to your feet. You leaned into him, clutching his arm as he led you toward the front door.

“Almost there”, he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. “We’ll be in the car in just a minute”.

By the time you reached the car, your legs were trembling so badly that Ben had to lift you into the passenger seat. His hands were firm yet gentle as he buckled you in, adjusting the belt to sit as comfortably as possible around your swollen belly. “Hold on, baby”, he said softly, brushing a kiss against your forehead before shutting the door and running to the driver’s side.

The tires screeched as he pulled out of the driveway, the hospital bag tossed in the backseat. You clung to the armrest, your other hand pressed against your belly as a contraction tore through you. The streets blurred past the windows, the city lights flashing like distant stars.

“We’re going to the tower”, Ben said, his voice tight with urgency but still steady enough to comfort you. “They’re ready for this. They’ll know what to do”.

You nodded weakly, closing your eyes as the pain threatened to overwhelm you. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. “If something happens to me—”.

“Stop”, he interrupted, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing is going to happen to her. You’re both going to be fine. You hear me?”.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you nodded, unable to argue with the determination in his voice. “I hear you”.

Minutes later, the tower came into view, its lights glowing against the dark sky like a beacon of hope.

Ben pulled into the underground parking lot of the tower, the car skidding to a stop in a space closest to the elevator. Before he even turned off the engine, he was out of the car, moving around to your side. The moment he opened the door, he saw the pain etched across your face and his heart clenched.

“Hold on. We’re almost there”, he said, his voice steady, though his hands trembled slightly as he unbuckled your seatbelt.

When you turned your head, through the haze of pain, you saw Dr. Collins standing near the elevator with two nurses, a gurney ready and waiting. Ben had thought ahead—he’d called on the way, his voice sharp with urgency but clear, ensuring everything was prepared for your arrival.

“Ben”, you whimpered, your breath hitching as another contraction wracked your body.

“I’ve got you”, he murmured, slipping an arm under your knees and another behind your back to lift you effortlessly out of the car. His movements were swift but gentle, his jaw set as he carried you toward the waiting team.

“Alright, let’s get her upstairs. We’ll do an immediate assessment. We’ve prepared a NICU already.. just in case", Dr. Collins mumbled.

Her words were professional, but they hit you like a sledgehammer. Just in case. It was a contingency plan, one you’d prayed you’d never need. You clung to Ben’s shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“She’s going to be fine”, he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt as he lowered you onto the gurney. “Both of you will”.

The nurses secured you quickly, their hands gentle but efficient, and within moments, you were being wheeled toward the elevator. Ben didn’t let go of your hand, walking alongside the gurney as they moved. His presence was a lifeline, his grip anchoring you as you fought to keep your composure.

Dr. Collins stepped into the elevator with you, giving Ben a reassuring look as she spoke. “We’ll monitor her vitals closely and keep you updated every step of the way. You’re in good hands”.

Ben´s gaze flicking between you and the doctor. “I’m not leaving her”.

“No one’s asking you to”, Dr. Collins replied with a small nod.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, the sterile hum of the machinery broken only by the sound of your labored breaths and the faint murmur of the nurses discussing preparations. Ben leaned close, his forehead brushing yours as he whispered, “Breathe with me, sweetheart. In and out. That’s it”.

You did your best to follow his lead, focusing on his steady presence rather than the sharp waves of pain radiating through your body. The doors slid open to reveal a team waiting in the hospital suite, everything prepped and ready to go.

As they wheeled you in, Ben kissed your forehead again, his voice low and resolute. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere”.

Dr. Collins took charge, issuing instructions as the nurses moved swiftly to transfer you onto the delivery bed. Monitors were attached, your vitals checked, and the room became a whirlwind of activity. Through it all, Ben never let go of your hand, his presence a constant in the chaos.

As another contraction hit, sharp and unrelenting, you cried out, your grip tightening on Ben’s hand.

Dr. Collins stepped to your side, her expression calm but focused. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep you both safe. But we need to move quickly. Are you ready?”.

You nodded through the haze of pain, your free hand instinctively going to your belly. “Do whatever it takes”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just save her”.

Ben’s hand tightened around yours, his voice low and fierce. “They’re saving both of you. You hear me? Both of you”.

His words carried a conviction so strong that for a moment, you let yourself believe it, holding onto his strength as the team prepared for what came next.

The last hour had been a blur of pain, fear, and sharp commands from Dr. Collins and the nurses. Every contraction felt like it might split you in two, but still, you weren’t allowed to push. Dr. Collins kept coming to your side, her calm but stern voice telling you to hold on just a little longer as she checked your progress.

You barely registered her actions as she adjusted the monitors, checked your vitals, and injected a smaller dose of the V Medication into your IV line. “This should stabilize her heart rate and ease the strain on her system”, she explained to the nurse, but you could feel the tension in her voice. The words barely registered as you clung to Ben’s hand, trying to breathe through another wave of contractions.

Ben, however, wasn’t as calm. His green eyes burned with frustration and worry as he hovered over you, his other hand pressed against your forehead to brush away the sweat that had gathered there.

Dr. Collins leaned over you, her eyes scanning the monitors before she looked at Ben and then back to you. Her expression was serious but composed, as if she were trying to mask the gravity of the situation. “This isn’t going to be a normal birth”, she said finally, her voice steady. “Not with your body in the condition it’s in”.

You tensed, gripping Ben’s hand tighter as fear clawed at your chest. “What does that mean?”, you rasped, your voice barely audible over the beeping monitors.

Dr. Collins sighed, glancing briefly at the nurse beside her before returning her gaze to you. “The process itself is normal, technically speaking. Your baby is in position, and your contractions are progressing. For many women, this phase of labor can last for hours. But in your case…”, She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Your body is already under immense stress. The V Medication is helping, but it’s only a temporary solution. We need to get her out sooner rather than later to minimize the risks to both of you”.

Dr. Collins placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her tone softening slightly as she continued. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to administer a medication to help speed up the dilation process and fully open you up. It’ll prepare your body for delivery as quickly as possible so we can get the baby out safely”.

You nodded weakly, though fear gripped your chest like a vice. “Will it hurt?”, you whispered, your voice trembling as another contraction rippled through your body, making you cry out softly.

“It may intensify the contractions”, Dr. Collins admitted, her expression apologetic. “But we’ll manage the pain as much as we can. The priority is delivering your baby as safely and quickly as possible”.

Ben’s hand tightened around yours, his voice sharp but not unkind. “Is this safe for her? For both of them?”.

Dr. Collins turned to him, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s the best option we have right now. Time isn’t on our side, and we need to move quickly. I promise you, I’m doing everything I can to minimize the risks”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline as he turned to Dr. Collins, his voice sharp and on edge. “Why not a C-section?”, he demanded, his green eyes blazing with frustration and fear. “Why are we putting her through this? Just get the baby out!”.

Dr. Collins didn’t flinch, her professional demeanor unshaken as she looked him in the eye. “Because a C-section isn’t possible in her case”, she said calmly but firmly. “Not with the unique situation we’re dealing with”.

“What the fuck does that mean?”, Ben snapped, his voice rising. “What’s stopping you?”.

Dr. Collins sighed, casting a quick glance at you before speaking, her voice measured but empathetic. “You know your baby isn’t… standard”, she said carefully. “With a supe baby, the risks of a surgical delivery are exponentially higher. Her bone density, even at this stage, is far stronger than that of a typical newborn. A surgical incision could damage your her internal organs if the baby reacts defensively".

Ben blinked, his mouth falling open slightly as her words sank in. “So what—you’re saying this is the only way? That she has to go through this, no matter what?”.

Dr. Collins nodded. “Yes. A natural delivery is the safest option—for both mother and baby. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but this isn’t a decision we’ve made lightly. We’re working to keep them both alive, and this is the best chance we have”.

You squeezed Ben’s hand weakly, pulling his attention back to you. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “It’s okay. I can do this”.

“No!”, he said immediately. “It’s not okay. This isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to—”.

“But I do”, you interrupted, your voice stronger now, even as your body trembled with the effort. “I have to. For her. For us”.

Ben closed his eyes as he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“You’re here”, you said, your voice soft but firm. “That’s all I need”.

Dr. Collins stepped forward, her voice calm but urgent. “We need to move now. The medication is already working. You���re progressing faster than expected. It’s time to start pushing”.

Ben wiped at his face quickly, forcing himself to pull it together as he looked down at you. “You’ve got this”, he murmured, his voice steadier now.

You nodded, clutching his hand as another contraction hit, sharper and more intense than before. “I’ll try”, you whispered through gritted teeth.

“No”, Ben said fiercely, leaning closer so his forehead pressed against yours. “You don’t try—you do. You fight, just like you always have. You promised me. You promised her”.

Dr. Collins moved into position, her hands steady as she prepared for the delivery. “Alright, let’s do this”, she said, her voice sharp and commanding. “With the next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can. We’re bringing this baby into the world”.

As the next contraction hit, you bore down with every ounce of strength you had left. But then it happened—a sharp, sickening crack echoed through the room, followed immediately by a searing, unimaginable pain that tore through your body. A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, the sound of agony escaping before you even realized it.

Dr. Collins froze for a fraction of a second, her sharp instincts kicking in as she muttered, “That was the hipbone”. Her face tightened as she instantly barked out orders. “Get me another dose of the V. Now!”, she snapped at a nurse, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. The nurse moved quickly, her hands steady despite the tension in the room.

Tears streamed down your face, and your vision blurred as the pain radiated outward from your hip, mingling with the already overwhelming agony of labor. Your body was a battlefield, each part screaming in protest as you struggled to keep going. The V medication burned like fire in your veins as the nurse injected it into your IV, the sensation almost as unbearable as the pain itself.

“I’m here, (Y/N), I’m here”, Ben’s voice broke through the haze, low and trembling with helpless desperation. He clung to your hand as though he could transfer his strength into you.

But you couldn’t tell what hurt more—the relentless waves of labor, the fiery burn of the V surging through your veins, or the white-hot pain from your shattered hipbone. Everything blurred together into a cacophony of torment, your body fighting against itself as you struggled to bring your baby into the world.

“I can’t”, you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Ben, I can’t—”.

“Yes, you can”, he said firmly, his voice breaking but resolute. “Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart”. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re not giving up. Not now. Not when you’re this close. You’ve got this. You do”.

“I—”, you sobbed, your body convulsing as another contraction gripped you. The pain was unbearable, tearing through you like a storm.

"Come on, another push”, Dr. Collins urged, her voice cutting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. “You’re so close. The head is crowning”.

You sobbed, trembling with the effort as you clung to Ben’s hand, his steady grip the only thing grounding you. The fire in your veins from the V medication clashed with the excruciating pain radiating from your shattered hipbone, but you knew you had to push. You had to keep going.

Gritting your teeth, you gathered what little strength you had left and bore down. But as you did, an ear-piercing crack filled the room, followed by another and another, sharp and sickening. The pain ripped through your chest, and you screamed, your voice breaking as it echoed off the sterile walls.

Dr. Collins froze for a moment, her face going pale as she muttered under her breath, “More V. Now!”.

The nurse hesitated for a split second, her hands shaking as she prepared another dose of the volatile medication. The fire in your veins intensified as the V was injected, and for a moment, the room spun. Your body felt like it was on the verge of tearing itself apart.

Ben was barely holding it together. His face was a mask of desperation and fury as he looked from you to Dr. Collins, his voice breaking as he yelled, “She can’t fucking take more of this! Do something, for fuck’s sake!”.

“We’re doing everything we can!”, Dr. Collins snapped, her voice tight with focus as she monitored your vitals. “She’s too far along. We’re almost there. One more push, and the baby will be out”.

But then the heart monitor next to you spiked, the alarm blaring as your heart rate climbed to levels that should have been impossible. The nurse froze, her face pale as she turned to Dr. Collins. “Her heart—”.

“I know!”, Dr. Collins cut her off, her tone sharp. “We don’t have time. One more push, and we can stabilize her after”.

Your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the pain reached an unbearable crescendo. Your body screamed for relief, for rest, but you knew there was no stopping now. You had to push. For her. For Ben. For the life you’d fought so hard to bring into the world.

Ben leaned closer, his hands cupping your face as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Sweetheart, listen to me”, he said, his voice breaking but fierce. “This is it. Just one more. One more push, and she’ll be here. You can do this. Please, baby. Just one more”.

You nodded weakly, tears mixing with sweat as you locked eyes with him. His belief in you was the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment. Gathering every ounce of strength left in your shattered body, you bore down, screaming through the agony as you pushed with everything you had.

“The head’s out!”, Dr. Collins shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. “Just a little more. One final push”.

“I can’t”, you sobbed, your body trembling violently, but Ben shook his head, his voice fierce and desperate.

“Yes, you can”, he said, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You will. You’re almost there. Just one more, sweetheart. One more”.

With a guttural scream, you pushed one last time, the pain so blinding it felt like you might pass out. And then, suddenly, the pressure released, and the sound of a baby’s cry filled the room.

“She’s out!”, Dr. Collins announced, holding up the tiny, wriggling baby. Her voice was laced with both relief and urgency as she quickly handed the baby to a nurse for evaluation. “She’s breathing”.

The moment Dr. Collins handed the baby to the nurse, everything shifted. Your body collapsed back against the bed, limp, lifeless. The room blurred into chaos as the flatline from the heart monitor pierced the air, the steady rhythm replaced by a single, shrill tone.

Ben’s hand was still wrapped tightly around yours when he noticed your grip falter. His sharp eyes flicked to your face—pale, unmoving. His stomach twisted into a knot. “Hey!”, he said, his voice low but edged with alarm. “Don’t pull this shit. Wake up!”.

No response. His jaw tightened, his grip on your hand unrelenting as he turned his attention to Dr. Collins.

“Her heart’s stopped”, the nurse shouted, already moving to start compressions.

“Fix it!”, Ben barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Right now!”.

Dr. Collins didn’t flinch under his glare. “We’re on it”, she said sharply, taking control of the room. “Start CPR! Push epinephrine! Let’s move!”.

The nurse jumped onto the bed, her hands pressing down on your chest in a steady rhythm. Your fragile body jerked with every compression, but Ben didn’t waver. His eyes were locked on your face, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. His free hand ran through his hair, the tension rolling off him in waves.

“You don’t get to quit”, he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Not after everything you’ve been through. Not now”.

Another nurse injected a fresh dose of epinephrine into your IV line, the room buzzing with urgency as Dr. Collins monitored your vitals. The flatline persisted, the sound digging into Ben’s ears like nails on a chalkboard.

The sound of the baby’s cries echoed from the corner of the room, high-pitched and desperate, but Ben didn’t even glance in that direction. His focus was locked on you, his jaw clenched tight enough to grind steel as the flatline persisted, stabbing into his ears. The chaos around him was deafening—nurses barking commands, the rhythmic thud of compressions on your chest, the baby wailing—but none of it mattered. The only thing he saw was you, lying pale and still, as though life itself had abandoned you.

“You don’t get to check out on me. You hear me?”, he growled, his voice low but sharp, aimed entirely at you.

Dr. Collins worked frantically, barking orders while keeping an eye on the monitor. “Push harder”, she commanded the nurse performing CPR. “We still have a chance. Don’t stop”.

“You promised me”, he said, his tone carrying the weight of a command. “You don’t break promises, do you? You don’t give up. You’ve fought through worse than this”.

The baby’s cries grew louder, but still Ben didn’t waver, his eyes scanning your face for even the smallest sign of movement. Nothing. His chest tightened, the weight of helplessness gnawing at his core. He hated this feeling, hated it more than anything. He was the one who told you you’d make it, who swore that you were strong enough to survive. Now it felt like those words were slipping through his fingers along with your life.

“It’s your fight now. And you’re not a quitter. You don’t get to quit on me, on her”, Ben gestured sharply toward the crying baby without looking, his voice rough but steady. “She needs you. I need you. So get your fucking ass back here”.

For a moment, there was nothing but the relentless beep of the flatline. Ben’s grip on your hand tightened again, his jaw set like stone as he refused to look away, refused to give in to the gnawing fear creeping up his spine. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Then—finally—a faint, broken beep sounded from the monitor.

“Got it!”, one of the nurses called out. “We’ve got a rhythm!”.

Dr. Collins’ head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto the monitor. “It’s weak, but it’s there”, she said quickly, already issuing new orders to stabilize you. “Keep her going. Let’s stabilize her and prep for ICU”.

Ben didn’t move, his hand still gripping yours like a lifeline. His jaw relaxed just a fraction, and the slightest flicker of relief passed over his face.

Your breathing was shallow, your chest barely moving, but the faint rhythm on the monitor was enough for the medical team to spring into action. Ben stayed rooted beside you, his hand never leaving yours as they worked to stabilize you.

The baby’s cries quieted in the background as one of the nurses approached with her, swaddled and calm. “She’s alright”, the nurse said cautiously, holding the baby close.

Ben glanced over, just briefly, his expression hard to read. He nodded, his eyes flickering back to you as the nurse hesitated. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even when the nurse stood a few feet away, holding the baby. His baby. The tiny, swaddled figure that had caused all of this.

The thought clawed at his chest, a mix of anger and guilt boiling under the surface. You were in this position because of him. Because you carried his child. You’d fought for months, your body breaking piece by piece, all because he had been too stubborn to see the risks. And now, as you lay there with your life hanging by a thread, the full weight of it crashed down on him.

“Sir…”, the nurse said hesitantly, holding the baby closer. “Do you want to—”.

“No!”, Ben snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the nurse flinch. His eyes didn’t leave your face, his grip on your hand tightening. “I’m not leaving her”.

The nurse hesitated, then quietly stepped back toward the other corner of the room, her eyes darting between him and Dr. Collins, who was still focused on stabilizing your vitals. The tension in the room was thick, oppressive, but Ben didn’t care. The baby could wait. Everything could wait. All that mattered was you.

Your chest rose and fell shallowly, the faint rhythm on the monitor the only sign you were still fighting. Ben’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, his touch almost gentle despite the frustration simmering beneath his exterior.

Dr. Collins glanced up briefly, her expression grim but focused. “She’s stable for now”, she said, her voice tight. “But her condition is critical. We need to move her to the ICU immediately”.

Ben straightened slightly, his broad shoulders taut as he stared down at you. “Then move her”, he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do. Just make sure she fucking stays alive”.

Dr. Collins nodded, motioning for the team to prepare the transport. As they worked to secure you for transport, Ben finally turned his head, just slightly, toward the nurse holding the baby. His gaze flickered to the tiny figure, her small face scrunched in confusion as she let out a soft whimper. The sight made something twist in his chest—something raw and unfamiliar—but he quickly shoved it down.

“I’ll look at her when she’s ready to see her mom”, he said gruffly, turning his attention back to you. “Not before”.

The nurse nodded silently, stepping back again as the team began to wheel you out of the room. Ben followed without hesitation, his hand still gripping yours, his presence as unyielding as ever.

As they moved through the hallway, his voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you. “You’re going to wake up, sweetheart. And when you do, we’ll figure the rest of this out. Together. But don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you fucking dare”.

His words were a promise, a command, and maybe even a prayer, though he’d never admit it. Ben didn’t know what came next, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

Hours dragged by in agonizing silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of the monitors tracking your vitals. Ben sat slouched in the chair beside your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand still wrapped tightly around yours. He hadn’t moved in hours, his green eyes fixed on you, unblinking. He looked like a soldier on a stakeout—tired, tense, but laser-focused. Not once had he checked his phone to text your parents or anyone else. None of them mattered right now. Only you.

Every so often, his grip on your hand would tighten as if daring you to let go, as if willing you to stay tethered to him. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, most of them sharp and bitter. He hated the helplessness, the fact that he couldn’t fight this battle for you. But more than anything, he hated the small, nagging voice at the back of his mind whispering that he might lose you.

When Dr. Collins came into the room for the sixth time, Ben straightened in his seat, his sharp gaze snapping to her like a hawk locking onto its prey. “What’s the update?”, he asked immediately, his voice gruff but steady.

Dr. Collins glanced at the monitors, her expression softening just a fraction. “She’s passed the most critical hours”, she said, her tone calm but encouraging. “Her vitals are stabilizing. The V has done its job—her broken bones are healing, and her internal injuries are no longer life-threatening”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his grip on your hand relaxing just slightly. “But?”,

Dr. Collins sighed, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter. “She’s still weak. Her body’s been through hell, and the pain meds are dosed pretty high. When she wakes up—and she will wake up—she’s going to be disoriented. Probably dizzy, confused, and definitely not herself for a while. But she’s made it this far, and that’s a good sign”.

Ben nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing by the smallest fraction, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “How long?”, he asked, his voice low. “Until she wakes up?”.

“That depends on her”, Dr. Collins replied. “It could be a few hours or a full day. Right now, her body just needs rest. And when she does wake up, she’ll need time to recover. Physically and emotionally”.

Ben huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head. “She doesn’t do ‘rest’ well”, he muttered, half to himself. “Stubborn as hell”.

Dr. Collins smiled faintly. “Then you’ll need to remind her it’s not a choice”.

He didn’t respond, his focus already back on you. Dr. Collins stayed for another moment, watching him silently before finally excusing herself. “Let me know the moment there’s any change”, she said, but she didn’t expect a response. She didn’t get one.

Ben didn’t move, didn’t look away from you as the hours continued to tick by. The soft, even beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the room. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. He looked rough—exhausted, even—but his gaze never wavered.

The soft creak of the door opening drew Ben’s attention, though his expression didn’t change. His sharp gaze flicked toward the nurse from earlier as she stepped in, her hesitance evident in every movement. She held your daughter carefully, the tiny bundle swaddled tightly and impossibly small. In her other hand, she carried a bottle of formula. The baby was sleeping soundly, her soft breathing barely audible over the hum of the machines monitoring you.

Ben straightened slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he watched the nurse approach. “What is it?”, he asked gruffly, his voice low and edged with impatience.

The nurse stopped a few feet away, her grip tightening protectively around the baby. “I—I thought…”, she began, her voice uncertain as she glanced between Ben and you. “It’s been a while. She needs to eat. I thought maybe… you’d want to—”.

“No”, Ben cut her off, his tone sharp and final. His gaze shifted back to you, his grip on your hand tightening.

The nurse hesitated, clearly uneasy as she shifted the baby in her arms. “She´s your daugther and she needs you right now. And… well, her mom would want her to be cared for”, she tried again, her tone softer, almost pleading.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his free hand flexing at his side as he stared down at you. The weight of the nurse’s words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. He didn’t look at her, didn’t look at the baby. He couldn’t. Every time he so much as thought about it, the gnawing guilt clawed at his chest like a live wire.

"She´s hungry", the nurse tried again, stepping closer.

Ben’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw working as he swallowed hard. His eyes flicked briefly to the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms before snapping back to you. For a long moment, he didn’t move, the tension in his body palpable.

Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose and stood, towering over the nurse as he extended his arms. “Fine”, he said curtly, his voice gruff.

The nurse quickly stepped forward, carefully placing the tiny, swaddled baby into Ben’s massive arms. For a moment, he sat there stiffly, glaring down at the little bundle like it was a ticking bomb. His arms didn’t move, his hands hovering awkwardly around her as if one wrong twitch might shatter her into pieces.

The baby scrunched up her face, letting out a tiny whimper as she squirmed in his hold, clearly uncomfortable. Ben’s brow furrowed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “The fuck do I do now?”, he muttered, glaring at the nurse as though this was all her fault. “She doesn’t look like she wants some stupid milk”.

The nurse stifled a smile, stepping closer to adjust his hold. “You need to support her head more”, she said gently, guiding one of his hands to cradle the baby’s neck. “Like this. And hold her close. She needs to feel secure”.

Ben scowled but didn’t resist, shifting his grip reluctantly as the nurse adjusted him. The baby stopped squirming after a moment, her tiny body settling against his chest as she let out a soft sigh.

“Yeah, great”, Ben grumbled, glancing down at her. “She’s quiet now. But what about when she starts crying again? Or puking or whatever babies do?”.

The nurse handed him the bottle, her expression a mix of patience and amusement. “Right now, she just needs to eat. Hold the bottle like this”, she demonstrated, angling it toward the baby’s mouth. “She’ll know what to do”.

Ben hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line as he stared at the bottle like it might explode. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he followed the nurse’s instructions, bringing the bottle to the baby’s mouth. To his surprise, she latched onto it immediately, her tiny lips working to drink the formula.

“Well, I’ll be fucking damned”, he muttered under his breath, his green eyes narrowing as he watched her. “Guess she does know what she’s doing”.

The nurse smiled. “She’s hungry. You’re doing fine”.

“Yeah, sure”, Ben muttered, his gaze flicking briefly to you before settling back on the baby. His expression was hard to read—equal parts frustration, guilt, and a strange, reluctant softness. “Not exactly what I signed up for, you know. This whole… baby-holding thing”.

The nurse nodded but didn’t comment, stepping back to give him space. Ben’s focus stayed on the baby, his brows furrowed as she continued to feed. She was so small, barely more than a handful in his massive arms, but the weight of her was immense. Every twitch, every tiny movement reminded him of why you were lying in that bed, pale and broken.

“You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?”, he said quietly, his tone gruff but oddly gentle. “But I guess that makes sense. You’ve got her blood in you. Stubborn little thing”.

The baby’s tiny hand twitched, her fingers brushing against his chest. Ben froze for a moment, staring at her in disbelief before shaking his head. “Yeah, alright”, he muttered. “You’ve got a good grip. That’s a start”.

Your baby stirred in Ben’s arms, her tiny face scrunching slightly as her eyes fluttered open. They were wide, unfocused, and impossibly bright. Ben froze, staring down at her, his grip instinctively tightening to keep her steady. For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but then it hit him—she already looked like you.

Sure, she was scrunched up, her face still raw and wrinkled from the early birth, but there was no denying it. The shape of her little nose, the delicate curve of her lips—it was you, in miniature. And those eyes, though too new to hold any recognition, had the same depth, the same spark that always seemed to cut right through him.

Something in Ben twisted, sharp and undeniable, as if someone had punched him square in the chest. His heart skipped, then pounded harder, faster, like his body was reacting before his brain could catch up. He didn’t know what the hell this feeling was, and he sure as hell didn’t like it. But it was there, clawing its way into him and taking hold.

“Well, shit”, he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a growl. His green eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time in hours, he wasn’t thinking about guilt or fear or what-ifs. He was just… staring. “You’ve got her eyes”, he said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s not fair. You’re already pulling fucking stunts”.

The baby blinked slowly, her tiny hand twitching against his chest, and Ben swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to do with this—this tiny, fragile thing that had flipped his world upside down in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t soft, wasn’t the guy who sat around cooing at babies or holding hands. And yet, here he was, cradling this tiny, stubborn miracle who looked so much like the woman he couldn’t live without.

His jaw tightened as he glanced at you, still lying pale and motionless in the hospital bed. “You’d better wake up soon”, he muttered, his voice rough. “Because I’m not doing this on my own. You hear me? She’s already got me wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing”.

The baby’s tiny lips parted in a soft sigh, her little chest rising and falling against his. Ben shook his head, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re a pain in the ass, just like your mom”, he murmured, though his voice had lost its usual edge. “But I guess that means you’ll turn out alright”.

The nurse, who had been standing silently near the door, cleared her throat gently, drawing Ben’s attention. “She’s responding really well to the feeding”, she said softly, smiling faintly. “You’re doing a great job”.

Ben snorted, his gaze flicking back to the baby. “Yeah, well, don’t start handing out fucking gold stars just yet”, he muttered, though there was no heat in his tone. “I’m just keeping her alive until her mom gets her shit together”.

The nurse stepped forward cautiously, her movements calm and measured, like she was approaching a wild animal that might lash out at any moment. “She’s finished the bottle”, she said gently, gesturing toward the baby. “You’re going to need to burp her now”.

Ben’s eyes flicked down to the tiny bundle in his arms, then back to the nurse. “Burp her?”, he repeated, his voice sharp with skepticism. “She’s not a fucking beer-drinking buddy. What am I supposed to do?”.

The nurse stifled a smile, clearly used to dealing with this kind of resistance. “It’s important”, she said patiently. “Babies need to burp after feeding, or they’ll get uncomfortable. Here, I’ll show you”.

Ben scowled but didn’t argue as the nurse stepped closer. “Alright”, she said, her tone still calm. “You’ll need to adjust your hold. Bring her up higher, like this”. She carefully guided his hands, moving the baby so that her tiny head rested against his broad shoulder. Ben stiffened at the adjustment, clearly unsure about the whole process.

The nurse continued, unfazed by his obvious discomfort. “Now, use your other hand to pat her back gently. Just a steady rhythm—not too hard, not too soft”.

Ben raised an eyebrow but followed her instructions, his massive hand moving to rest on the baby’s tiny back. He gave her a few awkward pats, the sound of his hand connecting with the soft blanket almost comically out of place in the tense silence of the room.

“Like that?”, he asked, his tone skeptical. “Doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything”.

“Keep going”, the nurse said with a small smile. “It takes a minute sometimes”.

Ben muttered something under his breath but continued, his large hand gently patting the baby’s back. She squirmed slightly against his shoulder, her tiny body shifting as she let out a soft hiccup. Ben froze, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced at the nurse.

“That it?”, he asked, his voice still gruff but with a hint of curiosity.

The nurse shook her head. “Almost. She’s getting there. Just a little more”.

Ben sighed and kept going, his movements becoming slightly less awkward as he found a rhythm. After a few more pats, the baby let out a tiny burp, followed by a soft cooing sound. Ben stopped immediately, his hand hovering over her back as he stared at her in disbelief.

“There”, the nurse said, her smile widening. “You did it”.

Ben huffed, his lips pressing into a tight line as he glanced down at the baby. “Yeah, great. Now what? She gonna spit up all over me or something?”.

“She might”, the nurse said with a chuckle. “But it looks like she’s pretty content now. You’re doing fine, Soldier Boy".

The nurse gently guided Ben as he settled the baby back into a more comfortable position in his arms, her tiny body cradled against his broad chest. “If you need anything, just ring”, the nurse said softly, her smile warm but cautious as she stepped back. “You’re doing better than most dads their first time. Trust me”.

Ben rolled his eyes, but his grip on the baby remained steady.

The nurse left quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. The room fell silent again, save for the steady hum of the monitors and the baby’s soft, rhythmic breathing. Ben stared down at her, his expression skeptical but not unkind. She was so damn small. He could practically hold her in one hand, and yet somehow, she’d managed to upend his entire life in just a matter of hours.

“Alright, kid”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “You’ve had your bottle, you’ve burped. What now? You gonna start crying, or are you gonna let me sit here in peace?”.

As if in response, the baby’s face scrunched up again, her tiny features twisting as she squirmed slightly in his arms. Ben raised an eyebrow, watching her warily. “What’s that look for?”, he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not gonna puke, are you? ‘Cause I’m not cleaning that shit up”.

But instead of crying or spitting up, the baby let out a soft, squeaky fart. Ben froze for a second, staring at her in disbelief, before a snort escaped him. He tried to stifle it, but it was no use. A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, low and unexpected, as he shook his head.

“Well, that’s one way to make an impression”, he muttered, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. “Guess you’re not as fucking delicate as you look, huh?”.

The baby shifted again, her tiny fist brushing against his chest as she settled back into sleep. Ben stared at her for a long moment, his smirk fading into something quieter, almost contemplative. She looked so peaceful now, her little face soft and relaxed, completely unaware of the chaos she’d caused.

It was the faintest stir that pulled Ben’s attention away from the baby dozing in his arms. At first, he thought he was imagining it, his tired mind playing tricks on him after hours of waiting. But then it happened again—a subtle twitch of your fingers, a small shift of your head against the pillow.

Ben straightened instantly, his sharp green eyes locking onto you as his entire body tensed. “(Y/N)?”, he said, his voice low but urgent, cutting through the quiet hum of the room. “Come on, wake up”.

You stirred again, your eyelids fluttering weakly before they cracked open. The bright hospital lights above made you wince, and you let out a soft, groggy noise as you tried to make sense of where you were. Everything felt heavy, your body sluggish and numb from the medication coursing through your veins.

As Ben looked down at you, his sharp green eyes softened in a way that rarely happened. The weight of the past hours—no, the past months—seemed to crash over him all at once. You were awake. Alive. Against all odds, you’d made it. For a split second, a tear welled up in his eye and slid down his cheek before he quickly swiped it away with the back of his hand, muttering under his breath, “Damn room’s too dry”.

He shifted slightly, as his free one moved to the call button. “You hang tight”, he said gruffly, his voice carrying a faint tremor that betrayed the sheer relief coursing through him. “I’m getting Collins to check you over. Can’t have you going down again after all this”.

He pressed the button again and within moments, Dr. Collins appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting to one of relief the moment she saw you awake.

“Well, there you are”, she said warmly, stepping into the room with her clipboard in hand. “You’ve had quite the ordeal. How are you feeling?”.

You blinked up at her, your voice hoarse as you replied, “T… Ti.. Tired”.

Dr. Collins nodded, her gaze flicking to the monitors before she moved closer to the bed. “That’s normal. Your body’s been through a lot, and the pain meds are still in your system. Let’s take a closer look”.

As Dr. Collins began her examination, Ben still hovered near the bed.

“You’re stabilizing well”, Dr. Collins said after a few minutes, her tone encouraging. “Your vitals are strong, and the V medication did a remarkable job repairing the fractures. You’ll be weak for a while, but as long as you rest and take it slow, there’s no reason you won’t make a full recovery”.

Ben exhaled sharply, his jaw relaxing as the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. “So, she’s out of the woods?”, he asked, his tone clipped but tinged with something softer.

Dr. Collins nodded, glancing at him briefly before turning her attention back to you. “Yes, but she’s still healing. That means no overexerting yourself. And plenty of help from him”, she added, looking pointedly at Ben.

Ben snorted, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. She’s not lifting a damn finger till I say so”.

You let out a weak laugh, the sound hoarse but genuine as you looked up at him.

“You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. Don’t think I’m letting you off easy”.

Dr. Collins chuckled softly, straightening as she finished her examination. “You’re in good hands”, she said warmly. “I’ll be back later to check in, but for now, just rest. You’ve earned it”.

As she left the room, Ben moved closer again. “You scared the shit out of me”, he muttered, his voice lower now, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.

You looked up at him, your eyes soft despite the exhaustion etched into your face. “I’m sorry”, you whispered. “I didn’t want to leave you. Either of you”.

Ben shook his head, his jaw tightening as he glanced away for a moment. “Yeah, well… you didn’t. That’s what matters”. He hesitated, then looked back at you, his expression more vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “You’re tougher than anyone I’ve ever known, you know that?”.

A faint smile curved your lips as you gazed down at the baby in Ben´s arms.

"I wan´t to hold her".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219

[alchemistc]

visions are seldom all they seem

an: warning for a hint of dubcon hidden in amongst tommy's memories

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That's a fucking fairytale if he's ever heard one. Tommy's had enough friends brought back from the brink, enough experiences of his own, to know that it's a crock.

When you die, you...die. You're there, and then you're not.

Tommy's legs are pinned, and there's smoke filling the cabin, and the last thing he'd said to Evan before he walked out the door was "Tell your father thank you, but I'm happily involved with a younger man."

There's something poetic about all of this, Tommy thinks, as he watches Garrett stumble to his feet, just beyond the door he'd managed to break loose to Tommy's left. Tommy hates poetry. Not necessarily as a general rule, but there's a lot of pretentious shit out there, and this feels pretentious. Maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"Kinard!"

Garrett's coming around the other side, lopsided and limping, but still pushing.

Thank fuck they hadn't been carrying passengers. He's pretty sure one of the blades had sliced clean through the hull behind him. He can't really look - there's something caught in his belt, pinning his back to the seat, and he's got one arm too fucked to reach for the blade strapped to his hip, and another that wouldn't reach if he tried. He's losing blood, he's losing time. He's done the math.

"Kinard!" Garrett's not having much luck with Tommy's door, which makes sense. The landing skid had done good work with the whole right side of the bird. Tommy's pretty sure the aftermath of that piece of work is the reason he can't move his fucking legs.

There are tools, somewhere nearby, that might have been useful, if Tommy hadn't used Garrett's clear concussion against him in an effort to get Garrett the fuck out.

It's funny, though. Funny that this is the way he goes. Not in the initial crash, which they'd somehow both survived. Not even from the blood loss, though Tommy guesses the coroner will have something to say about that being a mitigating factor. Probably won't even be the fire, which Garrett seems to have banked, a bit, with the extinguisher he'd scrounged from - somewhere. No. Four tours and a dozen plus years as a firefighter and it's the smoke that's gonna get him.

The windscreen is cracked. If Tommy wasn't in the midst of dying, he'd probably be thinking up the most professional way to tell his superiors that his windscreen isn't supposed to fucking spiderweb out like that, but -

Garrett's got the extinguisher in hand again, which is a nice thought, except he'd watched him drain it earlier. But he's not -

Tommy flinches when the canister makes contact with the windscreen and it cracks a little more.

He wishes he'd texted something better to Evan than a thumbs up emoji in response to his "Be safe" text. Gonna look real fucking ironic in a few minutes, here.

The glass webs out further when the canister makes contact again, and over the crackle as the flames kick back up, Tommy realizes that Garrett's yelling at him. Has been, for a while now, most likely. He can't really hear it, or contextualize it, but he's definitely yelling.

Something cracks. A few shards of glass sprinkle on down towards his knees. Garrett's voice gets louder. "--uckley's gonna kill me if I fuck up your pretty blue eyes, fuckhead, so close them right fucking now, Kinard!"

It's not like he has anything better to do than take orders. He follows his instructions.

The windscreen doesn't shatter - it's built not to - but a second later Garrett's got something wedged into the seal, tearing at it now that the things mangled enough not to be airtight, and Tommy isn't sure where he'd gotten a crowbar, or how the fuck he'd climbed the nose with a bum leg, but he's a little glad he'll be too dead to get the lecture from Garrett's wife on making sure his copilot doesn't do dumb shit.

"-kill you to - little leverage wouldn't - 'mon Kinard - 'mme something to work -"

Tommy's flagging. He can't really breathe, anymore. There's chance the impact shattered a rib or two.

The windscreen actually folds, under the leverage from outside, but Garrett still doesn't know Tommy's pinned. He'd have had a better chance if Garrett had just worked the fire, but Tommy doesn't plan to tell him that. As it is, he sucks in smoke and blinks through the haze as Garrett folds the windscreen farther back. "Hold on, Kinard!"

Tommy laughs. "Not going anywhere," he says, which aren't the last words he'd have chosen for himself, an hour ago, but - seems fitting, anyway. He gets a feeble cough out, and then things go blurry.

"Fuck you, Tommy," isn't the last thing he ever expected to hear, either, but - well. Today's been FUBAR since he took the chopper up, so.

Fuck you, Tommy it is.

---

The field behind his grandparents house is loud, in the soggy twilight - frogs and crickets and cicadas, a cacophony of noise.

Oh, Tommy's absolutely gonna be pissed if all his friends just didn't get far enough into dying for the flashbacks. It's not like he could have asked any of the ones who'd actually kicked the can, of course, and Tommy'd never been actually all the way dead before. Just - on the brink.

This isn't anything like Evan had described.

Tommy turns. And there's nonna, in her sapphire blue muumuu, flicked with gold trim, grey hair permed within an inch of its life. He can smell the romas she must have brought in from the sun at dusk, and the espresso poured into her fancy china next to her porch chairs - a rocking chair he'd never had a chance to fix up for her before she'd been gone, the Adirondack he'd stopped fitting into when he sprouted six inches the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Nonna grins.

Tommy watches a firebug flit by him.

He blinks, and Nonna raises an eyebrow at him - the same way she'd done the first time he tried to lie about where he'd gotten the bruise on his chin, or why his knuckles were scabbed over, or what he thought of the model on her favorite set of dog eared bodice rippers.

Tommy isn't sure what he could possibly be lying about right now, but he doesn't get a chance to ask. Between one blink and the next the night, the frogs, and Nonna's back porch are gone.

---

Tommy fucking hates Dorian Gray. The reasons had changed, over the years, but even more than being wedged into this fucking deathtrap of a desk, with it's lose nuts and bolts and the arm on the wrong side of his fucking body (because Tammy Pritchard always got the lefty desk in every fucking class and not a single one of his teachers had ever thought to wonder why his handwriting on his homework had better penmanship and an incredibly unsubtle smear of ink when compared to his in-class assignments): even more than the scent of Heather Chester's perfume and the reek of weed and Cheetos coming off of Barry Trott, in the seat in front of him; even more than the squeak of chalk against the blackboard as Mrs. Henderson posits the question of the day (What is so horrifying about the painting?); Tommy hates this fucking book.

He sort of wishes this memory had taken him back to freshman year instead - at least he could articulate why Holden Caulfield had been a whiny little bitch.

It's not like he could say -

Well.

Actually.

This is Tommy's death rattle. So.

"It's a mirror," Tommy says, like he hadn't all those years ago. No one notices that Tommy's a few decades too old and more than a few inches too wide to fit in his desk. "It's an indictment on everyone who ever had a hand in creating such a beautiful monster."

Mrs. Henderson doesn't look up. Tommy doesn't know why he expected she would.

She'd never listened to him before, either.

---

He'd been expecting his dad, next, which is his own damn fault.

Captain Turner's zipping his pants back up.

Tommy rises from his knees.

The paperwork is there on his desk. A glowing recommendation for the flight training he's been denied twice already. Tommy's throat feels gummy. He can't remember when Turner stopped using condoms.

This isn't how it happened.

"Open your eyes, Kinard."

Tommy's eyes are already open.

---

"I'm proud of you, son," Gerrard says, and Tommy would very much prefer it if he was just dead, already.

The thing is - the thing is Gerrard looks genuinely pleased to see him - a rare enough thing in general, rarer still because this is the older Gerrard, the one he'd shut the fuck down in front of the very first chance he'd been given to tell him exactly how rank Tommy really thought he was.

"You know when to give up," Gerrard continues. And.

Oh.

Well.

Did he have a choice?

"Of course there's a choice. Make the right one. Keep on making it, Kinard."

---

Pain.

Christ. Tommy's had shrapnel under his skin for decades, now - he's been blown up, and shot, stabbed once, although that was a grazing blow, really.

This is so much worse. He feels like he's hemorrhaging, like his lungs are constricting, like -

"You're no son of mine."

Yeah. That'd been worse than the IED by far.

"Dad," he says, but the damage is done. His room is in shambles, which Tommy thinks is overkill - his dad'd probably found the Blueboy Tommy had tucked under the mattress a long while before he had swept all his football trophies off the shelf and emptied what looked like the entire contents of his wardrobe onto the floor.

On the plus side, it looks like he'd actually ripped his annotated copy of Picture of Dorian Gray in half, too, so small favors.

Only.

This hadn't happened. This was his nightmare scenario, the horrific dream he'd had every day for six years until he got out of basic and the nightmare scenarios turned physically violent, instead. If his dad had ever known an inkling of Tommy's inclinations he'd ignored it until the day Tommy made him stop ignoring it.

He'd never found his dirty magazine - just the one, because he'd been too fucking terrified of having a second one lying around somewhere.

Those words he'd reserved for something else entirely.

His dad had thrown a bitch fit when Tommy'd enlisted in the Army instead of the Marines, but those words - those were the words he'd gotten when the father he hadn't spoken to in three years learned that Tommy'd gone for turnouts instead of a gun and badge.

How do you emulate your father and rebel at the same time?

"Love you too, pops," Tommy says, and waits for the blink.

---

"Oh," Tommy says, and blinks open his eyes. Keith smiles back. It's a charming little grin, the first thing that had caught Tommy's eye across the bar three months before this night. And it's not - the room is all wrong, and it'd been midday, not evening, six hours between shifts and the first time their schedules lined up in weeks. Keith is all lithe muscle and smeared makeup, barely an hour out from his latest shoot.

"Don't say it," Keith says, and shifts his weight against sheets that aren't even the right color.

Tommy had wanted to say it, though. Thirty-odd years and he'd never had the courage to say it to anyone who might say it back in a meaningful way, but Keith -

They'd been all wrong for each other. Conflicting schedules, conflicting lifestyles, conflicting expectations. Keith would spend the next six months flying back for hookups, jet setting around the world on a campaign for Dolce & Gabanna, and then text Tommy to let him know he should get tested and never reach out again. Tommy would fly his chopper over the aftermath of a tsunami and wonder how it felt to drown.

The hands on his skin are wrong - rough with calluses, working hands. Tommy slides his thumb across the palm of one and thinks it feels like home.

"Don't go back to sleep," Keith says. There's something playing on Tommy's TV, which had never been in his room when he was with Keith.

That had been a recent development, actually, and technically it wasn't even his TV, but when Evan's lease had been up it had just made sense to the both of them to -

"Monster truck rallies, really?" Keith says, but the volume on the TV is too loud to make out what he says next. His mouth moves, and the words don't make it to Tommy's ears, and when he blinks again he thinks he can hear sirens.

---

The chicken barely moves as Bobby passes it off to Officer Grant, and there's some sort of significance to this moment, Tommy knows, but Sal is too busy making smooching faces at Tommy, his laugh deep and bracing, for Tommy to figure out what that significance is.

Eddie is staring at him from the passenger seat when he swings up into the rig.

"You need to come back," Eddie says, and that stupid fucking mustache twitches. "You stupid bastard, you have to come back."

---

"Just like that?" Tommy asks, staring at the transfer papers, and Nash looks at him like he knows too much.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Tommy's uses his middle and ring finger to pull the transfer papers closer to himself. Bobby hums, satisfied. "Good. I've got my eye on one of the new kids in training - hate to pass up on him."

Tommy shakes his head. "You still haven't replaced Sal. Who's even gonna train this new guy?"

Bobby's in his civvies. He's holding his rosary beads. Did he start out like that, or is this death knell just fucking with him now? "Not your time, yet," Bobby tells him, and Tommy doesn't -

---

"Just a little something I learned at the 118," Donato says with a grin, while Jerry eyes the blown up photo of Tommy and Evan kissing in the hospital lobby that's been hung up on the announcement board right next to Jill's kids butterbraid order sheet. One of the nurses must have taken it. Donato must have bribed one of the nurses to take it on the ride to the hospital. "We're, like, a base and a half away from wiener cousins, you know," she sing-songs, and Tommy tilts a raised brow her way.

He's still staring at the picture. When had Evan's hand made it that far into his turnout?

"I'm just saying, having been on the your end of those lips - congrats."

"Does it smell like smoke in here to you?" Jerry asks, and Tommy tries to swallow, tries to respond, but there's something stopping him from -

---

"Hey," Evan says. He's on nonna's rocking chair. The cicadas and the frogs are loud, against a backdrop of misty fields. It still smells like sundried tomatoes, but there's an antiseptic scent underneath it. There's a firebug perched on Evan's birthmark. "I'd, uh, really hate it if the last conversation we ever had was about my dad's weird obsession with you."

Tommy would also hate that. He goes to say so and can't speak. His chest is on fire, and his leg feels like it might give out if he takes a step forward. Evan's too far away, but he can still feel the calluses on Evan's fingers on his wrist, steady against his pulse.

"So, if you could just. If you could just open your eyes. Twitch your fingers. Um. I have a ring, and a speech, but I'd settle for like, you waking up to tell me you're leaving me for Andrew Garfield."

He's thinking of Andrew Lincoln, but Tommy can't get his throat to work to tell him so, or to remind him that Tommy actually hates that plot in Love Actually. Now Colin Firth...

The fingers slide from his pulse point to his ring finger. His leg screams. The cicadas drown out whatever Evan says next.

---

The lights in this room are too fucking bright. It smells of sterile metal and the cedarwood soap Evan uses. His hand is stuck to the bed.

"Tommy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's imagining the firefly perched on Buck's brow as he slides into his sight line, but the rest of him is real, and solid - his ridiculous fade and the curls askew atop his head and the slow blooming smile across his face, the hand sliding up his arm and the suddenly wet corners of his eyes.

"ey," he says, or tries to say - it comes out as croaky as the frogs that'd guided him through whatever strange dream he'd been having. He's losing the edges of it already, trying to grasp details even as they slip way. Evan's going to be so fucking disappointed they can't trade coma dream stories.

Evan hovers while a nurse looks him over, demanding ice chips from someone out in the hallway, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. He'd been dead. He'd been sure this was it, this time.

Tommy gets three ice chips down before he's allowed to speak.

"Why's the chicken important?" Which is - great. They've got him hooked up to good drugs. He'd meant to start off with the basics - I love you, and don't propose to me in a hospital room I know it's a Buckley special but I'd like to limit our significant moments here until they actually dedicate a wing in your honor. "Did Eddie shave the mustache while I was out?"

Jesus Christ.

Evan's laugh is wet, and his hand is wrapped around the cup of ice chips, instead of around Tommy's, which seem unnecessarily cruel.

"I love you," Evan says.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Evan informs him, eventually, that he'd crashed twice on the med-evac and been gone for a total of one minute eighteen seconds ("There's no significance to that. A coincidence," Tommy tells him. Evan doesn't fight him on it. Not then, anyway.) The flashing thing is still a crock of shit. Tommy's lost most of it before Evan gets around to 'you'.

Tommy finally gets Evan close enough to grasp his hand - slide his finger over the rough pad of his thumb, dig a nail into the forking lifeline in his palm. "Hey," he says, when Evan's grip goes tight, and tears well up in his eyes again. "Were you watching monster trucks while I was out?"