#this took me FOREVER but it was worth it!!

[shaiyasstuff]

evermore | zayne

synopsis : Bound by lifetimes, you loved him in silence—ever unseen, ever aching—while he chases a destiny that isn’t yours and never will be. content : angst, references to both of zayne’s myth cards, non-mc!reader w/n : this was originally a request but I decided to write this a little differently. hope you still enjoy :D

You had always been there.

Not just beside him. With him.

Bound not by chance, but by something older.

Deeper. Crueler.

You were his confidante. His companion. The shadow that stitched his jagged edges back together when the world carved him into pieces.

You loved him in ways that rewrote you.

Bent for him. Broke for him.

Sacrificed yourself at the altar of his happiness, even when it meant bleeding from wounds he never saw.

Because every time the ache grew too loud, every time doubt clawed at your throat—

All it took was a look.

Those dark locks falling over his brow like spilled ink.

And his eyes—hazel, burning like dying embers at dusk—

God, they undid you.

You tried.

Tried to love him in silence. Tried to convince yourself that was enough.

But at some point, you found yourself on your knees, fists clenched, cursing the stars for tying you to a man who was never meant to be yours.

No matter how hard you loved.

No matter how long you waited.

Still—you stayed.

You weathered the lifetimes.

You sewed together the shattered pieces of him, even when he looked through you like you were nothing but a whisper from another world.

You learned to live with that pain.

To carry it quietly.

To love him without hope.

You remembered them all—not because you were chosen, but because you were cursed to.

“Zayne…” you whispered now, reaching out to touch his crystallized hand, fingers trembling. A shimmer of warmth passed from your skin to his, softening the frost that coated him.

His Evol always surged like this when the memories overwhelmed him—especially when it was about her.

Your eyes climbed to his face.

Still, frozen in grief.

Then, slowly, his lashes fluttered. He stirred. His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“I’m okay… I just… needed to see her again.”

You nodded. Sat beside him without a word.

Above you, the tree branches swayed in the wind, leaves rustling like the whisper of time passing.

You didn’t want to ask.

But you needed to.

For your own heart’s sake.

“Is she worth it?”

The silence stretched.

And when he finally met your eyes—those same eyes you loved like a prayer—

You already knew.

“I would give up forever,” he said, voice quiet and sure, “just to hold her.”

Something in you cracked, then.

But you still smiled. Small. Gentle.

Even as your heart shattered like glass beneath your ribs.

The door clicked shut behind you, the familiar chime of the automatic lock humming through the quiet. You kicked off your shoes with a tired sigh.

From the hallway, a soft mewl greeted you.

Astra.

She brushed against your legs, weaving figure-eights as you bent down, your fingers carding gently through her fur. “Missed me?” you whispered.

She purred in reply, trailing after you as you trudged to the couch. You collapsed into it, limbs heavy from the day, exhaustion pooling beneath your eyes.

Your hand continued its slow rhythm across her back, and she curled beside you, content.

But your mind was far from present.

It drifted—back to the dream.

Or memory. Or something in between.

You remembered the way the cool wind felt against your body, the way the sky stretched in endless blue above the grass-covered mountain.

And the ring.

Slipping cool and weightless onto your finger.

You had looked at it—then at him.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

And Zayne…

He smiled down at you, eyes warm, hand reaching up to pat your head with a fondness that made your chest ache even now.

“Only you,” he said, “can be up in these mountains with me.”

You grinned at him. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he replied.

But promises—promises were fragile things.

You blinked back into the present and stood slowly, making your way to the bedroom. Your doctor’s coat slipped from your shoulders and landed carelessly on the floor as you passed by the framed photos—snapshots from med school.

You and Zayne, younger then, smiling over textbooks and scrubs.

Your eyes caught on the certificate on the wall.

Surgeon.

A title you earned with blood and sleepless nights.

But none of it mattered in the dream.

Not when you saw her.

“Zayne, she’s…?” you had asked, pointing toward the girl behind him.

He followed your gaze and nodded. “I found her at the bottom of the mountain,” he said simply. “She helped heal Bai Ze.”

Only then had you noticed the limp in the white sheep trailing behind them. You knelt, brushing its soft wool as it nudged your hand.

And then—

You looked up.

And everything shifted.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at her.

And in that fleeting silence, in the way their eyes met—

You realized something you had never wanted to.

You didn’t belong.

Not anymore.

The next part came in fragments.

“Doing this will end your life,” you hissed, your voice trembling as you stood behind him.

He turned slowly. His face was unreadable.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s the only way she lives.”

You stared at him.

“What about me?”

Your voice cracked with it. The pain. The betrayal.

He looked down.

And said nothing.

That was all the answer you needed.

You nodded once, quietly. “I see.”

And you turned away.

You never looked back.

The last time you saw him—your beloved, your husband—he wasn’t flesh and blood anymore.

Only light.

A single radiant beam disappearing into the mountains.

Your breath caught in your throat as the memory shattered.

Steam clung thickly to your skin, fogging up the bathroom mirror. The shower still ran behind you, its hiss dull and distant.

You stood there, motionless.

Trying to remember what it felt like to be loved.

And what it meant to let go.

—•

Sunlight filtered in through the half-closed blinds of your office, casting slanted lines across the clutter of reports and confirmation slips strewn haphazardly over your desk.

You let out a quiet sigh, setting your pen down and pressing your hands against your face, exhaustion pooling behind your eyes.

You didn’t hear the knock.

Didn’t register the soft footsteps until a quiet voice pulled you from your haze.

“I brought cake.”

Your head snapped up.

Zayne stood at the doorway, eyes calm, a faint crease of concern between his brows. In one hand, a plastic bag rustled faintly with the promise of sweetness. In the other—your usual coffee, and a milk tea.

Your gaze lingered on the drinks before returning to his.

“Zayne,” you breathed, rising from your chair as you began tidying the papers on your desk, trying not to look too flustered by his sudden presence.

He stepped forward, wordlessly setting the drinks down with practiced ease, the plastic bag rustling softly in the quiet room.

“How’s the patient in the west wing?” he asked, voice low as he leaned slightly against the edge of your desk.

You opened the cake box with childlike eagerness, the sweet scent instantly lifting the weight from your shoulders. “She’s okay,” you replied, picking up a fork. “Her MRI came back clean, but I’m keeping her in for observation. Just to be sure.”

He nodded, humming thoughtfully as he took a sip of his milk tea.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was familiar. Comfortable.

Like the two of you had always spoken more through glances and gestures than words.

But the feeling returned—quiet, gnawing, familiar.

That dull ache in your chest, like fate was whispering—no, screaming—that he was never meant to be yours.

You bit your lip, the taste of sugar still lingering on your tongue.

“How is she?”

Your voice came out softer than intended, but steady. Controlled.

She—the girl who stirred something in him.

The one who made his Evol flicker without warning.

The one who belonged in the spaces you so carefully carved yourself into.

Zayne glanced up at you, his expression unreadable.

You kept your gaze on the cake, pretending to be occupied, but your fingers had gone still.

“How is she?” you asked again, more firmly this time—because you needed to hear it, even if it shattered you.

Zayne cleared his throat, standing a little straighter. “She’s away for a mission,” he said, then took another sip of his drink as if the answer meant nothing. As if it didn’t cleave something open in you.

You nodded, eyes flicking away.

And suddenly, the room felt too still. Too quiet.

The air thickened with everything unspoken.

You finished your cake in rushed bites, barely tasting it. “I need to do my rounds,” you said, voice far too bright, smile pulled a little too fast across your lips.

He didn’t stop you.

Just watched as you grabbed your coffee and turned on your heel.

The hallway outside was cooler, but it did nothing to ease the nausea coiling in your stomach.

You felt sick.

Because no matter how hard you tried,

you would never be her.

Your hand braced against the cold wall, trying to steady yourself as your breath came in shallow waves.

“He is not meant to be yours.”

The voice echoed—low, knowing. Maybe it was just the part of you that finally stopped pretending.

“Stop,” you whispered, shutting your eyes tightly, as if the darkness behind your lids could muffle the sound.

But it didn’t.

“He will never be yours.”

Your chest ached. Your fingers curled into a fist against the wall.

Then why am I always here?

But the silence that followed had no answer.

—•

You lay still in bed, cocooned beneath your blanket, as moonlight spilled through the slats of your blinds, painting quiet silver patterns across your room.

Astra perched atop the cabinet, her gaze steady—silent and ever watchful.

You turned your head toward her, then away, because you knew that look. The kind that saw through everything, even the things you refused to name.

You had watched him pine for her in every life.

Why should this one be any different?

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket as your thoughts drifted—slipping through cracks in time.

You remembered a coffee shop in another universe.

Where laughter smelled like cinnamon and hope tasted like burnt espresso.

Where he sat across from you, eyes too gentle, heart too torn.

And you—foolish and aching—had pushed him toward her.

You remembered another life.

The one where she died in his arms—again and again. And you were always there, the ghost in the background, stitching him back together each time.

You remembered that tower.

The one where you stood beside him at the edge of it all, the sky ablaze and the world crumbling beneath your feet.

You had held his hand as he bled out the last of his strength for her sake.

And even then—

Even then, his eyes searched for her.

Not you.

Never you.

And still, you died with him.

Because you didn’t know how not to.

The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the stillness like a blade, jolting you upright from your bed. You clutched your blanket, heart thudding, instinct already propelling you forward.

You didn’t need to check.

You knew it was him.

Your footsteps were quick, uneven against the floor as you rushed to the door. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the handle, breath catching in your throat.

And then—

You opened it.

Zayne stood there.

Barely.

His Evol had flared again—ice creeping violently from his fingertips up to his neck, frost tracing sharp veins along his jaw. He looked as if the cold had consumed him from the inside out.

“Zayne!”

You caught him as he collapsed forward, his weight folding into your arms like a crumpled page. Your knees nearly buckled, but you held firm.

Your hands flew to his neck, cradling the frozen skin there, pouring the warmth of your Evol into him in desperate waves. “What happened?” you asked, voice taut with panic.

But you already knew.

It was her.

It was always her.

And still, you pressed closer, anchoring him with your touch, ignoring the way your chest ached—splintered open like it always did when he came to you like this.

Not as a lover.

Not even as a friend.

But as a ghost chasing the shadow of someone else.

Your thumbs brushed his icy skin, the pain on his face so familiar it made your throat close.

You hated this part of yourself.

The part that would still set herself on fire just to thaw him out.

Even knowing—

He would never look at you the way he looked at her.

Not in this life.

Not in the last.

Not in any of them.

And still—you held him.

Because it was the only way he ever let you close.

You pulled him inside, the cold from his body seeping into your own as you struggled to keep him upright. The door clicked shut behind you with a hollow finality.

Astra emerged from the hallway, her paws pattering softly against the floor. She mewled, distressed, circling your feet as you guided Zayne to the couch.

You cradled him gently, your Evol still working to warm his frozen skin, but your patience had long begun to fray.

“You need to stop this,” you hissed, your voice sharp, low, breaking at the edges.

He didn’t respond.

Just looked away, eyes heavy with guilt—or worse, with nothing at all.

Like he couldn’t bear to face you.

Or simply didn’t care to.

And that hurt more than you wanted it to.

Because you were always the aftermath.

The one to pick him up when the cold became too much.

The one who held him while he grieved her, again and again, until his Evol nearly killed him for wanting something he could never keep.

Your fingers trembled against his jaw, still pouring heat into his veins even as your own heart chilled.

How many more times would you do this?

How many more times would you save him—

Just for him to return to someone else?

“God damnit, you can’t be with her—can’t you see?”

Your voice cracked, trembling on the edge of a scream as your hands pressed against his skin, Evol flaring. Heat surged from your palms, melting the ice that clung to his body like a second skin.

The frost hissed as it gave way, turning to droplets that clung to his collarbone and slid down, but he still didn’t speak.

His gaze shifted—hardened.

But silence was his answer.

It always was.

And that silence was louder than any confession.

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face, because you knew—God, you knew.

It wasn’t his fault.

None of it ever was.

He was shaped—for her.

Molded by the stars, stitched into fate’s design, every fragment of his soul angled toward hers.

And he didn’t even know.

But you did.

You were the one who remembered.

Who carried the burden of memory through every life.

The one who watched, always from the outside, always the afterthought—

As he searched for her, found her, lost her, broke for her.

And you—

You were the one who stayed.

The one who died with him in towers, bled beside him in war, cradled the pieces he left behind when she was gone.

You sacrificed yourself over and over—

Just to keep them together.

And now, in this life, you still reached for him.

Still begged for a sliver of something he was never meant to give.

The ice cracked beneath your touch, but the ache in your chest only deepened.

Because no matter how fiercely you burned, he would always chase the one who lit the match.

After a while, the storm passed into stillness.

Neither of you spoke.

He lay on the couch, his breathing steady now, though the tension never left his shoulders. You sat curled on the floor beside him, cradling your scarf against your chest like it could somehow hold you together.

Moonlight spilled across the room, casting him in soft, ghostly hues. You looked at him—his face drawn in weariness, in silence, in a thousand unspoken things.

Your voice broke through the quiet.

“What’s going to happen when I’m not there to help you?”

It was barely a whisper, but it echoed loud in the stillness.

He turned his head slowly to look at you, expression unreadable, the shadows swallowing whatever emotion lingered in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said simply.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You sighed, gaze dropping to your hands, then to the floor.

Because he didn’t know.

Because he never thought about a life without you—

While all you ever did was imagine his without her.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, blurring the edges of his face as you turned toward him once more.

“Zayne.”

His name trembled on your lips.

Your voice cracked, raw from everything you’ve swallowed down across lifetimes.

“I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

For a second, something shifted in his eyes—concern replacing the indifference, like he’d finally heard the weight beneath your words.

He sat up slightly, brows furrowed, the beginnings of panic flickering in his expression.

“What do you mean?”

But you couldn’t look at him.

Because if you did, you knew you’d shatter.

You had carried him through frost and fire.

Loved him quietly in the background of someone else’s story.

And now your heart—

It was tired.

So very, unbearably tired.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered, and your knees buckled beneath the weight of it.

The truth, unspoken for so many lives, finally spilled from your lips like a confession too long buried.

Zayne’s eyes widened—just a fraction—as he shot up from the couch to catch you, his arms steadying you before you could fall. His hands were warm now, thawed by your touch, but yours trembled beneath the pain.

“But all you ever think about is her,” you choked, the words clawing their way out of you. “All you ever do is rush into danger, even when it’s killing you.”

Your eyes, rimmed red with unshed tears, locked onto his.

“I’ve always been here,” you said, voice breaking.

“Can’t you see me?”

And the silence that followed felt unbearable—

Because you already knew the answer.

He could hold you.

He could worry for you.

But love—

Love was something he’d already given away.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

No spell, no plea, no lifetime strong enough to rewrite the way the stars had carved your fate.

Because even if you tried—

Even if you screamed loud enough to shake the heavens,

In the next life, and the one after that,

Perhaps until the end of time—

You would still love him.

Still chase after the echo of a man who would never turn around.

And you would still be destined to hurt.

For him.

You sank to the floor, your legs giving out beneath the weight of everything you had carried for lifetimes. The confession hung in the air like smoke—something scorched and lingering.

Zayne knelt with you, his hands hesitating before they found your shoulders, tentative and unsure.

You could feel the warmth in them now, finally, but it didn’t reach the part of you that had always longed for something deeper.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And you hated how much it still meant to hear it from him.

How even now, that single word could crack something open in you.

You looked up at him, tears clinging to your lashes. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “You never have.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just sat there, silent.

And that silence broke you more than any rejection ever could.

He swallowed hard, eyes dark and unreadable.

“I was always there,” you said. “Even when she wasn’t. Even when you forgot my face. I chose you.”

His brows furrowed, his expression shifting—pain, guilt, something almost like grief flickering across his features.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured.

“I know you didn’t,” you said bitterly, a tear sliding down your cheek. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

He reached for you again. This time, you didn’t pull away.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.

You leaned into him despite everything, because you didn’t know how not to. Because some part of you still ached for the comfort of him, even if it wasn’t love. Even if it was just this.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back to her,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s something broken in me.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “But I know I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you.”

You closed your eyes at his words, tears slipping free as he pressed his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

It wasn’t love—not in the way you needed it.

But it was something.

A thread in the unraveling. A hand in the dark.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I need to let go,” you said softly.

“I know,” he replied, just as softly.

And still, he held you.

Not as the one he was fated for.

But as the one who had always stayed.

And maybe that was enough—

Just for this moment.

Bittersweet. Quiet.

A love that would never be,

But would always remain.

[quinziepartyy]

I used to work at a Ross: Dress For Less and I have horror stories. Here are a few.

1: One time when I was managing the closing shift, this slightly erratic older woman came into the store and filled two carts so full of shit items were sliding onto the floor. She proceeded to enter my checkout line (we were always understaffed so I always had to cashier on top of my managing duties) and rings up $2,500 worth of shit. Said it was for Christmas presents, but it was kind of obvious that this woman had a serious shopping addiction and was in some sort of breakdown state. Her card declined, and she left and came back 3 different times trying to pay for her items. I'm supposed to be fulfilling my managing duties, but I'm stuck trying to help this lady while my 2 other workers sruggle to handle everything else. All the while I can only slap on a fake smile and tell her it's fine, I'm happy to help. Eventually we close and I went home hoping I'd never see her again. When I clock in the next day, she is back in the store and has collected 3 more overfilled carts of the cheap, plastic garbage they sell at those places. The poor cashier dealing with her has to go through the same thing, only this time the total is over $5,000. Finally she manages to convince her bank to let her make the purchase and starts to leave. She approaches me and says that the cashier (who happens to be a very sweet lady) was so mean and she'd like to give me some of her items as a thank you for being nice. I ask the cashier, and apparently this lady told HER that I was the one being mean and SHE was the perfect angel cashier. She left one of her carts and never came back for it.

2: Our store manager was insane about rules. She would schedule a busy closing with only two employees, insist we clock out within 15 minutes of closing, and get upset when things were messy in the morning. People really started to lose patience with her after a while. About a month into my promotion to manager I noticed she was always showing up late to mid and closing shifts. This annoyed the shit out of people because she was cutting everyone's hours (to be fair, corporate was responsible for this) and we were super short-staffed. Imagine it's December. The line stretches all the way into men's pants and it's full of moms laden with cold weather clothes and Christmas presents. There are only 2 cashiers, 1 floor worker, and 5 stockroom workers trying to shove rack after rack of bullshit onto already overstuffed shelves because there is no communication between stores and distribution centers. Every employee is on the verge of tears. Suddenly, the doors slide open and in comes the store manager, a whole hour late. The other manager (let's pretend that's you) was supposed to leave forever ago, but won't be given overtime for working those extra hours because this lady won't give full time employees more than 34 hours a week (which is bullshit). You want to ask where the hell she's been, but before you can she hits you with "you need to remember to smile and greet every customer with 'welcome in'". DEATH. Anyways, people started to complain. Instead of showing up on time, she took herself off of the schedule entirely and told us she didn't think it was anyone's business when she showed up to work.

3: Corporate decided how many hours our store got based on how much more we sold compared to the previous year's earnings. We weren't often doing that, and our hours were terrible. We had employees working only 15 hours a week if they were lucky. Then, out of the blue, our store manager decides to hire her best friend as an additional manager. We already had full staff for the management positions. I learned from our assistant store manager that this lady was actually a store manager for a different Ross but was fired because she sucked at it. I have never hated another coworker more than this woman. We were struggling to keep the store running on skeleton crews and she was taking hour lunches and changing her times in the system to make it look like she was only taking 30s (meaning she was getting paid for those false times and therefore commiting minor fraud). If she heard anyone complain about our store manager,she would immediately shut down the conversation and report every word to her. It was like working under Emperor Palpatine and having him hire Darth Vader to force-choke anyone who complained about getting hit by lightning for being too slow.

4: I was repeatedly asked to organize my sections, cover the registers, cover truck, complete my manager tasks, and complete the closing tasks of two people within 15 minutes of closing all in one shift.

I will end this by saying I walked out 3 days after giving my 2 weeks because the store manager told me I was not allowed to discuss any store issues with employees or respond to complaints from those employees. I was supposed to close that night, but instead the store manager had to work a 14 hour shift to cover my absence. Rot in Hell Heather I hated working for you 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

retail micromanagement destroys peoples brains istg i can always tell when someone came from retail bcs they legit have learned helplessness wrt managing their own time at work. i mean i was the same way when i left retail its brutal but its fixable.

[monstacheol]

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵

This is from the poll I did and I am still working on my 400 followers celebration (I know it's taking me so long but it's coming. I promise.) And THIS. This has been on my mind and I thought it was interesting idea in my head so why not. This may or may not be a full length fic in the upcoming future. But enjoy, like, comment and reblog for support and improvement. (This is not proof read and kinda post out of a whism)

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 was the one their mothers told their daughters to stay away from and their fathers told their sons to avoid.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, the person who doesn't fit in by the standards of the neat little square lifestyle. With his leather jacket smelling of oil and smoke from the garage and a hint of something sweet: cherries.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who carried a reputation and would run his fingers through his dark hair, a cigarette hidden behind his ear and his knuckles bruised from a fight that didn't start—but damn well finished it.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whom you met one summer as you returned from college for summer break.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who saw you at the dance hall with your friend and immediately caught your eye with his charming smile and dashing good looks.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who, after watching you for what seemed like an eternity, couldn't resist speaking to you after seeing you outside.

"I've never seen you in town before. New in town."

"No," you simply answered. "I'm just home from college for the summer."

"Ah." He took a drag of his cigarette. "College girl, huh?"

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, a dim grim on his face, daredly leaning in closely, keeps the conversation going. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Huh," you mumble. "I-It's Y/N."

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who repeats your name, savors the sound of it like it is the sweetest thing ever. "Y/N. Cute. Nice to meet you. I'm Seungcheol."

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whose gaze never left you, enjoyed the effect he had on you as he leaned on his bike and smoked his cigarette.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 Who saw you getting ready to leave after your friend rushed home to not miss curfew and said, "See you around, doll"

And see him around, you did.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who you have met and run into over the past week after knowing each other. First it was the state fair, then going out to a diner, and even the drive-in.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who will take you in his 1955 Cherry Red Chevy Bel-Air and drive around listening to the rock n roll of Elvis or Jazz of Billie Holiday.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who got to hear your thoughts, your dreams, everything that you wanted to do in life, and loved how passionate you were about them. And would look at you with so much admiration, like you were the brightest star in the sky.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whom you shared your first kiss with during the movie drive-in.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who didn't believe in forever and didn't think it was meant for him—but that all changed when he met you.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who would give you anything and everything if he could just see that sweet smile on that pretty little face.

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻/𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓮𝓵! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who promises to make this summer worth your while.

[etherealeowyn]

"Like Real People Do" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Fluff

Word Count: 770

Just because Joel and Y/n don't have the ranch they've been dreaming about, that doesn't mean they can't share sweet moments together like the world hasn't fallen into complete chaos.

Y/n’s fingers flipped through the stack of vinyl records, her eyes scanning every single one, trying to find the perfect one to slow dance to. The woman had never danced with anyone before, and when she told Joel that it had always been her dream to slow dance with someone in the kitchen, he ultimately agreed.

Y/n wasn’t sure at first if he would, but little did she know, a piece of Joel’s heart had been yearning to experience soft and sweet moments like that with the woman he loved.

Before falling asleep, they’d share their dream about the ranch they’d live on together, and the quiet life they’d spend with one another. Even though they didn’t have the ranch, Y/n would still come up with ideas about what she and Joel could do to experience a small part of their dream.

“I found the perfect song!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing the record and hugging it against her chest excitedly.

“Which one did you pick?” Joel asked, getting up from the couch and following her into the kitchen.

“Like Real People Do by Hozier, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this song,” the woman giggled, as she took the record out of the sleeve and placed it delicately on the record player, placing the needle between the edge of the record and the first groove.

“I like that one too,” Joel responded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, before the woman found a place between his arms.

Once the music began playing, her arms draped around the man’s neck, and his hands rested on the small of her back. Neither one of them said a word; rather, they just looked into each other’s eyes and studied all the emotions behind them.

Joel’s eyes were brighter than usual, and Y/n could tell that he was genuinely happy. It wasn’t the kind of fleeting happiness that came and passed with the blink of an eye, it was the kind of moment that would be forever etched in their memories. The one thing they’d always think about when they needed to cheer up or escape from the incessant tragedies of the infected world.

The soft yellow glow emitted from the light fixture in the kitchen fell upon Y/n’s features, and Joel couldn’t help but notice the way it made the whole situation feel like a dream. As if the woman he was holding on to was too good to be true.

She was one of the only people he knew who could see the good in every situation and make the most out of small moments of joy. Before her, he never would’ve pictured slow dancing in the dilapidated kitchen of his piece of shit apartment in the Boston QZ, it sounded ridiculous. But now, he would never be able to look at the small room without being reminded of Y/n and how it felt to hold her in his arms.

Almost every area that used to torture him to look at was revitalized by her presence, and he would never truly be able to express just how much he appreciates Y/n for changing his life for the better. Though that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t try.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life?” Joel spoke; his words were slightly louder than a whisper.

“Joel, my love, you tell me that every day,” Y/n replied with a bit of a laugh, causing him to smile down at the woman.

“Hey, I’m just making sure you know how special you are, especially to me,” he said, the edges of his eyes crinkling from the smile that spread across his whole face.

“Don’t worry, I already know,” she responded, blushing at his comment. “And I hope I do a good job making sure you know just how special you are to me.”

“You do a great job, honey,” Joel started, pausing for a second before saying, “In fact, you do such a great job that for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m worth something.”

“You’ve always been worth something, you might not have recognized it, but you were. You just needed someone to show you. Luckily, or unluckily for you, I’m the one you’re stuck with that’ll be the one to show you,” Y/n chuckled, tilting her head slightly as she did so.

“I’m lucky that it’s you,” he said, his body halting all movement as the music faded into nothing. “And I’ll always be lucky that you decided to take a chance on me.”

[izzih22]

Epilogue: Ours, Out Loud

Note: the final chapter of this series. Enjoy!!

The first time they told someone, it wasn’t planned.

It had been a bit since Paige left Virginia, and in that time, the two had gotten used to the rhythm of loving each other from afar. FaceTime calls that lasted until the sun rose. Stolen photos sent mid-practice with hearts drawn sloppily over their faces. Handwritten notes slipped into care packages—Azzi’s soft curls drawn in blue ink by Paige with the caption “My favorite painting.”

They were happy. Still private. Still theirs.

But when Azzi’s mom, Katie, came into Azzis room on a Friday night and Azzi layed in bed with her head tucked under Paige’s hoodie—Paige’s hoodie she was very obviously wearing again—it only took about three seconds for Katie to squint knowingly.

“You’ve been wearing that hoodie for days,” Katie said casually, sipping from a mug. “Is that your girlfriend’s or something?”

Azzi choked. Paige, visible one FaceTime, froze like a deer in headlights.

Katie blinked. “Wait—what.”

Azzi looked at Paige, then back at her mom. Her heart pounded.

Paige leaned over in screen and said gently, “Hi, Mrs. Fudd.”

Katie blinked again, then slowly broke into the warmest, smuggest smile Azzi had ever seen on her.

“Oh,” Katie said, setting her mug down. “So it is my daughter’s girlfriend’s hoodie.”

“Mooooom,” Azzi groaned, burying her face into Paige’s side.

“You didn’t tell me!” Katie laughed. “I’ve known for years you two were orbiting each other like little lovesick planets. I thought I was going to have to wait until your wedding to get the confirmation.”

“We… weren’t ready yet,” Paige said quietly, arm wrapping protectively around Azzi.

Katie’s teasing softened into something gentler. “I get that. Really. But I’m so happy for you both.”

Azzi peeked at her mom, cheeks flushed. “You’re not mad we didn’t say anything?”

“Mad? Sweetheart, I’ve been praying for this since… well forever,” Katie grinned. “Just promise me you’ll be kind to each other. Protect what you have.”

Paige smiled staring at Azzi and without thinking. “I already do.”

⸻

Telling Tim, John, and Jose was next. It came in the form of a chaotic game night. Paige and Azzi had joined as a team—playing Spades like they were trying to qualify for the Olympics—and when Paige casually dropped a “babe, your turn” mid-play, all three of Azzi’s family members stopped talking.

John blinked. “Wait, babe?”

Jose pointed. “Yo. Did Paige just—did you just say—”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Am I going to need to give a speech, or is this the part where I say I’m proud?”

Azzi laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. Paige smirked, unapologetic.

“We’re dating,” she confirmed, hand resting possessively over Azzi’s knee.

There was a pause. Then:

John: “Knew it.”

Jose: “Finally!”

Tim: “Took you long enough.”

Paige glanced sideways at Azzi, her smirk shifting into something tender. “Worth the wait.”

Azzi leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder and whispered, “Definitely.”

⸻

By the time they told Paige’s family, it was nearly summer. Paige flew home again, and Azzi joined a few days later—invited under the pretense of just “hanging out before training camps.”

Her mom had packed snacks for the flight. Paige had sent her a picture of her freshly cleaned room with the caption “Your throne awaits.”

They didn’t hide it anymore.

Azzi held Paige’s hand in the airport.

Paige carried her bags.

They shared a quiet kiss outside the terminal while waiting for Paige’s brother to pull up, and Paige didn’t care who saw.

The Bueckers’ home had always felt like a second one to Azzi—but this time, everything felt different. This time, she was more than Paige’s best friend. She was hers.

Paige’s mom, Amy, wrapped Azzi in a hug the second she stepped through the front door.

“I figured it out awhile ago,” she said softly against Azzi’s shoulder. “I just waited for you two to figure it out yourselves.”

Azzi laughed, teary-eyed. “We’re slow, huh?”

Amy smiled knowingly. “The best love stories take time.”

⸻

Late one night, curled up on Paige’s couch with a movie playing and no one else awake, Azzi rested her head on Paige’s chest and traced invisible shapes over her stomach.

“We still haven’t told our teams,” she whispered.

Paige’s fingers played with the ends of her curls. “I’m not rushing that. We’ll know when.”

“I kind of like it like this,” Azzi admitted. “Quiet. Just us. No noise.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

Azzi sat up slightly, propping her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “But when we do tell them, can we just… show up holding hands and let it click?”

Paige grinned. “Classic.”

“Dramatic.”

“My style,” Paige teased, stealing a kiss.

Azzi melted into it, soft and sweet, fingers gripping Paige’s shirt.

Their world was still theirs. Still quiet. Still sacred.

But now, it was also expanding.

⸻

The first time they called each other “girlfriend” out loud, it happened like this:

Azzi was on FaceTime, giggling at something Paige said while standing in the middle of a hotel hallway during a team trip. One of her teammates called out, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

Azzi, without thinking, answered, “My girlfriend.”

There was a pause on the line. Then a chorus of whoops behind her.

Paige heard it and grinned into her pillow. “Smooth.”

Azzi looked proud. “About time I said it out loud.”

Paige smiled, heart full. “Say it again.”

“My girlfriend,” Azzi repeated, slower this time, letting it roll off her tongue like it belonged there.

And it did.

⸻

In the fall, when they returned to their teams, the long-distance routine became real again—but different now.

There were weekend visits and handwritten letters. A Spotify playlist that only grew longer. Pictures of workouts captioned “don’t forget who your favorite point guard is.”

They didn’t tell everyone, but they didn’t hide.

Paige would kiss Azzi’s cheek before boarding a flight. Azzi would wait by the gate to watch her disappear.

They had something real. Something rooted in years of friendship, loyalty, love.

And now they had each other, fully and openly.

No more waiting.

No more almosts.

Just Paige and Azzi. Together.

⸻

One Year Later

Their first anniversary was quiet.

They were at a small cabin near the lake where they used to train in the summer, completely off the grid for the weekend. No social media. No cameras. Just them.

Paige brought a photo album she’d been secretly building all year. Azzi brought a necklace with both of their initials carved into the back.

They sat by the fireplace, curled up under a blanket, music low, hearts full.

“You’re it for me,” Azzi whispered, forehead pressed to Paige’s.

“You always were,” Paige replied, voice soft, hands holding hers. “Even before we knew.”

And then they kissed, slow and deep, wrapped in a love that had taken years to grow but was now entirely theirs.

Their love wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

And it was finally, finally theirs to share—with the world, with their families, with each other.

No more hiding.

No more waiting.

Just Paige and Azzi.

[leiascully]

Today is the cunnilungus and cake Hollywood. Could I prompt you to write how do you think Mulder and Scully celebrated?

Ah yes, Mulder's favorite holiday.

“I got cake from that bakery,” Scully said, coming into the house and shrugging off her coat. She swapped the paper bag from hand to hand as she shook her arms out of the sleeves. “One for you, one for me.”

“What’s the occasion?” Mulder prowled over, taking the bag from her and opening it to take a whiff as she hung up her coat. “Mm.” He set the bag on the coffee table.

“No reason,” Scully said. She looked up at him, trying not to smile. She could feel she was failing, the integrity of her indifference compromised. She surrendered, smiled, leaned back against the door. He canted toward her like magnets were pulling him closer. “Just felt like a day for cake. An after-dinner treat.”

“Is that so?” he murmured. He put one hand on either side of her, holding her against the door. “What I’m too hungry to wait?”

“I suppose we could indulge,” she said, tilting her head back as he kissed her neck. For long, melting moments they explored each other’s mouths, lips and tongues and teeth and panting breath. He pushed his thigh between hers as far as the tight fabric of her skirt would allow. She undid the buttons of her blouse one at a time and he kissed lower and lower. His knees cracked as he knelt in front of her and pushed her skirt up, rumpling the fabric slowly over her thighs as his hands cupped her legs and then her ass. His eyes widened. He looked up at her, lust and laughter mingling in his expression.

“I could have sworn you were wearing panties this morning,” he said. “I remember wishing you weren’t.”

“I know all about your sweet tooth,” she told him. “I took them off in the car.”

“Scully,” he said in a pleased rumble, and nudged her thighs open. He gazed fondly up at her, stroking one finger along her folds. “You’re so damn hot.”

“Not stale after all these years?” she said wryly.

“Never,” he said, his voice firm, and then he was pushing his face between her legs, spreading her folds wide with his fingers, licking into her. Her eyes rolled back. She let her head loll against the door. Out here, they had no neighbors. She could moan as loud as she wanted. No fellow agents lurking outside, no motel manager to bang on the door with a noise complaint. She could put voice to every sensation that Mulder’s limber tongue was giving her, and it would only make him shiver and tonguefuck her faster.

Mulder ate pussy like it was his one true calling in life. Fuck aliens, fuck cryptids, and double-fuck the truth-with-a-capital-T: cunnilingus superceded them all. Maybe it was his full lower lip, or his clever tongue, or the fact that his face was the perfect shape to ride for an hour while he made her shudder with orgasm after orgasm. The beard burn had been worth it every time. The time they’d been apart, she’d only worn plain black underwear, her cunt in mourning. No toy could compare to Mulder’s magic mouth, and she’d tried more than a few.

God, she was lucky.

He made hungry sounds as his tongue traced delicately around her clit. He was holding himself back, deliberately, and she loved his restraint and wanted to break him simultaneously. She pushed her hips toward him and he drew back just enough to keep that same light pressure. Pleasure sparked through her, brighter and more intense than the warmth his mouth had already kindled in her.

“Be nice, Scully, I like to savor my sweets,” he said.

“God,” she said as his tongue stroked her again, all her witty responses forgotten. “Fuck. Mulder, please.”

“Soon,” he said. Over and over he traced shapes on her clit, patterns she couldn’t begin to understand. She was dizzy with sensation and with need. Her fingers clutched in his hair. She couldn’t understand how he held himself back. She hoped he kept going forever.

“Mulder, I want you inside me,” she said, only half aware of the words. “Make me come, please, make me come so hard.”

His groan was a promise. But he was still teasing her, his touch feather-light. When she pushed her hips at him again, he pinned her against the door with his strong forearms and she gasped.

“I wanted this all day,” she told him. “In the office. Like when we were younger. Bend me over the desk and have me for lunch. I wanted to ride you in that ergonomic chair.” Her cunt ached with the need for release. Her whole body was tingling. She let go of his hair and cupped her tits, her thumbs rubbing idly over her nipples. He growled a little, in reprimand or jealousy, and finally sucked her clit into his mouth. She yelped in delighted surprise. Heat flooded through her body. She came, just like that, shivers turning into shudders as Mulder’s mouth pulled at her sensitive skin.

Mulder picked her up and carried her to the couch, laying her flat and diving between her legs again before she’d even had a chance to come down from her first orgasm. She’d lost her shoes at some point, which was probably good given the way she was digging her heels into his back. No delicacy this time: his tongue was rough, working her smooth, licking from entrance to clit and back. She could feel his mouth sliding against the slickness of her cunt. Her back arched, lifting her hips against his mouth. He sucked harder, until the pleasure was almost pain, and she loved it, her moans sharp and breathy in her own ears.

“Fuck me,” she begged, but he wouldn’t, he didn’t, not until he’d dragged another orgasm out of her. Only when she was gasping through the aftershocks did he fumble his pants open and sink into her, both of them still wearing most of their clothes, his mouth wet with her moisture. She licked the taste of herself off his lips, nipping at him. He flipped them over so that she was on his lap as he knelt, her back pressed into the cushions. She spread her legs wide, taking him as deep as she could, one hand stroking his chest and one hand working her nipple. He had the other breast well in hand as his free fingers stroked her clit. She came again, a shallow ripple, but he groaned as he felt her muscles clutching.

“Let go,” she urged, and he surged up into her, fucking her into the couch. Something about the angle was so, so good. She could feel the pleasure building again, deeper, different. She pushed his hand away from her overstimulated clit.

“Enough?” he asked, his thrusts slowing.

“No,” she said fiercely, squeezing her thighs against his. God, he was so solid inside her, thick and hot like no one else. She could have picked him out, blindfolded at an orgy, just from the feel of him.

“Scully,” he gasped, a warning, and she opened herself to him even more. He pounded into her. She felt the shudder of his hips and the gush of heat as he came, so deep inside her, but fuck, he was hitting just the right spot. She rode him frantically, chasing her pleasure, and he strained up into her, trying to give her what she needed even as his cock started to soften. And oh, there it was, an orgasm that rippled through her like an earthquake, so deep she felt it in her bones. She cried out, a wordless sound of rapture. Mulder moaned, watching her, holding her.

“Yes,” she said, “God, yes,” and she couldn’t stop saying it. The comedown was leisurely, aftershocks shimmering through her. Mulder pulled out of her and lay down on the couch, holding her against him.

“Scully,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“I don’t need cake for my birthday this year. I just want to eat my fill of you.”

She laughed softly. “Sounds like an endurance event.”

“We’ve got time to train,” he teased.

“First, we need to make dinner,” she said.

“You’re right,” he said, though his hands stroking down her ribs suggested round two rather than three courses. “Gotta keep our strength up.” She pushed gently at his chest and he rolled off the couch and gave her a hand up.

“If you want to go clean up and change, I’ll start peeling and chopping,” he said.

She leaned up and kissed him. It had been a long, long road to this place of peace, but they deserved it. He looked at her with shining eyes.

“It’s just a simple veggie pasta,” he murmured, but his smile was tender.

“It’s never just anything with you,” she said lovingly.

“Yeah,” he said, one syllable that held decades of mistakes and mending and sin and sacrifice and joy. Most of all, joy. “Thanks for picking up cake. It’s nice to celebrate sometimes.”

“Cake and cunnilingus day,” she said. “Our new holiday. We can replace all those hodgepodge anniversaries. Start fresh.”

“It rolls off the tongue,” he said with a wink. “So to speak. Although cake and cunt has a certain ring to it.”

She sighed at him, but as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom, she was smiling. Their bedroom. Their house. Their relationship. It was all the sweet she needed.

[sapphic-smau]

‧˚₊ ⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊ ꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊

|Pairings: Lucy Chen x Fem!reader; Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen x Fem!Reader platonic friendship. | Rating: M | TW: Pregnancy, police work, violence, cussing, drinking, implied smut. | Word Count:

an: here is the first of many SMAU’s, I hope you guys like it. Before Requesting, Please read my guidelines. REQUEST ARE OPEN.

✧ taglist ✧ Masterlist ✧ submission guidelines✧

| part 1 | part 2 |

18+ MINORS DNI

‧˚₊ ⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊ ꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊

—————————————————————————-

I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing, my wife’s legs were tangled with mine and since there was no light coming through the window I knew it had to be my phone. “turn your phone off before it wakes up El, it took me forever to get her down last night” Lucy groaned before turning away from me. I grabbed the phone and answered “This is Chen” the line was silent before I heard someone clear their throat, “Wait did I call the wrong Officer? Is this K9 Chen?” I groaned, “yep this is she, what can I do for you.” “We need a K-9 unit on stand by and Sgt. Grey said to call you.” I sat up and prepared to start my day at 1:30am. “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll head in.” I hung up the phone and leaned over kissing Lucy on the head. Thankfully when we bought the house our closest is in our bathroom which means we don’t wake each other up on days like this.

I threw on my uniform, my vest, and my rig belt, opened the safe and grabbed my service weapon. When I was fixing my hair the door opened and a very sleepy Lucy was staring at me, “Did we actually think being parents and both being on patrol would be easy? Plus you being on call 24/7. Tell Grey to hire another K-9.” I chuckled lightly, “Right, because Grey listens to me. On the other hand, we do have a really cute kid, so sleepless nights are worth it.” When Lucy finished using the bathroom she walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my neck, I could smell the scent of her shampoo. “I have to go my love.” I smiled and gave her a quick kiss. She groaned loudly and went back to bed.

I walked quietly into my daughter’s room and kissed her on the forehead. I heard my K-9 Rocky standing up in his kennel, I bent down and opened the door letting him out. I clipped on his vest and his collar, “let’s go buddy.” I grabbed my backpack and my water bottle, and walked out the door to head to the detail.

———————————————————————————-

I met Lucy, Juarez, Lopez, Harper, Nolan and Bradford at our local diner near the station. When I parked I saw my wife and best friend talking outside near the entrance, walking up I heard Lucy say “I just think we should have one more while El is still young enough to be able to play with the new baby!” Juarez chuckled “getting her to sign off on that will be tough, after your pregnancy with El and the delivery scare I don’t know if she will ever recover from that.” I cleared my throat once I was close enough, and kissed Lucy on the cheek. “Let’s go eat.”

I zoned out at the table as there were 4 different conversations happening. Is she serious about wanting another baby…? "Babe, hello, earth to my wife.." I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Lucy's worried face, "Hm?" I looked around the table at our friends staring at me, "What's wrong?" Juarez raised her eyebrow. I smiled "Sorry, i was thinking about how tired I am right now." Bradford laughed "Fuck off Bradford." I flipped him off. Lucy rested her hand on my upper thigh, "Tim be nice, also can you take El this weekend? I would like to have my wife back after all of these extra hours." Tim looked at Lucy and I smirking, "holy shit, Chen actually talked you into having another baby didn't she?" I could tell my face was red, I looked over at Lucy and smiled, "we are still talking about it."

Angela, Celina, Nyla, and Tim were all talking about the idea of us having another baby when a shots fired call came over our radios. I took out a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it on the table, as all five of us took off running out of the door. I stopped dead in my tracks when a scream came over the radio, "Officer Down."

Fuck.

———————————————————————————-

Taglist:

[princesskaulitz]

New Boy (Part Two)

✮ bill is the new cute boy at your school.

✮ 2008 bill kaulitz, fem! reader. this is also kinda au where the he doesn't have a band. reader is in a group with popular girls at school but is starting to realize that it isn't what she wants.... TW?: super toxic friends, mentions of super low self esteem.

✮ A/N: this is part two, here is part one if you haven’t seen it. i said it in my first part but i’ll say it if this again incase this is anyone’s first time seeing the fic, this is a tiny bit of a slow burn so if that isn't your type of thing and you don't have patience for that, this probably isn't for you. 🖤

( video from unendliichkeit on tiktok )

bill didn’t say another word to you as the both of you got ready to head down to the park. he was taking off all of his jewelry, not wanting to risk loosing it on a ride. he then goes into the bathroom for a few moments.

you were halfway through rubbing sunscreen into your arms when a frantic banging on the door made you jump. confused, you shuffled over and cracked it open—only to be met with a sight straight out of a bad dream.

melina stood there, and oh my God… she looked like absolute hell.

she was in full dramatic meltdown mode, sniffling and sobbing like her life had just ended. her hair looked like a toddler had gone at it with kindergarten scissors—and sure enough, she was holding a pair in her shaky hand. lilly and lena flanked her, looking helpless and wide-eyed, like they’d just witnessed a murder.

bill peeked out from the bathroom, raising a brow at the chaos on your hotel room doorstep.

“what… what happened?” you ask, staring at the mess in front of you.

“tom put fucking gum in my hair!” melina wailed. “i told them to cut it out but these idiots don’t know what the hell they’re doing!” she snapped, glaring daggers at lilly and lena, who flinched like they’d been slapped.

bill smirked behind you, amused at his brothers actions.

“miss alexis told me where your room was,” melina sniffled. “please help me. you cut your own hair all the time—you actually know what you’re doing. you'd be like, my fucking savior right now. your hair is always so perfect.”

there it was—the dopamine rush, sweet and fleeting. someone needed you. someone saw you.

how could you say no?

you only ever feel good about yourself when it’s reflected through someone else’s eyes. when they say you’re worth something. and for a second, it felt like that might be true.

without thinking, you gently took the scissors from melina’s hand.

behind you, bill scoffed. loud enough for only you to hear.

of course.

what a fragile, pathetic little people-pleaser.

he grabbed his water bottle, slipped on his wristband, and shoulder-checked you on the way out.

you fixed melina’s hair—salvaged it, actually—and she looked flawless again. she showered you in praise, beaming, suddenly eager to hang out with you like the drama had bonded you forever.

but something was off.

as you wandered the amusement park with your arm linked in hers, her laughter loud in your ear, it didn’t feel like it usually did. there was no high. no real satisfaction.

just guilt.

what kind of person are you, helping someone like her? someone who tears other people down like it’s a sport? you’ve known this for a while, but now it gnawed at you harder than ever. and deep down, you knew: you weren’t helping her because you liked her. you were helping her because you had a craving.

and your usual source wasn’t cutting it anymore.

you felt worse, not better. pathetic, even. the thrill rides didn’t thrill you. the junk food made your stomach turn. even when the girls cracked jokes and tried to include you—usually the only thing that made you feel a little less invisible—you just... weren’t there.

you were somewhere else entirely.

“are you okay?” lilly asked as you waited in line for the roller coaster.

you forced a smile. “yeah. just a little nervous.”

you didn’t want them seeing anything real. not the cracks, not the shift. because if they did, they’d rip you apart the second your back was turned.

“this ride is, like… 400 feet tall,” you added with a small laugh.

it sounded hollow.

and you knew they knew.

bill and tom were sitting on a bench, the sun beating down lazily as they worked their way through melting sundaes in cheap plastic cups. the park buzzed around them—kids screaming from rides, the distant rumble of roller coasters, the smell of fried food and sunscreen heavy in the air.

“that move you pulled by putting gum in that girls hair was awesome by the way.” bill mentions, licking a smear of fudge from his thumb.

“oh you found out about that?” tom smirks.

“yeah.” bill replied, casually spooning another bite. “she came to my hotel room bawling for y/n to help, i told you about how i got stuck with her.” bill says.

“right” tom nodded, a little amused.

"it was fucking annoying, though," bill continued. "the second melina started buttering her up, calling her a savior and all that fake shit, y/n just—folded. like instantly. it was so obvious she was being used and she still gave in. honestly? it was pathetic."

tom sighed, setting his cup down on the bench beside him. "don’t you think you're being kind of a hypocrite?"

bill blinked, looking over at his brother. "what the hell does that mean?"

tom leaned back, letting his head tilt toward the sky for a moment before glancing at bill. "i mean… doesn't she remind you of someone?"

"who?"

"you," tom said simply. "you before you figured your shit out.

bill paused.

“you know it’s true. you used to do the exact same thing—bend over backwards for anyone who gave you even a crumb of approval. starve for it, actually. like it was the only thing keeping you going. fake affection, fake validation… because real stuff? real self-worth? that wasn’t even in your vocabulary yet."

bill didn’t respond, his jaw clenched slightly.

“you wanted some kind of love or care even if it was fake because it filled something inside you for just a moment. like a drug.” tom said.

“i mean," tom continued, softer now, "i get it. we both know why. the way we grew up? the stuff mom didn’t do because she had her own shit going on? yeah, it screwed you up. and maybe it’s not exactly the same for her, but... maybe it’s not so different either. maybe she’s got shitty influences. maybe she never had anyone teach her to look in the mirror and like what she sees without someone else's permission.”

he paused, glancing at his brother.

"i'm just saying," tom added, "maybe cut her a little slack. you of all people should understand. you got through it—maybe she can too. you know exactly how that feels to not know any better about how to see yourself through your own eyes. maybe give her some advice, teach her… she seems like she’s curious about you. i saw the way she looked at you on the bus, not just in a way where she thought you were hot and mysterious or whatever but there was a moment where she looked at you in a way where she wants what you've got now. that calm. that sense of self. that thing you didn’t have before but found. after i saw that, i started to feel that she’s different from the other girls.” tom says.

bill stared at the ground, twirling the plastic spoon between his fingers. he didn’t say anything.

"maybe instead of judging her," tom said, finishing the last bite of his sundae, "you could try showing her.”

bill sat in silence long after tom stopped talking, the spoon in his hand unmoving. the usual sharpness in his eyes dulled, like something inside him had been pulled into focus against his will. he didn’t like the comparison—but not because it was wrong. in fact, it was too right.

he leaned forward as he laced his fingers. his expression was unreadable, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of something like regret or memory swimming behind his eyes. like tom’s words had dug up something he hadn’t looked at in a long time.

he hated being seen. not just looked at, but really seen. and tom had just held up a mirror.

bill wasn’t used to feeling this way anymore—soft, vulnerable, exposed. he had worked hard to build walls from sarcasm, style, and indifference. but now, sitting there with the sun hitting the side of his face and the sound of kids laughing in the distance, he felt like that kid again. the one who used to feel invisible unless someone wanted something from him.

he glanced over at tom, who was already tossing his empty sundae cup into a trash bin, as if the conversation hadn’t just cracked something open. typical tom.

bill ran a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly, and leaned back again.

maybe tom was right. maybe you weren’t pathetic. maybe you were just… familiar.

when you returned to your hotel room that night, bill was already there. his makeup was wiped clean, pajamas on—just a form fitting band tee and plaid sleep pants—and he lay on his stomach across the bed, flipping lazily through a magazine. he looked up at the sound of your keycard unlocking the door.

his eyes followed you as you stepped inside, shoulders slumped, face tired in a way that had nothing to do with walking all day. you dropped your bag by the door and collapsed onto the lounge chair with a long, quiet sigh.

bill watched you for a moment, taking in the way you avoided eye contact, how your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, how your shoulders sagged lower than usual. something about your silence didn’t sit right. he set the magazine down beside him and sat up slightly, his brows pulling together.

“you… okay?” he asked gently.

just two words. but they landed like a stone in your chest. your face twisted like it couldn’t hold back anymore, and suddenly tears were streaming down your cheeks.

“i just hate myself,” you whispered, voice cracking as your hands covered your face. the words tumbled out like they’d been waiting to escape all day—maybe longer. you didn’t care anymore. not about hiding, not about seeming strong, not even about the fact that he was the one seeing you like this.

bill’s expression softened, the familiar annoyance or sarcasm in his features fading into something achingly tender. without a word, he patted the spot on the bed next to him.

“come over here,” he said quietly.

you hesitated, unsure if this was some trap to be mocked later, but when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it. the sincerity. no edge. just him.

“i’m sorry about what i said before,” he added. “just… you can come talk to me.”

slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and made your way over, sitting beside him on the bed, not too close but close enough to feel the warmth from his side. you stared at the floor for a second, gathering yourself.

“i just…” your voice was small. “i care so much about what other people think. and even when they say something nice, it’s like—it feels good for like, two seconds, but then it’s gone and i feel even worse afterward. i don’t even like my friends half the time. the way they talk about people, the way they act... but when they give me that little bit of approval, it’s like—it’s like a drug. and i know it’s fake, i know it is, but i still want it. i want to leave, to not be like this, but… i feel stuck. like if i try to change, i’ll be nobody. i won’t belong anywhere.”

bill listened quietly, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to see the shape of the pain you were describing.

“no, i know what that stuck feeling feels like,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “it’s because you can’t even begin to think of where to start—because it starts with loving someone you hate more than anything or anyone in the world. someone you’ve blamed for everything. someone you’ve never really forgiven for being so… broken.”

you looked over at him slowly.

“yourself,” he finished. “it starts with loving yourself. and that’s… that’s the hardest part.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. not yet. his words sat with you like warm tea on a cold chest—uncomfortable, but healing.

he looked down at his hands. “when i was younger, i hated everything about myself. i hated how badly i needed to be liked. i hated how fake i’d act just to make people stay. i hated how empty i felt when they left anyway. but i kept doing it. because it was the only thing i knew. it’s like walking around with a hole in your chest and pretending it’s not there. but the thing is… no one else can fill it. you think they can. but they can’t.”

you blinked, tears still drying on your cheeks.

“it’s hard to see yourself clearly when all you’ve ever done is look for yourself in other people’s opinions,” he said.

“you’re surprisingly deep for someone who wears eyeliner better than i do,” you mumbled.

he cracked a half-smile.

you wiped your face with your sleeve, finally feeling like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t so alone in this.

you both fell into a rare, easy silence after that. the kind that doesn’t demand anything from you. your breathing evened out, and bill leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes on the ceiling like he was somewhere far away.

after a beat, he spoke again. “you wanna know something kind of stupid?”

you turned your head toward him. “what?”

he hesitated for a second, then reached over the side of his bed, going through his bag. out came a little, battered notebook—worn at the edges, a nena sticker half-peeled off the front. he held it for a second, like debating something internally, then passed it to you.

“i used to write shit in here when i was trying to get better. like, stuff i wish someone would say to me. or stuff i wanted to believe about myself, but didn’t.”

you held it carefully, like it might fall apart in your hands. “can i…?”

“yeah. go ahead.”

you opened it. the first page was written in bold, messy handwriting:

you’re not annoying. you’re just trying to connect.

you’re not fake. you’re scared of being unloved.

you’re not broken. you’re learning.

you are not what happened to you.

you stared at it for a moment, blinking hard. something about those words hit too close, like a bruise being poked gently. painful but honest.

“you wrote all this?” you asked quietly.

he shrugged, like it was no big deal, but you could tell it was.

“some of it,” he said. “some I just copied from stuff i found online or in books. didn’t matter. it helped to see it all in one place. and after a while, some of it actually started to feel real.”

you kept flipping through the pages—some filled with affirmations, others just raw thoughts, lyrics, quotes scribbled at weird angles. there was even a doodle of someone standing in the rain, little hearts dripping like water from their hair.

you smiled, sad and soft. “this is… really beautiful.”

“don’t get used to it,” he said, smirking just a little. “i’m still an punk like, 90% of the time.”

you laughed quietly, and it didn’t feel forced this time.

after a while, you passed the notebook back to him. “thank you… for showing me that.”

he took it and set it on the nightstand again, then looked at you. “you ever write stuff down?”

you shook your head. “i always think about it. but then I just… don’t. feels dumb sometimes.”

“it’s not dumb,” he said. “sometimes it’s the only way to get the mess out of your head. it doesn’t even have to make sense.”

you nodded, taking that in.

“you can use my notebook, if you want,” he added, after a second. “just the back pages. write something. even if it’s just ‘fuck melina’ over and over.”

you grinned at that. “tempting.”

you both sat like that for a while—quiet, but connected in a new way now. eventually, you slid down to lay on top of the covers, exhausted in a different way than earlier. your thoughts were still noisy, but somehow softer now.

bill turned off the lamp on his side, leaving just the glow from the moon light seeping in through the windows. “hey,” he said, right before either of you drifted off.

“yeah?”

“tom’s right, by the way.”

“hm? about what?”

“he said you’re different.”

your heart thudded in your chest. “you think so?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice already a little sleep-heavy. “just… don’t let people like her convince you otherwise.”

you didn’t reply right away, just stared up at the ceiling in the dark, letting that sink in. for once, someone’s words didn’t feel like a drug—they felt like a truth.

“…thanks,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“mmhm,” he mumbled back.

and then the room fell quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm the both of you breathing as you drifted to sleep.

(yes there will a part three, i just haven’t started it yet 👀🖤)

[skylessknights]

GET TO KNOW ME: ♡ favourite wrestling feud/storyline - Swerve Strickland vs Hangman Adam Page

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