#Advanced Protective Gears

[historyofguns]

In the article "Premier Body Armor Fortis Level III+ Loadout Review — One LEO’s Take" on The Armory Life, veteran police officer and firearms instructor Alan M. Rice reviews the Premier Body Armor Fortis Level III+ Loadout, focusing on its effectiveness for protection against rifle threats. He highlights that many officers, especially in rural areas, must provide their own gear and that while ballistic vests are usually supplied, rifle-rated plates often are not. Rice praises the Fortis plates for being lightweight yet providing substantial protection, and he outlines his personal testing experience, noting the gear's comfort and ease of use during extended wear on a training course. With insights on the integrated Medical/Admin/Assault Pouch (MAAP) and Premier’s advanced trauma mitigation technology, the article serves as a comprehensive evaluation of the Fortis Loadout's value for law enforcement officers.

[dogfendercollar]

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[gf2bellamy]

heya girly! i was wondering if you were interested in writing a spencer x reader fic where the reader has like cool tattoos on her upper back, lower back etc. she usually dresses in long sleeved pants and shirts so when she is supposed to go to a club to catch the unsub the team looks shocked at the tattoos and spencer gets flustered that he just starts spitting facts. maybe they are friends who flirt or early relationship. it could be fun if spencer traces her tattoos as he blabs which makes reader explode (his hands 😍). thank you in advance 🫶🏼

tattoos — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader has tattoos , mention of a bar , mention of pain while getting the tattoos a/n: hii !! love love love this request ( i'm actually planning on getting my first tattoo soon !! ) so i hope you like this <3

You stood in front of the mirror, carefully fixing the necklace around your neck. The light was making the silver chain glimmer as you centered the pendant just right. 

A knock on the door made you jump slightly. 

"Hi, it's Spencer. Are you ready?" His voice was gentle as always.

You exhaled slowly, taking in your reflection once more. "Not really," you admitted, a slight smile tugging at your lips. "Can you help me, Spence?" 

There was a pause before he answered. "Can—can I come in?" His voice wavered slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether stepping into your room was allowed. 

You chuckled softly. "Yes, Spencer." 

The door creaked open, and Spencer entered cautiously, his tall frame hesitating near the doorway. His hazel eyes swept over you briefly before he forced himself to look away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"You, um, you look… nice." His voice was quieter now, and you caught the way his gaze flickered to the floor before meeting yours again. 

A small, knowing smile played on your lips. "Thanks," you said, turning your back to him. "I just need help with a button." 

The fabric of your shirt shifted as you pulled your hair to the side, revealing the top of your bare back. Spencer took a step forward, but then he froze. 

"You… have tattoos," he stated, his voice laced with surprise. 

You grinned, tilting your head slightly to glance at him. "I know." 

For a second, he just stood there, his brain visibly working overtime to process this newfound information. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as his lips parted slightly, eyes darting across the inked patterns on your skin. 

Then, like clockwork, he started to ramble. 

"You know, historically, tattoos have been used as a form of identity, cultural expression, and even spiritual protection. The oldest recorded tattoos date back over 5,000 years. Ötzi the Iceman, who was discovered in the Alps, had carbon tattoos that were likely used for medicinal purposes—” 

You turned fully now, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched Spencer, his gaze flickering everywhere but directly at you. His hands were tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his slacks, and the slightest tinge of pink dusted his cheeks. 

When his eyes finally met yours, he faltered. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, clearing his throat as if that could erase his flustered reaction. “You—um, you needed help with something?” 

You bit back a laugh at his obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. “Yeah, just a button,” you reminded him, turning once more to expose the small, undone clasp. 

Spencer took a cautious step forward. For a second, nothing happened. And then, you felt it—his fingers brushing lightly against your bare back as he reached for the button. His touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. You had been close to Spencer before, but never like this.

His breath hitched slightly, and then you felt it—his fingers tracing along the delicate ink of one of your tattoos. 

“I like this one,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

Your heart nearly stopped. 

His touch was featherlight, following the curve of the design etched into your skin. You didn’t need to look to know which one. You could feel it. 

“That’s my favorite,” you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. 

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, his fingers continued their slow exploration, moving to the next piece of ink. Your breath hitched as his fingertips barely grazed the sensitive skin there, his movements hesitant, as if he were memorizing each line, each shape.

His fingers moved to the next tattoo, tracing the delicate lines. His touch was soft, the pads of his fingers barely skimming your skin. 

You weren’t sure if he even realized what he was doing—or if he was lost in thought, letting his curiosity take over. 

“Did they hurt?” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin. 

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the warmth of his breath so close to your neck. 

“No… not really,” you murmured, closing your eyes as his fingertips brushed against another inked design. “Some more than others.” 

He hummed quietly, considering your answer. His fingers moved again—just the lightest trace along your skin.

“This one,” he said, his voice soft. “Did this one hurt?” 

You didn’t have to look to know which one he meant. The one just below your shoulder blade—an intricate design, one that had taken hours to complete. 

“A little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I wanted it, so it was worth it.” 

Spencer’s fingers lingered, tracing the pattern like he was committing it to memory. “That makes sense,” he said quietly.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe.

And then, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing, Spencer pulled his hand back. He cleared his throat, taking a small step away, putting distance between you. 

“Sorry,” he said again, but this time, it was different. His voice was lower, rougher—like he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for touching you or for stopping. 

You turned to face him, slowly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. 

His gaze dropped back to your ink, his fingers twitching slightly, like he wanted to reach out again but thought better of it. 

And you almost wanted him to. 

The thought sent another rush of heat through your body, and you had to look away before your own feelings betrayed you. 

Spencer exhaled slowly, stepping back, putting space between you. 

“We should… we should get going,” he said, voice quiet, almost reluctant. 

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still pounding. 

As you grabbed your things and headed for the door, you could still feel it—his touch, his breath, the way he had looked at you. 

And something told you that no matter how much time passed, Spencer Reid would remember the feeling of your tattoos beneath his fingers. 

Just like you’d remember the way it felt to have him trace them. 

[whxre-bxby]

Player 001 (Young-il) x Reader

"Poor Little Y/N..."

My attraction to older men fuels the creativity within me to write

Oneshot - angst, death, blood, silent attraction, romantic feelings Masterlist

When Gi-hun decides to rebel against the guards and marches out of the player's room with his small army, you join them. Innocent, caring little Y/N, who's never held a gun in her life nor seen one before she ended up in these games, bravely sucks up her fear of dying and breaks the rules by exiting with the armed players. Among those are Young-il and other people you trust now.

You go because your fear of losing them and watching not a single one of them return is far worse than your instinctive fear of death.

Lovely, selfless Y/N who holds in her tears and forces her trembling hands to calm down while aiming her weapon at guards and pulling the trigger.

After leaving the stairs on which your group has been ambushed, you make it to a corridor when Gi-hun and Jung-bae leave you behind to advance further into this hellhole of a place.

You don't like splitting up but you can't stop them, so you stay with the group, continuing to help them through the gunfight. But then Young-il shouts that he is going after them and needs two people. Young-il, who's been a trusted member since you all met him after the first game. The man who pulled you into a room with him when the voice announced the number 2 during Round-And-Round, saving you without hesitation.

The man who insisted you take his pillow to hug at night because you couldn't fall asleep without the comfort of clutching something against you. Even though you kindly rejected his offer, he didn't take no for an answer and didn't leave the side of your bed until he was sure you accepted his gift and were as comfortable as you could be in this place.

So of course, you volunteer to go with him, as do two other men. He glances at them before his gaze rests on you a little too long, and you can see the gears of thought turning in his head. His expression isn't so stern and tense anymore and you watch his eyes soften as his head slowly leans back against the wall.

"No...not you, Y/N..." he says, his voice no longer loud, before waving the two men over to him and leaving with them. His words stung you deeply. You didn't understand why he said that to you. Oh, only if you knew he was going to betray the two good players he brought with him...

Brave and dedicated Y/N, who feels it's been to long since she's heard from either Gi-hun's team or Young-il's, so she runs after them, towards the control room. The sound of distant gunshots has your kind little heart racing with adrenaline. The urge to help and protect being stronger than your will to live.

What life would it be if you knew you could have helped, but didn't? What if they all died while you would cowardly wait and hide. You would be tortured by those thoughts forever.

Fast but scared Y/N, who sprints through the cold-coloured hallways and up levels of stairs, past dead guards and over puddles of blood because as long as you haven't found your friends' dead bodies, you have a reason to live and fight on.

Close gunshots no longer scare you. It could be your team firing them. But then you reach the first proper obstacle. The two players who went with Young-il were dead and their bodies pierced by bullets. The sight startles you, but you've seen this before. As long as it's not one of the other three, you can live with it. You have to. So you continue up the stairs, desperately wanting to find someone you know for your comfort and safety.

Shocked yet relieved Y/N who finds Young-il on the other side of the stairs, gun in hand but body slumped on the ground and tracksuit splattered with blood.

Such a good heart you have... immediately running to his side and checking up on him. He seems to be fine, though you can't be sure until you know where he's been hurt.

Silly you, that blood isn't his.

You don't even pay attention to the confused and unexpected look in his eyes. Oh, he did not expect anyone to find him now. He wasn't sure what to say or how to act anymore. Young-il thought his time of pretending to be Player 001 had come to an end. But he had to keep up the act in front of you right? Right?

He couldn't. It all happened so fast, he could just sit back and watch you hug him before you search for a wound to explain the bloodstains. Your face painted in great worry and distress. Your commitment to improving his wellbeing astounded him.

But the dream-like moment didn't last long and was canonically interrupted when footsteps were heard rushing down the other flight of stairs, towards the two of you.

Young-il had no reason to fear them. But you, who at this point were frightened by the very sight of them, made the alarm in your head start ringing. You abruptly turned around, facing them instead of the face you found great comfort in.

Young-il, who suddenly felt his heart drop deep into his gut when he realised the danger you could be in now.

Brave but teary-eyed Y/N, who sits on her heels in front of her friend, attempting to shield him while shouting at them to stop.

Young-il, who panics, wanting to move you behind him while attempting to wave the guards away, or at least not to open fire. But then it happens. The sound of a gunshot echoes through the cold walls and before either of you can process anything, the impact the bullet caused, had your body falling back. You land next to him, head supported against the wall and lock eyes with Young-il. A look of wide-eyed shock takes over his expression and he can only watch the consequences of his actions unfold before him.

Your trembling arms reach out for him, but not for help. You're still trying to save him, but your attempts are weak. Another harsh bang rings in both your ears and that does it. As the second bullet buries itself deep in your flesh, having pierced through vital organs, the light in your eyes vanishes and your body goes limp next to him.

Young-il can't move. You, the only person who's shown this kind of care for him in years, are now dead because of him and his actions. He made you trust him and now he had to watch you pay the price for his mistake. He should have never shown you any attention.

Poor little Y/N... your pretty body has failed you. But it was your heart that killed you.

Yes, I know. Tragic. Sorry. I'm sure you'll survive in other fics.

It's past midnight but fuck it I'm posting it.

[leyavo]

| On my way |

Summary: Simon needs you after a particular rough mission and you help him come back to himself.

Hurt/comfort. TW: death** I apologise in advance for this one. [masterlist] 1,233words

[Wife/gf masterlist]

It’s not often that John Price’s name lit up your phone. You rubbed your eyes, kicking the thin sheets off your legs as you sat up. A sheen of sweat coats the back of your neck, vest top sticking to you like a second skin in the summer heat. You glanced over your shoulder to the vacant space, palm smoothing over the mattress as you answer on the third ring.

“Sorry gal, Si’s not himself. Gonna need you to work your magic again, just like last time.” John’s grating voice nothing more than a scratch, as if he’s been shouting more than talking. The other end of the line silent, no banter in the background as the team make their usual jokes.

“I’m on my way.”

Simon made you a plan for quick exits, made you practice how to react without a second thought. You’re dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes, the T-shirt Simon gave you inside out but you’re too worried to care. Resetting the house alarm is muscle memory, the small bag on the crook of your elbow carrying only the necessities. Phone, charger, purse and a warm bottle water.

The drive feels painstakingly slow, the absence of cars on the road making it seem like you’re not getting anywhere. Three straight lanes of the motorway merging. The rising sun blinding you as the car crawls to a stop outside the residential house of the army base.

John’s halfway out of the door before you’re even walking down the pathway. He’s still wearing his tactical gear, bucket hat askew as he meets you in the middle.

“He’s inside, I’ve got, gotta…” he stuttered, the captain crumbling in front of you.

You nod your head, patting his arm and walking through the front door. The house gloomy, musty stench hanging in the air where the place had been left unused. You know that whatever’s lead up to this moment, no amount of words would console them. There’s no way for you to understand, because you’ve never done the things they’ve had to.

There’s always a distant part of Simon you’ll never relate to. A part he’ll suppress in order to protect you.

And that’s all to do with the mask. The one he’s never worn when he’s with you. The last time you came here, he’d already removed it thanks to the gash on his jawline needing stitches.

The dark and narrow hallway sends a shiver down your spine, the tracks of mud staining the carpet leading the way. You paused at the door ajar, a sliver of light peeking through. Slipping through the gap and into the room, you bit back your gasp.

Simon’s perched on the edge of the bed, head hung low and shoulders hunched as he picked at the skin around his fingernails. The dim lamp casting shadows on the skull mask covering his face, but you can see those downcast eyes. A glimpse of the man behind it.

His gear dumped by his mud coated boots, vest and hoody strewn across the creased bedding. Red coats his bare arms and hands, you can’t even tell if it’s his or someone else’s.

“Simon.” You say his name more like asking a question, wondering if he’s your husband or Ghost still on a mission. Someone you don’t know.

You stood at least a foot away from him, learning the hard way last time when you’d moved too fast and ended up pressed against the wall. No, you’d let him come to you even it if took all day.

“John called me.”

His body curled in more and his broad shoulders trembled. You took a step forward and he stilled, head lifting a fraction to your discoloured trainers. He nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging your presence.

“I’m just going to stay here with you,” you said, closing the gap between you and him, toe to toe. The open window behind you sent a warm breeze through the room, the baggy T-shirt that swamped you billowing towards his clasped hands.

You sunk to your knees, your hands taking his before he resumed the picking. It took everything in you not to move as his head snapped up and you finally got to see the mask. Even the stitching on the centre running down the crown of his head put you off. The cracked ivory skull staring back at you. It’s hard to recognise a semblance of your husband eyes, there’s a shadow of darkness looming over them as his features remain unmoving. Waiting for you to move too fast or say the wrong thing.

Simon’s forehead pushed against yours, the rough skull of his mask digging into your skin. His hand grabbed yours and he lifted it to rest it on the nape of neck. A silent plea for you to help him remove it. It’s gritty and rough under your touch, as if it’s been dragged through a burning building. The Smokey stench stinging your nostrils.

“It’s okay,” your whispered voice trembled as his hand dropped to the bed like a dead weight. The thump drawing you to stand back up as you pulled the mask over his head. The black material tracing his forehead and crooked nose as you gently tugged it off. A mess of blonde hair skimming his thick brows.

“I couldn’t…” his words stopping short as his fists clenched on top of his knees. The scabs on his knuckles tearing open and weeping blood.

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s over.”

You hooked your finger under his chin and lifted his face. His lashes clumped, tears leaving track marks down the grime dusting his skin. The hem of your T-shirt twisted in his grasp as he tugged you closer to stand between his legs.

The top of his head leant against your stomach, the curve of his shoulder blades shifting underneath his dirty shirt. You combed your fingers through his blonde hair, his palms cupping the back of your thighs as if you’d fall back a step and he’d lose you. You’d never seen him so small. The way he hunched over and shrunk away from your gaze each time he tried to speak.

“I’m right here Simon.”

You can’t bring yourself to think of the horrors he’s witnessed, can’t begin to think how it’s only the second time he’s been like this. Breaks your heart to think he probably did it alone before you.

“I couldn’t get to him…” he sniffed glancing up at you, arms wrapping around your waist and head burying into the crook of your neck. “Johnny he just went down.” A sob tore from his throat and his whole body shuddered against yours.

And that’s when you realised why John hadn’t stayed. Why Simon had reacted at the sound of his name, as if he expected you to say Johnny and not John. Why the rest of the task force wasn’t hanging around the house.

It wasn’t Simon’s vest on the bed, it was Johnny’s. His blood staining your husband’s arms, as if he held his friend till his last breaths.

The last time Simon had struggled to come back to himself, he’d seen someone hit by a bomb. Now it was the death of his friend.

You’re not sure if he’ll ever come back from this loss.

“He was just lying there…”

❤️‍🩹 I apologise for whatever I’ve just wrote - Leya

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[venusstorm]

𝑭𝒍𝒚 𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒚

Summary: Bucky completely ignoring a woman flirting with him. He’s all yours.

⋆ Part 2 of Bumblebees & Honeybees

⋆ Warnings: bunch of fluff but still MINORS–DNI

⋆ w/c: 970

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

He misses you. He wants you squealing in his ear, begging him to switch gears and send you both flying down the highway. He needs the soft touch of your hands sliding down his chest while your body is pressed against his. “You doing okay, baby?” You’d shout against the wind. His hand would part from the handlebars to grab yours, reassuring you that he could spend hours riding around with you.

But tonight he’s by himself. At first he was excited to get out and ride solo with the guys but it only took 5 minutes after pulling out the driveway to start daydreaming about you.

And now even his daydreams are forced to fizzle as he warily eyes a group of women approaching his group.

A few of his single friends accept their advances, allowing their hands to grace the sleek material of their bikes. They giggle, politely making small talk until the guys finally offer them a ride.

Bucky smirks as Sam talks up a girl with long braids. His eyes glisten with interest as she asks about the type of bike he's riding. His lips spread into a smile as he goes off on a tangent, explaining everything about his bike and what it can do.

The woman listens happily, her gaze fixated on everything Sam points out. Her mouth rambles with further questions, somehow finding openings between Sam's lecture to speak.

Bucky laughs to himself. "Guess he finally found someone who talks just as much as him."

"She never knows when to stop." A voice interrupts.

Bewildered, Bucky looks up. The woman's eyes were trained on his arms, slowly making their way up to his chest before stopping at his face. "She loves motorcycles, but I tend to be more interested in who's riding them."

Unamused, he stares her dead in the eye. "I have a partner. Thanks."

"And yet you're talking to me?"

Immediately, Bucky leans back, distancing himself from this waytooclose stranger. He grunts a response that's supposed to signify an "okay…", hoping she'd get the hint and step away.

But she doesn't. Instead, she closes the gap, her eyes traveling towards his special keychain. "This is so cute!"

It was almost territorial the way he grips the fuzzy bee, protecting it from the hands of anyone besides you. "Don't touch that." He practically growls the sentence.

Her hands raised in defense. "Alright, alright. Chill. I won't touch your stupid bee."

Bucky scoffs in frustration. A thousand words ignited on his tongue, but hastily, he put every last one out. It was pushing midnight, and all he cared about was going home and seeing your pretty self spread out on the bed. You've been staying at his place all week, and it's been the happiest he's ever been.

He's always been an early riser. Getting up before the sunrise and heading outside for a morning run. Quickly slipping on his workout clothes and racing out of his apartment without a second thought.

But now he lingers. Watching you peacefully sleep, your lips slightly parted as you nuzzled further into his side. He can't bring himself to move, not when you were sleeping so soundly. He'd trace the back of his hand against your cheek, pressing gentle kisses to your nose before drawing you closer.

His morning run could wait.

Bucky looks past the woman, checking to see if Sam is good before preparing to leave. "Hey, I'm headed back for the night. I'll catch you guys later."

He's not surprised when Sam stops what he's doing, silently asking if he's alright. Bucky shrugs as he mouths his response. "Just missin' home."

Sam knows exactly what Bucky means just by the way he's frantically reaching for his helmet. He misses you. Smiling knowingly, Sam waves Bucky off. "Just text me when you get back!"

As he goes to put on his helmet, a whiny voice interrupts his thoughts. "But I'll be the only one without a ride."

"Not my problem."

"But–"

The rumble of his bike drowns out her words. With a crooked smile, he swipes down his visor. He couldn't leave the parking lot fast enough.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Bucky strips from his heavy gear the moment he returns home. He can hear your light laughter from the kitchen, and his cheeks grow warm. "Honeybee?" He calls out.

Your laughter is replaced with the sound of running footsteps. He hears you race down the hall upstairs and tread down the steps until you reach the kitchen. You squeal at the sight of him, racing into his arms and kissing him feverishly. "You're back!"

"I'm back!" He mimics your cheerful tone. Grinning, he holds you against his chest, to which you happily melt into. The two of you stay in that position silently, the weight of the day evaporating.

"Riding’s a lot more fun when you're with me," he sighs, breaking the peaceful silence. "I like having my little backpack clinging onto me for dear life."

"I like it too, but work was a little hectic today. Once I hit the bed, I just couldn't get back up."

Bucky frowns. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. How about we get you back to it then?"

Gently, he carries you back into his bedroom and places you beneath the trampled sheets. The thin tank top you had on was hanging off your shoulders and the scarf around your head was slowly falling downwards. "Pretty," he murmurs.

“So damn pretty and all mine."

[nineslugs]

More Sunbeam!

Here they are wearing some traditional battle gear (left) and naked to show off their anatomy (right).

You can see that the claws on their right t-type wing are naturally longer than their left. The scales lining the edge of the wing are naturally longer on that side as well, but Sunbeam keeps them clipped to match their other wing so that flight isn’t impacted. On the propatagium of their right wing Sunbeam has a tattoo representing their four cliquemates, which is common and expected in their culture for kee that have officially joined a clique.

The outfit Sunbeam is wearing is pretty standard armor worn by kee light infantry and mercenary forces. Because of their extensive patagium kee usually wear clothes that cover only the head and chest, along with a small cap that covers the genitalia Their armor tends to be very lightweight and made of many layers of cloth, and those with more resources wear armor that incorporates lightweight advanced ceramics. When needing more extensive armor, kee use temporary adhesives to affix cloth or ceramic plates over their back and chest.

Sunbeam is wearing the cloth version including small metal studs on their jacket for extra protection. They are also wearing metal claw covers and a beak cap intended for close quarters fighting. Their wing claws are decoratively enameled, but the colorful coating also strengthens them without adding too much weight. Other decorative elements of their outfit include the dyed plant stalk on the headdress and the logo on their left shoulder. The logo is their clique’s battle emblem.

Note: I’m slowly going through uploading my back load of art since I’m not a fast writer. This piece is from late in 2024.

[hummingbird24220]

Helloo! Could you do a Gear 5 Luffy x Reader? It can be anything I'd just love to get some gear 5 luffy content <33 Thank you!!!

Hello! Yes !

I am waaaaay behind in the anime, so i dont actually know anything about Gear 5 , aside from hes cloud-ish (: I gave it a go, with minimum research because im trying to avoid spoilers :')

Hope you like it <3

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

Heartbeat in the Storm

Gear5!Luffy x Reader

The sky above cracked like glass, thunder rolling deep and low across the battlefield. The ground trembled beneath your feet as the enemy advanced—massive, cruel, and laughing like they had already won.

You were bruised, bloody, and barely standing. But Luffy hadn’t fallen. Not yet.

“(Y/N)!” he shouted from where he was crouched a few feet away, panting hard, sweat trailing down his brow.

You met his eyes, those familiar wide ones that usually glimmered with mischief and dreams. But now—they burned. With something else. Something feral.

You tried to warn him, to tell him to run. “Luffy, you can’t take them all on. It’s okay, we’ll—”

“I can,” he said, voice low and certain, cutting through the noise. “Because they hurt you.”

You froze.

He stood, slow and trembling, the air around him beginning to shift. The sky pulsed with his heartbeat, and the clouds swirled like they recognized what was coming.

“Luffy…” you whispered, wide-eyed, heart hammering in your chest for a different reason now.

You knew what this was. You had seen it once before, from far away—a glimpse of something godlike, impossible. Something that defied reason and rules.

He grinned at you—not his usual carefree smile, but one soft and full of something unspoken. “I’m not letting them take you from me.”

And then—

Boom.

The world exploded in white.

His hair turned snow-white, his hat floating just above his head. His laughter rang out, loud and free, wild and warm. The enemy reeled, faces twisting in confusion and fear.

You could only stare as Luffy bounced and bent reality around him, his body rubber and light and dreamlike. Gear 5.

He fought like a storm with a heartbeat, laughter cutting through screams. And still—he kept glancing at you.

Fighting for you.

You didn’t know when you’d started crying. Maybe when he’d looked at you like you were the reason he had to win. Maybe when you realized this wasn’t just friendship anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And when it was over—when the enemy lay defeated, the storm died down, and he finally stumbled over to you—he collapsed into your arms, grinning like he hadn’t just warped the sky.

You cupped his face, breathless. “You idiot. You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he mumbled, leaning into your touch like it was the only place he wanted to be. “Because I heard you calling me. I couldn’t leave you behind.”

You stared at him, feeling every unsaid word hang in the air like lightning about to strike.

“I’m not good at saying stuff like you or Sanji,” he added, almost shyly. “But… when it comes to you, I just know. I gotta protect you. I want to.”

Not lovers. Not just friends.

Something in between, blooming wildly under stormlight.

And with your forehead pressed to his, the battlefield silent around you, you whispered, “You’re the only one I’d ever want to fight for me.”

He smiled again, that soft one that was just for you. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”

---

The island was quiet now. The only sound was the distant crash of the waves and the crackling of a small fire the crew had built to rest around. Most of them had already passed out in blankets and makeshift hammocks, snoring or mumbling in their sleep.

But not you. And not Luffy.

You sat side by side just beyond the camp, perched on a warm rock still holding onto the heat of the sun. The firelight danced across his face, softening the fading bruises on his skin. His hat was perched loosely on his back, and his white hair—now faded back to black—fell messily across his forehead.

He hadn’t said much since the fight. But he hadn’t stopped hovering either.

“You good?” he asked finally, voice low, like it didn’t want to disturb the peace.

You looked at him, surprised by the quiet gentleness in his tone. “I should be asking you that, Captain. You used… that form.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah… I guess I kinda freaked everyone out.”

You let out a soft laugh and leaned your head against his shoulder. He tensed—just for a second—then relaxed so fast you almost didn’t catch it. His body was warm, steady. Like you could fall asleep against him and be perfectly safe.

“I wasn’t scared,” you said, eyes drifting up to the stars. “Not really.”

“Even when I looked all weird and big and… glowy?” he tilted his head at you, voice teasing.

You smiled. “You’ve always been weird. That’s nothing new.”

He chuckled, that soft, dorky laugh of his. “You’re not wrong.”

There was a quiet beat between you, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The kind that only happened when you truly knew someone. Trusted them. Wanted to stay by their side even if it meant following them into the storm.

“…When I was in Gear 5,” he said, suddenly serious, “it felt like I could do anything. Like my body didn’t care about pain or rules or gravity. But even then, the only thing I could think about was getting to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He wasn’t looking at you, eyes fixed on the sky like he was afraid he’d say something dumb if he turned his head.

“I don’t know what that means,” he added, softer. “I just know it felt right.”

You reached over and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His palm was warm and a little rough, and he squeezed back immediately like he’d been waiting for it.

“I think it means,” you murmured, “we’re something important to each other. Even if we don’t have a word for it yet.”

He finally looked at you. And in his eyes, there wasn’t confusion or hesitation.

Just that smile. The real one. The one he saved for meat, the Sunny, and now—for you.

“Okay,” he said. “I like that.”

He leaned his head against yours, and the two of you stayed like that until the fire burned low and the stars blinked tiredly above.

Not quite lovers.

Not just friends.

But something real, and soft, and yours.

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Qatar Heat Pt.2 (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x female! Driver! Reader

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary: part two of this fic!

Watching his teammate rolled away as he battles with unanswered questions. Oscar is rushed away and confronted by his manger Mark Webbar- where the pressure you endure come to light.

Warnings:

Mentions of a weight clause for reader, a bit of tension, both of you are still idiots just a little bit more aware of your feelings

A/N: okay here it is! I’m so sorry this took so long your girl has been in a massive funk lately but finally getting this out feels so good. I hope your enjoy, the themes in this may be a little strong but your girl can’t help writing about supportive men speaking up for woman’s advocacy!

Masterlist

🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🍂

Oscar felt helpless as he watched your body being strapped onto a gurney and rushed away. Cameras flashed around him in a dizzying swirl, sharp questions slurring together in a meaningless blur of noise.

“Oscar, what’s going on? What did she say?”

“Mr Piastri, any comment on what you just witnessed?”

“Mr Piastri, do you think women are cut out for formula one?”

That last one ran deep down Oscar’s spine, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilted his head at the reporter. Almost daring them to repeat the question.

His movement towards the man was blocked by the weighted pressure of Charles' hands on his tensed shoulders, blocking his attempt at confronting the sexist reporter. His fists clenched by his sides as he scoffs one last time in the man direction, turning his attention to the swarm of McLaren personal surrounding you.

His steps towards you were held back, Charles’ voice ringing through his ears. Charles hands pressed into Oscar’s shoulders, effectively blocking the man’s advance. He felt hopeless, his feet sinking into the heated tar like mud- his strained voice fading into the chaotic swarm of noise.

He was quickly forced away, McLaren support surrounding him as they guided his staggering steps into a closed off room. Their words not registering as his neck strained, desperate to catch one last look at you as the door to the motor home is locked behind him. Oscar’s hands rested atop his helmet, thankful for the privacy it provided as a strangled, broken plea escapes his parted lips. His chest straining as his mind runs away from him, still focused on his teammate, the girl he would do anything for.

He is ushered into a still conference room, the silence a welcoming change as the door clicks.

In seconds Oscar was left alone, his blood thundering in his ears. He heaved with weighted breaths as he paced the room. A consistent back and forth as he replayed your words in his mind, battling with himself to not go running out the door after you.

His hand fighting with his helmet, rushed movements yanking the suffocating weight from his head. The pounding remained consistent as the protective gear hung heavily in his hands. His sick covered gloves a stomach churning reminded if the pain McLaren had caused.

He replayed the events in his mind, running through the memories- a desperate search for answers in every fleeting moment he had shared with you.

So.. she got her period- that he saw sure off.

They forgot to fill her water at the hottest race of the year and-

They forgot?

Engineers don’t just, forget these things.

His cheast tightens with a whole new kind of anger. The one ran deep, an icy flow in his veins that squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remain control of his breathing.

But if they didn’t forget, they.. did this on purpose?

His eyes narrowed in a pointed gaze.

But.. why would they do this?

He made his way out towards the door, leaving his helmet forgotten and his gloves tucked into his coveralls.

gripping the cold brass in his hand, Oscar took a moment to breathe. Allowing his breath to catch, the shaking in his hands steadying.

Nothing good will come from approaching this in anger. No, he needs to be calm and consistent. He needs to lay out the facts and the evidence for the world to deliberate.

He needs people to know the truth. Not for himself, and definitely not for the team.

But for you.

The girl who came speeding into his life, messing up his sim times with her sarcastic commentary. Sending his heart racing with every second glance, his stomach shuffling with nerves when you laugh, low and controlled, at his jokes.

The one who always stood with composure and grace when people throw brash and sexist comments your way.

The one who shut them up with race results and unteachable talent that left the whole paddock (world) silent.

The one who left him breathless in every sense.

He wasn’t going to stand by and watch as the very team who did this to you, made up excuses and lies- letting the world slander your racing ability.

This wasn’t personal- it wasn’t about you

Just… your ability as a driver.

Yeah, sure. That’s how he will rationalise what he’s about to do.

The door opening caught him by surprise, stepping back slightly as the person sleeked into the room. Standing tall, blocking Oscar’s escape.

Oscar eyes narrowed at the older man in front of him, his manager and mentor Mark Weebar.

Oscar arms crossing against his chest as he rejected the man’s presence, not at all in the mindset for a post race debriefing right now.

Mark stood unwavering in front of the door, mimicking Oscar’s stance watching the young driver intently. His eyes daring Oscar’s to speak first, a smirk itching on Marks features at Oscar’s indifferent expression. Waiting carefully for mark to break the silence first

“Before you go out there, there are some things you should know first.”

Marks gaze met Oscar’s, the older man’s face hanging low. His shoulder weighed with the knowledge of a terrible truth. One he truly didn’t believe Oscar was ready to hear- At least not in his current state.

Marks movements were slow, hesitant as he extended out his arm. His hand clutching a stack of papers, jerstering for Oscar to take them.

Oscar’s hands shook as he gazed the papers, they looked identical to his racing contract with McLaren. The only difference being your name staring back at him.

He thrust the papers back towards Mark, the pile burning in his hands. His eyes gone wide as he stared accusingly at his manager;

This was your racing contact.

He couldn’t have this! He couldn’t read this- he could be fired, or worse.

“I’m not asking you to read it. I’m giving it to you, to leak to the press.”

Oscar wished he heard the man wrong, but at Mark stood unwavering, he couldn’t help but stare down at the stack. His gaze a mix of horror and intrigue.

“Now, you didn’t hear this from me. But-“

Mark oaused, taking a moment to steady his shaking words. His eyes refusing to meet Oscar’s.

“There’s a part of her contract- a… a weight clause.”

The stack of papers fluttering to the floor paused Marks words.

Risking a looks up at Oscar he watched the driver's eyes burn with fury, a blaze igniting as his body started to shake.

Oscar’s eyes closed with his teeth biting hard into his lip, the metallic tinge of blood meeting his taste buds. Every bone had gone ridged, hairs on end as his body practically buzzed with anger.

“Zac insisted on it.”

The two men's eyes met, Oscar’s burning with dark fury.

“They didn’t fill her water for today race, did you know?” Oscar’s voice was calm, head tilted to the side, eyes tracing marks frame. Sizing up the older man.

“I-I didn’t think that they would actually go through with it.” Mark admitted in a whispered confession, eyes closing and he’d lowering in shame and defeat.

Oscar’s foot collided with his helmet, the crack of the plastic visor evident as the headgear crumpled against the wall, sliding with defeat and landing on the ground.

Outside the motorhome, All post race celebrations were forgotten as drivers were whisked away by their teams. Being fed perfectly constructed statements about the incidents of today's race.

With the victor in intensive care, and her teammate and fellow pole sitter missing- there wasn’t much to be celebrating in the first place.

The paddock buzzed with uncertainty, all attention drawn to the McLaren motorhome. The building sitting unerveringly still, no one in or out as reporters and photographers fought for a glimpse inside.

Oscar kept the papers tucked into his race suit, mind steady as he opened the door.

Being met with a wave of flashing lights and incomprehensible questions. Everyone talking over themselves, begging for Oscars statement. He walked slow towards the group, holding up his arms to gain their attention.

“I’m not here to answer questions, just to deliver the facts.”

Oscars turns towards the McLaren motorhome, Mark posted at the door giving him a nod of encouragement. Blocking Zacks attempts to breach the compound to silence Oscar. Zacks fists pounding on the glass echoing behind him, the principals shouted threats silenced.

“It was brought to my attention, that during today’s race y/n’s drink supply was left unfilled. On purpose.” He make sure to put emphasis on that last part. Fighting with his voice to stay steady, praying it doesn’t crack.

“Now I don’t think i have to tell you just how disgusting, not to mentions dangerous that is. But that isn’t all.” Oscars unzips his race suit, the stack of papers being pulled from the confines.

“This-“ he holds the papers high in the air with a shaking arm.

“This is my teammates race contract. You will find a highlighted section on page three. this section outlines the details of my teammates weight clause. Stating, and I quote ‘If driver y/l/n is found to be in breach of the weight limit- set by McLaren- she will be met with immediate reprimands including but not limited to; one race ban, denial/push back of upgrades, limited access to sim testing and/or immediate dismissal from the team.”

Oscar paused as the crowd in front of him erupts. Anger and confusion evident in the air as reporters shout for answers. His eyes locking with a female reporter, her hand brought to her mouth in shock. Her eyes wide with disbelief and she shakes her head.

“I will not stand aside as my teammate is silenced. I will not stand aside while McLaren jeopardise her heath and wellbeing, all for aesthetics.” Oscar’s voice raising into a shout, allowing the words to fly from his mouth with heated passion.

“My teammates body autonomy has been signed away, now under ownership of a formula one team. Y/n lost consciousness after the race as a direct effect of the deliberate decision not to fill her drink supply orchestrated by and under the direct supervision of Zac Brown.” Oscar finished his statement by handing your race contract to the press. 

Seizing his opportunity to sneak away while they clawed at the papers, desperate to capture images of the alleged passage. Oscar stands behind the motor home. His hands racking through his hair.

A wave of panic hitting him hard. His throat tightens as he chocked on a sob, his eyes burning with hot tears. His body screamed at him, muscles strained and tired. His jaw ached from clenching it. His hands hurt from his nails biting at the skin. His mind swirled with anger and confusion, unable to think straight.

“That was one hell of a statement Piastri.”

You voice broke him from his spiral, smooth and sweet like caramel. He looked at you with shock and disbelief, his movements stalled as he raked his sore eyes over your frame. Lent casually against the wall, one leg propped against the exterior of the motor home, the other planted steadily on the ground. One hand cluchting your side as the other hold a cigarette. Oscars eyebrows raising as you take a long drag, your eyes closing as you allow the smoke to invade your lungs.

“I didn’t know you smoke?”

The question caused a surprised laugh to slip past your lips. Followed by a sharp and deep couch, it rattled your frame. Leaving you hunched over for a moment. Flicking the but away from you as you step away from the wall. Making your way towards Oscar. Your steps slow and shuffled as you approach the man.

Now face to face you grab his hand, Oscars heart skipping a beat. His eyes refusing to meet your heated gaze, scanning the area behind you.

You step closer to him now, your breath fanning over his face. His eyes closed as he inhaled the stained aroma of cigarettes and Gatorade. Your hand rests on his chest feeling the reparative rise and fall with each breath. The other is placed over his shoulder, the action tensing the man’s body and his eyes closed. Not daring to move and inch, his fingers twitch by his sides.

“It’s going to be hell, once Zac finds us.” The words are quiet. A whispered moment of uncertainty as your eyes trace over Oscar’s face. Raking down his nose, following each freckle down to his parted lips.

His eyes opening just to meet your heavy gaze, the air surrounding you gone thick. His tongue flicking over his bottom lip, swallowing his nerves as he raises a shaking hand. His rough palm resting gentle on your cheek, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin.

He chuckles low, a deep rumble in his chest. A white flicker of a small grin and his froth teeth capture the light of the setting sun. The golden glow slowly warming your tangled bodies. The drum of noise carried away by his smooth voice, low and controlled as always

“Yeah well, I’m not letting you go through hell alone.”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing yours. He eyes still swirling with uncertainty as he hesitates to close the distance. A brief wave of panic overtaking him as his mind catches up with his actions. His limbs burning just as he was about the pull away, you put him out of his misery.

Your hands curling around the back of his neck, coming to rest in the nape of his hair. Using the leverage to pull him down, your lips connecting. The kiss burns, so many words unspoken on the tips of your tongues. His swirling around yours as you lean into him, allowing his arms to wind around you. Your weight easily supported by him as you allow the world to slow.

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Tag list;

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4

If you want to be added to the permanent tag list, let me know!

[insomniaccorner]

When Silence Scream

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, found family POV: Second person Word Count: ~3.5k Warnings: Emotional abuse, verbal harassment, gaslighting, mentions of manipulation and trauma responses

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So, um, sorry in advance for this fic. This is based on something that happened to me pretty recently and I deicided to make a fic out of it but with a different outcome than what I went through.

Just know, that if anyone is going through this too, you aren't alone. Talk to people, block numbers, do what you need to do to protect yourself.

Now, onto the fic..... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t expect the messages to ruin your whole week.

Hell, you didn’t even expect to get messages from her again. She’d blocked you, right? That’s what she said last time.

But they came anyway — short, bitter bullets that pierced through your screen and straight into your ribs.

“Maybe if you stopped being an anger-filled asshole, you wouldn’t lose people.”

“You’re the problem.”

“Stop texting me.” Not even a minute later: “Your reactions to the stupidest shit are always uncalled for.”

“Eat shit.”

“I couldn’t be happier that we’re not talking anymore. I’ve been planning to cut you off. Especially you.”

“Worthless piece of trash.”

You hadn’t said a single word back. Not once.

And yet, the final message still read:

“Stop texting me or I’ll report you for harassment.”

You sat on the floor of your room, phone limp in your hand. The words spun in your mind like broken glass in a washing machine. The worst part? You’d done nothing. There was no fight. No moment of betrayal. No warning. Just… her snapping.

And you couldn’t tell anyone. Not even the people you lived with. Because if you told them—

They’d ask what you did.

They’d say “just block her.” They’d wonder why it still bothered you. They’d wonder if she was right.

Wouldn’t they?

You weren’t a vigilante. You weren’t Bruce’s biological kid. You weren’t a genius like Tim, or a natural-born killer like Damian. You were just you.

And now, not even your former friend wanted that.

The Batcave was cold that night.

You sat on the edge of the couch while Jason cleaned his gear. You were quiet. Too quiet. But he didn’t push — not at first. He just kept sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye, lips pressed into a line.

“Someone die?” he asked finally.

You looked at him. “What?”

“You’re quiet. That’s usually a sign you’ve either committed murder or had a breakdown.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Neither. Just tired.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Tired like… sleepy? Or tired like I should be worried?”

“Don’t, Jay. Please.”

He stared for a second. Then nodded. “Okay.”

You thought that was the end of it.

Until your phone buzzed again.

And this time, Jason saw you flinch.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, standing up.

You locked the screen immediately. “Nothing.”

“You flinched like it was a threat.”

You stayed silent.

Jason didn’t.

He walked over, hand held out. “Phone.”

You didn’t move.

“[Y/N].” His voice dropped. Not angry. Just… careful. “Please.”

You hesitated, then handed it to him.

He scrolled. Read. Blinked once. Twice.

And then his expression shifted into something dangerous.

“She sent all of this… out of nowhere?”

You nodded.

“She blocked you, and then started this?”

Nod.

“And you didn’t even reply?”

Tighter nod. Your throat was starting to close up. You didn’t want to see the disgust on his face. You expected him to say “why didn’t you tell us?” or worse—“maybe you did do something and just didn’t realize it.”

Instead, Jason turned and tossed your phone onto the couch.

“Stay here,” he muttered.

You barely had time to ask where he was going before he was already walking toward the Batcomputer.

Fifteen minutes later, the rest of the family knew.

You didn’t mean for them to. Jason hadn’t screamed or raged. But he’d shared it with Bruce, and Bruce had quietly told Alfred, and Alfred had forwarded it to Barbara, and Barbara had brought Tim and Dick into the loop.

You expected judgment.

You got rage — but not at you.

“You know what this is, right?” Babs said, scrolling through the texts Jason had uploaded.

“Verbal abuse,” Tim muttered.

“Manipulation,” Bruce agreed. “She wanted control. She didn’t get it. So now she wants to make you feel small.”

Your eyes welled up. “Why would she say those things? Why would she act like I was harassing her when I didn’t even say anything?”

“Because guilt-tripping works best when the target’s kind,” Alfred said from behind you. “Which you are.”

Dick crouched down in front of you. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

You blinked. “Even if I was angry sometimes—?”

“Even then,” Jason cut in. “That doesn’t justify this. Ever.”

“And she’s been using new numbers,” Barbara added, pulling up a screen. “Unlisted. Burner apps. She thinks she’s being clever.”

You stared. “Wait. What?”

“She texted you from a new number last night, right?” Tim asked. “Pretended it was someone else asking about your old friend?”

You froze. “I… yeah.”

“She tried to bait you,” Jason growled. “She’s trying to make you snap. So she can play the victim.”

You looked at all of them. “What do we do?”

Bruce’s jaw tensed. “We protect you.”

The next few days were quiet.

Too quiet.

The messages stopped.

But your brain didn’t. You kept hearing her words in your head — worthless, piece of trash, stop texting me. You double-checked your silence settings five times a day. Every time someone texted, you flinched.

You even apologized to Jason once for bothering him.

He just looked at you like you’d punched him.

“Don’t ever apologize for trusting me,” he said.

Then came the final straw.

She showed up outside the manor gates.

You saw it through the security cam on the front console. She didn’t have a phone out. Just stood there, eyes wild, arms crossed, pretending to be casual — like she just happened to be there.

You froze.

Jason didn’t.

He was already halfway to the door.

“Jason—!”

“Stay here.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. You stayed rooted to the floor, heart hammering.

Through the cameras, you saw him walk up to the gate.

You couldn’t hear the conversation — but you saw the look on her face change. Smug to startled. Confident to cold panic. Jason said maybe five words before her entire posture crumbled.

She backed up.

Then walked away.

And didn’t look back.

That night, Jason came back with something in his hand.

Your old phone.

The one she used to text you on.

“I had Tim trace everything. Every number. Every burner. Every app.”

You stared. “Did she break the law?”

“She used a proxy server to avoid blacklisting. That is illegal.”

“…Are you going to press charges?”

Jason paused. Then sat down beside you.

“No,” he said softly. “You are.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You don’t have to. We won’t force you. But if you do, we’ll be right behind you.”

You looked at him. Then the others.

Then your hands.

“…I don’t want her to do this to anyone else.”

Jason smiled faintly. “Then we’ll make sure she can’t.”

Three weeks later, she tried to twist the story to someone else — claiming you were obsessive, that you faked the screenshots, that you were harassing her.

But Bruce had already sent everything to his lawyers.

Barbara had already tagged her account on social media and posted the real timeline, with timestamped backups.

Tim had traced her IP and preemptively filed a report with the app’s legal department.

And Jason?

Jason showed up at her work and made sure she knew exactly what she almost destroyed.

“You don’t mess with people like that,” he’d said, voice cold. “And you definitely don’t mess with mine.”

She never texted you again.

But the most important part wasn’t that she stopped.

It’s that you didn’t have to stay quiet anymore.

And when your voice came back, piece by piece, you found it was stronger than before.

You still had bad days. Still jumped at unexpected texts. But you weren’t alone now.

Not ever again.

And when you saw her once — just once — across the street weeks later, your phone buzzed.

It was Jason.

“You good?”

You looked up.

Met her eyes.

Then turned away.

“Yeah. I am now.”

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 9

hey cuties, this chapter is actually so angsty I might die i love when you guys comment so pls keep it up and let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list !! i fricking love u guys !!

previous chapters

Before they left

Ellie was out with Leo, one of Jackson’s newer patrolmen—a quiet, steady-eyed guy with a calm that felt almost unnatural in a place like this. He’d proven himself useful enough: sharp aim, sure step.

It was her first real patrol without Joel’s shadow looming behind her, his watchful eye dissecting every sound, every flicker in the underbrush, ready to jump in if her instincts wavered. Joel had been more than hesitant to let her go, but Ellie knew how to work around his protectiveness, and he’d eventually relented, grumbling something about her proving she could handle herself.

The route they’d been given was standard—a western perimeter sweep, a routine check of gates, watchposts, and gaps in the fence line. Nothing more than a glance at empty fields, trees swaying in the distance, and the ghostly echoes of rustling animals.

But the clouds loomed low and dark, heavy as lead against the wide sky, threatening rain or worse. The cold bit into her bones, crisp enough to sting, and her breath lingered in clouds of mist before vanishing into the chill.

Leo walked a few steps ahead, his eyes sweeping the treeline with the cool efficiency of someone who didn’t mind the silence. Ellie glanced sideways at him, watching his shoulders rise and fall in a calm rhythm as if the place itself couldn’t touch him.

They’d just decided to turn back, the patrol as uneventful as they’d hoped, when Leo stopped dead in his tracks. Ellie followed his gaze and spotted it, too—a faint plume of smoke curling up behind a ridge in the distance, thin and gray against the dark sky. One look passed between them, and they both knew what it meant: someone was out there, just close enough to Jackson to make them uneasy.

Ellie’s heart hammered against her ribs, and suddenly, Joel’s voice rang through her mind, steady as his hand on her shoulder during a training session. “Never assume it’s friendly. People only hide for two reasons—fear or intent. And neither’s safe.”

She could almost hear him, his tone low, caution edging his words. “Look for cover first, approach quiet. Only move when you’re sure.” Her grip on her rifle tightened, knuckles whitening against the cold metal.

Leo gave her a nod, an unspoken you ready?

She drew a slow breath, reminding herself to stay calm. They moved closer, footsteps careful, every sound amplified in the stillness. All of Joel’s hard-learned lessons came flooding back as they advanced: stay low, eyes sharp, don’t let them see you before you see them.

Quietly, they moved toward the smoke, weapons drawn, each step calculated as they closed in on the campsite. Then they saw them—a small group of raiders, rough-looking men in mismatched gear, their rifles propped against logs, packs scattered around like they planned on staying awhile. The men hadn’t spotted Ellie and Leo yet, so they crept closer, taking cover behind a rocky outcrop, hearts pounding, breaths held.

But then, maybe it was just instinct—one of the raiders glanced up, his hand flying to his weapon. In an instant, chaos erupted. Gunfire shattered the quiet, loud and brutal in the cold air. Ellie’s heart thundered, adrenaline coursing through her as she ducked and returned fire.

One by one, the raiders went down, their shouts fading until only the hush of the forest remained, heavy and grim. The last raider, staggering back with blood staining his side, fell against a wall, his eyes wide, desperate.

Leo stepped forward, his weapon raised, ready to end it, but Ellie held up a hand, halting him. She had questions, a nagging instinct clawing at her gut, and something in the raider’s gaze—defiance mixed with fear—made her pause.

“Who are you?” Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady, her words edged with a threat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The raider sneered, blood staining his teeth, but his eyes held a glint, something wild and defiant. “We’re here for the girl,” he spat, his voice rasping with a strange, almost triumphant malice. “The cure.”

Ellie felt a chill flood her veins, as if the air had turned to ice.

Her grip on her gun tightened, fingers tense on the trigger as she stared at him.

The cure.

The words twisted in her mind, turning her thoughts into a chaotic storm. “What… what did you say?” she whispered, the strength in her voice slipping as the weight of his words sank in, a cold, sick feeling clawing at her stomach.

Her mind raced, questions hammering at her. Were they ordinary raiders? Fireflies? Or some new group who’d managed to pick up on her past, on the secret Joel had tried so hard to bury? And if they knew… how had they tracked her here, to Jackson, where she was supposed to be safe?

The raider’s smirk only deepened, his face pale but his eyes dark with some twisted satisfaction. “We know all about her,” he rasped, each word a knife. His gaze fixed on her, sharp and unyielding, like he could see right through her.

"You can kill me," the raider coughed, blood trickling down his chin, yet his eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. "But more will come. And when we do… we’re gonna get her."

Ellie’s pulse thundered in her ears, each beat amplifying the sick, hollow dread spreading through her. His words slithered into her mind, each one striking with cold, ruthless certainty.

Someone knew. Someone out there knew what she was.

The one thing she’d worked so hard to bury, to escape, to live beyond—the secret Joel had kept at any cost—was slipping from her grip, no matter how tightly she’d held on. She’d come to Jackson to be just Ellie, to walk through the world as more than a body bound to a cure she’d never asked to carry. But now, in one brutal moment, that hope felt like dust, falling through her fingers.

Leo, sensing the shift in her demeanor and the tension etched across her face, stepped forward. He didn’t hesitate—a single, precise shot rang out, and the raider slumped against the ground, lifeless. Yet his words lingered, like a dark shadow cast over the silent campsite, a threat that felt too real to ignore.

Leo turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, his voice low but edged with concern. “What the fuck was he talking about?”

Ellie forced herself to breathe, to steady the churning in her gut. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She met his gaze, holding it just long enough to seem certain, though the lie felt heavy on her tongue.

By the time she returned to Jackson, her face was drained of color. She didn’t say a word to Leo, only gave him a faint nod when he suggested reporting the encounter, and then she disappeared.

The moment she crossed the threshold into her house, she was already packing, her hands working in a blur, stuffing her few belongings into a bag with a mechanical urgency that left no room for second thoughts. She knew what Joel would say, knew he’d tell her the only thing they could do now was run, to disappear before anyone came looking.

As the hours slipped into night, the town settled into a quiet stillness, but Ellie was already outside, her breath curling in the cold air, her feet carrying her through Jackson’s empty streets as if pulled by some unseen force. She stopped at your door and knocked, each second stretching painfully until it finally opened. Joel stood there, his face etched with worry, his eyes bloodshot, but even before she could say a word, he took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

It was settled—they were leaving. The quiet agreement hung heavy between them, each of them knowing there was no turning back.

She watched as Joel turned, his gaze drifting to the staircase, lingering just a moment too long. Ellie couldn’t look at him, the weight of his sacrifice pressing against the raw guilt twisting inside her.

•••

A year had passed.

They traveled endlessly, never lingering too long in one place, drifting through desolate towns and hollowed-out shelters, each as empty as the last. Days blurred together, a relentless stretch of gray skies and quiet roads, of survival routines that left no room for anything but vigilance. They moved like ghosts through a world that had forgotten them, Ellie and Joel—two souls bound by an unspoken promise and a need to stay ahead of whoever might be searching.

But no matter how far they went, no matter the miles they put between themselves and Jackson, Joel’s mind was always somewhere else.

It was always with you.

Every morning when Joel woke, there was a brief, blissful moment—a fragile sliver of peace between dream and reality—where he could almost convince himself he was back with you. In those hazy seconds, his mind softened, his body at ease, and he felt the warmth of your bed, the quiet hum of dawn filtering through the curtains, his head nestled at the base of your neck, his arm wrapped around you like a promise he could hold onto.

He’d breathe in, and for that stolen instant, he’d catch the faintest trace of lavender. That scent lingered in his memory like a dream that refused to fade, one he clung to as he drifted between worlds. Lavender, soft and warm, always grounding him, always pulling him into the shape of you, filling every unspoken part of him with something he dared not name. He could feel you, the curve of your shoulder under his hand, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the delicate intimacy that felt like home, a rare quiet he hadn’t even realized he could crave.

But then he’d open his eyes, and the cold reality of wherever they were would settle over him like a weight he’d never shake. The warmth, the closeness, the gentle pull of something almost real—it all slipped away, replaced by the hard ground, the empty air, the relentless ache that gnawed at him day after day.

Day and night, you lingered in his mind—a steady, silent ache, a presence that filled the hollow spaces inside him, ones he hadn’t even realized existed until you’d come along. Each day he wondered, turning it over and over in his mind, if things might have been different. If he hadn’t been so guarded, if he hadn’t kept you at arm’s length, would you have known how he truly felt? Would it have changed anything?

He imagined a thousand different versions of how he could’ve told you, how he could’ve let down those walls, let you see the side of him he’d buried under years of loss and regret. But in every version, he hesitated, haunted by the weight of everything he’d already lost, afraid to let himself believe in something good. And now, with you gone, he was filled with regret, a reminder of everything he hadn’t said, every moment he’d let slip through his fingers.

As they walked, he found himself wondering what you might be doing in Jackson, if you still waited by the window or traced the outline of the mountains with your eyes, hoping for some glimpse of him. And he wondered, in the deepest, most selfish parts of himself, if you missed him in the way that gnawed at him every hour, every mile. If you ached for him with the same relentless pull that made each morning harder, each night colder.

But then there was the worry that gnawed at the edges of his mind, the fear he kept buried deep but couldn’t quite silence. He’d never spoken the words, never dared cross the fragile line that had formed between you—a line made of glances that lingered too long, of touches that held meaning but never promises, of feelings he kept locked tight behind his ribs, too afraid to give them a name.

Yet he was selfish, and the thought of you with another man, of someone else in your bed, sharing that quiet warmth, feeling your touch—it was enough to turn his stomach, to make his mouth go dry with a bitterness he couldn’t swallow. He pictured it sometimes, in the dark hours of the night when he couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, imagined some stranger’s hand on your shoulder, some other voice filling the silence he used to share with you.

He had no right to it, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop the ache, didn’t stop that cold, jealous twist that reminded him just how much he wanted you.

So he carried you with him, in every step, every breath, every heartbeat. You were woven into him, a memory that pulsed through his veins like a wound that refused to heal. He could feel you in the quiet moments when he let his guard down, in the spaces between one thought and the next, a whisper of what he’d left behind but could never fully abandon. It was a burden and a balm, a constant ache that kept him grounded and made each mile that much harder to bear.

And in the quiet, secret places of his heart, he let himself believe that maybe, someday, he’d find his way back to you. Just for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself that hope, that maybe after all the miles and all the weight he’d carried, he’d see you again. That he’d find his way back, and you’d still be there, waiting for him, just as he’d been waiting for you in his own, silent way all along.

•••

One year.

A whole year had passed since Joel and Ellie had vanished from your life. You’d marked the date on your calendar, a small, barely visible reminder—a private, somber anniversary that only you observed. The seasons had cycled relentlessly in their quiet march, warmth giving way to the chill of winter, spring bursting with life, and now autumn, painting the world in hues of burnished orange and fading gold. Each season had carried with it a different ache, a shifting loneliness that settled in like an old companion.

Now, as you watched the leaves fall, scattered and swirling in the crisp air, you felt the bittersweet ache of time moving forward without them. There was something unshakably hollow in the thought that the world could keep turning while Joel and Ellie remained nothing more than memories tucked away in your mind. You’d find yourself pausing on quiet evenings, thinking you’d catch a glimpse of Joel’s familiar figure down the road or hear Ellie’s laughter echoing from somewhere beyond the trees, only for the moment to pass.

In the midst of all this change, you and Caleb had slowly, almost unwittingly, drifted into each other’s lives. It started after that vulnerable night with Maria, when, over cups of tea and whispered confidences, she’d urged you to let yourself find happiness, to stop waiting on shadows of the past.

Soon after, you found yourself leaning into the steady comfort Caleb offered. There was an undeniable ease in his presence—a warmth that settled around you without demands or complications. Caleb’s laughter was open, a soft assurance that made you feel safe, grounded. He had a way of bringing lightness to the quietest moments, an ability to turn the mundane into something unexpectedly joyful. He filled spaces in your life that had felt empty for too long, his steady presence easing the ache you’d carried alone.

He treated you with a gentle kindness, never pressing, never prying, just being there in a way that was soothing and, somehow, exactly what you’d needed. His steady hand on your shoulder, the unspoken reassurance in his gaze—it all felt like a balm against the ache you’d carried since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

Caleb didn’t ask questions about your past, didn’t demand pieces of yourself you weren’t ready to give, but with every passing day, his presence filled parts of the void Joel had left behind, like warm light spilling into a room you’d thought would always remain shadowed.

Your first kiss had been awkward in the sweetest way—two people stumbling, laughing against each other’s mouths, teeth clashing before you pulled back, cheeks flushed, unable to hide your laughter. It was light and easy, no grand declarations or heavy promises, just a moment shared, a warmth that didn’t need to be anything more than what it was. And as the weeks passed, it became obvious to everyone in Jackson, to every friend who exchanged knowing glances, that Caleb was smitten, his eyes following you with a warmth that softened even the hardest of stares.

So, you let him.

You let him in, bit by bit, finding comfort in his steady affection, in the way he made you laugh without trying, in the simple joy he brought into your life. And though a part of you still held on to memories of what you’d lost, the way Caleb looked at you made it easier to feel present, to let yourself be loved, to lean into a kindness that, for now, was enough.

But, it had been a year, and still, you cursed yourself for the way Joel lingered in your mind, haunting the quietest parts of your day. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t slip into your thoughts daily, an uninvited presence that crept in as you drifted off to sleep, or while you were brushing down the horses in the stables, even as you stood under the hot spray of the shower, eyes closed, heart heavy. His memory was like a thread woven into the fabric of your life, one you couldn’t pull free no matter how much time passed.

You tried not to think about what a year could mean, how the world beyond Jackson had a way of swallowing people whole, never to return. Instead, you forced yourself to imagine him somewhere out there—alive, even if he was distant, existing in a place you couldn’t reach. You pictured him like a shadow moving across empty roads, his gaze sharp, his stance steady, a survivor who wouldn’t let anything bring him down. It was easier to hold onto that, to let yourself believe he was still walking through this world, even if it was a world without you.

And sometimes, despite all your efforts to bury it, you couldn’t help but think of how well Joel had known you. One day Caleb brought home tulips, bright and cheerful in their own way, yet somehow missing the mark. You smiled and thanked him, grateful for the thought, but in the quiet of your mind, you couldn’t ignore the tug of memory. It was roses that had always stirred something deeper within you, and Joel had known that. You’d managed to piece it together over time, a quiet revelation that settled into your bones with bittersweet clarity.

It had been him who left that bouquet in your house when your leg was injured. You’d mentioned how you’d have to thank Tommy and Maria for the gesture, assuming the flowers had come from them, oblivious to the truth. Joel had just shrugged, feigning indifference, a quiet smirk playing at his mouth as he mumbled some dismissive response, never letting on that it was his silent confession, his way of saying the things he couldn’t put into words.

Those roses had been more than a gesture—they were a message wrapped in velvet petals, a whisper of all that had gone unspoken between you. And though you tried to focus on the present, on Caleb’s tulips and his warmth and his laughter, you couldn’t help but feel that those roses, left in the quiet space of your home, had planted themselves in your heart. A love that had never been spoken aloud yet lingered in every memory, every thought you forced yourself to tuck away.

Roses—his unspoken promise, his way of telling you he saw you, of saying all the things that a man like Joel couldn’t put into words.

•••

It was another evening spent around Tommy and Maria’s table, the familiar warmth and chatter weaving through the room like an old, comforting song. Laughter mingled with the clinking of plates, stories flowing easily as everyone settled into the simple joy of being together, of holding onto the small things that made life feel whole. The baby slept soundly in the next room, a soft, steady reminder of life’s resilience, of how beauty and heartbreak could coexist in the same breath.

But as the night wore on, your eyes drifted, almost unwillingly, to the empty seat at your side, the one that had remained untouched for so long. You could almost see him there, a shadow in the space beside you, a ghost haunting every dinner. In your mind, he was sitting right there, his familiar silhouette leaning back, arms crossed, quietly listening, his face softened just slightly in that rare way it only ever did when he felt at ease. You could picture him stealing a glance your way, the warmth in his gaze flickering just briefly before he looked down, his hand reaching out to adjust his glass.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn’t help but notice Caleb—quieter than usual, a strange tension in his posture, his leg shaking beneath the table in a steady, anxious rhythm. His gaze flickered over to you now and then, his eyes carrying something unreadable, something heavy. And when the meal was finally done, he rose abruptly, the scrape of wood against the floor slicing through the laughter and easy conversation like a sudden, cold draft.

Maria paused, tilting her head in concern. “Can I get you something Caleb?” she asked gently, her voice soft but curious, but he shook his head.

You looked up, confusion mingling with a growing unease as you caught the glint of something intense in his eyes. “Caleb?” you murmured, searching his face, trying to understand what he was about to say.

He took a shaky breath, his gaze softening as he spoke your name, and for a moment, it felt as if everything else faded into the background, the room narrowing until it was just the two of you. “I… I’ve thought a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nerves.

“When I came to Jackson, and I saw you for the first time… I knew I wanted you in my life. I know it sounds cheesy, but I never thought I’d find love again—not after the world fell apart.” He swallowed, his fingers fidgeting as he spoke, his words raw and unguarded. “Then I found you. And I can’t picture my life without you.”

Your heart stilled as his hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn tin. He opened it carefully, and inside, nestled in a bit of cloth, was a ring, the metal shaped into a delicate band, with a small, carefully polished piece of amber set in the center. It glowed warm and honeyed in the candlelight, a humble but beautiful thing.

He held it out to you, his hand trembling slightly. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, thick with hope and a quiet, desperate longing.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the warmth of the room, the low murmur of voices drifting in the background—all of it faded as the weight of Caleb's words settled over you. A whirlwind of emotions stirred inside you, a rush of unexpected joy tangled up with the familiar ache you’d tried so hard to bury, the one that had never truly left.

“Caleb, I—” you began, your voice faltering, but he held your gaze, his eyes bright, unwavering, filled with a quiet, earnest hope. He was waiting, trusting, laying his heart bare before you. You forced yourself not to think too much, not to let his face enter your mind—though it already had, a ghost lingering just on the edge of this moment.

But you didn’t let it take hold.

You swallowed, steadying yourself, and finally, you found your voice. “Yes,” you whispered, though your voice trembled, betraying the tumult of feeling beneath. “Yes, I will.”

Caleb’s face lit up, his relief and happiness radiating as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his fingers warm and steady against your trembling hand. You could feel the weight of it—the promise, the choice.

The room erupted in cheers, laughter ringing out as Tommy and Maria pulled you into warm, heartfelt hugs. Their joy filled the space, wrapping around you like a blanket, and for a moment, you let yourself be swept up in it, feeling the weight of Caleb’s ring on your finger, his grateful smile lighting up his face as he looked at you with a love so simple and genuine.

But even as you smiled, a quiet wave of guilt coiled around your heart, tugging painfully, reminding you of a truth you couldn’t ignore. Joel lingered there, tucked away in some hidden corner of yourself, an ache that had never fully healed.

And though you’d tried to close that chapter, to bury it beneath the promises you were making now, you couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere, in another life, he might have been here beside you instead.

•••

You and Maria strolled arm in arm, giggling like teenagers, caught up in the novelty of planning a wedding in a world where ceremonies were rare luxuries. With every step, you swapped whispered ideas for practical dresses, scavenged fabric, maybe even wildflowers if they could be found.

Maria’s excitement was infectious; she insisted on small touches of beauty—a bit of lace here, a hint of color there, things you hadn’t dared to dream of in years. Together, you imagined a simple gathering, something that honored love in a place so often touched by loss.

But then, as you rounded a corner, a shift in the air pulled you back to reality. Low voices sounded behind you, muted but tense, carrying a seriousness that was hard to ignore. You exchanged a glance with Maria, laughter fading as a sense of unease settled over you both.

Your heart stopped, every sound around you fading as the murmured words reached your ears. “It’s Tommy’s brother… and that girl—” The phrase lingered in the air, as if the very walls had held their breath.

A surge of disbelief flooded through you, followed by a fierce, aching hope that felt like a wound you’d thought had healed. It was a hope so intense that it was almost painful, something you’d buried deep but never truly let go.

Without even realizing it, you’d already begun pushing through the crowd, instincts driving you forward before your mind could catch up. Your pulse pounded in your ears, every nerve on edge as you moved, your eyes darting from face to face, each stranger a fleeting blur in your periphery. You were searching, each step laced with a desperation you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long.

And then, there they were.

Emerging through the gates, framed in the amber glow of the setting sun, was Joel—a figure you’d thought you might never see again, a presence so achingly familiar it felt like a punch to the chest. The world seemed to go silent, your surroundings blurring as if everything was pulling away, leaving only him standing there.

He looked older, and the sight of him—aged, worn, burdened—stirred a profound yearning within you, a visceral ache that ran so deep it stole the breath from your lungs. Every line on his face, every crease around his eyes, told a story of battles fought and sacrifices endured in brutal silence. His shoulders bore the weight of countless miles, each hardship etched into the way he held himself, his posture heavy with the ghosts he'd carried through a world you could scarcely imagine.

The year had sculpted him into someone both familiar and foreign, a man shaped by time and trials you weren't there to witness. Yet, despite the distance that life had carved between you, the pull you felt was undeniable—a magnetic longing that transcended the unspoken words and lost moments. You yearned to bridge the gap, to reach out and trace the map of his experiences etched upon his skin, to understand the depths of the sorrows and joys that had defined his journey.

The mere presence of him ignited something dormant within you, a longing that was both painful and exquisite. It was as if every unshed tear, every unspoken confession, every suppressed desire swelled up, pressing against the barriers you'd so carefully constructed. In that moment, all you wanted was to close the space between you, to let the unfulfilled promises and lingering glances find their resolution. The weight of what was left unsaid hung heavily in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder if he felt it too—the aching, relentless yearning that time had only intensified.

Your heart raced, a fierce, desperate rhythm that echoed through you like a thunderclap, raw and unforgiving. Every wall you’d built, every attempt you’d made to move forward, to accept his absence, came crashing down in a wave of overwhelming emotion. Anger, relief, hurt, and a longing so powerful it almost brought you to your knees—all of it rose up at once, tearing through the numbness you’d wrapped yourself in over the past year.

You wanted to run to him, to touch him, to let your fingers trace every line that time and hardship had carved into his face. You wanted to scream, to release the anger and hurt that his absence had left festering inside you. The agony of it was still fresh, wounds barely scabbed over that now bled anew, raw and relentless as every buried feeling clawed its way back to the surface. But even as you stood there, helpless, held captive by a tide of emotions you couldn’t contain, a familiar thought hit you, one that stopped you in your tracks, grounding you in a different kind of pain.

Did you even have the right?

The question echoed through you, sharp and unforgiving. Did what you and Joel shared before he left amount to anything real, anything that could survive the void he’d left in his wake? Had it been enough to claim him as yours in some silent, unspoken way? Or was it just a fragile thread spun from stolen glances, from touches that had lingered just a bit too long, from words unsaid but felt in the quiet spaces between breaths?

Beside him, Ellie moved with that fierce, unbreakable spirit that had always burned so brightly in her—a spark that even time and distance couldn’t diminish. Her steps were sure, carrying a quiet defiance, as if she’d faced down every dark corner the world had to offer and come out stronger, sharper. She looked older, too, her once-youthful face etched with an intensity that felt both familiar and heartbreakingly new. She was no longer the girl you’d last seen but something more—a survivor who’d fought her way through shadows you couldn’t imagine.

Around you, the murmurs grew, swelling into a chorus of shock and amazement, voices rising and falling like a tidal wave as people turned, faces lighting up with a mix of disbelief and awe. The name "Joel" rippled through the crowd, a whispered current that surged closer with each moment, brushing against your ears, making it all feel even more real and yet somehow impossible.

You saw him glance across the sea of faces, his gaze moving with an intensity you hadn’t seen in so long. He searched with a quiet urgency, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were looking for something—no, someone. The weight of his gaze, though it hadn’t landed on you yet, felt heavy, filling the air between you with a tension that made your heart pound.

Maria’s hand found your arm, her face etched with concern as she studied you. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft yet laced with worry. You wanted to answer, to reassure her, but the words caught in your throat. The world began to tilt, the sounds around you muffling as the rush of emotions—the disbelief, the hurt, the longing, all of it—swelled to a breaking point.

The vibrant colors of Jackson smeared into indistinct shapes, the cheerful sounds of the market melting into a distant, muffled hum. Everything around you seemed to tilt, slipping just out of reach as the flood of emotions—hope, shock, grief—crashed into each other, leaving you helpless against the surge. Before you could fully process it all, a wave of dizziness swept over you, an overwhelming rush of sensation that left you weightless and unanchored, as if reality itself were slipping through your fingers.

The thrill and desperate joy of seeing them faded into the background, replaced by a strange, numbing sense of disorientation that tugged you down, pulling you to the very edge of consciousness. You tried to focus, to hold onto the image of Joel standing there, of the life you’d imagined fading away, replaced by something unbearably real and raw. But the world around you grew dim, shadows pressing in from all sides, and the last thing you remembered was that one, undeniable thought echoing in the darkness

Joel was back.

•••

You stirred from the depths of unconsciousness, the sound of hushed voices reaching your ears like distant whispers. The air around you was warm, wrapping you in a cozy cocoon that felt both familiar and comforting. As your senses began to awaken, you registered the faint scent of woodsmoke mingling with something sweet—perhaps the remnants of a candle or a lingering trace of cinnamon from the kitchen.

Gradually, you opened your eyes, blinking against the soft glow of the room. It was a space you knew well, filled with the warmth of home—the walls adorned with handmade decorations, the soft rustle of fabric as a breeze slipped through a nearby window. The gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth provided a soothing backdrop, wrapping you in a sense of safety that felt almost tangible.

As your vision cleared, you became aware of a figure hovering nearby, blurred shapes gradually sharpening into a familiar face. Maria’s worried expression softened into relief the moment your eyes met hers.

You tried to speak, your voice thin and cracked, barely managing a whisper. “What… what happened?”

“Easy,” Maria soothed, her fingers tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, grounding you with a motherly gentleness. “You fainted when you saw them,” she explained, her tone soft, reassuring. “Just breathe, okay? You’re safe.”

“Where is he?” you blurted, unable to keep the desperation from spilling into your voice, every reined-in emotion surging to the surface. Relief, disbelief, bitterness—they all tangled within you, clawing their way up as panic brushed at the edges of your mind.

For so long, you had carried the weight of not knowing, the unanswered grief that lingered like an ache in your chest, the painful acceptance that he might be gone forever. And now he was here—somewhere in this town—yet it felt too fragile, like a dream that could vanish the moment you dared to reach for it.

Maria’s hand squeezed yours, her gaze steady and full of understanding. “He’s with Tommy right now,” she replied, her voice soft, gentle, as if trying to protect you from the storm that raged inside. Her words were grounding, and yet they ignited a twist of dread and longing deep in your stomach, a wave of emotions that left you feeling raw and exposed.

You weren’t sure you were ready. Facing him meant confronting everything you’d buried beneath layers of resilience and sorrow, everything you’d told yourself you had to let go of for your own sake. Joel had left without a single word, slipping away into the night as if you’d been nothing more than a passing moment. His absence had carved a hollow in you that you’d struggled to fill, a wound that had scarred over but never truly healed. And now, standing on the brink of seeing him again, you felt that scar ache with a fresh, raw pain.

Yet even with the bitterness of abandonment coiled in your heart, there was an undeniable pull—a fierce, undeniable urge to see him, to look into his eyes and find answers to the questions that had haunted you every day he’d been gone.

“Why did he leave?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, more a plea to the silence than anything else. It was as if the past year’s worth of pain—the hollow ache of missing him, the endless stretch of days that had only deepened the wound of his absence—had coiled into those words, raw and unfiltered.

Maria’s gaze softened, her hand resting gently on your arm, steadying you as the storm of emotions churned just beneath the surface. Her expression held an empathy that felt both comforting and heartbreaking, as if she knew too well what it was to bear the weight of unspoken loss. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice gentle, almost apologetic. “But he’s back now, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

“Baby?” You looked up, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest before reality settled in, the fragile possibility slipping through your fingers. It wasn’t Joel. Caleb stood before you, his face etched with worry, his gaze searching your expression for answers he hadn’t dared to ask yet.

A pang of guilt followed, sharp and immediate, reminding you of the unspoken longing that still tugged at your heart. It wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who had been there, filling the hollow spaces left behind by someone who’d vanished without so much as a goodbye.

He was the one who’d stood beside you in Joel’s absence, bringing light into the dark days, a patient comfort you’d learned to lean on. And yet, the yearning for Joel, the ache you’d buried so deeply, had flared to life the instant you heard his name whispered in the crowd.

Caleb’s eyes softened, a gentle understanding there that only deepened the ache within you. He reached out, brushing his hand over yours, grounding you even as you felt yourself drifting in a sea of old memories and unresolved feelings.

“I heard you fainted. Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice was gentle, laced with a worry that made guilt tighten in your chest.

“Yeah, I just… didn’t eat breakfast,” you replied, the lie slipping out with a forced casualness that felt thin and hollow. You flashed a quick, pointed look at Maria, silently begging her to keep quiet. She met your gaze, her expression a mixture of sympathy and unspoken curiosity, questions lingering in her eyes that she respectfully held back.

You hadn’t told Caleb about Joel, hadn’t shared that part of yourself that felt both vital and broken, a chapter that still haunted the edges of every moment you’d tried to start anew. It was easier, you’d told yourself, to let that part of your life remain in shadow, a memory locked safely away. Yet, with Joel here, with him breathing the same air once again, that shadow stretched over everything, blurring the lines between what had been and what was supposed to be.

It felt irrelevant, a relic of the past that had no place in the life you were building now. Joel had left, after all, and there hadn’t been anything definitive between you—no confessions, no kisses, nothing that should linger.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

What you had with Joel was tangled and complex, layered with unspoken emotions that ran deeper than words or actions. It terrified you even now, the way he’d left an imprint you couldn’t erase. No matter how much you cared for Caleb, a part of you had never felt with him what you’d felt with Joel, and the guilt of that truth weighed heavy, a quiet ache you carried in silence.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Caleb joked, his voice soft but attempting to lift the heavy air that hung between you.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the warmth he always offered so freely. “I’m okay now, I promise. You can head back to the clinic,” you said, trying to inject some lightness into your tone.

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed, genuine concern reflecting in his eyes. That look—his love and care laid bare—made it nearly impossible to meet his gaze without feeling the familiar sting of guilt.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you insisted, a little too quickly, each word tinged with the quiet desperation to end this moment before it unraveled the fragile balance you’d built.

He studied you for a second longer, then finally relented, his lips curving into a playful grin that softened his expression. “Alright. See you tonight, my fiancée.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle squeeze into your shoulder, a touch that felt both reassuring and painfully kind, then turned to leave.

As Caleb’s footsteps faded, you pressed your hands to your face, hoping the gesture would somehow steady the turmoil raging within you. You barely registered the murmur of voices nearby, Maria’s urgent whisper as she seemed to be shooing someone away, trying to protect your fragile state. But it was all background noise, swallowed by the storm of memories and emotions battling within you.

And then, slicing through the haze like a knife, came a voice—low, rough, and achingly familiar. “Fiancée?”

Your breath caught, hands falling from your face as the weight of that single word hit you. You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was, standing just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made everything else vanish.

Your throat tightened, and every carefully rehearsed word you’d prepared over the past year unraveled, slipping through your grasp. His eyes met yours, his expression a guarded storm—intense yet impossible to read. His gaze dropped to the ring on your finger, lingering there for a heartbeat, before rising back to your face, a silent question hanging between you, heavy and unspoken.

Here he was, standing before you, so close and real it left you lightheaded. His hair was longer, the hard lines carved deeper into his face, yet he was unmistakably Joel. His scent filled the room, wrapping around you and making the air feel thick and close.

Part of you wanted to run up and hug him, while another part urged you to stay rooted where you stood. You didn’t know if you should feel anger, relief, or surrender to the familiar longing that had shadowed you since the day he left. All you knew was that he was here, right in front of you, and every boundary you’d built to protect yourself shattered in an instant, leaving you exposed and uncertain.

You met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name—a silent plea, an apology, a yearning that mirrored your own. For a single, fragile second, it felt as if the world had shifted, bringing you both back to a place you’d thought was lost forever.

And yet the weight of everything unsaid lay between you, heavy and unmoving, a reminder that time, no matter how forgiving, could never erase the pain of his leaving.

“Joel…” The word barely slipped from your lips, thick with disbelief, tangled in the torrent of emotions you’d fought so hard to bury. A raw ache pulsed in your chest, a visceral longing to close the distance. Every part of you yearned to reach out, to feel his warmth again, to let your guard down just this once.

But as quickly as that longing surfaced, a fierce anger ignited, burning through the tenderness with brutal precision. He had left—walked away without a word, without a promise, leaving you to stitch yourself back together alone.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze roaming over you slowly, lingering, as if he were trying to absorb every change, every detail he’d missed.

His eyes caught on the subtle things—the way your hair was now cut shorter, brushing your shoulders, framing your face in a way that seemed softer.

His gaze paused on the small scar near your temple, the faint line you’d earned after slipping on patrol one rainy night.

“Legs all healed,” he said quietly, his voice low, softened with a hint of something unspoken.

A surge of anger rose, fierce and unforgiving.

This was what he had to say? After all this time, after disappearing without a trace, without a single word to explain, to soften the blow of his absence?

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your frustration contained. It was almost infuriatingly, achingly Joel: reserved, withholding, as if the simplest words could somehow disguise the gravity of everything he’d left unsaid.

“I thought you were dead.” The words tore from you, your breath hitching as the weight of your own admission hit like a fresh wound.

You wanted to lash out, to demand answers, to make him feel just an ounce of the hurt he’d left behind. But at the same time, the sight of him—alive, here—brought a treacherous swell of relief, one that you knew could shatter you just as easily.

You could feel his presence hesitate, the weight of his guilt hanging thick in the silence between you. He shifted, his voice low and tentative as he took a small, cautious step closer. “I can explain everything,” he murmured, his tone cracking just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath. “I had to leave—Ellie—”

But his words only fueled the fire raging within you, the weight of his explanation feeling hollow after everything you’d endured in his absence. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as the anger finally boiled over, raw and unrestrained, pushing past the walls you’d tried to keep in place.

It was all just too much. You felt your breathing quicken, your chest tight as the words forced their way out. “I don’t want to talk to you, Joel,” you choked, each syllable thick, laced with a raw pain you could barely contain.

You turned away, jaw clenched, every muscle taut as you struggled to keep yourself together, to keep the emotions from spilling out too easily, too freely. You told yourself to let him explain, to give him the chance to say whatever it was he’d come here to say. But you physically couldn’t—not right now, not with the weight of all those unsaid things pressing against the walls you’d worked so hard to build.

He flinched, the weight of your words crashing into him, and for a long, agonizing moment, silence filled the space between you, thick with the unspoken pain that had festered over the months apart. Your back was to him, so you couldn’t see the turmoil in his eyes, couldn’t witness the guilt that etched deep lines into his face, the regret that clouded his expression, or the flicker of shame that he couldn’t quite hide. But you felt it—the heaviness of his unspoken apologies, the remorse that seeped into the air like a confession he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Behind you, he took a shaky breath,a sound barely audible yet brimming with everything he didn’t know how to say. He wanted to reach out, to touch your shoulder, to bridge the gulf of silence and tell you that he understood, that he was sorry, that leaving you had been the hardest choice of his life.

He murmured your name, soft and tentative, the sound of it almost cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. “I need you to hear me out. Please. ” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, as though this was his last chance to set things right, and he knew how fragile that chance was.

“Joel!” you snapped, turning back to face him, the force of your voice cutting through the thick silence, slicing through whatever words he might’ve tried to offer. You weren’t going to let him lead this moment, not after he’d surrendered that right the day he walked away. “You don’t get to dictate how this conversation goes,” you bit out, eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “You don’t get to come back here and act like everything’s fine, like you can just pick up and pretend nothing happened.”

Maria appeared in the doorway, her gaze flicking between you and Joel, taking in the elevated voices, the tension that thickened the air. She moved closer, a silent, steadying presence.

“Joel,” Maria said softly, her voice firm but compassionate as she placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back. “I think you should leave. Give her some space.”

Joel looked at her, the protest clear in his eyes, but he didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on you, his face etched with the kind of regret that could never undo the damage he’d done, and he nodded, stepping back. He didn’t say another word, only cast one last, longing look your way before turning, disappearing through the doorway.

As soon as he was gone, the floodgates opened. The sobs you’d been holding back broke free, and Maria wrapped her arms around you, her touch a balm against the wound Joel had torn open once again.

You let yourself collapse into her embrace, the weight of everything spilling out as you grieved for the love you’d lost and the anger that refused to let it go.

•••

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the truth from Caleb. The subtle shifts in your mood, the faraway look that would creep into your eyes at the quietest moments—he noticed. The way you’d pull back when he reached for your hand, or how your laughter came slower, more forced, like it was an effort to keep up appearances. Sometimes, he’d catch you staring off into the distance, your mind clearly somewhere else, your expression unreadable.

You didn’t mean for the walls to build up between you, but every time he leaned in for a kiss, you’d turn your head just slightly, offering a cheek instead. Or when he’d wrap his arms around you, the warmth and comfort that once came so easily now felt hollow, as if you were slipping further away even when he held you close.

Concern etched itself across his features more often now, his brow furrowing as he studied you, trying to understand the weight that seemed to press down on you—a weight you couldn’t bring yourself to explain.

The life you’d begun to build with Caleb now felt tenuous, fragile, as memories of Joel wove themselves into the fabric of your days, filling the quiet spaces with a longing you could no longer ignore.

You felt yourself pulled in two directions, torn between the safe, predictable future you were crafting with Caleb and the inescapable, stormy memories of Joel. You knew it wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who loved you openly, steadily. Yet the truth gnawed at you relentlessly, clawing at your heart with a ferocity you couldn’t suppress.

The thought of you had been his only constant, his lifeline through a year of darkness. It was your memory that kept him moving, kept him alive, though he’d never allowed himself to hope too much. Yet even so, he’d held onto some small, foolish belief that he might return to find you there, still his, still waiting.

But that belief was shattered the moment he heard the word “fiancée.” The word lodged in his chest like broken glass, tearing through every fragile hope he’d harbored in his solitude. He’d left you—what had he expected?

That you’d wait, frozen in time, clinging to a ghost, while he wandered through the ruins of his own making? Deep down, he knew he had no right to feel this way. But no amount of rationalizing could quell the wave of longing and regret that washed over him, drowning him in sorrow he’d been too proud to admit he still felt.

In his mind, he’d pictured a different reunion. He’d imagined you opening the door, seeing him there, and in one wordless moment, all the anger and confusion would dissolve, replaced by the warmth he remembered so vividly.

He’d let himself believe that, somehow, you’d forgive him. That the last year could be wiped away like a bad dream, that he could slide back into the life he’d left, as if time had paused just for him. But now, standing in the shadows of a life you’d moved on from, he felt the weight of reality crashing over him, sharp and merciless. The thought of you pledging yourself to someone else, to a man who wasn’t him—it twisted in his gut like a blade, a slow, painful reminder of all he had lost.

He could see it too vividly: you at the altar, radiant and sure, your hand in Caleb’s as you vowed to build a future together, while he remained a ghost, lingering at the edges of a life he’d once held close. Every breath felt heavy, each step like trudging through quicksand, weighed down by what could have been, what should have been if he’d only stayed.

Now, faced with the reality of you in someone else’s arms, he saw the truth for what it was—a cruel twist of fate, a cosmic joke played at his expense, showing him just how deeply he’d betrayed his own heart.

•••

Your stomach churned as you stepped into the warm glow of the dining room, each step weighted with the knowledge that Joel and Ellie would be there. The familiar comfort of Maria and Tommy’s home, usually so cozy and inviting, felt stifling now, any sense of ease dissolving the instant your eyes fell upon them, already seated at the table. Joel’s presence struck you like a blow, a visceral ache twisting inside before you could even take a steadying breath.

Maria caught your eye, a silent apology flickering in her gaze, her face soft with sympathy. She knew—perhaps better than anyone—just how deep the turmoil ran, and that quiet understanding both soothed and sharpened the ache within you. You mustered a tight, brittle smile, hoping it would be enough to mask the vulnerability clawing at the surface, the storm of anger and longing that you couldn’t seem to keep buried.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, greeted Joel with an easy, wide smile, reaching out his hand in a friendly gesture. “Good to finally meet you, man! Heard lots of good things from the lesser Miller,” he joked, his voice warm, light, as if this were any ordinary dinner.

But Joel didn’t mirror the warmth. His handshake was brief, his expression unreadable, a careful mask that betrayed none of the raw intensity in his eyes. His gaze lingered on Caleb, sharp and assessing, a look so intense it felt as if he were trying to unearth every layer of the man in a single glance. It was a look that could have cut through steel, and though Caleb remained blissfully oblivious, his attention already drifting back to the table, you didn’t miss the way Joel’s gaze flickered—piercing, as if marking territory only he hadn’t been there to guard.

The unspoken animosity lingered, thickening the air, a silent reminder of everything left unresolved. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, even after he’d broken the handshake, a silent, smoldering intensity that both drew and repelled you. It was a weight, an ache that you couldn’t ignore, and as the meal began, you steeled yourself, forcing a polite smile, hoping it would hold against the flood of emotions Joel had stirred just by being there.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself slipping into a quiet detachment, shielding yourself behind a protective shell as Caleb animatedly shared stories with the group. His hand rested on yours, his grip warm and reassuring, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that was supposed to comfort.

Every so often, he’d lean over to press a kiss to your temple, his easy affection filling the room with a softness you wished you could fully appreciate. But each touch felt like a reminder of something missing, a bittersweet ache for what once was—or perhaps what had never fully been.

From across the table, you felt Joel’s eyes on you, each glance he stole heavy with unspoken words, charged with a silent intensity he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze flickered to his glass, lingering just a second too long, but you caught the way his attention drifted to your hand, to the engagement ring resting on your finger.

A shadow crossed his face—a sadness, a yearning that seemed to seep into the air between you, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. It was as though he was reaching out without words, trying to bridge a chasm he’d created.

And despite all of it - Joel looked good—better than you remembered, in a way that stirred something raw and unguarded within you, a heat only he seemed capable of igniting. The year had added a ruggedness to him, etched resilience into his already broad shoulders and forearms, the faint lines of muscle visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his well-worn shirt.

His hands, calloused and rough, rested on the table, hands that had once held you in the dead of night. Somehow, seeing them now felt as if they still did, as if the memory of his touch lingered just beneath the surface of your skin.

His hair was longer too, tousled and curling at the nape in a way that softened his ruggedness just enough to make him almost unbearably alluring. And then there were his eyes—dark, deep, brimming with that familiar, knowing intensity that you could feel across the table like a physical touch.

Each time his gaze met yours, it lingered a beat too long, his stare unfaltering, as though the room around you didn’t exist, as if every glance held an unspoken promise, a shared secret only the two of you could ever understand.

He held his glass of whiskey with a languid ease, his fingers tracing along the rim in a slow, almost teasing motion, his mouth brushing the edge with a deliberateness that felt like it was meant only for you.

Every time he took a sip, his lips—soft, pink, plump —lingered against the glass before he would flick his gaze to you, as if challenging you to look away. And when he licked them after each bite, a small, casual motion, it stirred thoughts you’d fought so hard to bury.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said there hadn’t been nights when you lay in bed, wide awake, caught in the silence, thinking of him, of the things those mouth and fingers could do to you.

You couldn’t stop stealing glances, couldn’t stop the way your eyes kept drifting back to him despite yourself, even though each look sent warmth rising to your cheeks, your pulse racing.

And he’d noticed.

The faint, knowing smirk that played on his lips told you he’d caught you watching, that he was well aware of the effect he had on you, as if he could feel the quiet tension simmering beneath the polite hum of conversation.

Embarrassed, you forced yourself to look away, clutching onto your resolve with both hands, trying to anchor yourself in the life you’d chosen, the path you’d carefully laid out.

For the rest of the evening, you avoided his gaze, eyes trained on your plate, your smile tight as you nodded and laughed at the appropriate moments, barely hearing a word that was spoken. The laughter of others became a distant hum, a background noise to the storm churning beneath your surface as you fought to keep the memories and feelings from flooding over.

You cursed yourself for letting these thoughts creep in.

You were engaged to Caleb, a man who represented everything you’d promised yourself you wanted—a life that was steady, loving, free of ghosts and the painful pull of the past. And yet, here you were, Joel’s presence tugging at you with a force that defied all logic, a gravity you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried to bury it.

Caleb’s laughter echoed through the room, pulling you from the trance Joel’s presence had cast over you. He was in the middle of an animated story, his voice bright and infectious as he spoke, his hands moving to emphasize each detail.

“And there was this one time—remember the flock of birds that came out of nowhere? She was so slow, I thought she was going to trip over her own feet!” he laughed, looking to you with a playful grin.

A laugh slipped from your lips, genuine and unexpected, the memory of that chaotic day flashing back. You shook your head, letting yourself be swept up in the moment. “I swear, I was running as fast as I could! You make it sound like I was moving in slow motion,” you protested, grinning despite yourself.

Ellie, mid-bite of mashed potatoes, grinned as she interjected, “Oh, come on, that’s not fair! She had a broken leg for a while—cut her some slack!”

Caleb’s laughter faltered, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise as he turned to you, half-amused, half-bewildered. “Wait—hold on. You had a broken leg? And I’m just hearing about this now?” His question was light, casual, but as it lingered in the air, it seemed to grow heavier, drawing a line between the life you’d led before and the one you’d built with him.

You forced a smile, shrugging with as much casualness as you could muster. “It wasn’t a big deal—just one of those things,” you said, hoping to glide over the subject, to keep it light and insignificant. But as your gaze drifted across the table, your heart sank. Joel’s expression had shifted; his posture was alert, his eyebrow lifting with that unmistakable, almost mocking look that said, I guess you haven’t told him everything.

The intensity in his gaze was nearly unbearable, piercing through the room, slicing through the thin layer of calm you’d tried to maintain. His eyes held an unspoken accusation, a reminder of the quiet, unbreakable bond that had once connected you, of the parts of yourself that you’d buried—the memories and scars that only he knew. His stare didn’t relent, as though he was silently demanding that you admit to those pieces of your past, the stories you’d kept locked away, the parts of you that still felt tethered to him.

“Yeah,” you replied, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “But that was… before we met.” You avoided everyone’s eyes, your gaze dropping to your plate as you absently nudged the carrots and peas around, focusing on the swirl of orange and green rather than the tension gathering at the table. The words felt flimsy, like a fragile barrier meant to shield a history you weren’t ready to confront, a part of yourself you’d carefully tucked away, hoping it might stay hidden.

Ellie leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment, her grin mischievous. “Oh, it was pretty bad. Joel was basically her live-in caretaker,” she teased, her tone light and playful, though an edge in her voice suggested she understood far more than she let on. “Though, honestly, it should’ve been the other way around—get it? Because he’s, like, old!” She flashed a wide grin, glancing around the table, expecting laughter to fill the air.

Instead, her words landed in a silence heavy and thick, one that turned each glance into a loaded question. Caleb’s eyes flicked to you, his brows furrowing, and you could feel the weight of his unspoken questions pressing in.

Ellie’s grin faltered as the silence stretched, her gaze flickering nervously between you and Joel. She’d sensed the shift, the subtle but unmistakable tension she’d accidentally stirred up, and the humor faded from her face.

The past was no longer a distant memory—it was here, sitting at the table with you, unspoken yet painfully present.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the shift but clearly sensing something beneath the surface, glanced between you and Joel with an innocent curiosity.

“Oh, I didn’t know you two lived together.” His tone remained light, but confusion had crept into his gaze, searching yours as though trying to fill in a part of your story he’d never been given.

You’d never intentionally kept secrets from Caleb, but Joel wasn’t just a secret—he was an entire chapter of your life that belonged to a different world, a version of yourself that no longer felt real, even if the memories still lingered. How could you explain it to Caleb? How could you paint Joel as anything less than the force he had once been in your life?

“It was only for a bit,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone as you took a sip of your wine, hoping to brush the topic aside as a minor detail, something insignificant. But as you felt the weight of Joel’s gaze on you, the room seemed to grow warmer, a flush creeping up your cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. You could feel the heat rising, making it hard to swallow, each sip meant to steady you only accentuating the tightness in your chest.

When had it gotten so hot in here? You fought the urge to shift in your seat, to break the tension you felt simmering beneath the polite surface of the dinner. You glanced down at your plate, hoping to regain some composure, but you knew Joel was watching, his eyes filled with that piercing intensity, refusing to let you dismiss the memories so easily.

Then suddenly, Joel’s voice cut in, low and steady, his eyes catching yours with a glint that held something almost taunting, an edge that refused to be brushed aside.

“Only a bit?” he echoed, his gaze locked onto yours, holding you in place with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, making your stomach twist. “Guess you’ve forgotten all those late nights talking,” he added, each word laced with a quiet challenge, daring you to remember everything you were so desperately trying to downplay.

And he had the audacity to say it so shamelessly, all while taking a casual bite of his food, as if his words were nothing more than light conversation.

Joel wasn’t finished, though. With a slight smirk tugging at his lips, he leaned back, clearly savoring the reaction he was drawing out of you. “Hard to forget, seeing as we spent half those nights sharing that tiny bed,” he added, the words slow and deliberate, his voice low and rough around the edges. He paused, his gaze lingering on you, eyes glinting with both mischief and a darker, unmistakable heat.

Then, almost casually, he turned his attention toward Caleb, as if sharing some harmless piece of trivia. “She’s scared of the dark,” he said, his tone light, but there was an edge there, something that cut deeper than the words themselves. It was a quiet claim, an assertion that he knew parts of you no one else did.

The words hit like a slow-burn revelation, layered with implication that was impossible to ignore. Caleb’s eyebrows furrowed, a flicker of suspicion flashing across his face as he glanced between the two of you, his easy smile fading.

You felt your mouth drop open slightly, caught off guard, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled for a way to brush it off. The silence that followed was thick, the weight of Joel’s statement casting a shadow over the table, an undeniable hint of a history you could no longer deny.

You didn’t need to look around to sense the ripple of reactions that Joel’s words had set off around the table—the charged silence that had fallen, each person’s unease hanging thick in the air.

Tommy cleared his throat, his discomfort plain as he latched onto the first excuse to escape the tension. “Y’all hear the baby crying?” he mumbled, though the room was quiet. “I better go check on her.” He stood up quickly, his eyes avoiding everyone as he slipped away, relief flashing briefly across his face.

Beside him, Maria’s expression softened, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and caution, her lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. Her eyes flicked between you, Joel, and Caleb, clearly aware of the storm Joel’s words had stirred and how close everything was to spilling over.

Caleb, on the other hand, sat with an uncertain smile, clearly sensing that there was more beneath the surface but struggling to grasp the weight of the moment, his curiosity tempered by a discomfort he couldn’t quite hide.

Ellie, meanwhile, sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She seemed both entertained and unfazed, her eyes flicking between you and Joel with a spark of curiosity, as if she were watching some long-awaited drama finally unfold. The air between all of you thickened, heavy with unsaid things, each person holding their breath in their own way.

Sensing the tension, Ellie cleared her throat, her voice taking on an exaggerated brightness as she tried to steer the conversation toward safer waters.

“So… anyone got fun plans for the winter holidays?” Her attempt at cheer cut through the thick silence, a flicker of relief on her face as if hoping it would lighten the mood.

But her words were met with silence, the weight of Joel’s remark still lingering in the air, too heavy to brush aside. You felt the heat of everyone’s gaze on you, the pressure becoming unbearable, and finally, you stood, forcing a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, and slipped out of the room.

•••

Later, standing at the kitchen sink, the rhythmic flow of water provided a small reprieve, a focus to quiet the turmoil of emotions still swirling in your mind. The evening had left a lingering ache in your chest, the weight of unspoken words pressing down as you scrubbed each dish with more force than necessary.

Caleb had left with a soft kiss to your temple, his eyes catching yours in a look that conveyed a clear message—we’re going to talk about this later. His departure was marked by a conspicuous silence toward Joel, a small but unmistakable omission that hung heavy in the room long after he’d gone.

Alone now in the quiet kitchen, you let out a shaky breath, your hands scrubbing at a plate that had long since been clean. The weight of the evening settled on your shoulders, memories and unresolved feelings swirling like a storm you’d been trying to outrun. The steady trickle of water was the only sound, but even that couldn’t drown out the ache of everything left unsaid.

And then you felt it—the unmistakable, familiar weight of someone behind you, the air shifting, thickening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him; the space between you filled with the quiet, electric tension that only Joel could bring.

“What do you want?” you murmured, your voice low, edged with exhaustion, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of your gaze. You kept your eyes trained on the plate in your hands, scrubbing at it with a single-minded focus that bordered on desperation, as if the act alone could somehow chip away at the tension lodged in your chest like a stone.

Behind you, you felt Joel, the silence stretching thin and taut, pulling at the edges of your already fragile resolve. And then, finally, he spoke—a single word, low and raw, “You.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to some semblance of control. “You’re drunk, Joel,” you said, trying to dismiss it, to brush off the weight of his confession as if it didn’t send your heart racing.

But the simplicity of that single word—you—struck you, piercing through every defense you’d carefully built. You gripped the plate in your hands like an anchor, as though it could steady you against the gravity of that word, of him standing so close, vulnerable in a way you’d never thought you’d see.

Before you could even truly process the shock of his admission, his voice cut through the stillness again, stronger, rougher, his words spilling out as if they’d been held back for so long it physically hurt to release them. “Don’t marry him.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and uninvited, slicing through the delicate calm you’d tried to cultivate, fracturing the fragile sense of stability you’d clung to.

This was uncharted territory—a truth that neither of you had ever dared speak aloud, not in the hidden moments you’d shared, not in the silent glances or lingering touches. To admit this, to break the unspoken pact you’d both followed so carefully, was seismic, a step into something vast and dangerous.

You turned, slowly, meeting his gaze at last, and the look in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. His expression was laid bare, raw, the depth of longing there almost too much to bear. This wasn’t a casual confession, and the words weren’t just fleeting emotions flaring up in the heat of the moment.

No, this was something different, something he’d carried with him through every mile, every sleepless night away from Jackson. You could see it—the weight of a year’s worth of loneliness and need, the visceral realization that he needed you in a way that he could no longer deny.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeated, his voice trembling with an urgency that hit you like a wave, raw and unguarded. He took a step closer, his gaze intense, each word pressing into the space between you with an unyielding force. “I don’t want to live like this anymore—pretending like you don’t mean everything to me.”

His hand clenched at his side, as though he was fighting the urge to reach out, to close the distance and make you feel the truth of his words. “I didn’t come back to Jackson just to hide. I’m done hiding,” he murmured, the roughness in his voice betraying how much he’d held back, how deeply he’d buried it all. His eyes searched yours, as if willing you to understand the depth of what he couldn’t contain any longer.

“I need you to know…” His voice broke slightly, the weight of the words almost too much for him to bear. “I need you to know what I feel.”

His words hung between you, each one thick with conviction, and for the first time, he’d made it known—no more secrets, no more hiding behind the past or the lives you’d tried to build apart.

He was standing here, stripped bare, willing to risk it all. And as you looked into his eyes, a chasm of emotion stretched between you, one that neither of you could ignore anymore, a truth that had always existed but was finally spoken aloud.

The pain in his eyes was unguarded, his desperation palpable, and you could see it—an almost frantic pleading that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. But that rawness, that vulnerability, only made it harder to hold onto your anger. You felt the weight of his gaze pressing into you, silently asking for a forgiveness you weren’t sure you could offer, a connection you weren’t sure you could endure.

Though his words tugged at your heart, filling you with the relief you hadn’t even known you were holding your breath for, there was something else there—anger, hot and unrelenting, burning through the quiet yearning. These were the words you’d yearned to hear, yes, but they came wrapped in a pain you couldn’t ignore.

“How dare you,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor from your voice, the words slipping out raw and edged with fury.

His gaze flickered, his face drawn tight as he struggled to find the words. “I didn’t have a choice,” he replied, his voice rough, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air, a justification that felt as fragile as it was final.

You scoffed, the anger flaring higher, spilling over as years of unresolved feelings surged to the surface. “There’s always a choice,” you shot back, each word sharp, laced with the bitterness of wounds that had never fully healed.

“You didn’t have to leave me like that, Joel. Without a word, without even a hint that you were coming back. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the burn of them blurring your vision as the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “I thought you were dead, Joel,” you whispered, barely holding back the wave of emotions crashing over you.

The grief you’d buried, the emptiness you’d carried for so long, all of it resurfaced now with a vengeance. “I had to mourn you—every day, every night, wondering if you were out there somewhere or if this world had swallowed you whole.”

He shifted, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable as he watched you, taking in every word, every tremor in your voice.

You took a shaky breath, the weight of the words settling over you, but the anger remained fierce, stoking the fire that had smoldered beneath the grief all this time. “And now, here you are, expecting me to drop everything just because you’re back, because you decided it was finally time to show up and tell me how you feel?”

Before you could pull away, his hands came up to cradle your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a rough, familiar tenderness that unraveled your defenses one touch at a time. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, clinging to the remnants of your anger, but he tilted your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was nearly unbearable—haunted, pleading, raw with a vulnerability you’d never seen before.

“I’m here now,” he whispered, his thumb skimming softly over your cheek, his touch achingly tender against the whirlwind of emotions crackling between you. “I’m here now, and I want you—no… I need you.”

His words settled over you, each syllable sinking deep, loosening the walls you’d tried so hard to build. His eyes, dark and unguarded, searched yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that struck at your core.

He was looking for something—forgiveness, maybe, or hope, something to hold on to, some small assurance that he hadn’t lost you completely.

The air between you felt charged, alive with the ache of love and the bitterness of loss, thick with things that could never be undone. You felt yourself trembling beneath his touch, suspended in the pull between the pain he’d caused and the undeniable connection that still tethered you to him, no matter how hard you’d tried to deny it.

“Well, Joel,” you whispered, voice breaking as the flood of emotions finally surged forward, “I needed you. I needed you here.” The words slipped out, barely audible yet carrying years of hurt. “And you just… disappeared.”

He held your gaze, unflinching, his eyes steady, piercing, as though he could see through every defense you tried to keep up. “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, a quiet demand that tugged at something deep within you. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace, pressing your cheek to his neck where his scent, familiar and grounding, surrounded you.

The tension in your body began to dissolve, your walls crumbling under the weight of his presence, the way he held you like something precious, irreplaceable. You felt the tears slip free, wetting his shirt as he held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every ache you’d carried alone.

Slowly, he drew back, his hands coming up to cradle your face, as though he couldn’t bear to go a moment without touching you. His thumbs traced a gentle line along your cheeks while he looked at you with a softness that left you feeling utterly exposed, seen in a way no one else ever had, as though he was reaching through every barrier you’d ever put up, seeing the parts of you you’d never let anyone else find.

His thumb lingered, his touch gentle but deliberate, leaving a warmth that spread through you with each stroke. “I know you feel it too, don’t you, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with longing, every word weighted by unspoken moments, things left unsaid for far too long. His gaze held yours, and in it, you saw everything he’d been holding back, a yearning that matched your own.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes. “I saw the way you were lookin’ at me tonight… at dinner.” His voice softened, dipping to a murmur as his thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering as though he didn’t want to let go. “You can’t tell me that was nothin’.”

His words struck you like a lightning bolt, raw and unfiltered, his quiet confidence cutting through every barrier you’d put up. Your stomach twisted, your pulse racing, the way he saw right through you stirring feelings you’d tried so hard to bury.

He knew how deeply you wanted him, knew that the pull between you hadn’t dimmed, and now, with every word, he was stepping over every line, breaking down every silent rule you’d tried to enforce, leaving you defenseless in the wake of his honesty.

The faint scent of whiskey lingered on his breath, blending with the warmth radiating from him, and you found yourself drowning in the details—the worn lines of his face, the way his lips parted as if waiting for you to respond, to give him any sign.

Your throat tightened, the words slipping away as you stammered, caught between his gaze and the undeniable force drawing you closer to him. “I—I…” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel every nerve alight as his fingers brushed over your wrist, grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad, almost desperate smile. “You can tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice so low it was barely more than a breath. “But I don’t think you want me to. Hell, I don’t think I even can.” He leaned in, and the air between you thickened, so charged with unspoken longing you felt like you might drown in it.

His face was close enough that you could see every line etched into his brow, the way his eyes lingered on your lips, as though he was just as close to breaking as you were. You hated yourself for it, but you leaned in too, your body betraying the logic your mind clung to.

“Joel…” His name slipped from your lips, barely audible, a breath caught between resistance and surrender. But he was already closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his gaze moving over your face like he was memorizing each detail, each curve, each fragile expression you gave away.

“Say it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, a touch that felt like a quiet plea. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Look me in the eye, and I’ll walk away. I’ll stop. But if you can’t…”

He held you there, suspended between anger and longing, between the scars he’d left and the undeniable pull that still held you captive. In his eyes was an offering, a choice: to close this chapter once and for all or to risk everything and let yourself open to him again.

And in that moment, as his gaze searched yours, you felt every emotion—the hurt, the love, the longing—flood back in, an unspoken answer he was waiting for, an answer that might change everything.

“Stop.” The word sliced through the air, sharp and final. Gently, but firmly, you lifted his hands from your face, breaking the contact that had felt like both salvation and torture. You took a step back, feeling the space grow between you like an unbridgeable chasm, a boundary you could no longer allow him to cross.

“I can’t, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling, betraying the weight of your resolve. “It’s too late. Just… stop. Stop with the looks, the touching, and what you said tonight about us sharing a bed—what the hell were you thinking?”

The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, each one coated with a desperation to hold onto the life you’d fought so hard to build in his absence. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes

His gaze held steady, undeterred by your anger, his eyes intense and unflinching. “What was I thinking?” he repeated, his voice low, the words thick with an unspoken ache. “I was thinkin’ I couldn’t sit across from you any longer, pretendin’ like there’s not still somethin’ between us.” He took a step forward, reaching for you, but you pulled back, unwilling to fall under his spell again.

“Joel, you had your chance,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together as the pain in your chest deepened, sharp and unrelenting. “You don’t get to come back now and act like nothing’s changed.”

He looked down, his jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, laden with regret. “I know I messed up,” he murmured, each word filled with remorse that hung heavy between you. “But I can’t stand here and pretend you don’t still mean everything to me.” His gaze lifted to meet yours, and in that moment, his eyes held a sincerity that cut through every defense you’d tried to build, making it nearly impossible to look away.

“It’s too late, Joel,” you replied, each word a painful truth you forced yourself to accept. “You made your choice. I moved on. I had to.”

He stared at you, his expression wavering between disbelief and desperation, as if the weight of your words was too much to bear, as if he hadn’t realized until this moment what his leaving had truly done to you. His lips parted as though he might say something, but the words died on his tongue, his eyes searching yours, pleading silently for some trace of forgiveness. But you held steady, your heart splintering with the resolve you’d fought to keep.

“I’m marrying Caleb,” you whispered, each word feeling like a nail sealing shut the door to everything you’d once shared. You watched as the last glimmer of hope in his eyes faded, leaving only a raw, quiet devastation that twisted something inside you, but you couldn’t falter—not now. You had to hold on to the life you’d built, to the stability you’d found, even if it meant leaving this part of you—of him—behind.

The silence that filled the space between you was deafening, weighted with memories of a love that never bloomed and never faded, with words that had never been spoken. Joel’s gaze fell, and in the set of his shoulders, the defeated slope of his posture, you could see the impact of your words settle, the shattering pain of realizing that you were no longer his to lose.

Without another word, you turned back to the sink, the steady stream of water the only sound in the room as you focused on anything but the silent ache building inside you.

Behind you, you heard Joel’s footsteps, slow and heavy, each step echoing like the sound of a door closing.

You held yourself steady, refusing to look back, even as his presence slipped away, the sound of him fading from the room like the final echoes of a memory you’d never fully let go of.

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[onegayastronaut]

Against All Odds

Requested by anon: Hello! Just recently discovered your stories. They are so amazing. Would be willing to write a Maya x Carina x Reader where reader is surprising Carina at the women’s clinic, and something goes wrong and reader has to protect Carina. Reader ends up injured somehow. Maya is one of the first responders on the scene, and is worried about her loves. If you don’t feel like it, you can totally ignore. Thank you in advance!

Words: 2118

The Seattle drizzle was light but persistent as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, standing just outside the entrance of the women’s clinic where Carina worked. Your heart pounded in your chest with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had spent weeks planning this -- coordinating with Maya, ensuring Carina wouldn’t suspect a thing, and now, finally, you were here to surprise her with lunch and a bouquet of fresh tulips, her favorite.

Taking a steadying breath, you pushed through the doors and stepped into the warmth of the clinic. The smell of antiseptic mixed with something floral greeted you, along with the familiar hum of nurses and patients. You caught sight of one of Carina’s colleagues at the front desk and offered a small smile.

“Hey, is Dr. DeLuca available?” you asked, shifting the bouquet in your arms.

The nurse gave you a knowing smile. “She’s in an exam room, but she should be done soon. Want to wait in her office?”

You nodded, but before you could move, a loud crash echoed from the back of the clinic, followed by a panicked scream. Your blood turned to ice. Every muscle in your body tensed as instinct took over, and you rushed toward the commotion.

Bursting into the hallway, you saw chaos unfolding. A man, angry, eyes wild with desperation, was yelling, his arm raised as he brandished a weapon. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, blocking the path to Carina’s exam room. Fear wrapped around your throat like a vice, but your feet didn’t stop moving. Your only thought was getting to Carina.

The man’s erratic movements and furious shouting made it clear: he was unpredictable and dangerous. You barely had a moment to process before he lunged forward, forcing one of the nurses back against the wall.

Without thinking, you acted. “Hey!” you called out, your voice strong and unwavering despite the fear gripping your chest. “You don’t want to do this.”

The man whipped around to face you, eyes narrowing. “Stay out of this,” he snarled.

But you weren’t going to stay out of it. Not when Carina was in danger. You stepped between him and the corridor leading to the exam rooms, your pulse hammering. “You’re scared,” you said, your voice firm but even. “I get that. But this isn’t the way.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might listen. His posture faltered slightly, his grip on the weapon lessening. Hope flared in your chest. Then something shifted, his grip tightened once more, his expression darkened, and before you could react, he lashed out.

Pain exploded in your side as a burning sensation tore through your chest. You barely registered the sharp, metallic scent of blood before you staggered back, your knees buckling beneath you. The world tilted as you crumpled to the ground, gasping as the pain intensified. A warm, sticky wetness pooled beneath your fingertips as you pressed a trembling hand to your wound.

Distantly, you heard Carina’s voice crying out your name, the raw panic in it cutting through the haze of pain clouding your mind. Her scream was followed by the sound of scuffling—nurses scrambling for cover, the attacker being restrained, voices shouting over one another.

Then, the sound of sirens. Everything blurred together after that. Shadows moving. Voices yelling. A distinct voice echoed through the hall.

“Seattle Fire! Drop your weapon!”

Your vision swam as you tried to lift your head. Through the chaos, you caught sight of Maya in her gear, her face a mask of fear and determination as she took in the scene—the armed man, the trembling nurses, and then you, bleeding out on the floor.

She was at your side in an instant, her hands hovering over you, unsure of where to touch. “Oh my God, baby,” she breathed, her voice breaking as she took in the amount of blood soaking your shirt. “You’re okay. You’re okay, just stay with me.”

Carina was there too, kneeling beside you, her hands shaking as she pressed down on your wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears streamed down her face as she muttered desperate pleas in Italian, her voice cracking with emotion.

“You could have died,” she sobbed, her grip tightening. “Oh Dio, there’s so much blood.”

Maya’s jaw clenched as she fought to stay composed, but you could see the terror in her eyes. “We need a medic now!” she shouted to her team, her voice sharp with urgency.

Your breaths were coming in short gasps, your body growing weaker by the second. The pain was suffocating, but even worse was the look of helplessness on Carina’s face, the sheer panic in Maya’s.

“I—” you tried to speak, but the effort sent a searing pain through your chest.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Carina begged, her hands pressing down harder, trying to stop the bleeding. “Save your strength.”

The paramedics arrived in a flurry of motion, quickly assessing your wound and working to stabilize you. As they pressed gauze to your side, your breaths became shallower, more ragged. Your chest heaved, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t get enough air.

“She’s crashing,” one of the medics called out. “We need to intubate now!”

“No, no, no,” Carina whispered, her body shaking as she watched them work. Maya pulled her into a tight embrace, barely able to keep it together herself.

One of the medics grabbed a laryngoscope and an endotracheal tube, working quickly as they tilted your head back. “Stay with us,” he muttered, before sliding the tube down your throat. The world dimmed, their voices becoming distant echoes.

Carina sobbed into Maya’s chest as they lifted you onto the gurney. “She can’t die, Maya,” she choked out. “She can’t.”

Maya’s face was streaked with tears, her hands clenched into fists. “She won’t,” she said fiercely, but her voice wavered. “She won’t.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut, sirens wailing into the night as they sped toward the hospital.

Carina held Maya’s hand in a death grip in the waiting room, her leg bouncing anxiously. Every second felt like an eternity. The surgeon’s words kept replaying in their heads—‘We’re doing everything we can, but the damage is extensive.’

The hospital air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and worry. The bright, fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow on the pristine, white floors, but to Maya and Carina, the world around them felt anything but clean. It was messy, chaotic, and terrifying.

Maya paced relentlessly, her hands threading through her short blonde hair, nails digging into her scalp as she tried to keep the panic at bay. Her uniform still had your blood on it, but neither of them noticed or cared. Carina sat hunched forward in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Neither of them spoke; there was nothing to say.

The image of the you, lying on that stretcher, pale and unconscious, haunted them both. Maya had seen wounds before, had dealt with trauma on the field, but never had she felt so powerless. Never had she watched someone she loved, someone she cherished, bleed out in front of her while she could do nothing but beg her to hold on.

Maya stopped pacing and turned to Carina, her wife’s eyes brimming with unshed tears. It broke her in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Carina was the strong one, the calm one. But tonight, she looked lost, fragile, like she was being held together by sheer willpower alone.

“What if—” Carina started, but she couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. Maya knew what she was asking. What if she didn’t make it?

Maya swallowed hard, shaking her head vehemently. “No. Don’t go there. She’s going to be okay. She has to be.”

Carina exhaled shakily and turned her gaze toward the double doors leading to the operating room. “I should be in there. I should be helping.”

“You know you can’t,” Maya said gently, kneeling in front of Carina and taking her trembling hands in her own. “You’re too close. You wouldn’t be able to focus.”

Carina nodded, but the self-loathing in her eyes was evident. “She saved my life, Maya.”

“I know.”

“If she dies—”

“She won’t.” Maya’s voice cracked, betraying her own fear. She clenched her jaw, squeezing Carina’s hands tightly as if she could anchor them both with her strength alone. “She’s strong. She’ll fight. She’ll come back to us.”

Carina leaned forward, resting her forehead against Maya’s, their breaths mingling, sharing in the silent devastation of waiting. Hours passed, though time felt meaningless. Nurses walked by, doctors hurried past, and still, there was no news. Every second felt like a lifetime.

Then, finally, a surgeon emerged, their scrubs stained with blood—too much blood. Maya and Carina both shot to their feet, their hearts hammering violently in their chests.

“Is she—” Carina’s voice wavered.

The doctor exhaled, pulling down their mask. “She made it through surgery.”

Maya felt her knees almost buckle, relief washing over her so intensely that she could barely breathe. Carina clutched her arm, sobbing openly.

“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor continued, “and the next twenty-four hours are critical. But she fought. She’s fighting.”

Maya wiped at her eyes, nodding rapidly. “Can we see her?”

The doctor hesitated before nodding. “Only for a moment. She’s still unconscious.”

Maya and Carina didn’t wait for further instructions. They all but ran down the hall, ignoring the stares from the staff. When they reached the room, their breath hitched at the sight before them. You lay still, your face too pale, your chest rising and falling shallowly under the thin hospital gown. An IV dripped fluids into your arm, machines beeped softly, and bandages covered the wound that had nearly stolen you away.

Carina was the first to move, gently brushing a trembling hand over your forehead. “Amore mio,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You’re safe now.”

Maya stood on the other side of you, her fingers wrapping around your limp hand. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

The hours stretched endlessly as Maya and Carina kept vigil by your side, refusing to leave even as nurses urged them to rest. The machines beeped in rhythmic reassurance, each sound a reminder that you were still with them.

Maya watched every flicker of your eyelids, every slight movement, willing you to wake up. Carina whispered soft reassurances in Italian, her hand never leaving yours. The pain of almost losing you still sat heavily in the air, unspoken but suffocating.

Through the night, Maya found herself thinking back to every moment you had shared, every time you had made them laugh, every little gesture of love you had exchanged. How could the world have almost taken you away from them?

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing you registered when you woke up. Your body felt heavy, your throat raw from the breathing tube, and your side throbbed dully under the influence of pain medication. Blinking slowly, you tried to focus, your gaze landing on two familiar figures beside your hospital bed.

Carina was curled up in the chair, her face buried in her hands, silent tears slipping through her fingers. Maya sat on the other side, her hand clutching yours as if afraid you might disappear if she let go. Her usually confident demeanor was gone, replaced by exhaustion and fear.

As you stirred, both women immediately snapped to attention.

“Amore?” Carina whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

Maya exhaled sharply, squeezing your hand. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of us.”

Carina let out a soft sob of relief, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. “You almost died,” she murmured. “But you’re still here.”

Maya pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Next time, just stick to the flowers, okay?”

You chuckled weakly. “No promises.”

Weeks later, you finally returned home. Maya had arranged the pillows on the couch just right, and Carina had stocked the fridge with all your favorite meals. They hovered, doting over you, making sure you were comfortable, making sure you knew just how much they loved you.

One night, as you lay curled between them on the couch, Carina kissed your temple softly. "You scared us so much, amore. But you’re here. You’re safe."

Maya tightened her arms around you. "And you’re not going anywhere," she said. "We have you now. Always."

You sighed contentedly, letting yourself sink into their warmth. Healing would take time, but with them, you knew you’d never have to do it alone.

[yawnderu]

“My dad makes boring rules.” Simon has to hold back the urge to roll his eyes, his patience wearing thin by the second.

“Those rules are in place to protect you.” He scolds, his voice calm, but laced with sternness typical for a man who built his entire life on discipline and control.

“To make sure you stay out of trouble, to stop you from making dumb decisions.” Like trying to flirt with me when you know I can't and won't respond.

“Yeah, but still...” You dragged out, unsure of what to protest about next— but feeling the need to do it either way. Your eyes roam his gear for something to latch onto, trying to disguise it by looking back into his eyes. If he noticed your lingering gaze, he did a great job of not showing it.

“Still what?” Babysitting a grown woman who's stubborn as a mule and twice as bratty wasn't in Simon's plans, but his career keeps testing him.

“Well, the rules are annoying and dumb.” It's as much as you can argue, sneakily hooking your finger on his belt loop, subtly pulling him closer as he stands above you, arms crossed across his bulletproof vest. His eyes flicker to your finger, narrowing for a second before he tries to relax, his feet firmly planted on the floor.

“I can see why he has to keep those rules.” He comments dryly. “Otherwise you'd get in trouble, and I'd be the lucky one who gets to clean up the mess.” He takes a single step forward as you pull on his belt loop harder, your free hand going up and down his heavily armored body, feeling his gear before reaching your target— his hand.

“I got a different mess you can clean up.” He knows you're not truly trying to seduce him, yet the way you hold his wrist and guide his gloved hand down your body to help him cup your tit is testing his self-control.

“Fuckin' hell.” He mutters under his breath, trying to resist your advances even when he can feel the desire seeping through your teasing. His gloved fingers tense up slightly, kneading at the softness under his hand before he finally lets go, trailing up gently until he reaches your neck, applying enough pressure to get your full attention.

“I have a duty to protect you.” He reminds you in a whisper, his head tilting down to look directly into your half-lidded eyes, hoping you won't mention just how dilated his pupils are.