𝐂.

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝑰𝒏 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆

[headrant]

𝓦𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝓣𝐎 𝓜𝐘 𝓑𝐋𝐎𝐆

☾ ... 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆

✧. ┊ 𝑪𝒂𝒐𝒊𝒎𝒉𝒆 ;; ((𝑄𝑈𝐸𝐸 ✦ 𝑣𝑎ℎ))

✧. ┊ 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒙 𝒙𝒙 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

✧. ┊ 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝑖 𝑎𝑚 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ,,,

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

❃ ↷ ˊ- 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ,, 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 ,, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 -- 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ,, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 …

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑...] ࿐ྂ

✧. ┊ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒅

✧. ┊ 𝒌𝒐-𝒇𝒊

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 ,,,

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐼 𝑁𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝐴 𝑀𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡

┊✧ 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝/𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗. 𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝚇𝚡

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝓘𝐍

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝐴𝑈

❝ 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒: 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑐 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑠. 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚. 𝑀𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠. ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

The Major hadn’t even taken his gloves off, the hard as nails man shivering from the chill. That’s how they knew it was bad.

He stood just inside the barracks doorway, snow crusted along the shoulders of his coat, breath fogging faintly as he spoke.

“Listen up, boys! Due to the storm, transport has been suspended indefinitely. Roads are impassable. You are to remain here until further notice.”

A groan rippled through the bunks, some swear under their breath, while someone else laughs like it’s a joke.

The Major, though, doesn’t smile.

“Meals will be served on a reduced schedule, and there won't be second helpings. Training is postponed, as well. You are to remain in assigned quarters unless otherwise instructed.”

His gaze passes over them, hard as ever. For a half second, Stebbins shifts.

It’s barely noticeable. Just the tension of muscles, the slight press of his palms against the mattress, like he might stand. Like he might speak. Like there’s something he could still say that would matter.

The Major’s eyes flick past him without pause before he turns on his boot, the door closing behind him.

Stebbins exhaled, sitting back fully, staring at the wall across from him. No one says anything. No one looks at him. They all pretend not to have seen as the snow ticks softly against the windows.

The barracks settle into an uneasy quiet. Lights dim, boots are kicked off, and anyone packing had already given up.

Ray lay on his bunk, hands folded behind his head, staring at the underside of the top mattress above him. Pete is on the bunk across from him, propped on one elbow just watching.

“It’s Christmas in two days,” Pete says, falling onto his back as he folded his hands on his abdomen.

“I was thinking,” Ray said finally, voice cautious, like he might take it back, “people usually do stuff at Christmas...”

McVries turned his head slowly, glancing back over at Ray.

“Yeah? Stuff like what…? ‘Cause I love you, but I ain't singing you no Christmas carols.”

Ray shrugged, snorting out a laugh. “I don’t know. Secret Santa? Or something.”

McVries’ eyes lit up at the idea, his lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Ray…” he laughed, sitting up. “That is a terrible idea.” Pete paused, swinging his legs off the bed to look at Ray properly.

“I think we should absolutely do it.”

McVries doesn’t wait for Ray to change his mind, he’s already on his feet; rifling through the desk by the wall, muttering to himself as he digs up a stub of pencil and a stack of old, half-used paper.

“Pete,” Ray said, propping himself up on one elbow. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” McVries said. “If we don’t do something, we’ll all start getting homesick, and then someone will cry. Possibly Barkovitch.”

Ray watched him as Pete wrote names out on each scrap.

‘Garraty’

‘Baker’

‘Olson’

‘Parker’

‘Barkovitch’

‘Harkness’

‘Stebbins’

‘McVries’

Folding each slip carefully, Pete lined them up on the desk like they’re important as Ray snorted to himself.

Pete only gave Ray a quick, challenging glance before he looked around for something to put them in.

Hank’s hat.

Hank is across the room, boots off, socks mismatched, deep in conversation with Art. The hat is on the foot of his bunk, battered and familiar.

Perfect.

McVries snatches it and is halfway back to the center of the room before Hank even notices.

“Hey—what the hell?” Hank protested, sitting straight up as he tried to reach for the hat. “That’s mine.”

“Borrowing it,” McVries said casually, tossing the folded names inside before he gave the hat a little shake, like he’s sealing a deal. “For Christmas.”

Hank blinks. “It’s not even December twenty-fifth.”

“Spiritually,” McVries says. “It is.”

Art raised an eyebrow at the display in front of him. “What are you doing?”

That was when McVries turned in a slow circle, holding the hat out like an offering.

“Secret Santa,” he announces. “Ray’s idea.”

Ray was about to protest, say it wasn't necessary, but Barkovitch cut him off.

Barkovitch scoffs from his bunk. “That’s stupid.”

“Then you’re perfectly suited for it,” McVries shoots back. “Because you are, too.” Pete teased, giving Gary a wink before turning on his heel to decide who will go first.

Harkness watched, amused, while Collie frowned like he’s about to shut the whole thing down—and then doesn’t.

Stebbins sits still, expression unreadable, eyes following the hat as it moves.

McVries finally stepped forward, holding it out to Art first.

“Draw,” he said.

Art hesitates. Then reaches in to pull out a slip of paper.

One by one, they all do.

Hands dip into the hat. Names are taken. Slips are unfolded and tucked away, faces betraying nothing—or everything.

When the hat finally came back to McVries, empty, he flipped it upside down and dropped it back onto Hank’s bunk.

“See?” he says lightly. “Festive.”

Hank stares at his reclaimed hat. “Yeah, yeah… Christmas and shit… Bah Humbug, actually”

McVries grins. “Come on, Hank. Embrace the Christmas magic.”

He drifts back toward his bunk, adrenaline finally easing, heart still buzzing. Ray is watching him again, something soft in his expression.

Pete catches his eye and winks.

For the first time since the Major closed that door, the barracks feel almost warm.

The next day crept in quietly, the way snowbound days always did. The dull gray light of the winter sun pressing in through the windows like it had nowhere else to go.

The barracks stayed mostly quiet as the boys figured things out in their own ways. There was no leaving campus, no scavenging runs, no miracles—just footlockers, pockets, and the few things they’d carried with them long before Christmas had ever been promised.

Pete spent most of the morning pretending not to think about what he was going to give Ray.

It wasn't until he opened his lockbox that he quickly closed it again, almost like he’d burned himself.

By late afternoon, someone suggested they just get it over with.

The boys dragged chairs into a loose circle in the center of the barracks. Someone turned off the overhead lights and left a single lamp glowing near the wall. Wind tapped steadily at the windows, reminding them of the blizzard outside.

Pete sat cross-legged on the floor, suddenly quieter than usual, hands folded loosely in his lap before clearing his throat.

“All right,” he said. “Rules are simple. No speeches. No fighting. Don't be an asshole.”

“Those are terrible rules,” Barkovitch muttered.

“Hey! What did I just say about being an ashore, Barkovitch?” Pete scolded, though there was no real bite behind his words.

Art went first.

He handed Hank a small cross, wrapped clumsily in paper torn from an old manual, a note folded around it. Hank read the note, barked out a laugh, and said, “Fuck you,” with enough warmth behind it that Art smiled anyway.

Hank turned the cross over in his palm once, then tucked it into his pocket like it belonged there.

Hank was next as he handed Collie the braided hair rope next.

Collie looked at it for a long moment, brows drawn together. He didn’t say thank you. He just nodded, slow and deliberate.

“I saw yours broke, and that sweat has your hair all stuck to your face.” Hank joked, prying a small smirk from Collie—who wasted no time flipping Hank off.

Collie passed Barkovitch some old camera film he'd ripped out of one of the military cameras.

Barkovitch’s mouth twitched. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Collie said.

Barkovitch turned the roll between his fingers, then shoved it into his jacket while tears pricked his eyes.

Barkovitch gave Harkness his old notebook, and as Harkness flipped it open, he noticed the missing pages before smiling.

Barkovitch watched him like he was waiting for a punchline that never came.

Harkness handed Stebbins a few folded pages.

“A story,” he said.

Stebbins read it carefully. Once. Then again. He folded it back up, expression unreadable.

“You made me kinder than I am,” he said.

Harkness only shrugged, returning his attention to the new notebook.

Stebbins passed Art the old cigarette case, though not a single cigarette was inside.

Art turned it over, puzzled. “I gotta fill this thing myself?”

“Doesn't have to be with cigarettes.” Stebbins said.

Art didn’t ask anything else. He slipped it into his coat pocket, thoughtful.

That left only two gifts.

McVries stood and crossed the circle, holding out a small, battered piece of paper to Ray.

Ray froze when he saw it, flipping the paper slowly. The photograph revealing itself. The two of them, caught mid-laugh, shoulders pressed together.

Ray looked up, stunned.

“Wait a minute! I took that!” Barkovitch commented, his lips curling into a smile because although this was Ray and Pete's moment, he felt included.

“I kept it,” McVries said quietly. “In my lockbox.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ray stood, walking over to Pete quietly as he dug into his pocket.

Without a word, Ray held out an old baseball.

Pete recognized it instantly.

The room seemed to still as McVries took it, fingers closing around the scuffed leather. He didn’t joke. Didn’t grin. He just stared down at it, throat working.

“My dad gave it to me,” Ray said softly. “Before.”

“No one’s ever trusted me with something like this,” Pete said, his voice dry.

Ray smiled, small and steady. “I do.”

McVries laughed then, a breathy, broken sound, and pulled Ray into a hug before he could think better of it.

Ray hugged him back without hesitation.

Night settled in slow and heavy, the kind that came with snow so thick it muffled even the building itself. The storm hadn’t let up, but now nobody cared that they were snowed in.

Collie sat near the window, chair tipped back against the wall, boots crossed at the ankles. His hair was pulled up now, tied neatly with the braided rope Hank had given him. He didn’t touch it, didn’t fidget.

A few bunks down, Harkness hunched over his mattress, pencil moving steadily across a fresh page. He paused now and then, staring into the middle distance, then wrote again.

Barkovitch pretended not to watch as he refilled his camera with film, bringing it up to snap a picture of the others.

Art lay on his back, the cigarette case resting on his chest like a paperweight. He turned it over absently, listening to the soft click when it opened and closed.

Stebbins sat cross-legged on his bunk, reading Harkness’s story again. He’d folded it carefully this time, smoothing the creases before slipping it between the pages of a book, exactly where it would stay.

Hank let the chain of the cross dangle off of his finger, the moonlight catching a slight sparkle from the corner as his eyes focused on the pendant like a cat.

As for Ray and Pete, they tossed the baseball back and forth in easy arcs, like they had many times before.

It thudded softly into palms, leather worn smooth by years and now, somehow, by trust.

On Ray's pillow, the photograph lay face-up where his head should have been. The lamp light caught it just right—the two of them frozen in laughter, forever warm.

“Don’t throw it at my face,” McVries laughed.

“Learn to catch,” Ray shot back.

McVries smirked and sent the ball cleanly into Ray’s hands.

For a while, they didn’t talk at all. They didn’t have to. The storm continued outside. The barracks breathed around them. Somewhere, a heater clicked.

When Ray finally tossed the ball again, he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Pete.”

“Merry Christmas.”

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑇𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑒

┊✧ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢. "𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚊" 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙸 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚝. 𝚟𝚒𝚒𝚒 𝚒𝚗 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔. 𝚇𝚡

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

By the time Sonya got home, the house looked alive in a way that made her stomach drop. Every light was on. Figures moved in sharp silhouettes across the windows. Even the air felt heavier before she even stepped out of the car.

She barely made it to the front door before her mother was already stepping outside

“Where were you?” she demanded, rushing to Sonya. Her face was pale, her eyes raw from crying. “Sonya, you can’t just disappear right now—”

“I was looking for him,” Sonya snapped, though her voice cracked, betraying her exhaustion. She pushed past her mom, needing to get inside, needing to be alone.

Her dad was in the living room, pacing like a caged animal. He stopped cold when Sonya walked in.

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice boomed through the house, heavy with suspicion and fury.

Sonya braced herself. “I told you, I was out looking for Matthew.”

Archer’s eyes narrowed. “With him?”

Sonya’s chest seized, breath caught in her throat. For a second, she couldn’t answer. And that was enough. He slammed his phone down on the table so hard her mom flinched.

“Goddammit, Sonya!” His voice cracked with something between rage and despair. “Your brother is missing, and you’re running around with that junkie?”

“I wasn’t—” Her protest broke into a sob, tears burning her eyes before she could stop them. She shook her head violently, clutching the necklace in her pocket like it might anchor her. “I’m trying, okay? I care about him too!”

The house went quiet for a beat, only her breathing ragged in the air. Her mom finally stepped in, voice trembling but firm. “Both of you, enough. This isn’t helping Matthew.”

Archer’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he turned away, gripping the back of the couch so tightly his knuckles went white.

Sonya stood there, shaking, feeling the gap between herself and her parents grow into a canyon she couldn’t cross.

Sonya’s throat burned as she turned on her heel and bolted up the stairs, ignoring her mom’s quiet call after her. She didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want more fighting. She just wanted air—space—something that didn’t feel like her father’s anger pressed against her skin.

But instead of storming into her own room, she found her feet carrying her down the hall to Matthew’s.

The door creaked open, and the second she stepped inside, her chest constricted. His sneakers were kicked haphazardly near the closet. A comic book lay half-open on his desk, bent at the spine where he’d left it. His sheets were a mess, blankets twisted, pillow half off the bed. The air still smelled faintly like his body spray, cheap and sharp.

Sonya sank onto his mattress, her hands clutching the rumpled blanket like it might tether her to him. Her tears came hard and fast now, soaking into the fabric.

“You little shit,” she whispered hoarsely, clutching his pillow to her chest. “You weren’t supposed to go anywhere without me.”

Sonya curled onto her side in his bed, knees tucked against her chest, drowning in the silence that pressed in from all sides. For the first time, the fight with her father didn’t matter. The necklace in her pocket didn’t matter. James didn’t matter.

Only Matthew.

And he was gone.

Sonya didn’t remember closing her eyes, but exhaustion pulled her under where grief had hollowed her out.

The dream began softly—her room bathed in moonlight, the faint tap at her window. She knew it before she even turned her head: James. His grin crooked, his hair a mess as he clumsily swung a leg over the sill.

“Miss me?” he teased, voice warm.

Sonya started to smile back—until movement caught the corner of her eye.

Her chest seized. “James— it’s Matthew!” she cried, pointing.

Without hesitation, James dropped back out the window, his feet hitting the ground with a dull thud. He sprinted across the yard after Matthew, shadows swallowing him up.

Sonya didn’t think—she tore through the house, down the stairs, and out the front door, her lungs burning in the dream’s thick air.

But when she caught up, the world had shifted. James stood at the edge of the yard, his back to her, shoulders heaving like he’d run—but Matthew was gone.

“What the fuck, James?” she screamed, voice raw with panic. “Why did you stop? Where's Matthew?”

Slowly, James turned.

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t James anymore. His skin had sunk into deep wrinkles, his mouth smeared in grotesque, clown-like red that stretched too wide. His eyes gleamed with something inhuman, something almost eldritch.

Sonya stumbled back, a scream tearing from her throat—

And then she shot awake in Matthew’s bed, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding like it might tear through her chest. The room was dark, silent except for her ragged breathing, but she couldn’t shake the echo of those painted lips smiling back at her.

Sonya’s legs felt like jelly as she climbed out of Matthew’s bed. Sweat clung to her skin, her hair matted, and the nightmare’s image still danced behind her eyes. She padded down the stairs silently, trying to keep her panic from announcing itself.

The living room was dim, the glow of the computer illuminating Archer as he watched and rewatched the footage of Matthew.

He sat rigid on the couch, replaying Matthew’s small, strange movements as if he could make sense of it all by sheer will.

Sonya lingered at the bottom of the stairs, just watching. She didn’t speak. She didn’t want to. The room felt heavy with grief and frustration, but she could see the worry etched deep into his face.

Finally, she moved forward, settling onto the edge of the couch a few feet away from him. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and she hugged her knees against herself. Archer didn’t notice at first, absorbed in the screen, muttering under his breath.

Gradually, she scooted a little closer, the space between them shrinking. Her shoulder brushed his arm. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t pull away. Encouraged, she leaned a bit more, resting her head lightly against the edge of his shoulder.

“It’s… it’s hard,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not knowing where he is.”

Archer’s hand went to rest on hers—not gripping, just steady, grounding. “I know,” he said quietly, the growl of frustration in his chest gone for a rare moment. “We’ll find him.”

Sonya tilted her head, finally nuzzling against him, letting herself feel the warmth and weight of him beside her. For a moment, she let everything—the fear, the grief, the exhaustion—fall away into the small, fragile safety of that space.

The two of them sat in silence for a long moment, the low hum of the computer filling the room. Sonya could hear every subtle click of the mouse, see every frame shift on the footage, and the soft, barely-there muttering from her dad as he tried to make sense of it.

She didn’t move. She just leaned into him, letting her shoulder rest against his arm, letting the faint warmth of him be the only tether she had to the ground.

After a while, Archer clicked through the footage again, his jaw tight, eyes narrowed. Matthew running, small and robotic, shadowing the sidewalk. Sonya’s stomach twisted every time she saw him.

“I… I haven’t felt fear like this in years,” Archer said quietly, almost to himself. He didn’t look at her at first, eyes glued to the screen. “Not since… you ran away.”

Sonya stiffened slightly at the memory, guilt gnawing at her chest, but she stayed where she was, keeping her head pressed lightly against his shoulder. “I know…” she whispered.

He finally glanced at her, and for the first time that night, the weight in his eyes softened. “I was terrified when you left. Thought I’d lost you. And now… Matthew… seeing him out there like this…” His voice broke, but he didn’t pull away from her. “I don’t know what I’d do if—”

“You wouldn’t lose him,” Sonya interrupted softly, tilting her head up to catch his eye. “We’ll find him.”

Archer’s fingers brushed over hers, a quiet, grounding touch. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Yeah… we’ll find him.”

They sat like that, letting the computer screen flicker in the darkness, watching the frames of Matthew again and again, each replay a grim reminder of what was at stake—and a reminder that, no matter the fights, no matter the past, they were in this together.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

hi, I read your Collie Parker fic and I really loved it and your writing. I was wondering if you could write a one shot where he won and him coming back home to the reader. Maybe some angst and fluff.

𝒕𝒚𝒔𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔. 𝒊 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔; 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆. 𝒙𝒙

𝓨𝐄𝐒

𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝐻𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑌/𝑁, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒. 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑇𝑆𝐷. ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? ✔️✔️

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

You didn’t even remember standing up when you saw Collie standing there on the screen, number 47 bleeding out on the rain-soaked concrete behind him.

“Congratulations, son. It takes one hell of a sack to make it this far, boy.” That damn major's gravely voice said as he stood there in a black poncho in front of Collie…

Your Collie…

Dirty, staggering, his dark hair plastered to his face, eyes hollow and wild. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he was about to collapse where he stood.

“What's your wish, son?” The major asked him, though Collie stayed silent; not because he didn't have a wish, but because the cost of it all silenced him.

You pressed your hand to your mouth and cried so hard you couldn’t breathe…

It wasn’t until two weeks later, just when you’d finally convinced yourself the government had lied—that no one ever really came back—you heard a knock on your door.

Quiet. Hesitant. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they were allowed to come home.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Collie?”

There was a shaky breath from the porch.

“…Y/N?”

You opened the door so fast the wind nearly pulled it off the hinges.

Collie stood there... Alive, but broken.

He was thinner—so much thinner. His tan skin looked dulled, like all the color had been drained out of him. His long dark hair hung loose around his face. He'd cleaned up for you, but barely.

Those familiar chipmunk cheeks were gone; his face was sharp now, all angles and exhaustion. His lopsided smile tight-lipped, not that goofy grin you knew…

And his eyes? His eyes weren’t the same. They were old. Haunted. Like he’d lived twenty lifetimes since you last saw him.

“I, uh… thought maybe—if you didn’t move on or… forget me or something—”

You didn’t let him finish. You threw your arms around him, gripping him so tightly he staggered back a step.

For a moment he didn’t move. Like he didn’t remember how to be held. Then, slowly his arms wrapped around you. His fingers shook when they clutched your shirt.

“I’m home,” he rasped into your shoulder, though it sounded less like a statement and more like he was trying to convince himself.

“Collie…”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this place again. Or you. Hell, I didn’t think I’d make it past—” His voice stuttered and stopped. He looked away, jaw clenched so tight you heard his teeth grind.

You lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it like he was starved for affection.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

The afternoon was quiet, the two of you simply trying to enjoy each other's company. Collie didn't have much to say, that or he couldn’t, and you didn't press.

It wasn’t until just after ten that you two found yourself cuddled up in the bed of Collie's old pickup, just like you had the night before he left.

This time, however, it felt different… almost distant as you two looked up at the illuminated speckled stars in the night sky.

That was when Collie spoke up for the first time since earlier on your doorstep.

“I hear them,” he whispered. “Every night. I see ’em when I close my eyes. All of ’em dying. Calling out. Droppin’ one by one. I… I kept thinkin’ of you. Of home. I walked because I wanted to come back to you. But now that I’m here—”

His voice trembled. “What if I’m not the same person you were waitin’ for?”

You answered without hesitation.

“You’re the only person I was waiting for.”

He let out a long, shaking breath—half relief, half grief that fizzled into a sob. Then, without a word, he hugged you again.

His shaking, strong arms felt less dominant, and more desperate… Clinging, almost, like he needed to feel you solid and real.

You guided a wool blanket around his shoulders, holding him close. Collie didn’t talk much—just leaned against you, letting you run your fingers through his tangled hair, brushing it back from his face the way you always used to before the long walk.

At one point, he looked up at you with those tired, wounded eyes.

“I missed home so bad it hurt,” he whispered. “But missing you felt like I was dying.”

With a sympathetic smile, you leaned in closer before pressing a firm kiss to the wrinkle just above his eyebrows.

“Collie?” you whispered, gently resting your forehead against his.

“Mhm?” His voice was thick, exhausted, warm against your lips.

“I… keep thinking about something.” You hesitated, fingers still gently gliding through his hair.

“What was your wish?” you asked softly. “When you won.”

His breath caught just slightly as his eyes opened; and for a long moment, he just stared at you.

He didn’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, Collie reached behind him—awkward, fumbling—and you felt him digging into his back pocket.

He didn’t look away from your face. Not once. Not even as his fingers curled around something small.

“Collie…?”

He didn’t speak, just took your hand gently, and lifted it between the two of you before he slipped a ring onto your finger.

Not some cheap little thing either. It was beautiful. Heavy. Gleaming even in the starlight.

A ring no average guy from North Dakota could afford…

…But one that a winner could.

You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, he just tucked his head against your chest again, arms winding around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he loosened his grip.

Your eyes burned. Your hand shook from shock, from love, from the impossible relief of knowing he’d wanted you even in the worst days of his life.

You cupped the back of his head, fingers slipping through his hair, holding him against your heart.

“Collie…” you whispered, but he kept quiet.

He didn’t need to speak.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

And as he finally drifted into the first peaceful sleep he’d had since before the long walk, you held him close beneath the wide, merciful North Dakota sky and whispered softly…

“Yes…”

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

Sonya woke to muffled voices and scratching furniture from downstairs—sharp, frantic, overlapping. She groaned, dragging a pillow over her head. The last thing she needed was another lecture, another fight. Her father’s words from the night before still sat in her chest like lead.

The voices grew louder, hurried footsteps thudding against the hardwood. Then her bedroom door flew open, the crash of the door against the wall enough to cause her shelves to shake.

“Are you kidding me?” she snapped, sitting up, heart already racing. “James wasn’t here, okay? I don’t get why you can't fucking knock!”

Archer’s face was pale, hard in a way she hadn’t seen before, his voice clipped and sharp. “I know he wasn’t here.” He stepped into the room, searching her face, almost desperate. “Is Matthew?”

The words knocked the air out of her. “What?”

Her dad’s eyes darted around her room like Matthew might somehow be hiding in a corner. “He’s not in his bed. He’s not anywhere. Did he come to you? Did you see him?”

Sonya’s throat went dry. She shoved her blankets off, bare feet hitting the floor.

“What are you talking about? No, he was fine last night.” She faltered, her mind replaying the way he’d left her room, the Sour Patch Kids, the soft don’t leave.

Her dad swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, and for a second the cracks in his anger showed—raw fear leaking through.

“Wait!” Sonya said quickly, panic rising in her chest. “You’re just trying to fuck with me, right? Like… you're not actually serious.”

Her mom’s voice echoed faintly from downstairs, calling Matthew’s name again and again, each time sounding thinner.

Sonya’s hands shook as she grabbed the edge of her nightstand for balance. “No. No, you're lying. He literally told me last night to stay with him…”

But the silence in her father’s eyes said it all…

Matthew was gone.

And in the pit of her stomach, dread bloomed cold and fast, drowning out everything else.

The house buzzed with panic. Archer tore through rooms with heavy steps, opening closets, yanking open doors, shouting Matthew’s name like it might pull him out of hiding. Sonya’s mom paced the kitchen, phone already in her hand, voice trembling as she tried to decide whether to call the police.

Sonya’s own chest felt hollow, every sound muffled under the thudding of her heartbeat. She stumbled down the front steps barefoot, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes sweeping the yard, the street, anywhere he might be.

That’s when she saw it: the small, glowing ring of blue around the doorbell camera.

“Wait,” she said, slowly approaching the front door again as her eyes stayed locked on the mounted metal doorbell camera.

“Hey!” Sonya called out, leaning inside the house. “Hey, the Ring camera. Can we check to see if we see him leaving? Or if someone came in to take him?”

Her mom froze, then darted toward Archer, grabbing his arm. “Check it. Now.”

Archer muttered something sharp under his breath but pulled out his phone, thumb fumbling against the screen. Sonya hovered over his shoulder, the tension unbearable as he scrolled back through the timeline.

And then—there it was.

Matthew.

The grainy footage showed him stepping out the front door in the middle of the night, barefoot, camouflage pajamas crooked from sleep, his movements… wrong.

Matthew's arms were stiff, almost puppet-like. He didn’t glance around, didn’t hesitate, didn’t look scared. He just ran. Fast. Straight into the darkness of the woods.

Sonya’s breath hitched, eyebrows knitted together with confusion. “What the fuck..?”

Her mom made a strangled sound, covering her lips with shaking fingers. “No… no, that’s not… that’s not right, that’s not him—”

Archer replayed the clip, his expression hardening with every second. “What the hell…” His voice broke low and furious. “What the hell is this?”

The three of them stood frozen in the doorway, watching again and again as Matthew’s small figure vanished into the darkness.

Sonya didn’t wait, slipping on a pair of sandals near the front door, she was already heading towards where Matthew had run off to.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” Archer shouted after Sonya, her pace faltering before she turned around.

“Just… let me fucking look!” She shouted back, turning and walking away from her house in the direction Matthew went.

Part of her hoped Matthew went to James’s tent. She knew it was unlikely, but goddamn, she hoped…

The woods loomed, damp earth swallowing her footsteps. She knew the path by heart—how many nights had she taken this exact trail? Her lungs burned, tears stinging her eyes, but she didn’t stop until the faint shape of the tent came into view.

Smoke curled from inside, acrid and familiar. She could hear the faint clink of glass, James humming low to himself, completely unaware.

“James!” Her voice cracked as she stumbled toward the tent, yanking the flap open.

He looked up, startled, a pipe still in his hand. His eyes lit up instantly. “Sonya—hey, baby.” His face softened, almost boyish with relief, but the smile dropped the moment he saw her face.

“Is… is Matthew here?” She asked, her voice cracking as she spoke. She already knew the answer…

“What?” James chuckled, a bit caught off guard before Sonya collapsed into him.

“He… I thought… he… and the Ring… and oh fuck…”

James froze, arms hovering awkwardly for a second before he wrapped them tight around her, rocking her gently. “What? Hey, hey—slow down.” His voice wavered with panic, but he tried to keep it steady for her. “What are you on about? Start from the beginning…”

She pressed her face into his shoulder, words tumbling out between gasps. “He—he wasn’t in his room, or anywhere, and when we checked the camera—he just… he ran out in the middle of the night, like… like something was wrong with him. He just left, and now we can’t find him.”

James’s hand threaded through her hair, holding her tighter. His pipe lay forgotten on the floor of the tent. “Shit,” he breathed, blue eyes wide and stricken. “Sonya…”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, shaking against him. “What if he’s hurt? What if he’s… what if I never see him again?”

James kissed the side of her head, jaw tight. “Hey, don’t say that. We’ll find him. He’s tough, right? Just like his sister.”

Sonya clung to him harder, burying herself in his warmth, his smell, his steadiness. He was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

And James—despite the ache in his chest, despite knowing he was no savior—held her like she was the only thing that mattered, whispering promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

Sonya sat with her knees tucked under her chin, the rumpled blanket twisted under her weight, her eyes red and wet, her whole body trembling like a live wire. James had been quiet after she broke down, just sitting with her, knees drawn up, fiddling with a lighter but not lighting anything. The silence pressed heavy between them.

She didn’t even think about it—it was instinct, muscle memory. Her hand reached toward the little pile of scattered things in the corner: a bent spoon, a rubber belt, a capped needle gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Her fingers brushed the belt, and that’s when James’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist. “Whoa! Hey, Sonya—no… No.” His voice was sharp, urgent.

She froze, her breath catching. For a moment, she almost yanked her arm back, almost cursed at him for stopping her. But the look on his face stopped her cold. His eyes weren’t angry, just terrified.

“You're not throwing away being clean,” he whispered, his grip trembling but firm. “Not over this. Not because you’re hurting. Matthew needs you, and you can't help if you're drugged up.”

Tears spilled faster down her cheeks. “What else am I supposed to do, James?” she choked out. “He’s gone—he’s just gone. And I don’t even know why. I don’t know where he is. I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she folded forward, pressing her forehead to her knees.

James let go of her wrist only to wrap his arms around her, pulling her in tight against his chest. She could smell the smoke and sweat and faint chemical tang on him, but underneath it, there was just James. Warm, alive, holding her together while she fell apart.

“You can’t lose yourself too,” he murmured into her hair. “I won’t let you.”

For once, James wasn’t pulling her toward the edge. He was the one anchoring her back.

James held her until her sobs muted, his chin resting against the crown of her head. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were swollen, her cheeks blotchy, but she looked at him like she didn’t know whether to hate him for stopping her or thank him.

He sighed, running his palm over the top of his backwards baseball cap before taking it off. “Look, Sonya… I’m not good at much. But I know what it’s like when somebody disappears on you.” His jaw flexed, words coming slower, heavier. “And I don’t wanna just sit here with you falling apart. If Matthew’s missing… let me help. We’ll find him.”

Sonya blinked, startled. “You’d do that?” Her voice was hoarse, incredulous.

“Come on, babe…” He leaned back, giving a dry laugh that didn’t quite land. “What else am I good for? I know the streets better than anybody. If he’s out there, I’ll know where to look.”

Sonya pressed her hands to her face, wiping at tears, then looked at him again. “James… he’s just a kid. He doesn’t belong out there.”

“So were we…” He said, gently taking Sonya's chin between his index finger and thumb before smiling.

“We'll go find him before the streets chew him up.” James’s voice hardened with something close to resolve. He wasn’t used to caring this much, but the sight of Sonya breaking had put a dull knife in his gut. He’d do whatever it took to stop her from looking at that needle again.

Sonya hesitated, then reached out, lacing her fingers through his like she was grounding herself. “Okay…”

James squeezed her hand, a crooked, almost reckless smile flickering across his face.

The tent’s stale air still clung to Sonya's clothes as James pulled the flap open, letting in the sharp bite of morning.

The town felt different now. The same cracked sidewalks and dingy storefronts looked hostile, too open, too easy for someone to vanish into. Sonya hugged her hoodie tighter, eyes sweeping every alley, every figure passing by.

James walked at her side, one hand jammed in his pocket, fidgeting with a lighter while the other stayed present on Sonya's back. Every so often, he glanced at her, like he was making sure she wasn’t about to break. “Kids don’t just disappear into thin air,” he muttered. “If he’s on foot, somebody saw him. We just gotta start asking.”

Sonya swallowed hard. “What if nobody did?”

“Then we keep walking till we find where he went.” His tone was sharper than he meant, but the edge came from fear, not anger. He slowed a bit, brushing her shoulder with his as if to steady her. “We’ll find him, Sonya.”

They crossed through the heart of town, where the neon open signs flickered against greasy windows, and the smell of fried food mixed with exhaust. James nodded toward a pair of guys slouched outside a liquor store. “I’ll ask.”

Sonya hung back, nervous, while James went over. His voice was low, his posture rough-edged but familiar with their world. A brief exchange, a shrug from the men, then James came back shaking his head. “Nothing.”

Sonya’s stomach dropped. She tried to picture Matthew’s face, his messy hair, the way he’d looked when he’d handed her the Sour Patch Kids last night. Her chest ached.

James noticed. “Hey. We just started. He’s out there. Don’t quit on me now.”

Sonya blinked up at him, tears pricking her eyes again, but she nodded. She couldn’t quit. Not on Matthew.

They kept walking, street by street, James guiding her into the corners of town she’d never dared to look at before.

They wove through back alleys that reeked of old grease and trash, James leading with the kind of instinct only someone who’d lived on the streets had. He pushed aside a chain-link gate, ducked under a half-fallen no trespassing sign, checking places Sonya would have never thought to look.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, sharp and jarring against the silence of their search. She hesitated, then pulled it out. Mom.

Her throat tightened. She almost didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to hear the disappointment, the suspicion in her mom’s voice. But she swiped anyway.

“Sonya?” Her mom’s voice cracked with panic. “Where are you?”

“I’m—” Sonya faltered, glancing at James. He slowed, watching her with wary eyes. “I’m looking for Matthew.”

A shaky breath rattled through the speaker. “Sonya, it’s not just Matthew. It's his whole class…”

“What?” The word tumbled out of her in a gasp.

“His whole class is missing. They left at the same time, that same weird run…” Her mom’s voice broke, muffled like she’d pressed the phone against her chest. Sonya could hear Archer in the background, barking questions, demanding answers no one had. Then her mom came back, frantic. “Please just come home. I don’t want you out in those streets.”

Sonya froze in the middle of the alley, the world tilting under her feet. Her stomach knotted so hard she thought she’d be sick. Disconnecting the call, Sonya stood there with the phone to her chest.

“It’s not just him,” she muttered.

James frowned, moving closer. “What?”

Sonya slipped her phone back into her pocket, staring at him wide-eyed, pale as a ghost. “It’s all of them, James. Not just Matthew. His whole class is gone.”

For once, James didn’t have a quick answer, no half-baked reassurance. His face went slack, the lighter slipping from his fingers into the gravel.

“I need to go home,” she blurted, voice ragged. “My parents—”

“I’ll come with you,” James said immediately, stepping in, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sonya’s head whipped toward him, eyes wide. “No! I mean… no, you can’t. You know that’ll just make everything worse.”

The words snapped out sharper than she meant, cutting clean through the air. And the second she saw the flicker in his eyes—hurt, familiar, like he’d been expecting it—guilt slammed into her chest. “Wait, fuck… No, I didn’t mean that… I meant—”

“It’s okay.” He forced a crooked smile. “You’re right.”

“No, I—” She swallowed hard, then stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. He was warm, grounding, the smell of smoke and sweat clinging to him. “I just… I can’t have another fight right now. With them. With you. I can’t.”

His arms tightened around her like he could fuse her bones to his. She could feel his lips brush the top of her head. And then, just as she tried to pull away, he stopped her.

“Wait.”

His hand shook when he pulled something out—a thin silver chain, tangled but unmistakable.

Her necklace…

Sonya’s mouth dropped open. “James—”

“I know this isn’t a good time,” he rushed, words tripping over each other, “but I… I took this. Don’t be mad, please. I couldn’t—” He broke off, jaw working, eyes flickering anywhere but her face. “I felt guilty. I had to give it back.”

The necklace dangled between them, catching what little light slipped through the alley.

Her chest ached at the sight—at him. He looked so small, so desperate, like a boy holding out a peace offering instead of a man caught in the middle of her wrecked world.

Sonya stared at the necklace in his hand as it swung slightly through his fingers.

She’d worn that necklace almost every day until recently. She knew what he could’ve done with it—what he usually would’ve done with it. It would’ve been gone, traded for a quick high, a crumpled bill in someone else’s palm. But here it was, in his shaking fingers, waiting for her.

Her throat tightened.

Slowly, she reached out and took the chain from him. “James…” Her voice cracked, softer than she wanted.

He looked at her then, eyes glassy, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a blow. “I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I just— I don’t know why I did it. But I couldn’t keep it.”

Sonya’s heart squeezed. She slipped the necklace into her pocket instead of putting it on, and then leaned in, pressing a shaky kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin.

For a second, his whole body stilled. Then his hand cupped the back of her head, almost desperate, as if he could keep her there. “Fuck… I don’t deserve you.” he murmured.

Sonya forced herself to step back, even though it felt like tearing something inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at him like she could memorize every line of his face. “I have to go.”

James nodded, but his eyes followed her like a shadow. “Come back to me, okay?”

She bit her lip, guilt gnawing at her even as she turned toward the street. “I always do…”

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

James crouched in the shadow of the house, panting slightly, heart hammering with a mix of excitement and nerves. He’d told himself this was just… spending time with her, sneaking in like old times. After the phone call, he fully believed Sonya was home, waiting for him, and the thought made his chest tighten with anticipation.

He hauled himself up toward her window, careful but clumsy — it wasn’t like he was graceful. The screen rattled, caught on the frame before James managed to slither inside with a ragged flop.

The room was quiet, but something felt off immediately. No faint sounds of footsteps. No TV noise or chatter from the house. Just… stillness.

She’s not here.

A part of him panicked, imagining Archer or her mother catching him mid-sneak, but James knew he wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.

He moved slowly, checking her dresser, the drawers, anything that looked like cash or small valuables. His fingers lingered over a few trinkets, pens, and old jewelry — nothing huge, but enough to pawn if he was desperate.

Guilt gnawed at him almost instantly. This wasn’t who he wanted to be, Sonya trusted him. She loved him, and here he was, sneaking around her house like a thief in the night.

Exactly like a thief in the night.

James stuffed a few small items into his jacket, fingers trembling, heart splitting between shame and necessity.

He paused at her desk, picking up a small notebook. Memories hit him — the night air, her laughter, the feel of her hand in his, the way she’d leaned into him like he was the only person who could ever understand Sonya Graff.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head, the sound soft in the quiet room.

He moved to the window again, ready to slip back out before anyone came home. But for a long moment, he just stood there, looking around her room, at her clothes, at the little traces of her scattered around the space. A knot formed in his chest.

He wasn’t proud. He knew he was bad for her. He knew he shouldn’t be here. But he couldn’t stop himself.

Reacting up, James swatted himself a few times, trying to push away the guilt that gnawed at him like a bear to fresh meat.

Finally, James hoisted himself through the window, jacket a little heavier, mind torn between love, guilt, and the gnawing, unrelenting pull of his own needs.

As he disappeared into the shadows, a part of him swore he’d make it right someday. Another part just whispered that he’d have to survive tonight — and that survival didn’t always look pretty.

Back in his tent, James sat on the edge of his worn sleeping bag, the forest quiet around him except for the occasional rustle of leaves. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, heavier than when he climbed in. He pulled out the small items he had taken from Sonya’s room, spreading them on his lap.

Cash, a few trinkets, and then the jewelry. His fingers paused on a delicate gold necklace, the tiny charm catching the fading light.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, heart tightening. He’d seen her wear this, watched the way it swung against her collarbone when she laughed, hair falling across it, eyes bright. That memory hit him like a punch.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hand, guilt crawling over him in a heavy, suffocating wave. He loved her. He worshipped her. And here he was, rifling through her things just to keep himself afloat.

The thought made him ache in a way that no high ever could. He had spent the day wrapped in her warmth, tasted her lips, held her close, and now he’d betrayed her trust like she was nothing.

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” he whispered, voice rough, barely audible over the wind. He stuffed the necklace back into his pocket, hands shaking, mind replaying her laugh, the soft press of her hand against his chest in the tent, the way she had looked at him like he was the only one who understood.

He shook his head, running a hand over his face before he looked down at the small stash, the tension twisting in his chest. Love and survival. Worship and guilt. Desire and self-destruction. All of it tangled together in a knot he couldn’t untie.

James exhaled, heavy and bitter, and slid back into the sleeping bag. He lay there staring at the shadows of the trees above, thinking about Sonya, thinking about the day, thinking about the pieces of himself that he could never let her see.

And despite the guilt, despite knowing he’d gone too far, he couldn’t stop…

Meanwhile, Sonya slid into the back seat of her dad’s pickup, Matthew already settled beside her obnoxiously close. Her parents were up front, Archer gripping the wheel with a taut jaw, her mother sitting rigid, hands folded neatly in her lap.

For a long moment, no one said anything. The truck rumbled over the pavement, headlights cutting through the dusky evening. Sonya stared out the window, the fading light washing over her face, trying to ground herself.

Matthew shuffled, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, and finally muttered, “This is awkward…”

“Yeah,” she said softly, not looking at him. Her mind was still tangled in James — the tent, the heat, the day, the pull she’d felt. The thought of him made her chest ache and her fingers twitch.

Her dad grunted from the front. “It’s called driving, Matthew. People usually don’t talk when someone’s driving.”

Sonya snorted under her breath, but her mother shot her a sharp glance. She flinched, pretending to adjust her sleeves, burying her thoughts a little deeper.

“You look tired,” Matthew whispered, leaning closer to Sonya, his tone almost teasing but gentle. “Like, really tired. Like, zombie tired.”

Sonya hesitated. She couldn’t tell him about James — not here, not now. “…I'm fine, Matt.”

Matthew nudged her shoulder lightly. “You always say that.”

She forced a small, tight smile, glancing at him briefly. “Yeah, well… I am.”

The rest of the ride stretched in heavy silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the heater and the rhythmic hum of the tires on the asphalt. Her parents’ quiet watchfulness pressed down on her, Archer’s stoic presence up front, her mother’s subtle but piercing scrutiny.

Sonya leaned back against the seat, staring out at the passing trees, the tension of the woods, of James, still thrumming through her chest. Matthew shifted again, closer this time, his presence a small comfort, grounding her in a way that made the pull of the other life waiting in the woods feel both irresistible and dangerous.

She let out a quiet sigh, fingers brushing the edge of the door, mind drifting toward the inevitable; James, the chaos, the life it felt like she couldn’t seem to stay away from.

And for the rest of the ride, she sat there, quiet, feeling the weight of her family’s watchful eyes, Matthew’s subtle concern, and the restless ache that only James could subside..

The pickup’s tires crunched over gravel as they turned onto the Graff driveway, the house looming dark except for the porch light. Sonya had been zoning out, chin propped against the cold window, but her dad’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Archer slowed the truck, his eyes flicking left and right at the yards and shadows of the neighborhood. His grip on the wheel tightened. “Just making sure the junkie isn’t lurking around again,” he muttered, low but sharp. “Wouldn’t put it past him to be hanging around like a stray dog.”

The words hit Sonya like a slap, her whole body snapping upright. Her mom’s head whipped toward him immediately. “Archer,” she hissed, her voice low but firm, “that’s enough.”

“I’m serious. That fucking druggie is poison, and if he had his way, he’d drag this whole family down with him.”

The heat rose in Sonya’s chest so fast it made her vision blur. “Jesus Christ, Dad—shut the fuck up!” she exploded, the words ricocheting off the cab of the truck.

Matthew froze beside her.

Archer glared at Sonya through the rearview, but he didn’t say anything else, just put the truck in park with a heavy, deliberate motion.

Sonya shoved the door open before the engine even cut, slamming it behind her as she stormed up the walk, her boots pounding against the concrete. She didn’t wait for anyone else, didn’t care. Her skin felt like it was burning under her father’s words, the poison in them, the judgment she could never escape.

Inside, she kicked off her boots by the stairs, chest heaving, pulse racing. The one person she wanted—needed—to run to was James. The only one who didn’t see her as a disappointment, a burden, a problem to be fixed.

Behind her, the muffled sounds of her family’s voices bled in as the truck doors shut.

Sonya swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in her eyes, fists curling at her sides.

He’ll never understand. He’ll never let me fucking breathe.

And in that moment, the urge to bolt—to run back to James, back to the tent, back to the one place she felt like herself—was almost unbearable.

Sonya sat on the edge of her bed, her hand hovering above her phone on the charger next to her.

The window was cracked just enough to let in the cool night air, the faint scent of pine and damp earth calling to her.

James was out there somewhere, waiting without even knowing it, and her skin itched with the pull of him.

She was halfway to standing when there was a soft knock at her door.

“Go away,” she called automatically, voice flat.

But the door creaked open anyway, and Matthew slipped in, holding a familiar red-and-yellow bag. His hair was messy, his camouflage pajamas crooked, and his eyes were downcast in that sheepish way only a little brother could pull off.

“I, uh…” He shuffled forward, setting the Sour Patch Kids on her nightstand. “…thought you might want these. Peace offering.”

Sonya blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. “Sorry I said anything about James. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to screw you over. I just—Dad gets scary when he’s mad, and I panicked.”

Her chest softened despite herself. She reached out, pulling him onto the bed beside her. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Matthew smirked faintly. “Yeah. But I’m your pain in the ass.”

That pulled a laugh out of her, shaky but real. She threw an arm around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

“Yeah, you are my pain in the ass…” Sonya said, burrowing her nose into Matthew’s hair.

Matthew grinned for a moment before his expression faltered, his brown eyes looking up at her. “Just… don’t leave, okay? Not for real. Not like before. Even if Mom and Dad suck sometimes… I still need you here.”

The words landed heavier than she expected, lodging deep in her chest. Sonya swallowed hard, blinking down at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said quietly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “I need you, too.”

He nodded, satisfied enough, and gave her one last squeeze before hopping off the bed. “Good. ’Cause I don’t wanna share my Sour Patch Kids with anyone else.”

When he left, Sonya sat there staring at the half-open bag, her heart twisting. She’d been a second away from slipping out that window, from running straight back to James, from falling right into the spiral her father swore she’d never escape.

But Matthew’s words anchored her. For tonight, at least, she’d stay.

She turned off her lamp, crawled under the blankets, the house pressing down around her as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

Sonya pulled into the school parking lot a few minutes late, fuming at the imaginary traffic. She slammed the car door and hurried across the lot, scanning for Matthew.

“Sorry, sorry! Traffic was—” she started, breathless.

Matthew squinted up at her, arms crossed. “Traffic? What? Was the traffic named James?”

Sonya froze mid-step, blinking at him. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said, smirking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Your boyfriend. The traffic that made you late. Thought you’d try that excuse.”

Grabbing Matthew's arm, Sonya rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, AssMatt.”

Matthew laughed as Sonya pulled him along. “I don’t care if you see him. Not like Mom and Dad do. But…” His voice turned serious, a small crease forming between his brows as they stopped at the car. “…I want you to be safe. Don’t do drugs again, don’t get pregnant, and be on time for me.”

Sonya froze, staring at him. “…Wait. Don’t get pregnant?” She felt her cheeks burn, flustered in a way she didn’t expect. “What the hell, Matthew?”

He shrugged again, perfectly casual. “What? The other stuff’s obvious. I'm just covering all bases, you can hardly take care of me.”

Sonya could hardly pick her jaw up before pushing Matthew’s shoulder slightly. “I take care if you perfectly fine.”

Matthew laughed as he stumbled slightly before opening the back door, throwing his bag in.

“You were twenty minutes late for me.”

Sonya huffed, rolling her eyes, still flustered and mortified by the pregnancy comment. “I'm here before dark.” She defended, as if it would make things any better. “You're such a pain in my ass, though.”

“I’m protective,” Matthew said, smirking again as he climbed into the car. “And I’m hilarious. Two for one.”

Sonya just shook her head, starting the engine. The warmth of the tent, the day with James, the lingering tension, all of it pressed into her chest. Matthew didn’t know the half of it — and somehow, that made the ride home feel even heavier.

“You fucking stink, by the way…” Matthew commented, his voice cutting through the silence for a moment.

“Fuck you.” Sonya hissed, though she brought the collar of her shirt up to her nose, inhaling the sourish sweet chemical smell. “Okay, fine, you're right…”

Sonya eased the car into the driveway, keeping her foot on the brake a little longer than necessary. Matthew scrambled out, backpack slung over one shoulder, and headed for the front door.

“Hold on,” she called after him, voice casual. “I just… need to grab something from the glove box.”

Matthew waved without looking back. “Okay!”

Once she saw Matthew run inside, door slamming shut behind him, she exhaled with her heart hammering. The house loomed behind her like a cage, but the air around the car felt electric, alive with the pull of the woods and James waiting.

She fumbled for her phone, dialing him with shaky fingers.

“Hey,” James answered almost immediately, his voice low and teasing.

“I… I just got home,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel. “I can’t… I want to see you again. I don’t know. I just… I keep thinking about running away. About being back there with you.”

There was a pause on the other end, then a soft laugh. “You and me against the world, huh?”

Her chest tightened. “Yeah,” she murmured, voice trembling. “I don’t care what happens. I just… I need it. I need you.”

“I know,” he said, quiet but intense. “Just… don’t do anything stupid until I see you next.”

She bit her lip, trying to keep herself grounded. “I won’t. Just… soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he promised.

She was about to reply when a frantic knock at her window made her jump. Matthew…

She slammed the phone down on the seat just as he yanked the door open, grinning ear to ear.

“Mom says we’re going to Olive Garden!”

Sonya’s stomach sank as she forced a laugh. “Okay? I'm coming…”

Matthew nodded, bouncing on his feet. “Hurry up! Sebastian said they'll leave the cheese grader if you ask them! Come on!”

She watched him rush toward the front door, heart hammering in two directions — the pull of home, and the pull of James waiting out there in the woods. She rested her hand on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, trying to steady herself.

Sonya sat in the car, phone still clutched in her hand, heart hammering like a drum in her chest. The sound of the world, quiet and calm, was a small relief, but it only made the temptation stronger.

Her right hand hovered over the ignition, fingertips brushing the key… She could go. Drive back to the woods. Back to James. Back to the pull that made her feel alive and reckless all at once.

The old temptation — the drugs, the reckless days, the night air — all called to her.

But then she thought of Archer pacing inside the house, the way her mother’s voice cut through the tension earlier, the weight of responsibility for Matthew, and the sharp sting of guilt.

Her chest heaved. She started the car, beginning to back out of the driveway before slamming on the break with both feet.

The stop was enough to make her body lunge, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. “Fuck…” Sonya muttered under her breath.

With a tight grip on the steering wheel, she shut the ignition off. Her pulse still raced, adrenaline still thick in her veins, but she forced herself out of the car. She straightened her hoodie, smoothed her hair, and walked toward the front door, keys jingling.

Inside, the muffled sounds of the TV and Matthew’s chatter were a small comfort, grounding her. The pull of the woods, of James, of the day they’d shared, lingered like smoke, but for now, she pushed it down.

One hand on the doorframe, she let herself lean for a beat, staring at the hall before her. Then she took a slow step inside, letting the door click shut behind her, heart still thrumming with desire and defiance, knowing that the choice — the reckoning — would come again.

The restaurant smelled of garlic and tomato sauce, the faint hum of conversation surrounding them. Sonya slid into the booth beside Matthew, frowning at the menu but not really reading it. Her parents were already in place across from them, plates of breadsticks in front of them… or, more accurately, in front of Matthew.

“Did we have a good day?” her mother asked, voice sharp and cutting through the table's awkward silence. She didn’t look at Sonya, but her gaze was heavy, assessing.

Matthew perked up, grinning with a mouthful of soft garlic bread. “Yeah, we got to play basketball in the gym for recess.”

Her father, Archer, leaned back, hands steepled, scanning Sonya like she was a problem in motion. “And you? How was your afternoon?”

“Fine,” Sonya muttered, rolling her eyes just slightly, letting her tone carry a little of the defiance she’d been holding in all day.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Fine?” she echoed. “You’re telling me everything’s fine after the way you were today?”

Sonya’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t exactly tell them the truth either. She swallowed. “Yeah, fine. Just… traffic.”

Archer snorted, leaning forward. “Traffic. Right. Like you didn’t spend most of the day out wandering wherever you wanted.”

“Dad,” Sonya muttered, cheeks flushing. She poked at the breadsticks, trying to keep her voice calm. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was responsible. I—”

“Responsible?” her mother cut in, voice clipped. “You’ve got a lot to learn about responsibility, young lady.”

Sonya opened her mouth to retort, but Matthew piped up before she could: “I mean, she dropped me off on time. She’s fine, Mom.”

Her mother shot him a glare sharp enough to make him squirm. “This isn’t about you, Matthew.”

He shrugged, grinning despite the warning, then leaned close to Sonya. No words were exchanged, but Matthew set a breadstick on the table in front of her as if he were rationing.

Sonya gave a small, tight smile. “Thanks…”

Archer’s gaze drilled into her, sharp and unyielding. “So, would you like to share where you were today?”

She met his eyes, and for a second the words she wanted to say — the truth about James, the woods, the temptation, everything — hovered on her tongue. But she swallowed them down, hard. “I was… just getting some air,” she muttered.

Her mother leaned back, arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. “Air, right. Make sure it’s not the kind of air that gets you into trouble, Sonya. You’ve got enough challenges without adding more.”

Sonya flinched, tension coiling in her stomach. She reached for her glass of water, pretending to be distracted, her mind half on the conversation, half still tangled in the tent and James’s warmth.

But even as the meal went on, the soft hum of conversations around them, the smell of food, the polite smiles she forced at her parents, Sonya’s mind was already tracing the path back to the woods, to James, to the messy, dangerous pull of him that wouldn’t leave her alone.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓛𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝓢𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝐵𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑥 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑇𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝-𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐵𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑠. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑. 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ. ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

The world had narrowed to the sound of footsteps and breathing—ragged, uneven, desperate. There were only seven of them left, Hank having gotten his ticket the night prior.

Lana’s vision pulsed with each heartbeat, darkening at the edges, shrinking her world to her feet against the pavement.

That was when she spotted him ahead of her. Billy Stebbins.

Even from behind, she could see the weakness in his gait—his shoulders hunched tighter than usual, his steps shorter, more deliberate. Like every movement was a negotiation between strength and pain. His breathing carried backward in a shallow, wet rasp that he was clearly trying to hide the sound of.

He was sick, probably even dying, and she was falling apart.

Her legs trembled with each step, the bones feeling like they'd snap any second, as she pushed herself to catch up to him. Her throat was so dry she felt she might choke. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like it was pasted there with glue. Her lips were cracked, blood staining them a burgundy red.

Still—she pushed.

“Billy…” Her voice came out like sand, dry and raspy.

He didn’t turn at first, but his head lifted just slightly. A half-glance over his shoulder. Just enough to register that it was her. Just enough for that guarded, unreadable expression to soften just enough for Lana to notice.

“You look like hell,” he muttered, his voice stuffed up as his upper lip shined with snot and mucus.

She gave the ghost of a smile, even though her face barely remembered how.

“Funny, I was about to say the same to you…” Lana rasped, now matching pace with Stebbins.

He huffed something like a breath-laugh—short, dry, broken.

“Charming.”

“Billy…” She stepped closer, matching his pace. It took everything she had. “You’re sick.”

“So are you.”

She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat burned. “Not like you.”

His jaw tightened. A flush of fever bloomed high on his cheeks. Sweat soaked through the collar of his shirt. He was shivering despite the heat.

He was holding on by threads.

And she was barely holding on to him.

“You shouldn’t be near me,” he said quietly, eyes forward. “You shouldn’t waste your strength.”

Lana managed a shaky breath. “Fuck that.”

He shot her a look, sharp, and almost furious, but underneath it lived something fragile, scared even.

“You keep doing this,” he rasped, unsure if he could be touched or angry at how much Lana seemed to care.

“You keep letting me,” she whispered.

For a moment, the road seemed to fall away leaving them feeling like it was only the two of them.

Stebbins looked at her again—longer this time. Really looked.

She didn’t hide how exhausted she was, how her legs dragged, how her eyes were glassy. Her skin had gone gray beneath the heat-flush. Her breathing came too fast. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably at her sides.

He saw all of it.

And something in his expression cracked.

“Tapper.” His voice was low. Rough. Not dismissive for once—worried. “You need water.”

“I already had mine.” The words slurred just a little. “I’ll be fine. I can't risk having to take a piss.”

Stebbins shook his head and raised his hand—a signal to the halftrack. “Number 38, canister refill.” He called out, handing over his still half full canister.

“It's fresh. Drink.” Stebbins said, shoving the canister into Lana's hands.

“What about you? I can't take your rations.”

“You’re dehydrated,” he snapped. “You’re stumbling every five steps. Your hands are shaking. Lana—”

Her gaze snapped to him when he said her name. Not Tapper. Lana.

His throat bobbed.

“Drink.”

The wind, the road, the world—all of it blurred around the edges.

She took the canister with trembling hands and lifted it to her lips. The water stung like fire going down. Her vision flickered white for a moment.

When she handed the canister back, their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away.

For a few minutes, they walked in silence. The kind that felt like the world was holding its breath.

Finally, Lana spoke, voice barely audible. “Why are you really here?” she asked. “Almost everyone else gave their reasons…”

“Ray Garraty didn't.” Stebbins defended, though Lana cut him off immediately.

“I said almost everyone. Why are you here, Billy?”

The silence hung between them as the sounds of steps on pavement echoed before he finally spoke up

“Because…” His voice drifted off as though he forgot the end of the sentence before coughing into his handkerchief. “Because the major is my father. I'm his bastard son.”

He swallowed hard, taking a second to gather himself before continuing. “I thought he didn't know… Maybe he doesn't, but he called me ‘son’ when I got my tag… I just wanted him to see me, invite me for tea…”

Stebbins’ jaw trembled—not with anger, but with something he couldn’t let himself feel.

“Billy, if he wanted to be in your life, he would've. Don't… don't chase a ghost…” Lana said, though her voice became slower with each word as the left side of her face drooped ever so slightly.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else.

But Lana never heard it.

Her steps faltered.

She blinked… once… twice… and the world tilted. The sky brightened too suddenly. A buzzing filled her ears. Her face slackened in a way Stebbins had never seen.

“Lana—?”

Her foot lifted for the next step—

—and didn’t land.

Her body crumpled like someone had cut the strings.

For a heartbeat, no one reacts. It doesn't even register until the echoed sound breaks through the silence.

“Number 39, first warning.”

Stebbins falls to his knees, a slight crack echoing as his hands fly to Lana's crumpled body.

“Number 38, first warning. Number 39, second warning.”

“Lana—Lana?” His voice cracks, thin, panicked in a way none of them have ever heard from him.

Her eyes are half-open, unfocused. She’s gone. Everyone can see it. Her face slack, her lips parted just enough for the last breath that never comes again. She looks like she just… fell asleep mid-step.

A stroke takes fast. Faster than any bullet.

Stebbins touches her cheek with shaking fingers, like he’s trying to warm her back into consciousness. Like he can bargain with her soul if he just touches her gently enough.

Behind them, the guards raise their guns, and that’s when Collie snaps.

“HEY!” Collie’s voice rips through the road like a crack of lightning. “HEY! SHE’S—SHE’S GONE, YOU SICK BASTARDS! SHE’S—SHE’S ALREADY DEAD!”

He tries to turn toward them, fury and heartbreak tearing through every word, but he can’t stop moving. His feet keep stumbling forward on instinct, on terror. He looks over his shoulder, expression twisted in pain.

The Major doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t change expressions. The guards don’t lower their rifles.

Stebbins, trembling, bows his head and moves his hand to close Lana’s eyes. He knows he needs to keep moving.

“Number 38, second warning. Number 39, third warning.”

“Get the fuck up, Stebbins!!” Collie shouts, his feet stumbling beneath him with uncertainty on if he should even keep going.

Finally, Stebbins pushes himself up before marching forward to get himself up to speed.

That's when the shot of the carbine fired, a splash of red splattering out of Lana's head before soaking the pavement.

Barkovitch's voice was raspy, almost choking as he muttered under his breath. It was almost like he was trying not to throw up and scream at the same time.

“No—no—no, no, no, no, I didn’t—she didn’t—she didn’t even—fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Holding his head, Barkovitch's fingers clawed at his blonde hair. He can’t bring himself to look back as he began tripping over his own feet, rubbing at his face like he’s trying to wipe something off that isn’t there.

Ray can’t look either. He stares ahead, jaw clenched, face wet with tears he won’t acknowledge. Art’s breathing turns ragged, almost hyperventilating, but he forces himself into autopilot—the only thing that keeps his feet moving.

Pete slowed only a fraction, his throat tight, though his expression remained blank. Too hollowed out to react in any way except silent devastation.

Stebbins jerks like the noise physically hits him, but he stares forward, face draining of everything soft. Whatever hope Lana had managed to kindle in him… it died right there with her.

Behind them, her body lies twisted in the road, blood blooming outward like a dark flower under her.

Collie, driven by anger, keeps shouting even as he’s dragged forward by momentum, voice cracking with heartbreak:

“She didn’t do anything! She didn’t do anything! She was dead! She was already fucking dead, you twisted fucking bastards!! Fuck you!!”

Ray stops him with a hand against his back, guiding him forward without looking. “Collie…” he warns, not ready for another death just yet.

Stebbins found himself glaring up at the others, his eyes bloodshot and his body shaking.

Lana's expressionless face, drooped and still, hung in Stebbins vision like a haunting. She was long gone before the bullet even entered her skull…

Marching forward, not that any of them had a choice, Lana’s body shrinks behind them until it’s a blurry patch behind them before being out of their sight completely.

And, like all the others who died earlier, the survivors kept walking while The Long Walk continued.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

Sonya slammed the car door a little too hard, Matthew yelping at the sudden noise.

“Jesus, Sonya!” he said, hands gripping the dashboard.

Her pulse was still racing from the fight with her father. “Don’t even. I'll make you fucking walk.”

Matthew’s smug grin had vanished, a hint of guilt eating away at him. “Hey, I was just telling Mom…”

“Telling Mom?” she scoffed, clicking her jaw with annoyance. “Telling mom. Goddammit, Matt, you little shit!” Sonya shouted, hitting the steering wheel with frustration before laughing in spite of herself.

“Fuck promises, right?”

He winced, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” Her hands clenched the wheel. The house, her parents, Archer’s glare, her mother’s calm-but-deadly scolding — all of it pressed down on her like bricks. The only thought keeping her from snapping the steering wheel in half was the knowledge that James was out there. Waiting. Probably still laughing about the window fiasco.

By the time she dropped Matthew at school, she didn’t even let him speak. She shoved the door open, waved a stiff hand at him, and drove off before he could protest.

The woods were quiet, aside from the occasional rustle of leaves and the far-off bark of a dog. Sonya parked at the edge, heart still hammering, and slipped out of the car. Every step toward the tent made her stomach twist — the memories of last time, the rain-soaked nights, the cold and hunger, all of it.

James was there, sitting cross-legged outside the tent, lips wrapped around the glass pipe as the familiar chemical scent filled Sonya's nostrils.

Hearing the crunch of leaves, James looked up at her with that half-grinning, half-guilty expression she hated and loved.

“You came,” he said simply.

She ignored the words, trudging forward, boots crunching on twigs. “Of course I came,” she muttered. “I needed… air.”

“Air?” James teased, his eyes flickering toward the side of the tent where she knew the small stash of paraphernalia still lay hidden. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, silent and patient.

Sonya’s chest tightened. Part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl inside the tent and sink back into that old haze, let herself forget everything. She knew she could — needles, little vials, the faded wrappers of pills. They were all there, waiting like old friends.

But James wasn’t pushy. Not really. Just sitting there, letting her wrestle with it herself as he brought the glass back to his lips, lighting the bowl again before twirling it between his fingers.

“Don’t,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Don’t you dare let me.”

James tilted his head as he exhaled. “I’m not stopping you,” he said softly. “But… you don’t have to. You know that, right?”

Her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted it. She hated herself for wanting it. And she wanted him. More than the drugs, more than anything. He was the only thing that had ever felt steady.

She sank to the ground beside him, the grass damp beneath her, and just breathed.

“God, I missed you,” James murmured. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, tentative, respectful, grounding. “You okay?”

Sonya let herself lean in, pressing her forehead to his chest. “No,” she whispered. “But I’m with you.”

And in that small, messy admission, surrounded by the ghosts of their shared past, Sonya decided — for now — she could hold herself back, just enough to stay tethered to the one thing that kept her alive.

The flap of the tent rattled as Sonya sank onto the damp ground, knees drawn up, jacket wrapped around her like a shield. James settled beside her, careful not to crowd her but close enough that his presence warmed her.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, ghosting along her jaw. “Something on your mind?”

She shook her head, though her stomach twisted.

‘Everything’s on my mind…’ she thought bitterly. The fight, her parents, the gnawing temptation just inches away in that little stash of vials and needles.

James’s eyes flicked toward the side of the tent, then back to her. “Want me to light a fire?” he asked. “Make it feel like old times?”

She laughed, low and humorless. “God, don’t tempt me.”

But he leaned closer anyway, lips brushing hers in that slow, teasing way he always did. Not demanding, not hurried — just a reminder of how addictive he could be in the best and worst ways.

“Mmm… how about another kind of fire?” James teased, tracing his fingers up Sonya's thigh.

“I shouldn’t—” she started, voice tight, but he silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.

“I know,” he whispered. “But, come on… fuck it… fuck me…”

Her resolve wavered. She wanted it. Not the drugs — not yet — but him. All of him. She pressed her forehead against his chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart. “You make it so hard not to…”

James tilted his head, brushing his lips over the top of her head. “That’s kind of the point,” he said softly, voice teasing but edged with truth.

She let out a shaky breath, curling into him, remembering the cold nights in the tent years ago. The difference now was that she had a choice. She could reach for the old haze, the escape that had nearly destroyed her — or she could stay, tangled in his arms, grounded by him instead.

She looked up at him, really looked, and for a moment the rest of the world — Archer, her mother, Matthew, the fights — didn’t exist. Just him. Just them. And for the first time that morning, she felt like she might survive this day without losing herself.

The tent was hot and musky, the thin fabric doing nothing to keep out the damp smell of earth and foliage. Sonya pressed herself against James, the ache in her chest and the memory of cold nights gone bleeding into the present. He moved over her with that rough familiarity that made her heart pound and her mind scream at her to stop.

“You feel like home,” he murmured against her neck, breath ragged, fingers tangling in her hair. “Even after all this time.”

She gritted her teeth, letting herself give in, letting him pull her into the rhythm they both knew too well. Every thrust, every whispered word, every lingering touch was a reminder of the nights they had spent like this before — hungry, reckless, surviving by each other’s edge.

Tangled together and breathless, James reached for his small pipe, the one with a faint trace of resin, lighting it with careful precision. He took a long hit, eyes half-closed, sighing as he sank into the haze.

“James…” Sonya muttered, voice tight, staring at the pipe. Her fingers hovered over it, shaking slightly. She knew the pull, knew the temptation — just one hit, just like old times — and the gravity of it made her chest twist.

James caught her glance, lips curling. “You want it?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

She shook her head, though the shaking was more than nerves. “I… I shouldn’t. I’m clean now.”

He shrugged, taking another hit, and the smoke curled around his head like a halo of danger. “It’s your choice. Always has been. But it’d feel good.”

Sonya bit her lip, heart hammering, eyes glued to the swirling smoke. Her hand twitched, almost reaching for it, almost letting herself fall. And then, in a moment of weakness and defiance, she did — took a small, shaky hit of the pipe.

The world twisted immediately. Her chest tightened, throat burned, and the memory of what that high used to cost her flashed in a brutal, lightning-fast rush. Regret slammed into her, hot and bitter, and she coughed violently, gagging.

“I—fuck, no,” she gasped, shoving the pipe away. Her body shook as the old panic started to claw at her. James’s hand found hers instantly, squeezing gently.

“Hey,” he murmured, concern threading through his usual cocky tone. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But she wasn’t. Not fully. Not yet. Her chest heaved as adrenaline and guilt tangled together, leaving her raw, trembling, and painfully aware of how close she’d come to losing control.

James leaned back, sighing, smoke curling around his head. “Damn, you’ve gotten good at staying clean,” he said softly, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I knew you’d fight it.”

She glared at him, lips trembling. “Don’t make me feel proud, James. You know exactly what you just did to me.”

He just smirked, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I know. But you didn’t give in. That counts for something.”

She wanted to argue, to push him away, but instead she curled back against him, trembling and exhausted, caught somewhere between relief, desire, and fear.

“Can… can you fucking wait to use it until I leave?” Sonya asked, running her hands over her face before James set the pipe aside.

“For you…” he said softly, gently gripping Sonya's wrists in his calloused and dirty hands. Instead of comforting her further, James moved himself on top of her again.

The sun had shifted low, streaking the forest floor with gold as James pressed against her again, lips hot on hers, hands roaming with the lazy familiarity of a day spent entirely together.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, voice rough, as he kissed her neck, teasing and urgent.

“Never,” he murmured against her skin, teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. His hands slid along her sides, memorizing, worshipping.

Sonya shivered, arching into him, her body already singing from the hours they’d spent together — a mixture of hunger, adrenaline, and need.

They were tangled again, almost lost in each other, when the harsh, mechanical beep of her phone cut through the warm air of the tent.

Her stomach dropped. She fumbled for the device, pulling it free of the sheet, eyes widening at the alarm: Pick up Matthew, 4:30 PM.

James paused mid-kiss, forehead resting against hers, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Guess reality’s calling,” he said softly.

“Ugh,” she groaned, squirming in his arms. “I don’t want to go. I just… I just want to stay here forever.”

“You can,” he murmured, sliding his hand over hers. “Just for a little longer.”

She shook her head, lips trembling. “No. I… I have to. Matthew. My parents.”

James pulled her close for a lingering kiss, slow and soft, savoring the moment like it might be the last time for a while. “I’ll be here when you come back,” he whispered. “I swear.”

Sonya let herself breathe him in, memorizing the heat, the smell, the way he made the world shrink until nothing else mattered. Then, reluctantly, she pushed back, slipping out of his arms, hastily tugging on her hoodie and shoes.

James just watched, half-smile still on his lips, as she zipped up the tent. “Go save the world, little rebel,” he teased, voice low and warm. “Just don’t take too long.”

She let out a frustrated laugh “Fuck that!” Sonya called out before slipping into the forest to get back to the car, heart still hammering from their day together.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

The first crack of dawn leaked pale through Sonya’s blinds. The house was stirring — she could hear the faint creak of floorboards down the hall, her mother’s voice muffled in the kitchen. Her stomach dropped.

“James,” she whispered, shoving at his shoulder beneath the sheets. “You have to go. Now.”

He groaned, rolling toward her with a lazy grin. “Five more minutes.”

“No. Not five more minutes. My dad’s up.” She scrambled to find his shirt, tossing it at his bare chest. “If he sees you here—”

James tugged the shirt over his head but only leaned in closer, lips brushing her jaw. “Then let me at least get one more kiss before I go.”

Sonya huffed out of anxiety, but ultimately gave in. Leaning in, Sonya pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before pushing James towards the window. “There. Now go.”

He grinned. “Mm. Nope. That was half a kiss. I need a real one.”

“James—” she hissed, but he stole another kiss anyway, lingering this time.

“One more,” he pleaded, playful, eyes bright with mischief.

“You’ve already had, like, three ‘one mores!’” She huffed before opening the window, laughing despite herself.

He had one leg out when he leaned back in again, hands framing her face for another kiss. “Last one. Swear.”

She gave it to him, quick and firm, then pushed hard at his chest. “Go before you get me killed.”

But before he could swing the other leg out, the door creaked open.

“Sonya?” Archer’s voice echoed from behind the cracked door, rough and sharp with suspicion.

Her heart seized. James’s eyes went wide.

In one motion, he tumbled the rest of the way out the window, hitting the ground with a grunt before sprinting across the yard.

By the time Archer crossed the room to the window, James was already a blur disappearing down the street.

Archer leaned out, jaw tight, scanning the neighborhood. “Sonya Graff!” He turned on her, fury rising. “Was that him? Was that James?”

Sonya clutched the blanket around her chest, trying to look as indignant as possible while her pulse thundered in her ears. “The fuck, dad? Can’t a girl get privacy in her own room?”

His glare said everything as the window rattled, Archer yanking it shut. He turned to Sonya, voice low but full of restrained fury.

“You think you’re clever, sneaking that boy in and out of my house? You think I don’t see what he is?”

Sonya’s grip on the blanket tightened. “What he is?” She asked, her voice laced with disgusted defense.

“He’s not some monster, Dad. He’s—”

“He’s a junkie,” Archer cut her off, pointing toward the window as if James were still there. “A parasite who drags you down every time you try to crawl your way out. And if you think I’m going to stand by and let him slither into my house, into your bed—” He stopped, teeth clenched so hard she could hear them grind.

“You don’t get it,” Sonya snapped, standing from the bed with the sheet wrapped around her like armor. “You’ve never gotten it. He’s the only one who’s ever been there for me. When you were busy yelling, when Mom was busy pretending I wasn’t falling apart, James—he stayed. Even when we had nothing, he stayed.”

Archer’s chest heaved, nostrils flaring. “Yeah, he stayed to take advantage of you. Steal from you. Steal from this family!” He shouted, hardly holding back his anger. “You know what? Maybe I should get rid of that damn window.”

Sonya blinked, stunned. “What?”

“I own a construction company, Sonya. Don’t test me. I could pull this thing out today and put in a fixed pane that doesn’t open. No more sneaking him in. No more lying.”

Her blood boiled. “Go ahead, then! Rip out the whole wall for all I care. Or better yet—kick me out! Since I’m so worthless to you anyway.”

Archer’s face hardened, but beneath it flickered something raw. He took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re my daughter. You’re not going anywhere.”

Her throat ached, anger tangled with heartbreak as she spoke. “Then stop acting like you want to lock me in a cage.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, shifting in the silence as the tension rose.

“You want to throw your life away on him?” Archer said at last, his tone clipped, heavy. “Be a worthless piece of trash dead in a ditch somewhere? Foaming at the fucking mouth, overdosed on whatever shit he finds? I won’t let him crawl back into your life, let alone through that window again. Not while you're under my roof.”

Sonya swallowed hard, defiant but shaken. “We’ll see about that.”

And though she turned her back on him, retreating to the safety of her bed, she could still feel the weight of his eyes on her — not just angry, but scared.

The silence that followed was heavy, brittle. Sonya sat stiff on the edge of her bed, still clutching the sheet, while Archer stood by the window like a guard refusing to leave his post.

The sound of footsteps in the hall broke the standoff. A knock — sharp, quick — before the door creaked open.

“What’s going on in here?” her mother’s voice cut through, stern but not shouting. Behind her, Matthew hovered, clearly the messenger.

“They’re fighting,” he announced, too pleased with himself.

“Matthew,” she said, tired. “Kitchen. Now.”

He grinned and scurried off, leaving the three of them in the thick air.

Her mother’s eyes darted from Sonya, wrapped in sheets, to Archer, rigid by the window. “I could hear you two all the way downstairs.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is it this time?”

Archer didn’t hesitate. “She had him in here. Climbing out the window like some damn criminal.”

Her mother’s face tightened — not surprise, not quite outrage, but the heavy, irritated disappointment Sonya hated most. “Sonya,” she said flatly before her daughter cut her off.

Sonya’s heart hammered, but she lifted her chin anyway. “It doesn't matter…” she mumbled.

Her mother exhaled sharply, arms crossing. “We’ve told you a hundred times — he’s not welcome here. You bring him into this house, you’re spitting in our faces.”

“I’m not spitting in your faces! I’m just—” Sonya’s voice cracked, too raw. “I’m just trying to be with someone who actually gives a damn about me!”

“Watch your tone,” her mother snapped, the strict edge sharpening. “You don’t get to stand here, half-dressed, after sneaking your boyfriend through your bedroom window, and act like you’re the victim.”

“I am the victim,” Sonya shot back before she could stop herself. “Of you two treating me like a prisoner in my own house.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed measured, precise. “You’re under our roof. You follow our rules. That’s not prison — that’s family.”

“Family?” Sonya scoffed, throat burning. “You mean the family that never trusted me, never trusted him, never trusted I could make one damn choice for myself without screwing it up?”

Archer started to snap again, but her mother raised a hand, silencing him. “Enough.” Her voice was low, cutting. “This ends here. If I hear James’s name one more time today, if I so much as see his shadow near this house, you’ll regret it, Sonya. Do you understand me?”

The threat hung heavy, more frightening for its calm delivery.

Sonya didn’t answer — couldn’t. She turned her face away, blinking back the sting in her eyes before holding her middle finger up at her dad.

“Sonya Graff!” Archer scolded, taking a step towards his daughter before his wife stopped him.

“Apologize to your father.” She said, though Sonya stayed silent. “Sonya…” she warned before the girl huffed.

“Fuck! Fine, sorry. Can I be alone now?” Sonya shouted, watching her mother push her dad out of the room and close the door before turning her back towards the door and sliding down to her knees.

“Fuck!!” She shouted, half to let out steam and half to enrage her parents by her language before forcing herself up to get ready.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓢𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢

𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑐. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑓'𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑚. 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛. 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝐻𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛. ❞

𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢, 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

The sound came first — a clumsy scrape against the siding, the faint rattle of the window latch. Sonya had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped tight around her, damp hair dripping water droplets down her shoulders. The sound made her freeze, heart stuttering in her chest before she realized there was only one idiot in the world who’d think to come in that way.

The curtain rattled, the frame gave, and then James’s lanky frame stumbled through the window like he was trying to lose a fight with gravity while he fell head first.

“Jesus Christ,” Sonya hissed, clutching her towel tighter. “You're graceful.”

James blinked, slow and sheepish, hair sticking to his forehead. He grinned in that half-apologetic, half-defiant way he always did when he knew he was caught.He sniffed, trying to play it cool. “I missed you.”

“You reek like a liquor store dumpster,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her pulse hadn’t slowed down. Despite the frustration, despite the chaos he always dragged in behind him, James still made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite get rid of.

“Sonyaaa.”

Both of them turned to see Matthew leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk plastered across his too-young face. His middle school arrogance was written in every inch of him.

“You know Dad’s gonna kill you if he finds him here.” Matthew jerked his chin toward James, enjoying the power shift.

“Go away, asshat.” Sonya snapped.

He didn’t budge. “Hmm… maybe I should actually just tell Dad.” He held the pause.. “Unless…”

Sonya narrowed her eyes. “Unless what?”

“Ten bucks,” Matthew said. “Actually, twenty. And I want the rest of the Sour Patch Kids in your drawer. All of them.”

James barked out a laugh, clutching his side. “Kid’s a hustler. I like him.”

Sonya groaned before she tossed Matthew a glare. “Fine. But if you breathe one word to Mom or Dad, I swear—”

“Relax.” Matthew grinned, snagging the deal. “Your secret’s safe. For now.” With that, he padded down the hallway, humming to himself.

The second he was gone, Sonya turned back to James. “Don’t encourage him.”

James just shrugged, stepping closer as his eyes softened. “I'm not, I'm not!” He defended, lifting his hands in defense before settling them on Sonya's waist.

James lingered in the middle of Sonya’s room, dripping dirt and street on her clean rug, eyes flicking around until they landed on the dresser.

“You still got it?” he asked, voice low but eager.

Sonya sighed, pulling away and tugging on a pair of shorts beneath her towel. “Bottom drawer. Back corner. Don’t touch anything else.”

He dropped to his knees, rummaging until his hand found the small zippered pouch she kept hidden under old notebooks.

She hated herself for keeping it there, but hated even more the thought of James showing up empty and desperate.

“Kiss before I shower?” James asked as he stood, holding the pouch against his chest before reaching for her. His lips found the curve of her shoulder, damp from her shower, mouth hot and insistent. “Mmm… or you could shower with me…”

She shoved at his chest with a laugh. “Uh-uh. You smell fucking disgusting. My parents come home and smell you before they see you? Or worse, they find me naked with you? I’m screwed.”

James smirked, leaning his forehead against hers. “Sonyaaa… What if I’m trying to screw you first? Have you ever thought of that?”

“Then you’re waiting. Shower. Now.” She pointed toward the bathroom with the authority of someone who’d said this before.

James sighed like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew but shuffled off toward the hall bathroom. “Bossy,” he muttered, though there was no bite in it.

The moment he left, Matthew reappeared like a ghost, arms crossed again. “You really like him, huh?”

Sonya groaned. “Don’t start.”

Matthew shrugged. “I mean, he’s cool. Way cooler than Dad gives him credit for.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “But if he ever hurts you… I’ll kick his ass.”

James’s laugh cut through the hall before Sonya could answer. He leaned against the bathroom doorway, towel slung over his shoulder, hair wild. “Oh yeah? You and what army, little man?”

Matthew puffed his chest, chin up. “I don’t need an army. I’ve got a baseball bat.”

For a beat, James stared at him — and then he cracked up, doubling over. “Goddamn, I like you,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes. “You’re funny.”

Matthew didn’t crack a smile, dead serious. “Not joking.”

Before James could fire back, Sonya pushed herself between them, tugging James toward her room again. “Alright, enough male bonding. He’s my boyfriend, not yours.”

Matthew shook his head, muttering something about idiots in love, but Sonya caught the faintest ghost of a grin before he disappeared again.

By the time James emerged from the bathroom, scrubbed raw pink and wearing the soft t-shirt and sweats Sonya had folded away for him, he looked younger somehow. Less hollow. Less haunted.

“See?” Sonya said, smirking as she pulled back the blankets. “Almost like a real human being.”

James flopped into the bed beside her, stretching out like he belonged there. “Almost,” he echoed, tugging her down against his chest. She went willingly, hair still damp, skin warm. They tangled together like muscle memory, kisses starting soft and lingering before growing hungrier. His hand skimmed the curve of her hip and he whispered, “God, I missed this. Missed you.”

She laughed against his mouth. “You saw me three days ago.”

“Yeah, but three days feels like three years when I’m out there.” His voice cracked in the middle, the bravado slipping. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes darting away.

“I don’t… I don’t deserve this. Any of it. You, keeping clothes here for me, letting me shower, stay over. I should be grateful, and I am, but it makes me feel like—like dead weight on you.”

Sonya stiffened, pulling back just enough to see his face. He looked fragile, almost sick with shame.

“You’re not dead weight,” she said firmly, sharper than she meant to. “Don’t say that.”

He gave a bitter laugh, eyes burning with the threat of tears. “Come on, Sonya. You’re clean. You’re back home. Doing the whole normal-life thing your dad wanted. And me? I’m still crawling out of the gutter, dragging mud all over your floor. We both know you deserve better.”

Her chest twisted. For a second she saw the tent again — the sagging nylon walls, the cold nights when they curled together with nothing but stolen blankets and the chemical haze to keep them warm. She’d thought she’d never get out, back then. But she had. And he hadn’t.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek. “Don’t push me away just because it’s easier to hate yourself.”

James blinked at her, and then kissed her like she was oxygen. Desperate, consuming, the kind of kiss that said he was starving and she was the only thing that fed him.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she rested her head on his chest again. His heartbeat was a frantic drum beneath her ear.

“I love you, James,” she murmured. “Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

He swallowed hard, arm tightening around her. “You’re gonna get sick of me one day.”

“Not a chance.”

Flashback – Two years earlier

The rain had been relentless that week, the kind that soaked through everything no matter how many tarps you strung over the sagging nylon walls. Sonya pulled her knees tighter to her chest, shivering inside James’s old hoodie, the sleeves hanging past her hands. The air smelled like wet earth, mildew, and the chemical bite of whatever they’d used to burn the edge off last night.

James zipped the tent flap shut, shaking water from his hair as he crawled back inside. He carried a crumpled paper sack of food — gas station sandwiches, smashed from the weight of his jacket. His sneakers squelched with mud.

“Got us dinner,” he announced with a crooked grin, trying to mask the exhaustion in his eyes.

Sonya glanced at the bag, then at him. Her stomach twisted with hunger, but worse was the shame that followed it. She used to eat at a kitchen table. She used to have her mom’s cooking, her little brother cracking jokes with his mouth full. Now she was here, hiding from them all, pretending she wasn’t breaking in ways she couldn’t name.

“Thanks,” she whispered, taking half the sandwich he offered. The bread was soggy and Sonya knew James probably fished it out of a dumpster, but she didn’t care.

James collapsed beside her, shoulder pressing against hers in the small space. For a while, the only sound was chewing and rain drumming against the tarp.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, after she’d gone still too long.

Sonya blinked at him, eyes glassy. “My dad thinks I’m trash.”

James’s jaw tightened. “Your dad doesn’t know shit.”

“He told me I’d end up dead in a ditch if I kept using.” Her throat burned as she tried to laugh. “Guess he wasn’t too far off.”

“Hey.” James turned her face toward him, his hands calloused. “You’re not trash. You’re the only good thing in my life, Sonya. You hear me? If I didn’t have you—” His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

Her chest ached. The way he said it — like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth — made her feel both powerful and doomed. Because she believed him. And it meant if she ever left, he’d shatter.

So she kissed him. Fiercely, desperately, the kind of kiss that wasn’t about love or lust, but survival. His hands clutched her like she might vanish. They sank into each other, into the thin blankets, into the lie that this tent was home and not hell.

When she finally pulled back, breathless, she whispered, “As long as you want me, I’ll stay.”

James smiled — broken, worshipful — and pulled her against his chest. “Then don’t ever leave.”

Present Day

The room smelled faintly of soap, candle wax, and the ghost of rain outside. The sheets were tangled around their bodies, skin still warm from the intimacy they’d shared. James lay on his back, arm stretched lazily around her shoulders, his chest rising and falling with the deep rhythm of someone who finally felt safe enough to rest.

Sonya nestled against him, cheek pressed to his bare skin, but her eyes were wide open, staring up at him like he was both her ruin and her salvation. The soft glow from her bedside lamp caught on the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble. He looked tired — always tired — but in this quiet, he looked like hers.

She traced idle patterns over his ribs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Sometimes I think… you’re the only one who really sees me. Not the version my dad wants. Not the screw-up Matthew teases. Just me.”

James’s eyes flicked down, catching hers. Something heavy stirred in them, something he almost never let her see. “That’s ‘cause I do. Always have. I saw you when nobody else did, Sonya. Back when it was just us and that tent. Back when the whole world gave up on us.”

Her throat tightened, memories flooding in: damp blankets, hunger, her father’s voice yelling through slammed doors. But James’s arms had been around her then, just as they were now. The constant in all of it.

“You get me in a way no one else ever will,” she murmured, almost defiantly. “Even if everybody else hates it. Hates you. I don’t care.”

He swallowed, his hand moving to cup the back of her head, threading through her damp curls. “I don’t deserve you,” he said again, softer this time, like it was a prayer and a curse.

She pressed herself tighter against him, unwilling to let the words linger. “Well… that's too damn bad. You’re stuck with me.”

For a moment, silence. And then James leaned down, kissing her forehead with a gentleness that made her chest ache. He held her there, naked, fragile, and whole in the only way they knew how to be.

And as she drifted in that soft, dangerous warmth, Sonya realized she wasn’t afraid of losing herself to him. She was afraid of who she’d be without him.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓛𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝓝𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝐻𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑚. ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

The truck bed was cold under the old, wool blanket, but Collie’s arm around you made it warm enough. The night stretched wide and endless above, a sky of quiet constellations and stars that felt too still for how the world was about to change come morning.

He’d told you earlier that day he got picked. Year after year you feared that news, and here Collie was trying to keep his grin steady.

Now? Now he was lying there with his heartbeat steady against your back, there was no grin left to hide behind. Just his breath, quiet and uneven, ghosting through your hair.

“You cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head. “No. You?”

“Nah.” A pause. “Just thinkin’.”

You turned over to face him. In the dim light from the moon, his eyes looked softer than you’d ever seen them. The kind of soft that only you and his mother got to see, but under it all, Collie was scared.

“About tomorrow?” you asked.

He gave a small laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

“You don’t have to be brave right now.”

“I ain’t scared,” he lied, but his voice cracked, and Collie knew you caught him. Swallowing, his thumb brushed against your cheek. “Just—feels strange, leavin’ all this." He said, glancing around the cool night darkness before meeting your eyes again. "Leavin’ you.”

You smiled faintly, even though your throat was tight. “You’ll come back. You have to.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you like he wanted to memorize every detail—the way your eyes caught the starlight, the little wrinkle that appeared when you frowned.

“If I do,” he said finally, “you’re takin’ me right back here. Same truck, same damn cuddles. Promise?” Collie teased, gently tugging you closer to him.

Giggling, you nodded against his chest. “Promise.”

He smiled, small and real this time. Taking your chin between his curled index finger and thumb, Collie leaned in to kiss you. It wasn’t desperate, not yet. Just slow, like he wanted to make it last longer than it could. When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he whispered.

“Then don’t go,” you whispered back.

Collie closed his eyes, thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Backouts already happened, Y/N/N. You know I have to..."

Neither of you said anything else after that. You just lay there, tangled together beneath the stars, listening to the crickets and the faint hum of a world that felt too alive to end tomorrow.

When he finally drifted off, you stayed awake a while longer, watching the sky and wishing time could stop just this once—right here, with him, before The Long Walk ever began.

The night had gone still, except for the sound of Collie breathing. Slow. Even. Steady.

You couldn’t sleep. Not when the boy beside you felt like the whole world slipping through your fingers.

He looked peaceful, somehow. The sweat against his tan skin shimmered in the moonlight, his long dark hair falling over his forehead in messy waves that brushed the line of his always furrowed brow.

You reached out without thinking, brushing a strand aside with your fingertips. His face softened under your touch, chipmunk cheeks plush, pink lips parted slightly with the soft flow of his breathing.

He always looked so alive—loud, quick to laugh, quick to fight. But now he just looked young. Too young to be leaving for something like that...

You traced the slope of his shoulder with your eyes, the muscles of his arms as you remembered the times he would pick you up and toss you over his shoulder.

You tried to memorize the way his chest rose and fell, the sound it made when he exhaled with the softest grumble. Every breath felt like something you had to keep, felt like something you might not get again.

You’d told him he’d come back, you said it like you believed it, but under the stars, the truth settled heavy in your chest-- He probably wouldn’t.

Not because he wasn’t strong enough, but because the world wasn’t fair enough to let someone like him come home.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, breathing him in one last time. Sage, amber, sunshine, and that faint sweetness that was just him.

“I love you, Co- Collie...” you whispered, your own voice cracking as the tears pricked your eyes.

He stirred a little, his hand twitching against yours, but didn’t wake. So you stayed like that.

Sleep would find you another night, but for now, you watched the boy you loved sleep, wishing you could keep him right there forever.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝑰𝒏 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟔+

🩷. ┊ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

💙. ┊ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕

❤️. ┊ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕

dts: @p-page @automaticflowerdetective @the-unquietgrave

dividers by: @astroyosei @sweetmelodygraphics @dividers-are-us @steviebbboi @dwaintydoll

𝙳𝙲 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

🩷. ┊ Cockroach: Orm Marius x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑂𝑟𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑥 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐴𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑎𝑑𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟...

𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍

💙. ┊ Hide Well, Little Sheep: Daikichi Karube x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝐴𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒... 𝐻𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟...

𝚃𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚏

🩷. ┊ The Night We Met: Jordan Parrish x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑀𝑅𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠, 𝐻𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ...

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎

🩷. ┊ See You Again: Bernard the Elf x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑡𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑖𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎'𝑠 𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑄𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑛, 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐵𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑙𝑓. 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐵𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟.

🩷. ┊ Maybe the North Pole Isn't So Bad: Bernard the Elf x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑡𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑡, ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠... 𝐻𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑁𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑒...

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎

💙. ┊ The Second Sunday of April: Vance Hopper x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ, 𝐻𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑤 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑈𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑥'𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒. 𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐴𝑙𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑔𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚆𝚑𝚢

❤️. ┊ Feels Like the First Time: Cyrus Walker x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑦𝑛𝑛 𝐴𝑡𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟, 𝐶𝑦𝑟𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 ... 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 ...

💙. ┊ Two Pink Lines: Marcus Cole x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐿𝑦𝑛𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑢𝑠'𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒... 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢

💙. ┊ Now or Never: Winston x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑒, ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑒.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝙲𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

🩷. ┊ Dog Days Are Over: Adam Warlock x OC

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑠, 𝐴𝑑𝑎𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚. 𝑅𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼𝑣𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒...

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔

🩷. ┊The Last Night: Collie Parker x Reader

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝐻𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑚.

🩷. ┊ Yes

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝐻𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑌/𝑁, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒.

💙. ┊The Last Stretch

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑇𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝-𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐵𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑠. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑.

🩷. ┊ Snowed In

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒: 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑐 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑠. 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚.

𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜

💙. ┊ Sonya

pt. i , pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv, pt. v, pt. vi, pt. vii

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑓'𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑚.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒

[headrant]

𝓗𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒

𝐼 𝑁𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑇𝑜 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝐴 𝑀𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡

┊✧ 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 && 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍. 𝙼𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚡𝚡

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[headrant]

𝓒𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇

𝑂𝑟𝑚 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑠 𝑥 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟

❝ 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑂𝑟𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑥 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐴𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑎𝑑𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟... ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ?? 🚫🚫

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 💬💬

"So you think this was a good idea?” Adriana asked, glancing at Orm as the two watched Arthur combine both worlds.

“He knows what he's doing… Even if no one knows it yet…” Orm said, taking another bite of his cheeseburger before the girl let out a scoff.

“Are you softening up, Ocean Master?” She teased, gently kicking at Orm’s feet from under the table as the cool summer breeze blew past the two.

Land was different… of course Adriana had been up here a handful of times with Mera or Arthur, but actually living here… with Orm… trying to make it a normal, surface dweller life, it was new…

It was nice…

“Not at all.” He hummed, a bit of grease from his burger staining his lips and chin as he smirked causing the aquatic female to smile.

“Wipe your face, you're a mess.” Adriana said, handing Orm a napkin before reaching for her drink as a small cockroach crawled past her hand causing her to jump a bit.

Eyes widening, Orm reached out to grab the blattodea before lifting the top bun to his cheeseburger and setting the insect inside as the legs still crawled and wiggled in an attempt to escape.

Watching with awe and confusion, knowing Arthur absolutely had something to do with this, Adriana witnessed Orm bring the burger up to his mouth and take another bite before letting out a content sigh.

“What are you doing?” She asked, finally finding herself able to form words from the shock as Orm furrowed his brows.

“Hm? I'm eating. What are you doing?” He asked with a full mouth, chewed up mush of cockroach, meat and bread threatening to fall out the side of his mouth before Adriana shook her head.

Sure, a cockroach wasn't much different than a shrimp or crawfish, but she had been on land a few more times more than Orm to know they were not exactly the ideal burger topping.

“Apparently watching you eat a cockroach… why?” The girl laughed, still in disbelief as she reached out to lift up the top bun of Orm’s burger to see the roach now headless yet still wiggling.

“That's a bug. Not really food.” She told him, the aquatic man swallowing before shaking his head.

“No, Arthur told me it's shrimp or the land.” Orm defended, pulling out the roach before holding it out to Adriana. “Mhm, try it. It's really good.”

“Maybe if it wasn't just picked up off the ground?” She said, raising an eyebrow at the bug before looking back at Orm.

“I didn't pick it up off the ground, I picked it up off of the table.” He said, once again gesturing to the headless cockroach for his lover to take.

Hesitantly, Adriana reached forward and took the wiggling blattodea from Orm before examining it closely only for her eyes to once again lock on him.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He asked sweetly, Adriana scoffing at his words.

“Yes.” She retorted quickly before ultimately bringing the roach to her mouth and taking a bite.

Chewing for a few moments as the shell gave a bit of a crunch on her teeth, the innards mushing inside of her mouth, Adriana eventually hummed at the slightly metallic yet almost shrimp-like taste.

“Good, right?” Orm asked, his lips curling into a smile as he held out his hand expecting for Adriana to give the roach back to him before she nodded and finished the rest.

“Mhm…” she hummed, not even paying attention to the Atlantean as she licked her fingers clean causing Orm to slowly drop his hand and close his burger with an eye roll… Deep down, though, he couldn't help but smile at the girl sitting across from him eating the cockroach.

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝓣𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝓕𝐎𝐑 𝓤𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 | 𝓜𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓