#and I can’t even stop taking it because it’ll fuck with my head more. we’re in some dire dire docks boys. minus the sick submarine.

[apotelesmaa]

I think the fact that u can just get prescribed ssris without being told about side effects to watch out for and then have your dose raised and suddenly have your mental health absolutely tank is. So funny. Absolutely incapable of feeling emotions to the point where all of my relationships are fucked (unable to feel affection/love) my academic career is fucked (unable to feel any sense of urgency towards assignments/attendance) my Everything Is Fucked (unable to gauge emotional well-being until things are actually hazardous) but at least I also can’t feel the Consuming Despair. Giving zombie realness. Going through the motions pilled. Apathymaxxing.

[xoxoladyaz]

locked in lowercase (inside a vault)

For @steddie-week Day 3: Longing (1,032 words)

Tags: Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending

“Eddie, man. I think you should talk to him.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”

“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”

“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”

Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying. 

Because none of them were Steve. 

And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out. 

(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)

“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”

Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”

(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)

“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.

“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”

Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”

“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”

“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”

Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”

“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”

Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”

“Know? Know what?”

Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”

The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.

(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)

“Does – does he?”

(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.

Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)

“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.

(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)

The phone only rings twice.

“This is Steve.”

(And maybe that world is this one.

But he won’t know until he tries.)

“Hey, Stevie. Got a minute?”

[jennay]

My Best Friend

Noah Sebastian x reader

Part Two

Summary: Reader goes through a break up and Noah does Noah things.

Master List

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you ascend Noah’s driveway. Your skin prickles, as if it’s trying to escape the confines of your body. The air feels heavy, suffocating, and you’re torn between wanting to kick something, hit something, or simply collapse into a heap of tears. It’s a symphony of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a dash of disbelief.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You thought you were in a cozy rom-com, complete with candlelit dinners and shared playlists. But reality just pulled the rug out from under you, leaving you sprawled on the floor of your own heartbreak.

And the worst part? Everyone else saw it coming. They waved red flags like semaphore signals, but you were too busy dancing in the fog of infatuation.

You even told your friends, “It won't be serious and if it is we will move slow.” But Michael? He came with baggage—suitcases, trunks, and emotional carry-ons. A tortured soul with unresolved trauma, dragging dread behind him like a shadow.

As you stand there, staring at the door, you wonder if it’s too late to turn back. It was going to be embarrassing asking Noah if you could move back in.

You open the door and quietly enter the house stopping at the side of the couch where Noah sits. He looks up at you with a soft smile. “You ok?” He asks even though he knows you aren’t. He scrunches his face and pats the sofa next to him, “Come sit, tell me what happened.”

“He said he knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to work. We were both too damaged. He was using me to get over someone else and we’re better off apart,” your voice trembles with defeat. You hurl your phone onto the couch and collapse next to Noah. Tilting your head up, you drape your arm over your eyes, hoping to shield your vulnerability from him.

“What a dick,” Noah chimes in, his tone edged with anger. “And seriously, how does this keep happening to you? You’ve dated so many people.” He pauses, studying your face for any sign of reaction. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but damn, this was the longest relationship I’ve seen you in and it lasted—what, a year?” His brown eyes lock onto you, probing deeper.

You drop your arm, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Stupid. That’s how you feel. You craved love desperately, yet it seemed like nobody wanted to love you back. “I got attached to his kids like a fucking idiot,” you admit, your voice barely audible. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, unstoppable. “Why doesn’t anyone want to love me?” The words escape in a soft whisper, your shoulders slumping as you gaze at the floor. A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you think it’ll be the last, but another follows, and another. You bury your head in your hands.

Noah’s hand rubs your back soothingly. “Dude, don’t cry,” he murmurs, inching closer. His thigh brushes against yours, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling your sobbing form into his chest. In that moment, his warmth feels like the only comfort in a world that’s left you feeling unloved and broken.

“I can’t help it…” you whine, attempting to wipe your eyes. “I know it wasn’t that long, but it was like a Netflix series—short but intense. Not the ‘binge-watching Stranger Things’ kind of intense, more like ‘accidentally watched a documentary on tax law’ intense. I mean, I loved him, but I also had moments when I wanted to throw his clothes out the window because I hated him.”

Noah takes a deep breath, and you feel your body rise with his. He leans in, ready to drop some wisdom. “Listen, I’m no relationship guru, but I’m pretty sure ‘hate’ isn’t in the official handbook. It’s more like ‘tolerate their weird quirks’ or ‘pretend to enjoy their cooking.’”

You pull away playfully, glaring at him. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. Next, you’ll tell me that water is wet.”

He chuckles at your comment. “So,” he pauses dramatically, “when should we go grab your stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow, “The breakup happened like thirty minutes ago. Give me a break,” you say with a soft smile.

Noah shrugs like it’s no big deal. “The spare room is still how you left it. I’m sure Jolly will help us move some stuff upstairs too. I could ask Folio and Nicholas, but you know how they are,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, Folio would probably turn it into a moving party, and Nicholas would just complain the whole time.”

Noah laughs. “Exactly!”

You stand up, sighing. “Yeah, but the last thing I need is Michael spreading rumors about how quickly I moved on to one of you.” You bite your lip. “Can I just borrow some clothes tonight? I’m not ready to face him yet.”

Noah nods, “He’s a mediocre middle-aged basic white dude. I didn’t think you’d be this heartbroken over him.”

You smirk. “Well, he did have a decent dick.”

Noah stares at you in horror. “What the fuck, dude.”

You chuckle. “Now, about those clothes?”

“Anything to get away from you at this moment. I need to go bleach my eyes…and burn that image out of my brain.” Noah starts for the stairs, pretending to gag as he walks up them. “Let’s go get some stuff tomorrow. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

You quickly follow behind him, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “You’re such a drama queen.”

He grins over his shoulder. “And you love me for it.”

Walking into his room, he grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his dresser, tossing them at you. “Here, these should fit. They’re my comfiest.”

“Thanks,” you say, catching the clothes. You head to the room across from his. “Goodnight, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.” You take a deep breath and open the door, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders.

“Hey!” Noah slightly yells, clearing his throat. “Why don’t you stay in here with me tonight? It’ll make me feel better knowing that you can’t jump out your window.” He teases, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “We can watch a movie… My brain will be at peace, and if you need to cry, you won’t be alone.”

You pause, feeling a lump in your throat. “Let me change first.”

When you arrive back in Noah’s room, he has the TV turned on and the blankets pulled down. He’s already in bed. “Come on, get in here. I’ve got Bojack Horseman ready to go.”

You take no time crawling into bed and snuggling close to the blankets. “You know me too well,” you mumble, feeling a bit more at ease.

Noah smiles softly. “Of course I do. Now, let’s forget about Michael for a while and just relax.”

As the show starts, Noah doesn’t say a word, just watches your eyes slowly flutter, signaling you’re tired. He reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. “I’m here for you, always.”

You squeeze back, feeling a bit of the tension melt away. “Thanks, Noah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on the screen but his thoughts on you.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part eleven

authors note: hi! i'm super sorry for the cliffhanger! i just have this thing where i need sections to be cohesive, and this chapter is much heavier than the previous, so i didn't wanna boggle ya'll down with all that angst!

i've also been thinking about the length of this story. currently, in terms of story timeline, we're at the very end of december 23', and i have ideas for up to may 24'. well, beyond that, but i don't want things to get stale, so i can end it around that time or keep it going? just curious because i don't want it to play out so long that it bores anyone. if that makes sense. just lmk.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angsttttt (parental neglect, abandonment, trauma) language, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, some fluff

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

words: 6.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You knew as soon as he walked in that something was up.

In getting to know Joe, you’d also learned that he was, surprisingly, on the quiet side. He spoke with you, of course, but you learned he leaned more towards introverted than extroverted. It was kind of sweet and pretty surprising. But, you’d also learned there was a difference between him being his sometimes quiet self and when something was off, and something was definitely off.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to fuck it out of you?” He rolls his eyes, not even showing any excitement at the idea of fucking you. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. “Seriously, what’s up?”

He shrugs, playing it off clearly. “Just tired. Back to back matches.” 

That's when you realize what it is. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, dismissively, and you cross your arms. “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take it off, or I’ll climb your big ass and take it off myself.” Joe blows out a breath. He has to know you’re dead serious. So, wordlessly, he lifts his shirt over his head and turns around. 

You gasp almost immediately. “What the actual fuck?” Your hand reaches to touch him, but you stop yourself, knowing that his skin must be sensitive to the touch. His back is inflamed, red welts spread in different areas with a nasty bruise that looks like a borderline hematoma and other various cuts. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Shaking your head, you point to your room. “Go sit and wait for me on the bed.” He opens his mouth, and you lift a finger. “I don’t want to hear it. Get in there now.”

Surprisingly, he follows suit, and you start to move about, gathering the necessary supplies. Along the way, you experience a plethora of emotions but mostly bounce back and forth between irritation and concern. 

You’re irritated that he didn’t just come out and say that he was hurt. You’re also concerned because he’s obviously in pain, and that bothers you. He doesn’t have to be, he didn’t have to be if he just said something. 

Stubborn asshole. 

With everything needed and placed in a cloth bag, you walk into your room and stretch your hand out to him. “Take this.”

Joe looks down at your open palm with a single pink pill. “What the hell is it?”

“Coke,” you answer with a straight face. Rolling your eyes, you answer, “Benadryl. It’ll help with the inflammation of the welts.”

“It’ll also knock me out.”

“We’ll we’re obviously not fucking with your back all messed up, so what else are you going to do?”

“Who said we can’t fuck?”

You sigh. “Joe, if you don’t just take this goddamn pill. With your size, you probably should take two, but I’m trying to be nice by only giving you one, so accept my kindness and swallow this damn pill or I’ll shove it down your throat.” 

He sucks his teeth but also takes the pill from you followed by the water bottle tucked under your arm. “You’re a terrible nurse.”

“And you’re an awful patient. At least we’re both on the same page.” You wait for him to swallow it before taking the bottle from him. “Good, now lay on your stomach.”

He lifts his brow, asking, “why?”

“Oh my god, you’re as bad as my students.” Men when they’re sick or not feeling well are a special kind of torture you’re not sure why exactly you’re subjecting yourself to right now. “Just do it, please. I’m trying to help you here.”

He just looks at you, as if he has something else to say, probably so. But, he surprises you by staying silent and following your instructions. 

Pleased, you climb on top of him, sitting on his ass to avoid irritating his already sensitive skin. “Okay, now this may hurt a little bit at first—”

He makes a sound underneath you. “Can’t hurt anymore than it already does.”

“If you had said something sooner, I could have helped you before now,” you scold, dropping the bag on the bed beside ya’ll. Men and their tendency to downplay pain will never cease to amaze you. The minute you start getting hit with cramps, you pop an ibuprofen.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re in pain. That’s always a big deal.” Pulling out the ointment, you dab enough to your hand and start carefully massaging it into the welts. He hisses at your touch and you murmur an apology but don’t stop. It’s short term discomfort for long term benefits. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Calamine lotion,” you answer, adding on. “I have hydrocortisone too, but my grandma always said calamine works just as well without getting into your bloodstream. Don’t know how true it is, but it always worked for me, so it’ll work for you.”

He chuckles. “She sounded fun.”

Instantly, a smile is on your face as you continue to treat him. “Always. Summers with her were always the highlight of my year.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you continue to work the lotion into his skin. Once pleased with the application, you move on to the next part. “Alright, I’m gonna apply some cold compresses. You’ll probably be out in another 20 minutes, so just leave em’ on, and I’ll come change em’ out while you’re sleeping.”

When he doesn’t push back, you pull the compresses out of your bag and strategically place them on different areas of his back to maximize the comfort. Once finished, you climb off of him and go to close up the blinds and curtains. “Alright, get some rest.” 

You’re at the doorway when he says your name. “Yeah?”

A slight delay before he says, genuinely, “thank you.” 

There’s something meaningful beyond just the obvious, and it brings a small smile to your face. Not that he can see that. So you settle on, “of course. You’re no good to me if you can’t fuck me.”

He laughs, loudly. “Shut up.”

Smile widening, you close the door.  ________

Joe finds you a couple hours later in the kitchen, but it’s the state of you that gives him a pause and brings a smile to his face.

You’re dancing around, clad in one of his shirts and short shorts that your ass swallows up. Brief glimpses of your side profile reveal that you’re singing too, just in a low enough voice, probably not to disturb you. 

He doesn’t know the specific song, but the voice is familiar enough for him to know it’s Taylor Swift. That definitely surprises him, though it shouldn’t. You have a weird ass taste in music to where he’s found you in the shower listening to some random rock song, other times, it was throwback R&B.

You were just so….different from anyone he’s ever known. 

It’s one of the many reasons he’s so enamored with you.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

It’s when you turn around, mid bite on a cookie that you finally notice his presence, smiling. “Hey. You’re up.”

“I am.” He nods, walking over to you. He gestures around the kitchen. “What is all this?” 

You finish chewing and swallow before directing Alexa to pause the music. “Well, I finished my lesson planning and was bored, so I decided to bake. But then I got hungry for actual food, so I ordered takeout.”

“And the music?”

You shrug, taking another bite of your cookie. “I like the song. Don’t worry, it’s the only Taylor Swift song allowed in this African American household.”

He laughs and moves past you when you take the chance to assess his back, immediately noticing how the swelling and redness have decreased. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, moving to the cartons, seeing that you made sure to order his favorites as well. “Thanks again.”

Smirking, you climb on the island, locking your ankles together. “Not so terrible nurse after all then, huh?”

“Your bedside manners still suck.” 

“Shut up.” You watch him fix his food and when he gets ready to sit down on a bar stool, you hop off the counter, prompting, “come with me.”

“Where?”

“All these damn questions….” Grabbing a couple of cookies and placing them in a bowl, you find your sandals and slide them on your feet. “Just come on.”

“Let me at least put a shirt on.”

“Absolutely not. You need to let your skin breathe,” you lecture, taking him in, all of him. “Trust me, no one’s gonna see us, and even if they did, who the hell would complain about you being shirtless?”

Snatching the keys off the table, you open the door, allowing him to walk out first. You start to leave your door unlocked but decide against it. It’s an extremely safe town, but there’s always a first time for everything. 

Locking it, you motion for him to follow you up the two sets of steps until reaching the heavy door that you turn the knob left and then right in order to open it. Joe’s immediately hit with a nice breeze and diminishing sunlight as the evening sets in.

“Come on,” you usher him to follow you to your favorite spot, sitting down and patting down on the ground next to you.

Joe chuckles, following suit. “Seriously?”

You ignore him, pushing on his shoulder as he brings his plate in front of him to eat. “I like to come out here sometimes to just get away. Especially if I need to clear my head. My grandma used to always say the closer you are to Heaven, the clearer you can hear God’s voice.”

He just watches you, the way the wind blows at your curls, making them splash at your face. Everything about you has always been stunning to him, but in this moment where you sit so relaxed and unbothered, he’s never thought you looked more beautiful. 

“Plus, you obviously need to clear your head to bounce back from that ass whooping,” you snort, taking another bite of your cookie. One look at Joe’s scowl makes you giggle. “On one hand, it’s crazy to me you put your body through so much, but I also recognize your passion and dedication. So, I get it. I was an athlete too. Love of the game type shit.”

You can’t say that you would have ever continued to cheer if it left you the way Joe would come to you sometimes, but as someone who’s been in a similar situation, you understand it. And it’s so much more than just a job to him. It’s a legacy, in his bloodline. All he knows.

All he wants.

So, you support him.

You’ll always support him.

________

There’s the initial chaos that ensues in the minutes after your departure. Callie’s confusion. Joe’s confusion. Bianca’s utter confusion. And as Callie is right there, Joe can’t go immediately after you. He can’t and won’t leave her, so he does the best he can, offering apologies to Bianca and Co. before taking Callie and finding your mom who was catching up with an old friend in another part of the show.

He has some level of difficulty explaining what happened, other than the fact that you’d run off and he needed to find you. It’s really all of the information that he has to go off of, and when he’s finally able to get back to the apartment where he thinks you probably went. He's disappointed to find it empty. There’s brief moment of panic. 

Just where the hell would you go?

He pulls out his phone to check again if you’ll pick up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He then starts to call your mom to ask her if she had any idea where you would be when he thinks about what happened. You were upset, very much so. 

You needed to clear your head.

He knows exactly where you are.

On that same roof he sat on with you years prior is where Joe finds you, but what he doesn’t expect is the bottle of Hennessy that’s not only open but already halfway empty and sitting beside you. 

He doesn’t try to hide his presence and is unsurprised when you ask, “How’d you find me?” 

“Wasn’t that hard,” he answers. It wasn’t. He remembers almost everything you’ve ever told him about yourself, including how this spot has always been your place to escape.

Just what were you escaping from is what has him stumped.

“Sit down.” You pat the space beside you much harder than what’s necessary. He sighs and asks for a minute, pulling out the phone and stepping away to make a call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah,” Joe runs his hand over his face. “I got her, but….can you take Callie back to your place?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He looks over again at the bottle. “She’s drunk.”

“Drunk?” It sounds like she’s holding back a chuckle, like his words are humorous because everyone knows you don’t drink, and she says as such. “What do you mean she’s drunk? My child doesn’t even drink.”

“She did tonight” Joe’s eyes fall back over to you to see you still sitting, swaying slightly as if listening to music. There is no music. “And Callie doesn’t need to see her like this.” He especially knows you wouldn’t want her to see you like this. 

Your mom sighs, heavily, on the other end. “You’ll stay with her, right?”

“Of course.” That’s not even a question. “And once I get her settled, if Callie is still up—”

“Oh, she’ll be up. She can’t fall asleep unless she talks to you or her mama.” It feels like an inappropriate response, but there’s a small part of Joe that finds joy in this. He remembers when you mentioned to him before that Callie needed to see and/or speak to you before she could fall asleep, a sign of how closely bonded you two were. To be added to that category means everything to him. “Thank you, Joseph.”

He sees no need in being thanked but acknowledges your mom’s appreciation anyway. “Of course.” The call ends, and he brings his focus back to you. The first thing he does is take away the bottle of Henny.

You see this and instantly scowl. “You’re no fun.” 

He sits next to you, asking in a quiet voice, “what happened tonight, Y/N?” Joe is still utterly confused at all of this, your zero to one hundred change in demeanor. But, the fact that you resulted to drinking shows him just how heavy whatever it was has impacted you. “Talk to me.” 

You laugh, but there isn’t an ounce of humor. “God, where do I start?” Your eyes light up, as if realizing something. “Oooh. I know where.” You lean into his shoulder, whispering, “I’m the product of an affair.”

This piece of information definitely takes him by surprise.

He's noticed you've never talked about your father, and he's never asked. Obviously, it was a sensitive topic, that much he could garner. But now, he knows just why it was sensitive.

“I don't—I don't know exactly what happened between them. She’s never really talked about it, but I do remember when I was younger, maybe—maybe a couple years older than Callie, he was—he was at the house.” You swallow, and Joe can see the distance in your eyes, like you’re no longer sitting here beside him. But someplace else. “She told me to go to my room, but I snooped at the top of the steps. Don’t….don’t really remember everything that was said except that she was literally begging this man to have some type of relationship with me, and he refused.” You laugh suddenly, and it’s so out of place, doesn't make sense given the nature of the conversation. But it does if he factors in the liquor coursing through your system. “He called me a m–mistake.”

Joe's heart aches at your words. “Baby—”

“When I was sixteen years old, I worked at a clothing store in town, and I saved up my money for this necklace…it was gold, and I thought—I thought it was so pretty. It made me feel fancy.” You chuckle, not as humorous this time, head tilting. “And once I finally got the necklace, I drove—I drove an hour away because…because after all those years, I still….I wanted to meet my father. I wanted…I wanted him to be in my life.” 

“He’s uh—or was, I’m not sure anymore—captain of police in his town, so I went to the precinct to meet him, wearing that necklace that I worked months to save up for because…because I wanted to look nice. I remember walking into his office, and I was nervous, but—but I also figured there was no way he could reject me then. I—I was head cheerleader. A straight A student. I—I had just gotten a near perfect score on both my SAT and ACT. I was…I was a good kid, Joe.”

Your jaw fixes, and he can see you’re trying to hold back tears. It kills him to see you this upset. He’s never seen you this vulnerable. “And I—I told him all that. I told him I wanted to see if he wanted a relationship with me, and do you know what he told me?” You suddenly stand up, clearly intending to mimic this interaction. “A relationship? Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.” 

You giggle, eyes watering. Joe frowns. He can’t even begin to fathom how someone can say something like that to their own flesh and blood.

“Oh, but that’s not even the best part.” You’re doing one hell of a job playing this all off as something that isn’t impacting you, no doubt thanks to the alcohol. But, he knows you well enough to know and even see where this is headed. “He—” you hiccup, covering your mouth to hide your giggles. “He said again that I was a mistake that he paid my mom to take care of and—” It’s starting to crack, the alcohol induced facade that all of this is fine, that you don’t care. Your voice starts to catch. “---that the money he gave her for an abortion was the biggest waste of money he ever spent.”

“Y/N—”

“Minutes later, his wife walked in and then—and then his daughter walked in, and I—I ran. I couldn’t….I couldn’t—we looked the same age, Joe. He had a daughter already, he–he didn’t need me. He didn't—he didn’t want me.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “And that’s fine, I—I didn’t care. I—I blocked that out after that day. I’d—I’d forgotten about him.” A beat. “Until tonight.”

“Because—because for the first time since I was sixteen years old, I was in front of all of them again. My—my—father, his wife, my—-”

Joe starts putting the pieces together. “Bianca….”

“She���s my sister,” you answer for him, having a hard time keeping it all in at this point. “She’s the one he’s proud of. She’s the one whose kid he claims as his grandchild. She’s the one he acknowledges. I’m just—I’m just the mistake he wishes was never born.” 

Joe stands up, gradually moving toward you. 

“I did everything right. I stayed out of trouble. I went to school. I got my degree. I did—-” He’s in front of you, gently pulling you into him as you finally break. “I don’t understand why he didn’t want me. I’m his daughter.” you finally shatter, crying into his chest. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey, hey—” Joe brings his hands to your face, making you look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman, and I can’t even begin to describe how amazing of a mother you are.” He wipes away your tears as you clutch onto his shirt. “He doesn’t deserve you, baby. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He never did, and he never will. Fuck him. You don’t need shit from him. I’ve got you, okay? Always.” You allow him to hold you, to comfort you, because it’s just what you need in this moment. You tried to find it in solitude, tried to find it at the bottom of a liquor bottle, but it was all in vain. You just needed him.

Joe holds you as long as you allow him, letting you cry it out until he's eventually able to guide you into returning to your apartment.

But outside the door is when you hesitate.

He notices this, immediately asking, “what’s wrong?”

Your eyes start watering again. “Callie…I—I don’t want her to—”

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head. “I asked your mom to take her back to her place. I’ll go check on her after I get you straight.”

This seems to settle some of your anxiety, and he continues to guide you into your bedroom. He helps you out of your clothes and into a simple t-shirt that he recognizes as one of his own.

Joe moves all of your decorative pillows, placing them on the chair in the corner of your room as you pull back the blankets. He turns around to find you reaching for his hand, tugging him towards the bed. “Just—just until I fall asleep.”

He doesn’t object. Joe planned to stay with you until then anyway.

He undresses enough to climb into bed with you, and you waste no time burying yourself into his chest, feeling an instant sense of peace when he wraps his strong arms around you. You’ve always felt so safe and protected in his embrace, and in this moment, it’s everything you need. 

“I realized something tonight,” you mumble into his skin. Joe’s hand is under your shirt, hand moving soothing circles on the small of your back. “I—I didn’t keep Callie from you because of your wife. That was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main reason.” You lift your head, throat feeling pressured as you allow yourself to finally admit, “the truth is that I was terrified you would reject her the way my dad rejected me, and I never wanted her to feel that way. And I know now that you would never do that to her, but I—I didn’t know then, and I was so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I—”

“Hey—” He cuts you off, hand going to palm your cheek. “Don’t do that. I understand why you did it now, I do. You were trying to protect her. I can’t be upset with you for that. I’m not.” He studies your face, your eyes, always so beautiful to him. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you for too long.”

It’s not a lie. Joe’s always thought he’s known you like the back of his hand, learned you so well, but tonight has shown him that he didn’t know everything. He’ll never get back the time he missed out on with Callie, and maybe on some level there will always be a slither of resentment. But, it’s not enough for him to notice and most definitely not enough for him to actually feel.

He’s not quite sure how he could find it in him to hold your decision against you. It didn’t come from a place of selfishness or vindictiveness but love and protectiveness. You just wanted to keep her from experiencing the pain and trauma you’d endured. 

There was no faulting that. 

And you accept his grace, so understanding and considerate. You feel slightly undeserving but immensely grateful that he can extend such empathy. 

You’re quiet after that, eyes shut as you work to turn off your brain and decompress what’s inarguably been one of the most difficult days of your life. You’re almost in the early stages of sleep when his voice invades the quietness. 

“I love you.” Joe doesn’t feel any sort of movement at his confession, doesn’t feel you tense or relax. He’s not even sure if you’re still awake, but still, he continues. “I’ve always loved you, and I don’t even know how much of this you’ll remember tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve always imagined telling you under much different circumstances anyway.”

“I want to be with you,” he continues. “I’ve always wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry for not putting you first. You deserved better than that. I should have gotten divorced long before I even met you. And that’s….something we eventually need to talk about. I owe you that much.”

He wants to say more, so much more, but he also knows now is not the time given he’s almost certain you’re asleep. Hence why he finally slips out of bed, knowing he needs to check on Callie.

He doesn’t leave without caressing your cheek and kissing your temple, relieved that you’re finally getting some rest following what was inexplicably an emotionally draining day. 

But you’re not asleep, and you did hear it.

You heard it all.

________

“Who are you?”

Joe walked into your moms house, not expecting anyone other than your mom and Callie. Only one of those individuals are present, and the other is a man he’s never in his life seen before but automatically doesn’t like. Just his aura seems off. 

Joe especially hates that this man is in the same house as his little girl.

Your mom seems taken back by this side of him and explains, “Joe, this is Amir. He’s, uhh, an old friend of Y/N. He saw her run off and wanted to check in on her.”

The day's events are definitely a contributing factor as Joe feels exhausted, both mentally and physically, but hearing that this is the infamous Amir instantly angers him. What the hell is he doing here?

“You bold as hell coming here.” is all Joe says, redirecting his attention to your mom. “Y/N tell you that she found out he and Mariah been sleeping with each other?”

What he wants to say is that they’ve been fucking, but he wants to remain respectful. Even if it is hard as hell.

Your mom is looking, mouth ajar, between Joe and Amir. “Wh–what is he talking about, Amir?”

“So you’re the one that’s been feeding those lies into her.” Deflection. It’s a typical bitch move. “You talking a lot of shit for someone who abandoned his own kid and just came back on the scene like ain't nothing happened.”

If not for the fact that you’ve already explained to Joe that you’d never told Amir what really happened between you and him because it was none of his business, Joe would have been livid. He would never abandon you. And definitely never Callie. Ever.

He’d have been with you every fucking step of the way the minute you found out you were pregnant if he’d been given the chance.

But all of that is no business of this asshole’s. 

“You can say or think whatever the hell you want about me. It doesn’t matter. You’re irrelevant, regardless, so the same way you walked your ass in here is the same way you can walk your ass right on out.”

“Apparently not to Y/N.” He’s smug, and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower for Joe to not lay this man out right then and there. He doesn’t know why you would ever settle for the likes of this prick. “Not with how many times she ended up in my bed.” 

Joe partially forgot your mom was even in the same vicinity until she gasps loudly, clearly disgusted, “my Lord. Please, this is my daughter you’re speaking about.”

With a low chuckle, Joe tries his best to remain respectful yet still abundantly clear. “And how many times has she reached out to you since I’ve been back?” His silence is all the answer Joe needs, not that he really needs one at all. Joe knows you have eyes and desire for him and him alone. He just needs to prove a point to this motherfucker. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend and especially my daughter, cause the next time it won’t be no conversation.”

And before Amir can say or even, stupidly, do anything, a new smaller voice enters the scene.

“Daddy!”

Joe is unsure if he’ll ever get over the joy that fills him at being called that. Callie is at the top of the steps but proceeds to rush down when she sees him, Joe leaning down and catching her, picking her up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses her cheek, noticing almost immediately how tired she looks. Understandable, as it’s almost 11 o’ clock, far past her bedtime. Uncomfortable with this Amari or whatever the fuck his name is being so close to Callie, Joe starts leading her back up the stairs.

With a frown, she asks the question he was expecting. “Where’s mommy?” 

“She’s back at the apartment sleeping.” Joe is unsure just how to explain tonight’s events to Callie, not really knowing how to help her understand what occurred, if at all possible. “I’ll take you to see her tomorrow morning as soon as she wakes up.”

Joe walks her into her room at your mom’s place and seats her on the bed, sitting next to her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Such a simple question in wording and massively difficult in every other area, especially when one considers Callie’s young age. 

“Mommy saw someone who was very mean to her when she was little, and it made her sad, so….she just wanted to be alone.” It’s the best, simplest answer that’s not a lie he can come up with on the spot.

Callie’s frown deepens. “I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

“Neither do I, baby,” he murmurs. “But, I talked with her, and she should start feeling better soon, okay?”

Her frown diminishes slightly, and Joe can tell she’s in thought. She then asks, “are you gonna go stay with mommy tonight?”

“I was, but I can stay with you, if you want me to.” Joe knows you’ll probably sleep throughout the night because of the alcohol and more importantly, if Callie needs him, he’s there. No questions asked.

You would do the same. 

She suddenly shakes her head. “Mommy stays with me when I’m sad, so someone’s gotta stay with her while she’s sad.” Her face grows sullen again as she asks with a yawn, “do you still have to leave tomorrow morning?”

“No, I leave tomorrow night instead.”

In the midst of all of tonight’s chaos, he’d managed to switch flights, picking an evening one instead. Joe let Hunter know there was a family emergency, and that he’d be back later than initially expected. Hunter was understanding, and while he was grateful for that, it didn’t really make a difference.

You and Callie come first. 

She’s obviously partially pleased with this information and moves her body against his, laying her head on his arm. “I’m sleepy….”

Reaching to caress her cheek with his finger, he directs, “get some rest, Callie. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

She doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her, a mere matter of minutes really. He stays with her longer though, just to be sure, needing to know she’s okay.

He needs both of yall to be okay.

________

You wake up with an instant sense of unease and discomfort. Your head is throbbing, and your body feels heavy. Your chest feels pressured, like there’s some invisible weight on it.

But in a matter of seconds, it all comes rushing back to you. The fireworks. Bianca. Seeing your dad. Running. Drinking. 

"I love you."

Eyes shutting, you do your best to settle your brain because only one thing is at the front of your mind when you hear giggling coming from outside of your closed door.

Callie 

Just how in the hell did your brief mental breakdown affect your child? 

Pushing the blankets off, it’s then you notice the bottle of water and white pill sitting on your nightstand. Picking it up, you see it’s Advil.

“Joe…..” you whisper, realizing he must have left it here waiting for you once you woke up. Eyes watering at his thoughtfulness, you swallow it and head straight for the bathroom. You need to get cleaned up and get out there to see what kind of damage you’ve unintentionally inflicted on your child’s psyche.

You know how attached she is to you and don’t even allow yourself to think about how difficult it must have been to be so abruptly ripped away.

Especially when you’re the one who did the ripping.

The shower is kept to a minimum, and once your teeth are brushed and face clean, you don’t hesitate to step out of the room. Following the path of sound, in the kitchen is where you find Callie. With Joe. 

They’re sharing a quiet laugh, and you’re certain it’s quiet because he told her you needed your rest. Always looking out for you. 

However, it’s when Callie happens to glance your way that her eyes go big. 

“Mommy!”

She surprisingly climbs off the counter instead of outright jumping and runs over to you. You kneel down to meet her for her hug, so tight and welcoming. “Do you feel better?” 

“Oh baby, I’m always better when I get to see you.” Kissing her forehead, you add, gently, “mommy’s sorry for scaring you.” And it's true. You never meant to scare her or make her worry about you, and it's something you'll work as hard as necessary to make up to her.

But your sweet child surprises you with her authentic, mature reassurances. “It’s okay. Daddy said you were sad,” she explains and gasps. “I made you something to make you smile!”

Touched, you palm her cheek. She really is the light of your life. “I’d love to see it, baby.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back.” She rushes out of the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to talk to Joe. Wordlessly, you move over to hug him.

“Thank you.” There’s not enough thank yous to show him just how appreciative you are to have him in your life, to have him as Callie’s father. He took such control yesterday while you were busy drowning in your daddy issues. And now he’s still here when you’re almost certain that he was supposed to have flown out at the crack of dawn. “I’m really sorry about last night. That’s not—-I don’t get drunk. I would never leave Callie like that—“

“I don’t care about any of that,” he dismisses. You believe him, as he looks entirely uninterested in any explanation you want to provide him because he sees it as unnecessary. He takes the back of hand to feel your forehead. “How are you feeling? Did you take the Advil?”

Nodding, you try again, “seriously, Joe. You’ve changed your whole schedule around—“

“You needed me,” he answers. “There was nothing to think about.”

And the tears are brewing again, but for very different reasons. This man is everything you’ve always wanted and dreamed of, even better. And he loves you. He wants to be with you. Your daughter's father wants to establish a life with you, be a family. What logical reason do you have to continue to deny him? Deny yourself?

“Joe…..” Licking your lips, you place your hands on his chest. “I lo—”

“Here it is, mommy!”

Callie’s interruption is both perfect and imperfect timing. You want so badly to tell him that you love him too, that you also want to be with him. But maybe it’s not the best timing, maybe the setting should be different.

You want him to know you love him not just because of the aftershocks of vulnerability. That you’re in love with him and have been since you were 23 years old. 

Callie is at your legs, holding up a drawing she created of you surrounded by hearts. Her artwork has always been her favorite form of expression, and you’re so grateful for her pure, kind heart in this moment.

Holding it against your chest, you lean down to accept her hug. “Thank you so much, baby. I love it.” 

“Yay!” She rejoices and then looks up between the two of you. “Daddy and I made you breakfast!”  

Gasping, you ask, “really?” It’s only then you notice the kitchen, while cleaner than one would expect after preparing breakfast with a four-year-old, you see the counters that have food laid out on a variety of plates and tupperware. “Waffles?”

“Your favorite.” Joe reaches to kiss your temple, and lightly pats your hip. “Sit down, we’ll fix it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest when Callie takes your hand and guides you to the barstools and scampers back over to Joe who picks her up, holding her with one arm while the other fixes your breakfast for you. He allows her to point and dictate what goes on your plate and how it’s fixed.

And you sit there, allowing yourself to take in this moment. There’s so much you need to navigate and sort through. Bianca, your dad, Mariah, hell, even finally being honest with Joe about your feelings. But, all of that can wait. 

Because all that matters right now are the two people you love most in this world.

[alastorslittledoe]

Alastor and Lucifer Taking Your Virginity

|| HeadCanon ||

Pairing: Alastor & Lucifer (x reader)

Tags: Smut, fluff, kissing, flirting, daddy kink, shy reader, dom!luci, dom!al

This was inspired by @hazelfoureyes

Pls pls pls go read their Alastor ‘The Big Part’ fic, it’s SO fucking good.

Pls request if you want me to make a full version of any of these or do HC for any of the others! 💕

Alastor had been watching you for a while, how you brushed off all the other attention from the male guests and overlords. You’d even managed to grasp the attention of Vox, which irked him. He’d been targeting the TV broadcaster more than usual, making fun of him on his radio show and almost twitching whenever his name left your lips. So, you can imagine his delight when you turned up at his radio tower, doe eyes laced with innocence.

“Al, I have kind of a…weird request”

He’d laugh, tilting his head with curiosity “How can I be of assistance, my dear?”

“Well, you know I got killed quite, uh, before my time, let’s say, and I thought…could you maybe, help me out with the uhm…sex part?” You shuffled in place, fiddling with your hands nervously, mumbling the last part quietly.

“What was that?” he grinned, he needed to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Sex” you blurt, a scarlet blush making its way over your cheeks “If you don’t mind, um…I want to learn because I’ve never…”

A shiver of pleasure would run through him. You, standing in front of him, practically begging for him to take the one thing no one else could ever have. It was almost too much for him to bare.

“Just so we’re clear, you want me to take your virginity, yes?”

He’d take further pleasure in watching you squirm for a moment before nodding.

“Yes, please”

His eyes would light up, and he’d immediately take your hand, transporting you to an ethereal looking plane, doused in black with a single bed in the middle of it all.

“Does this suit your needs?” He’d ask. As eager as he was, he knew it was important to ensure your upmost comfort.

When it came down to it, he was a lot more skilled than you’d expected. Though he’d like to ravage you and pin you down with his shadows, getting off on the control, he knew this would be painful. So he’d contain it. For now.

He’d place soft kisses along your skin, undressing you slowly before pushing you gently onto the bed. It was intimidating, watching the shadows whip around behind him, having him tower over you. But there was no denying the wetness between your legs.

He’d take you slowly, inch by inch.

When you were sure he was going to split you open, you’d place a hand on his chest to push him away, he would hook a leg under yours, swiftly disabling your movement no matter how hard you pushed.

“Ah ah, little doe, it’ll feel better soon, I promise”

You’d bite your lip, eyes watering looking up at him tearfully. He’d almost come undone at that look alone. But you’d nod for him to keep going.

He’d get off on your whimpers as he pushed in deeper, loving the fact that he was causing you such pain and pleasure.

When you finally took all of him, it would take everything in him to not let the animalistic part of him out and ruin you. But he’d manage to hold it in. There was always time for that later.

Now you were his.

He’d be gentle after the fact, simply content that he’d spilled his seed in you, a sign of ownership without any deal. Now he’d truly gotten something Vox would never lay his hands on. He’d kill him if he tried.

Lucifer would blink at you, mouth agape as you stood before him.

“You want me to…take your virginity?”

You’d blush, biting your lip “If you wouldn’t mind, Luci”

“Of course Y/N” he’d chuckle “but you’re sure this is what you want?”

You’d nod, breath catching in your throat “Yes, please”

He’d be unable to stop the grin spreading across his face “As the lady wishes”

Suddenly you’d be in his arms bridal style and he’d smirk down at you “Just showing you what it’ll be like tomorrow when you can’t walk”

You’d stare at him, speechless as he walked you to your room and gently laid you down on the bed.

He’d start slowly, foreplay is incredibly important to him. He knew there was no way you’d be able to take him without some coaxing from his fingers to stretch you out first.

Lucifer would completely focus on your pleasure, eating you out for a long time and slowly adding more fingers in you until he’s satisfied you could take him.

He’d make sure pillows were underneath you, ensuring there would be pleasure for you, though he knew it’d be incredibly painful first.

He would pause every so often to ensure your consent was still there.

When he first pushed his head into you, a yelp would escape your lips and he’d freeze, waiting for your heated breaths to calm.

“My love, we can stop-“

“No no” You’d look at him lovingly, wincing “you’re just” you glance down at him, barely inside you “really big”

He’d laugh breathlessly, taking the compliment before pushing the rest of his head in, biting his lip hard. How was he supposed to not blow his load two seconds in when you looked so innocent, trying so hard to take him.

He’d let his kink slip out pretty quickly.

“Cmon, princess” he’d growl gently “you can take the rest of daddy’s cock, can’t you?”

That would ignite something in you that you had no idea existed. And almost immediately, you’d feel a yearning to please him, to take all of him just for the praise.

When you did manage to take all of him, he’d kiss your neck lovingly, nipping at the skin.

“What a good girl, doesn’t it feel good? Having all of me fill you”

It did. It felt incredible. Your pussy still throbbed around him, protesting at the intrusion. But there was also waves of pleasure coursing through you, both from knowing he was inside you and the physical pleasure of feeling so full.

When he had shown you exactly how to cum with him inside you, paying expert attention to your clit and breasts, he’d shower you in kisses and affection, telling you just how good you’d taken him.

True to his word, you couldn’t walk the next day and he carried you around the entire time, despite your embarrassment.

[youcouldmakealife]

KS Fill: Gabe/Stephen; not on the list

For the prompt: I would say Gabe and Stephen’s wedding because I want that more than anything in the world, but I suspect that’s coming without my prompt? But if it’s not… 

It would come either way, probably, but this started the ball rolling.

More Gabe and Stephen, more lists. No actual wedding, but we get pretty damn adjacent.

Gabe knew the list would backfire the moment Stephen started making it. He even told Stephen as much, but Stephen just shrugged a shoulder and kept working on it. He got into it as it grew too, enjoying it so much that Gabe told himself he was probably worrying about nothing.

And maybe the list wouldn’t have been a problem if the only person he’d told about it was Gabe. Probably would have been fine even if knowledge of it extended to the Marksons and Petersens, which happened sooner rather than later.

But telling Gabe’s teammates — that was a mistake.

“A what list?” Jared asks when Stephen first mentions it.

“An anti-wedding list,” Stephen says.

Bryce sits up. “You guys aren’t getting married?”

From this angle, Gabe can’t see how withering the look Stephen gives Bryce is, but the kick Jared aims at his ankle is probably related.

“Obviously we’re getting married,” Stephen says, like he wasn’t panicking for a good few days after they got engaged, and only the potential wrath of Miriam Markson kept him from fleeing on the next flight out of Vancouver. “It’s a list of shit we don’t want at our wedding.”

“Um,” Bryce says.

“You know,” Stephen says. “The wedding traditions we’re vetoing.”

“We is such a strong word,” Gabe says.

“Unanimous approval or none at all, Gabriel,” Stephen says. "A veto only needs one."

He's right. And Gabe guesses he would know, consdiering he's the one vetoing everything.

“So wait, what exactly are you vetoing?” Jared says.

“Nobody’s wearing white,” Stephen says, starting to tick items off on his fingers. “I mean, white dress shirts are fine, obviously, but nobody’s a virgin here, we’re not doing any all in white shit. No flower girls or ring bearers. No little groom cake toppers. Fuck knows there aren’t going to be any garters involved. I don’t remember the rest off the top of my head, but I have it all written down."

“I like the little grooms,” Bryce says, sounding hurt. Gabe hasn’t seen any pictures from Bryce and Jared’s wedding, since it was very much on the down-low — and he truly wishes he could see how those two managed to put together a wedding on the sly when they couldn't even sit across from each other without Gabe figuring out they were married — but he bets there were little grooms on top of their cake. He also bets Bryce still has those little dudes hanging around somewhere.

“Can I see the list?” Jared asks. “I’m kind of curious how many our wedding had.”

“Sure,” Stephen says, with a hand wave. “I’ll email it to you when I’m finished. Have a few more items to add first.”

“Cool,” Jared says.

After Bryce and Jared leave, Gabe mentions it might not be a good idea to send Jared the list, but Stephen just scoffs.

“What’s he going to do?” Stephen says. “Wear white to my wedding? Put little grooms on his piece of cake? He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not going to anything that actually fucks with the day, he’s not Dmitry.”

“Our wedding,” Gabe says.

“Oh come on, you already know what’s mine is yours,” Stephen says.

“You stabbed me with a chopstick over the last soup dumpling last night,” Gabe says.

“Stop saying I stabbed you,” Stephen says. “I didn’t even break the skin.”

“It hurt,” Gabe says, and Stephen takes his hand, planting an officious kiss on the back of it.

“Better?” Stephen asks.

“It was the other hand,” Gabe says, smiling when Stephen sighs dramatically before kissing it too.

“You’re really going to give Math that list?” Gabe says. “Blind trust isn’t usually your thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll lead to something hideous,” Stephen says. “But think of it this way: your idiot teammates are going to do something, so I may as well give them some parameters.”

“Huh,” Gabe says. “Good point.”

“I’m not exactly new to this, you know,” Stephen says.

“No, I know,” Gabe says.

At least whatever it is that’s coming, it won’t come out of the blue.

~

Gabe did not foresee this. Sure, when he gave Stevie and Dima and Bullet bachelor party planning rights he anticipated some variety of disaster, but he underestimated them, he thinks. Or overestimated them. There was some mis-estimation occurring.

He looks around. What initially looked like chaos seems oddly recognisable. Almost familiar.

It’s sort of wedding themed, which makes sense, considering the occasion, but everything’s slightly off, and not just because they’re in a venue more suited to clubbing than matrimony.

His eyes land on the big cake at the centre of everything. It looks more like the kind Gabe saw at Cup celebrations than a wedding one, decorated to look like a rink, with two little figures at centre ice. He’s too far to see the details, but he’s pretty sure they’re hockey figurines rather than grooms, and someone has decided to use the manipulable joints for, well, evil probably isn’t the right word, but maybe immaturity — Gabe’s pretty sure one of them is straddling the other. He guesses he should just be grateful no mounting is taking place, considering Dima’s probably the responsible party.

There are so many elements, and they don’t seem to fit together at all — elegant baskets of flowers that look almost painstakingly put together, surrounded by a scatter of rainbow confetti that feels like it's moonlighting from a completely different event. Some kind of crooner — Bublé? — playing, also from a completely different event. None of it seems to fit Gabe's picture of a bachelor party planned and attended by hockey players, even if the wives and girlfriends present also got involved in the planning.

It’s the guests themselves that help Gabe put it together. There was clearly a dress code, one that only Gabe and Stephen weren’t informed about, everyone all in white, neon bright under the black light. Like an item of a list come to life. Like one of many items of a list come to life.

He can see Stephen put it together a mere moment after he does, his eyes narrowing, mouth going flat. Playing at unimpressed for the — many — eyes currently on them, avidly waiting for a reaction.

“I’m going to fucking kill Jared,” Stephen says, and Gabe decides not to tell him just how proud he sounds.

“I wonder which one of the Canucks is wearing the garter,” Gabe says, and grins when Stephen forgets his audience and his composure for a moment, throwing his head back with a laugh.

[mikedfaist]

Do you write Dodge x Reader? If yes, could you write one where Reader gets hurt during a Panic challenge and Dodge helps her?

DODGE, MY BOY.

I first want to apologize because it has been several sleeps since I’ve watched Panic completely through, so I don’t remember all the details, but I will try. So, this would happen when they have to break and enter into that one man’s house and steal something. If you want a little recap of their relationship, you can read this.

Her and Dodge are a team. If it’s not a solo challenge, he will be by your side. So, I imagine the two of you found something to take, and as you’re escaping through a window, that’s when you hear the first gunshot. You two freeze, but Dodge is quick to push you along. You’re out the window first and running through the cornfield when you hear a second shot. You stop in your tracks when you notice Dodge isn’t behind you, and the only thing you can hear is the sound of the man yelling.

You don’t want to think about it; you’re shaking your head in disbelief and begin to run back to the house when a third shot echoes through the air, and you feel the pain rupture into your leg. You scream out, falling down into the grass, clutching your thigh. You can hear your name being called out, and there’s a rustle by your head where Dodge crawls out from the stalks forward you.

“Fuck—fuck, fuck.” He presses down on the wound, which only sends waves of pain through your entire leg. “I’m sorry—fuck…”

“He got me.” You lay down, covering your face with your arms, as Dodge removes his shirt to make a tourniquet.

“I know, baby.” His voice cracks. “I think it just grazed you but…I don’t know, it looks deep.”

“It hurts,” You wince out, choking back tears. “Make it stop.”

Dodge feels defeated. Can he even take you to the hospital without stirring questions about a gunshot wound, and not mention Panic?

“Come on,” He bites his lip. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

His mom.

He carries you back to his car and lays you down in the backseat. “Hold tight for me, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

Dodge squeezes your hand and jumps into the front seat. The pain is subtitling into a rooted throb, and you raise your head to speak.

“Dodge…it’s not hurting so bad now.”

“Might be the adrenaline…or shock, I don’t know. We’re almost there.”

When they arrive at his house, his mom’s care is thankfully still seated in the driveway.

“My mom’s going to take care of this, okay?” He bends down to pick you back up in his arms. “It’ll be over soon, just trust me, okay?”

When he enters the house, his mom shoots up from the sofa. He tries to explain what happened, but he can’t quite focus on anything but the sound of your whimpers.

“I need to cut your jeans off, sweetie. Need to see what all happened.” She’s always been so gentle with you. She cuts a long strip from the ankle to your thigh, exposing the wound, confirming Dodge’s suspicions. “Okay, it was just a graze, which is good. Still nasty though.”

You lay down on the kitchen floor, Dodge sitting up by your head.

“Okay, honey, we need to clean it out… Dodge, can you grab a towel for me?” She takes a wet paper towel and gently cleans off blood around the wound. “Okay, hon, I need you to bite down on this, okay?” She holds the towel to you, and you stare back at it in bewilderment. “I need to clean it, so it doesn’t get infected, okay? It’s going to hurt.”

More than it already is?

“Dodge,” She warns, signaling to hold me down. “Okay, hon, one-two-three—”

It pierced through you, your screams grating your throat as you bit down on the towel. Dodge held you in his lap, one arm wrapped around your front to keep you still. Your eyes burned with tears as she scrubbed away at the wound, the pain nearly pummeling you.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” Dodge leans down to whisper to you, taking your hand into his. “She’s almost done.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” She stresses, “Any little bit of debris can cause an infection… Just need to make sure it’s all out.”

“What the fuck is this?” Dayna declares, appalled.

“Not now—”

“No, actually, what the fuck? What happened?—”

“She got hurt doing a challenge—it’s okay—” Dodge meets his sister’s piercing gaze from across the kitchen.

“She’s literally bleeding all over the floor—it’s not okay! Take her to the hospital!”

“We—” Dodge bites his tongue. The one place he wishes he could take you right now, he fears would result in the end of the game. “You know we can’t, Dayna—they’ll ask questions—"

“At what point is it worth it? Your girlfriend is hurt, Dodge. Is the money really worth her not getting actual help?”

And he knows it.

“I’m going to wrap it up, okay, hon?” She presses a towel back down on the wound; you wince instinctively. “Dodge, grab the dressing from the first aid kit.”

You pull the towel from your mouth, your hairline littered with beads of sweat. The worst is over, you think. You stay the night with Dodge that night, his mom coming in to check on you every so often. Dodge carries the guilt heavily on his chest, wishing he would have chosen differently. How could he ever choose the game over your wellbeing? Was the money really that important to him, that the moment your safety is on the line, he still tries to protect everyone else?  

[anangelinthepit]

Without you…

Part 3

Warning ⚠️ - possessive and violent content. Please be advised. Enjoy🩵

************************************************

Y/N’s POV

“A son.”

A proud smile was now creeping across his face.

“We….I’m….Oh my god. We’re gonna have a son?”

“No”

My answer was cold and brutal.

“What? But you just said”

“I have a son Noah”

“Excuse me?”

“YOU have your drugs, booze, buddies, and women.”

“What are you even talking about Y/N? I never cheated on you.”

“Getting a blow job from a skank that Nick hired does count as cheating you fuck.” I said crossing my arms and glaring at him.

“Y/N you can’t just take my son away from me, this is something we created together. Us. You and I. This baby is gonna need his father to teach him and show him how to be a strong man.”

“You’re right Noah”

Noah let out a sigh of relief

“But that man isn’t going to be you. This baby will be calling someone who doesn’t bury bodies for a living “da-“

“You finish that fucking sentence, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Noah said looking up at me with cold eyes.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that but you gotta keep in mind. This man cheated on me, kept me in the dark, and hunted me down like I was his last meal. He needs to realize it’s gonna take more than Versace and Loui to fix any of this.

“Noah face it. Look at you! Look at us! We are fucking toxic for each other. The money and the luxuries only cover up so much. You’re a fucking murderous psychopath who can’t control his temper. We aren’t ready to be parents but the difference between you and me is I can get ready. You want everything your way or the highway, and it doesn’t work like that with a baby Noah.”

“You’re overreacting Y/N there are WAY worse couples out there,” Noah said sitting down at my kitchen table. Trying to get the bridge of his nose to ease the mental headache I was causing him.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me something. What were you gonna do if I finished that sentence? Show me how much you love me while using the back of your hand.

Noah scoffed at me and just shook his head. We both knew what was gonna happen but he’s too proud to admit it. I slowly walked over trying not to step on the broken glass. I sat down across from him and tried to calm this entire situation.

“Noah, some part of me still loves you with everything I have, and you know that. We have gone through hell and back together. From having no food in the fridge or warm water to shower with to having a mansion up on a hill and all your dreams coming true. It was always us against the world until you made it us against each other. The world you created doesn't have room for a wife or a baby. “

“The world I create? Baby this world is for us, for him Y/N.”

“Drugs, Girls, booze, and the Mafia is not a world a baby deserves. A baby deserves a home where nothing but love is spread throughout. You don't get it, as a soon-to-be mother the only thing I want to worry about is if I should buy him this toy, or a new outfit because he already has so many. Not this!

I could feel a knot building in my throat as I tried to swallow my cry. The tears were hot and clouding my eyesight but I couldn’t stop and cry now because he needed to know my feelings.

“I don’t want to worry if someone is gonna kidnap our son as ransom. Or put something in our car that will cause it to explode. I want my baby to be safe Noah, and you can’t be mad at me for that.”

Noah looked at me and saw I was beginning to fall apart. I would be lying if I said I didn’t envision him holding our baby and just taking in the glory of our beautiful creation. I wanted it more than anything but the “perfect life” with this man was nothing but a daydream inside my head.

“Ruby. Please. I'm begging you to stop this nonsense and trust me. I will give up all of it for you just to come back home. Baby I love you more than anything in this world. Please you have to believe.” Noah said gently grabbing my hand.

His words seem so genuine but I've heard this all before. “I’m sorry.” “I didn't mean it.” “I swear on our marriage I'll quit.”

It always sounds so convincing in the beginning, he would be so sweet for two weeks then go back to his cold ways. Him rubbing my hand gently was so comforting I almost became a pool of pathetic liquid sugar in his warm grasp. I love him. I love him so much. Maybe I should just stop the chasing game and go home, I am gonna need the help. Also, do I really want my baby to grow up without a dad like I did? How would I explain all of this to him when he gets older? Maybe these last six months made a difference and he did change. As I began to ponder my thoughts, a flashback hit me like a semi-truck hitting a deer on a dark highway at night.

“NO PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, I HAVE A FAMILY.”

The memory of Noah killing a man with a family, and the kicking of my baby boy made me snap out of my trans.

“No” I said to myself quietly.

I love him.

But I love my baby more!

“No Noah, I can't do this.” Giving him a nasty glare, I yanked my hand away from him.

“So are you telling me you're not coming home?”

“I’m telling you my home is where my baby is. As long as you're in the mafia, that will never be with you ever again.”

Before I knew it, rage took over this giant man and it seemed like everything happened at hyper speed. The table was flipped over, Nick was holding back Noah and Sapphire told me, I was crying in her arms. The last thing I remember hearing was Noah screaming at me as Nick and two others carried him out.

“You’re mine! Do you fucking hear me, Ruby! God himself can’t keep me away from you !”

I must have passed out from stress because I woke up with Sapphire next to me trying to get me to open my eyes.

“Where’s Noah?” I asked rubbing my head

“Bestie he left. Are you okay though? I know you told me he was crazy but not that crazy.”

“I’m fine, but we need to find another place to live. He’ll keep coming back if we don’t.”

“I don’t know if you noticed Ruby, but that man is head over heels for you. I don’t think any amount of hiding will keep him from you.”

“Is that what you call it? Head over heels?”

If only she knew the full story. She would know that this isn’t love, passion, or desire.

It’s him wanting one thing that I took away months ago when I left. The one thing he lost and can’t live without when it came to me.

Control

Noah’s POV

“Oh Ruby, you forgot who you’re married to didn’t you?”

************************************************

Hello angels I hope you all enjoyed. I loves you all

Taglist

@reyadawn @bloodylullaby @dreamstyles @supersquirrel1996 @hurricanesfollowyou @chey-h @lma1986 @ashdreamsalone @iluvmewwwww75 @thisbicc @fadingintothegrey @aubrey-melinoe @amelia-acero

[theminecraftbee]

so, first, accountability statement: I plan on trying to finish the “zedaph steals a baby” fic by the end of the month and god is that one-line summary no longer accurate but we’re sticking to it, said here publicly so now I have to do it. obviously I also have recursive exchange and the writing I have for hotguy comics zine, but I am not SUPER worried about either of those time/inspiration-wise at the moment and also for Reasons I know it won’t be long until I have more free writing time after that, SO.

various items that are on my potential writing docket, I am curious which of these appeal most:

I dust off the supervillain support group au. two ways this could go: I chip away at the second arc of my original outline and acknowledge this will be like a 300k fic I’m not ready to feel “done” with or “ready to post” with for ages, or I re-work it into something a little more doable and less ambitious keeping the same premise (ren runs a support group for supervillains, doc pov as he starts to heal and redeem himself). this MAY honestly be a target for “if I don’t hate the first 50k on re-reading it and I can actually make my brain write the second arc, do a slower release schedule and then start releasing chapters before I’m done writing”? but this ALSO runs the risk of “I stopped writing it, which is often a sign I was having trouble writing it”.

pearl monster au, which has been cooking in my head for a long while. the basic premise is “one day, pearl, with no memory of how or why this happened, wakes up in a facility as a monster and must try to figure out how she got there, escape, and find her way home, even knowing she may be irrevocably changed”. now with bonus season 10 fish flavor to add to this creature design I’ve been iterating on in my head for forever! this one is ALSO an experiment for me in “can I write a fic where I can’t write dialogue for basically the entire first act”, which would be interesting to see from me, you know?

the related “bigb folklore au”, where after secret life bigb is woken up by Cat and Dog by the tracks of the King Snake, which bigb can recognize as the railroad track, and decides to journey down the railroad to see if he can figure out what the fuck is going on. I need to do video review of life series bigb for this one. this is my excuse to get Weird and Metaphorical and also assign everyone to various animals for no reason, along with using some very specific aesthetic I have wanted to use for some worldbuilding but hadn’t gotten around to yet in any of my stuff. man walks through the desert with animal, confronts train that might be the watchers, might be death, and might just be a train. also, realizes that “confront” is the operative word there and has to deal with that. you know how it is.

““office au””, in air quotes because it’s not REALLY what anyone going to an office au is looking for so much as an excuse to write weird horror. iskall, normal-ish software developer man in a boring office job who does game jams in his free time, goes to work one day to work in his boring downtown office on a payment system for a client. and then things, uh, Take A Turn. this would be a LITTLE me going “what if I wrote an au with a guy who works in tech but like, the boring side of tech I’m in. like, banks and consulting and manufacturing and shit. where you sit in meetings all day and tweak java 8 code even though that language is ten years out of date. but THEN. something exciting happens in the worst way possible.” I’m doing to iskall what I did to mumbo stuffed bird is what I’m saying. it’d be fun.

DO ANY OF THESE PARTICULARLY INTEREST ANYONE. your input will be valued. like 50% chance i get hit with a strong bolt of inspiration then IGNORE that input but it’ll be valued all the same,

[irkimatsu]

This can't possibly be the cringiest thing anyone's ever posted here, can it...? People who are already tired of my shit have me blocked right now, right...?

I wanted to try my hand at how Husk would talk during sex, so here's an ASMR-y script type thing, if that makes sense. Whole thing is in Husk's voice, no responses or descriptors or anything. Just get Husk's smooth buttery voice in your head, then read.

Gender neutral reader, or you can plug in your favorite Husk ship, whatever, I'm not the police. Very 18+.

Mmm… kissing you gets better and better every time. You know exactly what I like.

Of course you can touch me. Yeah, right there on my back, that’s a good spot… use your nails a little, that’s it…

-whoa! Hey! Watch the wings! You know how I get when you touch those!

Hah- hey, if you want me to get worked up, that’s on you. Come on, keep kissing me… mmm…

Damn it, if you keep playing with them like that… you’re not the only one who knows how to tease, you know. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? That’s it, let me see… god, you’re gorgeous. I’ll never get enough of that body of yours…

What if I kiss you here? Or here? …oh, yeah, I know you like it here. You can’t hide it from me,you’re moaning already…

Is it okay if I use my tongue? I know it’s rough- oh, you like it? Heh… I should know what you’re like by now. Keep scratching under my wings like that, and I’ll kiss and lick you wherever you want… here, and here…

Sure. I’ll go lower… mmm, you’re soft… and you taste so sweet…

Even lower? But your pants are in the way. Mind helping me out with that? There you go, all the way off… underwear, too.

Shit, you’re dripping already. Mind if I have a taste? I’ll be gentle, I promise… do you like my tongue here? Even though it’s rough?

I’d love to keep going. I love how wet you’re getting. Keep making those noises for me, baby, and I’ll take care of the rest. Mmm, fuck… it’s dripping faster than I can lick it up…

Can I touch your legs, too? I’ll be careful with my claws. Ah, every inch of you feels so good… is it okay if I press them in, just a little more? I won’t break the skin… there, I know you like it like this, you can’t stop moaning…

You’re getting close? I can tell, baby… okay, I won’t stop until you’re ready. Mmm… hah…

Mmmph…!

Fuck… fuck, what a mess… means you enjoyed it, huh? Just a couple more licks, you’re so fucking sweet…

Okay, okay, I’ll give you a break. You look like you need one. Come here and sit on my lap. I’ll rub your back, gently, just like this… is it helping you relax? Good.

…I’m glad you’re here with me…

Mmm-! Did I really earn a kiss for saying that? Well, all right. Come on, kiss me more… mmm…

Hold me tight… I love having you against me like this. You’re so warm…

…yeah, I’m pretty excited right now. …oh, you noticed? Can’t hide anything from you…

No, you don’t owe me anything. I went down on you because I wanted to, but you don’t have to-

…well, since you’re asking… I really wanna fuck you right now.

What’s so crass about it? It’s what I want! As long as you want it too…

Mmm. Good. Just hearing you say it is making me even more impatient. Lay down, I wanna get on top of you. Could you help me out of my pants?

Okay, you can stroke it a little… not too much, though, I’m about to burst already…

You like it? It’s not too rough? Do you think it’ll be okay if I put it inside? I’ll go slow, you just tell me how it feels…

Good so far? Ah, you’re good, too… so tight… yeah, I’ll keep going… you like it deep like this?

Fuck, you’re loud. You’re gonna let the whole hotel know what we’re up to in here. …heh. Well, I don’t mind if you don’t… come on, sing for me… yes, yes…

Hands under my wings, tug the fur a little… fuck yes, that’s the spot… don’t let go, okay? I’m gonna go faster…

Really? Even faster? How’s this…? Ah! Fuck that’s good! Yes, keep touching me!

Hah- fuck- if I go even faster- the bed’s already making so much noise-

Anything for you, baby… 

Fuck, fuck, fuck- so good- I can’t stop-

Ah! Oh fuck that’s tight- did you…? Of course I’ll keep going… fuck, fuck…

Keep moaning like that, yes- yes, keep saying my name- fuck you’re amazing- I won’t stop, I can’t-

Close- can I- inside- please-

Haaaaah! Fuck!

…hah… haaaaah… oh… my god… babe…

I… I need to lie down… I haven’t done that in a long time…

…could you hold me…? Let me put my head on your chest. Put your hands on my back- no, lower, I’m still sensitive there- …there, that’s it…

Heh… your heart is hammering. Here, give me your hand… mine is too, see? See what you’re doing to me?

…I didn’t know I could feel like this anymore…

-no. No, I know what you’re trying to say. Please don’t say it.

Of course I care about you! It’s just… you understand, don’t you?

Just care about me, too. That’s all I need right now. Just care about me, and spend the night with me…

I’d like it if we did that again sometime…

[st0rmyskies]

dude you’re literally the only person who I can ramble to about this so please hear me out.

So i’m a (super senior) marine biology major and i’m at a field station for class/research. During my free time i’ve been going out fishing with my two friends on the daily. It’s worth noting too that we all are very, very outwardly queer in a seaside town that is filled to the brim with trump flags on boats. We also barely know how to fish, as in we know how to cast it. But also we couldn’t even get the one pole to cast yesterday so that statement is even on thin ice. But in our fishing endeavors, there have been a handful of time where straight up dads have watched us get our asses handed to us and they will offer their advice/help. And when I say ‘dad’ I deadass mean 9/10 there son is awkwardly standing behind him and begging them to stop talking to us after it’s been 15 minutes. Once again, we’re queer and we have daddy issues, so we absolutely are eating up these conversations. It’s honestly the most heartwarming, fucking funniest interactions to me. Especially when you get the visual imagery of us getting tangled in fishing line because we can’t get the one reel to cooperate; one of us has a youtube video pulled up while the other is reading the manual. BOOM- a dad appears.

With that, I cannot stop thinking about Time approaching the most queer ass group of college students (who are visibly struggling to even cast out the fucking line) to offer the most dad advice on fishing. Bonus if one of the boys are there begging for him to leave them alone. Extra bonus if it’s Twilight or Wind. Or even Time taking the boys fishing and all of them, but Twilight, is going through it. Someone’s managed to wrap the line around their neck, another got too excited and yanked their hook out of the water and now it’s free flying (with no fish), Four is attaching weed whacker motor onto the pole because “it’ll reel the fish in quicker”, someone wasn’t paying attention and almost stepped backwards off the dock, and another boy discovered that the spiny rays are sharp motherfuckers. If this continues to live in my head rent free, I even might write this.

That it. Just Time being a dad in public is absolutely sending me.

Also we only caught an atlantic croaker after being at the dock for 5 hours.

Time isn't the most social of butterflies, but he's also ABSOLUTELY the guy who can't ignore fellow fishermen having A Struggle. Especially when said struggle is so... blatant. If strangers, yes Twi would give it 15-20 minutes before he's awkwardly trying the polite interventions of "Okay, well, you guys have a great day.... Okay, well, we should get on our way..." and either just gives up or goes back to doing his own thing until Time is finished. If Wind, the interventions are likely more physical, moving their belongings farther and farther away until Time has no choice but to retreat if he wants more bait.

If Time ever deigned to take the boys on a fishing trip, he'd regret it within 30 minutes.

Most likely to get stabbed by a fish and need more than a few bandaids: Sky.

Most likely to get tangled up and string together a novel expletive phrase that enters the household vernacular permanently: Legend.

Most likely to take a tumble off the dock: Hyrule.

Most likely to injure an innocent bystander with that weed whacker motor: Four.

Most likely to get a fish hook in his arm while he's sitting on the shore sunning himself because he will not partake in this barbaric pastime: Warriors.

Most likely to be pretty successful at fishing but still drops his phone off the dock: Wind.

Most likely to resort to throwing These Hands at the fish instead of using the ancient technology of fishing poles: Champion.

Most likely to space out talking the entire time and be the one to actually hook The Big One but fail to reel it in: Wild.

Most likely to not catch a damn thing because he's busy running interference: Twilight.

Maybe next time, Time will just take them to the pet store to buy goldfish.

I am endlessly amused by the fact that as a marine bio majors you have such a time fishing. I'm sure you've made at least one surrogate dad proud. Also, for the uninitiated:

Anon's Moby Dick.

[agentmarvel]

Smut ❤️‍🔥

Price 💰

“Stakeout”

thank you for sending one, casey! 🥰

john price x fem!reader (one gendered term used)

cw: oral sex (m receiving), consensual face fucking

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

John sits at the window, binoculars in one hand, the other weaved through your hair as you swallow him down. He praises you between responses on the comms, cautious not to give himself away with his sharp hisses and groans.

“Atta girl, all the way down, c’mon, you can take it, pretty thing.”

You do as you're told, lips touching the base, throat squeezing his tip in a way that makes his breathing hitch. He holds you in place, thrusting shallowly into your throat until you gag. It’s impossible to see his face from this angle, his head tipped back, but you can only imagine the way his eyes roll back when you moan.

The grip of your hair wrenches you back, silvery strings of precum and saliva dangling between your wet lips and his dripping cock. You smile up at him from your knees. One hand circles his length, using your drool to stroke him. You move to put him back in your mouth, but he stops you. You whine.

“Eager, are we?” he muses. “Greedy little slag. Think I’m gonna give it to you just because you want it? Hmm?”

“Always get what I want,” you pant back, barely getting a lick on the slit of his tip before he yanks you back again.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth.” The command comes in the form of a growl. You comply, sticking your tongue out for him. Price spits, a thick, warm glob landing on your tongue. You swallow it down hungrily, ready to beg him for more should he so order. He chuckles, loosening his grip and telling you to get back to it.

You leap at the opportunity, jerking that thick cock while you suck on his heavy, full balls. You tongue the seam and move between the two before taking them both in your mouth. John lets out a hushed, “oh, fuck…” before you let them slip out with a wet pop. His grip tightens again as he guides you back, notching his pink head against your lips.

“Lemme fuck that pretty face, sweetheart.”

John doesn’t wait for you to respond before pushing your head down. His dick spears your throat, making you gag again. And again, he holds you still. It’s almost sweet, the way he asks you to look up at him. The look in his eyes is something feral mixed with adoration. He gives you a loving smile, awaiting your small nod before stuffing his cock as deep as it’ll go.

With abandon, he fucks into your throat over and over, nearly getting off more on the sounds and sight than the feeling. Your vision blurs as tears fill your eyes. They spill over on your cheeks, and John laughs cruelly.

“Too much for you? Poor baby,” he tuts. “C’mon, dove, I know you can take it. You’re such a desperate little whore at home; can’t get enough of my fuckin’ cock can you? Can’t even wait until we’re out of the field.”

You hollow your cheeks in response, reaching up to toy with his sack. He grunts, fist tightening borderline painfully. The sound that comes out of you is nearly shameful, if you really had any shame to spare in this position. The vibrations draw his hips up more viciously. More tears fall, streaking your face.

“That fuckin’ mouth, darling - god damn - love that dirty fuckin’ mouth. You want me to paint your face, or are you gonna swallow?” You swallow around his cock, and he curls forward, using both hands to hold you down while he pulses against your tongue. “My filthy little fuckdoll. Of course you want it in your mouth.” 

His pace doesn’t falter as you watch his face twist up in unbridled pleasure. John continues to talk, babbling mindlessly about how good you are, how much he loves you, how you were made for him. The growls turn into whines as his breathing grows ragged. You know he’s close. He always sounds this fucking good when he’s close.

With a muted warning, he spills down your throat, hot and thick. Covetous, you drink him down. His grip on your loosens as he crumples back in the chair.

“Jesus, love,” he pants. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You wipe the fluids from your mouth with the back of your hand before wrapping your lips around his sensitive tip, suckling at him as you rest your cheek against his thigh. He’s softening, but his thighs tense up every time you lick his frenulum.

“You okay? Didn’t go too far, did I?”

You shake your head, grinning. He huffs out a laugh.

“Insatiable little thing… Come sit. Promise I’ll fuck you stupid as soon as I can get it back up.”

pick your prompt here! 💌

[dragonsdendoodles]

similar vein to that other ask but opposite, what do you think enoch and horace would argue about non trivially, like the worst disagreement theyve had

Oh good lord angst time. Buckle up kids today we’re going over why my friends yell at me. Fair warning this one’s also gonna be long

So there are two scenarios. One where Horace is the one hurt, and one where Enoch is.

I think whatever it is either way, it started small. I think generally they’d be good at communication, having picked that up from Hugh and Fiona, but it was, at the time, a small issue. It was not a stupid issue, because if it were a stupid issue it would turn into an argument about the argument itself.

The two things that made the first scenario significantly worse:

1. We have seen how Enoch is just in general. He has zero filter and he’s a jerk and sometimes it’s funny and sometimes he takes it a bit too far. I think, very similarly to myself, he can’t actually tell. He can tell when he’s hurt someone, but he doesn’t actually know what it was that hurt them. We’ve also seen him argue with people quite a lot, which leads me to believe he can be pretty volatile.

2. My headcanon for Horace being upset is that whenever he is, he gets in his head until he’s convinced himself that if he voices his concerns with whoever upset him (especially Enoch) he’s either going to be yelled at again and it’ll go nowhere or he’ll bother them more by bringing it back up and that combined with blaming himself for the whole thing means that eventually he just kind of shuts down. Stops talking. Waits for it to go away.

Normally, if I were writing them in this fashion (surprise surprise, I have a fic draft where I am,) Enoch would pester Horace about whatever he’s upset about until he fesses up, they talk it out, kiss a little, after an hour of trying to get this out of him it’s over in ten minutes.

However, if they were to get into a Big Actual Fight about whatever it was, I think Enoch would not have the patience to sit and deflect Horace’s “I’m fine/nothing’s wrong/you didn’t do anything/I’m just being stupid”s for as long as he usually has to. If Horace’s stubbornness wins out instead of Enoch’s and Enoch is both upset that Horace won’t ever fucking talk to him and doesn’t have near enough patience to keep pushing the issue to be able to have the information to resolve it, Enoch decides fine. If you’re going to be like this, then I’ll let you fucking be like this until you can be a fucking adult and actually fucking talk to me. Except that doesn’t come out like that, it’s Enoch, so it comes out as insults. Horace snaps back because the insults were uncalled for, Enoch snaps back because oh we’re doing this now, and neither knows who raised their voice first but now they’re both yelling. It gets messy. Someone gets called unreasonable, the other asks why he’s even still with him if he’s so horrible, the first asks why the hell he’d even say that when he knows why (the answer is he’s not, they’re both just pissed off and throwing words at each other to see what sticks,) it goes on for maybe twenty minutes tops. They get tired of crying and screaming at each other so depending on how bad they need one, one of them hugs the other and they actually talk about it or one of them goes away to calm himself down and process everything and then they hug and talk about it. Things are a little shaky for a while, but for the most part they’re just relieved it’s over and for some reason the other is still here and still loves them and isn’t leaving anytime soon. They apologized, they solved the issue by sitting down and talking about it, so for the most part everything’s okay now. There might be a day or so of walking on eggshells for fear of it happening again, but for all the hurt and all the shouting, chances are they don’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place.

The important canon point and headcanon for the second option: Horace is shown in (at least my reading of) the books to be a bit of a people-pleaser. He does not like confrontation, he does not like upsetting people, he is too anxious and would much rather just Not Deal With That. Because of this, I am of the opinion that when he is in a particularly anxious mood or if he can sense that something is going wrong and he needs to fix it, he’ll make something up to hopefully dissipate the situation. (Think Dear Evan Hansen but on a lesser scale. It would not go farther than one person in this instance.) He knows it’s a terrible habit to have, and he is genuinely trying to fix it, but occasionally something slips out involuntarily and he feels horrible about it.

The biggest problem with that, other than the habit of being a compulsive liar: it doesn’t work. It works on people he doesn’t know, because they don’t know what his face means when he says something and then immediately gets even more nervous, but his friends and Miss Peregrine absolutely do. He knows they can tell and he is genuinely trying to fix it, so he just as quickly apologizes and corrects himself. It still hurts the other person, but it’s better than doubling down, which used to be how that would go because this all started to get himself out of trouble.

It hurts everyone involved and Horace absolutely hates that he does it, but the worst person he could do it to is Enoch. Because now his own boyfriend can’t fucking trust him and if there is one thing that pisses off Enoch more than pretty much anything else, it’s being lied to. And Enoch can and will call him on it. Immediately. Horace is doing his best to stop that from happening and chooses his words very carefully when he’s nervous in an effort to prevent it, but occasionally he gets paranoid that he’s done something Enoch won’t like and then he gets careless and forgets and then it’s just about getting out of this and uh oh.

When that happens, Enoch stops talking to him for a while. If Horace tries to say something, they fight about it and it’s an argument Horace cannot win because Enoch’s right. He should be able to trust and be honest with him, but for some reason he was scared enough to convince himself he couldn’t, and now Enoch can’t trust him. Once Enoch comes back from processing everything, they have a serious talk about why he said what he did and the thought process behind it and why Horace thought lying to him about whatever the completely innocent thing was would be a good idea and this cannot happen again. Horace understands and apologizes and tries to make up for it because that’s all he can do, and Enoch’s still upset about it for a while, but eventually he trusts Horace again and the issue is resolved. Neither of them feel good about the situation until it’s all but forgotten in a few weeks, after they’ve built that trust back up.

In writing this I realized that one can very easily lead into the other, so for all intents and purposes if we start with one and it becomes two, the argument stays two and two cannot turn back into one. It’s no longer about whatever actually caused it, it’s about the fact that now one of us is just saying things to appease the other and that habit happens to be the one thing that had it been literally anyone else that relationship of any kind would have been over.

Neither of these happens often. They are very good at communication generally, having been friends and best friends long before they were boyfriends, so 99.9% of the time if something happens that would cause an argument, they sit down and actually talk it out and it’s fine. This is just that .1% where it gets pretty bad. They understand each other better than even they think they do sometimes, so they come out okay, if not for a couple bad memories. They do talk about those bad memories sometimes as well, especially if it started with an insecurity of one of them, and they make sure that whatever it was all is forgiven and nothing is permanently damaged. If there’s damage left over, they talk about it immediately and do whatever needs to be done to resolve it. Neither holds grudges against the other.

[rpstartersinc]

* 𝐇𝐁𝐎'𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐔𝐒  /  𝐄𝐏  𝟑,  𝟒  &  𝟓.

feel free to change pronouns / wording!

“ want your jacket back? ”

“ never been in the woods. more bugs than i thought. ”

“ i don’t want your sorries. ”

“ i wasn’t gonna say i’m sorry. ”

“ nobody made you go along with this plan. ”

“ don’t blame me for something that isn’t my fault. ”

“ what are you looking out for? ”

“ is it something lame, like you fell down the stairs or something? ”

“ someone shot at me and missed. ”

“ i gotta grab some stuff i stashed. ”

“ you ask a lot of goddamn questions. ”

“ i had a friend who knew everything about this game. ”

“ there’s this one character named mileena who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth and then she swallows you whole and barfs out your bones! ”

“ ah, getting funnier. ”

“ dude, you got to go up in the sky! ”

“ so everything came crashing down in one day? ”

“ if you have to get bit to be infected, then who bit the first person? ”

“ there’s stuff up there you shouldn’t see. ”

“ well now i have to see. ”

“ whatever it was, think it’s gone. ”

“ dead people can’t be infected. ”

“ it doesn’t get old. ”

“ i’m not infected! ”

“ why did you take that long to answer? ”

“ i thought about lying for some reason, but the reason didn’t come. ”

“ i’m letting you go, so go. ”

“ if i feed you, then every bum you talk to about it is gonna show up here looking for a free lunch. ”

“ you already know i’m bad at lying. ”

“ everything tastes good when you’re starving. ”

“ i know i don’t seem like the type. ”

“ would you stop!? ”

“ paying attention to things, it’s how we show love. ”

“ there are no friends to be had. ”

“ i’ve actually been talking to a nice woman on the radio. ”

“ aren’t i the lucky one? ”

“ i got something to show you. ”

“ i like you older. older means we’re still here. ”

“ i was never afraid before you showed up. ”

“ took most of the night. i’m exhausted. ”

“ i’ve had more good days with you than with anyone else. ”

“ i should be furious. ”

“ you hear anything, you see anything, yell. ”

“ so they’re dead? ”

“ i used to hate the world, and i was happy when everyone died. but i was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. ”

“ we have a job to do, and god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. ”

“ we can just keep our histories to ourselves. ”

“ you do what i say when i say it. ”

“ they have hot water! i’m taking a shower, and then you’re showering, because seriously - pffff. ”

“ well don’t you look pretty. ”

“ it’s like a spaceship. ”

“ gas breaks down over time, this stuff’s almost water. ”

“ it doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary. ”

“ what did the mermaid wear to her math class? an algae bra. ”

“ i stayed up all night wondering where the sun went, and then it dawned on me. ”

“ this make you all nostalgic? ”

“ hold your horses, i wanna see what all the fuss is about. ”

“ why are all these pages stuck together? ”

“ can we start a fire? i’m freezing. ”

“ no one’s gonna find us. ”

“ if you don’t think there’s hope for the world, why bother going on? ”

“ i’m not even tired. ”

“ i’m all turned around. ”

“ this is my second day in a fucking car, man! ”

“ you’re not hurt? ”

“ you don’t come out until i say, okay? ”

“ my mom isn’t far, if you could get me to her. ”

“ you can have it. ”

“ you don’t have to! ”

“ i can’t fit through. ”

“ i was alone. ”

“ you were wronged, and i’m sorry. ”

“ they put a gun to my head! ”

“ have i satisfied the necessary conditions for you to talk? ”

“ you think i won’t do it? ”

“ i didn’t hear that guy coming. ”

“ you’re just a kid. ”

“ i know what it’s like, the first time that you hurt someone like that. ”

“ i’m not good at this. ”

“ you shouldn’t have had to, and i’m sorry. ”

“ it wasn’t my first time. ”

“ you put it in your pack, you’ll shoot your damn ass off. ”

“ we’ll get through this. ”

“ let’s just handle what we have to handle. we can deal with this after. ”

“ where would you be without me, huh? ”

“ how did you know it was an ambush? ”

“ i’ve been on both sides. ”

“ we did what we needed to survive. ”

“ did you kill innocent people? ”

“ i don’t want someone sneaking up on us while we’re sleeping. ”

“ i don’t wanna talk about it. ”

“ so it gets easier when you get older? ”

“ did you know diarrhoea is hereditary? yeah, it runs in your jeans. ”

“ you laughed, motherfucker! ”

“ look at me, not at that. ”  

“ i used to be so scared of these people. ”  

“ did it make you feel safe? ”  

“ how does it make you feel now? ”  

“ i swear, i’ve told you everything i know. ”  

“ he won’t be talking. ”  

“ why go to the trouble? you can kill yourself right here. ”

“ do i look scared? ”  

“ i’ve been watching them, i know their patterns. ”  

“ we don’t wanna hurt you, we wanna help you. ”  

“ if i lower my gun, we didn’t hurt you, so you don’t hurt us, right? ”

“ that’s a weird fucking tone, man. ”  

“ that’s just the way he sounds, he has an asshole voice. ”

“ i’m gonna trust you. ”  

“ you know what happens when you do that to people? the moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you. ”

“ never killed anyone. ”  

“ pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest i’ve ever come to being violent. ”

“ that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan. ”  

“ your dad’s kind of a pessimist. ”  

“ he’s not my dad. ”  

“ i’m not her dad. ”  

“ endure and survive. ”  

“ i wasn’t exactly telling you the truth, before. ”  

“ i am the bad guy because i did a bad guy thing. ”  

“ we’re not doing so good. ”  

“ have you been back to the room you grew up in? ”  

“ he would be horrified by the things i’ve done. ”  

“ this is what happens when you fuck with fate. ”  

“ are you ever scared? ”  

“ i’m scared all the time. ”  

“ i’m scared of ending up alone. ”  

“ if you turn into a monster, is it still you inside? ”  

“ stay awake with me. ”  

“ gimme the gun. ”  

“ what did i do? ”  

[petruchio]

PLEASE share your midnights Matty softlaunch theory, it’s such an odd and (to me at least lol) fascinating album

ok so. im going to go into insane detail track by track, but i think midnights makes sense (almost) if we read it as a journey through deciding to leave joe and we read mastermind as being a matty song — so the album is mostly her wondering if this thing she feels with matty is real or in her head, and then wondering, if it is real, if it’s worth it to make the jump. and i think she was ready to do it, and midnights would’ve been basically the matty “announcement,” but then she and joe made up and the 3am tracks are kind of damage control to confuse the narrative and make it less obvious. but we have to do a bit of digging. so let’s dive in.

(obvi we don’t know what happened for real. but it’s just fun to speculate!!!)

we open with lavender haze. and here we see taylor desperate to stay in the happy, peaceful relationship she’s in — she doesn’t WANT to get married, she doesn’t WANT to be talked about, she doesn’t WANT anything more. she just wants this. it’s enough for her. …or is it?

because immediately, we move to maroon. we go from a pastel purple color to various shades of red, changing the image and flipping back through memories. and these memories call back to a lot of 1989 era imagery — we get the wine stain from clean, the rosy cheeks from wildest dreams, new york… that’s a real fucking legacy to leave. something triggered this little trip down memory lane. maybe they hung out, or someone said something, who knows. but i think this is where the cracks in the lavender haze begin.

and so after all that she takes us to anti-hero. it’s me, hi, i’m the problem. i think this is probably the precursor to guilty as sin? — it’s saying, oh no. i’m the problem, fantasizing about my ex again (i dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves/i wake up screaming from dreaming) and acknowledges that joe is going to leave her when he finds out (one day i‘ll watch as you’re leaving)

but she can’t stop. the fantasy continues to grow in snow on the beach. this song is filled a bunch of space/sky imagery — “a few moons ago,” “stars by the pocketful,” “your eyes are flying saucers from another planet.” let’s keep track of that imagery. (we’ll return to the all space stuff in a big way in down bad, but don’t worry, it’ll reappear on midnights.)

and then there’s the realization of you’re on your own kid. that’s right — you’re on your own, and you always have been. i think this is her deciding to separate her sense of identity from joe. and the first verse brings up a lot of images we see come back on ttpd: “summer went away, still the yearning stays” -> “another summer/rolling thunder/he don’t understand me” and “it’s okay we’re the best of friends” -> “but tell me who else is gonna know you?” and “you’re smoking with your boys” -> “you needed drugs more.” it’s tempting to interpret the first verse as a retrospective on her teenage years, but it could just as easily be about falling for matty while they were “just friends” and she was still with joe. but i think in yoyok she’s still trying to convince herself it’s not real: “just to learn that you never cared.” matty doesn’t want her, she thinks. but she has her songs. maybe that’s all she ever needed?

this triggers an even larger dive into the past: midnight rain. now she’s wondering if the reason she’s so resistant to marry joe is just a repeat of old patterns, so she dives into the past looking for answers. i maintain that midnight rain is about the muse of debut and i think it’s her looking over her own past and trying to make sense of what’s happening now. am i the problem? was i always the problem? am i incapable of marriage or is it just with this guy?

so now she has to know. she has to get answers. is this fantasy about matty her just replaying old patterns of leaving when things get serious? or is this thing she feels with matty something real? basically, can i ask you a question…? we don’t even need to dive any deeper into the 1989 era of it all. this song is pretty obvious. note that we return to the space imagery though: “does it feel like everything is just like second best after that meteor strike?”

i don’t feel like talking about vigilante shit because it’s a bad song but suffice to say i think it’s just her being admitting she’s okay sometimes being the villain. other than that it’s not really relevant to the matty narrative.

so then we get bejeweled. which was strange when it came out and hasn’t gotten less strange, but it’s kind of another step in deciding to leave joe behind. she can’t marry him, because she’s not sure matty isn’t actually the one for her. “when i meet the band, they ask do you have a man, i can still say i don’t.” is the band… perhaps… the 1975? and this is when she leaves. “what’s a girl gonna do? a diamond’s gotta shine.” she sets herself free. you can try to change her mind, but you can’t. she polished up real nice.

and then we get labyrinth. which to me only makes sense as a post-joe song. “it only hurts this much right now.” “i’ll be getting over you my whole life.” “break up break free break through break down.” but what saves her? the person who comes in right at the last second: matty. he turns the plane around. remember all the space imagery? my flight was awful thanks for asking? well, here he is. uh oh, i’m falling in love again.

and actually… she loves it. it feels like karma. (or maybe destiny.) for all her work, all her struggle, all her pain, she gets the guy in the end: the years of pining and coded songs all add up to this.

but she can’t hate joe. she could never hate him. she might have wanted to leave, but it wasn’t because he treated her badly. he never wanted anything from her. just sweet nothing. i don’t think sweet nothing is a breakup song; it was probably even written as a love song. but its placement on the tracklist makes it feel like a goodbye. “they said the end is coming,” she says. but she needed someone who saw her that way. it’s an i will always love you song. it’s a thank you.

and so we close: mastermind. the planets and all the stars aligned from snow on the beach and question. we’re up in space now. she’s been planting these seeds since back in 2014… and now she has him. matty. she did it. all the wisest women had to do it this way. doesn’t that sound like fucking politics and gender roles? the liquor in the cocktails that she’s always drunk on when she’s around him? but he knew the entire time. she’s a mastermind.

okay so that’s the standard edition. the bonus track being hits different makes sense if it’s the joe breakup — “it hits different this time.” she’s left people before, but never like this. she’s SAD! she’s waiting for his key in the door but it never comes. she might have been the one that left, but it still hurt like never before.

but the 3am tracks are the last bit of the puzzle. and here’s where i think we can take taylor’s word for them as sort of “vault tracks” because they don’t fit in the narrative of midnights, but they tell a story in themselves. and that story is of her and joe getting back together after all this.

the first one she tacks on is the great war, a song about making up after a fight. so she puts that one to first, to reassure that they actually made it through. then i think we get the “cutting room floor” tracks — that is, they’re out of order but all part of the larger story. we get another heartwrenching goodbye in bigger than the whole sky, a return to the delusional lavender haze and staring at the ceiling in paris, a song about cheating in high infidelity. all thematically relevant, but not perfectly fitting into the narrative of the original record.

then we get glitch, which imo is also a matty song. “depending on what kind of situationship im in” read: if joe and i are off or on. “2190 days of our love blackout” read: six years since the 1989 era where they dated originally. “nights are so starry” brings us back to the space imagery, the glitch video on spotify glitching to the 1989 tv of wildest dreams… “it must be counterfeit” will come back too, in loml when she says “something counterfeit is dead.” but here… it’s only getting started.

would’ve could’ve should’ve again sees her examining her patterns with toxic men, and begins a lot of the religious theming we’ll see return on ttpd. and then we close with dear reader, a song about self-loathing, and begging the listener not to take her advice because she’s not really a good person. she admits it: she cheats, she lies, joe has left her alone in the house (not a home, cause nobody’s there.) “you should find another guiding light,” she tells us. but she shines so bright…

anyway yeah. that’s my extended theory. i think it was supposed to be the goodbye to joe and mastermind was introducing matty, but then when they patched it up, the narrative changed and 3am tracks got added on and changed the direction. (it makes sense if those tracks were added on late, since they weren’t available physically for a long time after the record was released. hits different, the song about breaking up with a long term partner… was.) we could deep dive into every song and analyze the lyrical parallels with 1989, folkmore, and ttpd too (don’t get me started on the 1 and cardigan) but we’ll save that for another time.

and of course, we all know what happened next. but we wouldn’t be here without the chaos that was midnights. without it, we might never have gotten an answer to that one, burning question…?

now we have the answer. the only thing that’s left… is the manuscript.

[gaytkachuk]

saw these sad little leon gifs from after tonight's game and got really sad and decided he is insane and decided to call matthew to process and leon, to be honest, doesn't really even know why he calls? it just. makes sense for him? so he says fuck it, and dials.

Pretty much just dialogue nonsense. i am also sleepy like matthew so dont expect much and gnight, enjoy a crumb under the cut

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

It’s late when Matthew’s phone rings. 

In his sleep syrupy voice, “H’llo?”

No one answers.

“M’sorry, I think you have the wrong–”

“Tkachuk?”

Matthew pauses, tries to place the voice. “Um. Yeah?” 

He can hear the person on the other end of the line breathe out slowly, “It’s Leon.” The voice is tense, like its owner is gritting his teeth, ripping off a bandaid. 

Leon? Matthew racks his brain, trying to figure out who– oh. Oh.

“Leon, hey. Uh. What’s up man?” 

“I just–” Leon breathes out, “This is stupid.” 

Matthew sighs, sits up in bed, turns on the light like this is a conversation happening face to face, “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah. I mean. No. Everything’s fucked. But I’m… I’m fine.” 

Matthew hums. If the guy wants to share more, he will. 

It’s quiet for a while, nearly too long.

“Well if that’s–”

“I needed someone to talk to.”

“Okay…” 

“Someone outside of… all this.”

“What’s happening? Am I like your lifeline on a trivia show? Do I need to help you to pick between B and D? Because i gotta tell you, I’m picking D everytime.”

Leon huffs and Matthew knows it’s nearly a laugh. Good. He can do this. He can be annoying, he can distract Leon from whatever his problem is. 

“God. No, I’m just. I miss. Listen, I miss our rivalry. Miss the fire of it. Miss being passionate and it fucking mattering. And. We just. We’re fucking up as this season and I don’t think I can do this. I can’t lose again, Tkachuk. We’ve got a perfect team on paper and it’s not working out there on the ice. I’m watching this fucking castle burn to the ground and I feel like I can’t do anything to stop it. I’ve got a fucking bucket of water or something and it’s not enough. It’s never– I’m not enough.”  

Matthew’s there, head back against his headboard, breathing, listening, thinking what the hell is going on and why me and I don’t think I’ve ever heard Leon Draisaitl speak more than ten words at a time. But. He can do this. Does this well. Loves, relentlessly, uncaring for his own self. 

And this, whatever this is, it’s not love. They don’t speak. Haven’t since. Well. And that’s fine! Leon chose. Matthew didn’t try either. But Matthew can do this. He can treat it like love for a fleeting moment at 2 in the morning, cradle it in his hands and mend it so it’s not so broken anymore. 

“Leon, hey, slow down there. Take a breath with me.” Leon’s quiet for a moment, Matthew is too. 

“First of all, you, you have to know, Leon, you are more than enough. So talented, and hardworking, you know yourself, you trust yourself. And even though this fucking ocean of doubt is swallowing you up, you have to–” Matthew laughs a little, knows it’s ridiculous when he says, “you have to be like Dory and just– keep swimming.” 

Leon groans on the other end of the line, mumbles something akin to ‘I fucking hate the ocean.'

“Listen, I admire you. You’re a hell of a player– not many guys can play with Connor fucking McDavid and make him better, but you do. You’re part of something bigger than yourself. If you keep at it, it’ll come together into something great. I promise. And, hell, I wish I had half of the belief in myself that you do, like it’s something I can tell when I’m around you on the ice. As sure as gravity. You know what you’re capable of, sure of yourself, and I wish that was me.

“So, don’t give me any ‘I can’t do this’ bullshit because yes, you can. You are. Not every game is gonna work out, even my season’s off to a shitty start, but we keep persevering because the wins feel better than the losses, and it’s worth it to chase that. And in the losses? You push to figure who you are. You’ll make yourself better for when the highs come rolling through. Y’know? You’re great, you know you are, but who are you when your greatness is stripped away? That’s the thing you need to figure out, that’s how you persevere. Fight for that piece of yourself, the one that cares so much you called me to ask for advice. 

“Sorry. I should stop talking. But. Y’know. You’re special, even if you are a dick.” 

“Thank you, Matthew.” 

Matthew’s breath hitches a little bit, cherishes the softness in Leon’s voice. 

“‘Course.” 

“I’ve missed you.” 

“I-," Matthew feels like he's gotten the wind knocked out of his lungs, "Me too... You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah. I- I think I know now.” 

“Okay. Well.”

“I should let you go.” 

“I don’t want you to.” 

“Oh I meant–” 

“Shit, right. Sorry, tired.” 

“You should go, even though I want you to stay. How’s that?” 

“Better.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Goodnight, thank you.” 

“You owe me.” 

“The 19th? I can make it up to you then?”

“I want that.” 

“Good. Sleep well, Matthew.” 

Matthew hums, slips under his blankets, cradles his phone next to his ear and drifts to sleep. Leon sleeps too.