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thehighladywrites · 10 months

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— “it’ll be our little secret, professor”

☀︎ - pairing: eris vanserra x reader

☀︎ - summary: you hook up with this delicious older man for one fun night to forget your scummy ex, what do you do when the same man turns out to be your new professor?

☀︎ - warnings: smut, oral (m.receiving), hint of degradation, taboo relationships, student x professor, both are obviously old enough, i just want him so bad GOD

☀︎ - amara’s note: this is going to be a series where i’ll post text threads with prof eris, headcanons, just different things. I’m planning this series to be about 10 chapters, but I literally have no structure, I just write. also i hope you like this as much as I do. and if you see any mistakes, no you don’t

In the corner of the club, everything felt a bit fuzzy. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and different scents. Dim lights created a soft atmosphere, and the distant sounds of the crowd and music blended together. It was like time slowed down, and you were in your own world, just soaking in the low-key vibe of the club corner.

The earlier shots hit you, and now you're in a blissful, relaxed state. All you could focus on were the hands exploring your body, lips locking with yours, and captivating scent surrounding you.

In the heat of the night, you ended up kissing a stranger without a second thought. The risk of being alone with someone unfamiliar did register – you just didn't care. Discovering your boyfriend's cheating after a difficult three-year relationship, marked by numerous breakups and makeups, left you feeling free from a toxic situation.

Now, free from those shackles, you embraced the chance to breathe and have some carefree fun. You had gone out with your friends, planning to originally get black out drunk but you suppose there’s better ways to cope.

Coming up with the idea of harmless fun, you and Elain came up with new identities for everyone to play out. Providing a random name, you spun a fat lie of being an up-and-coming writer, in the middle of writing your latest novel. Falsely claiming to be older, you described a beautiful house situated on the outskirts of Prythian that you owned. It was all part of a lighthearted game, with no harm intended since you believed you'd never cross paths with the guy again. It was ridiculously easy to bag the man since he didn’t tell you anything about himself, only nodding when you talked about yourself.

The attractive stranger had dark copper hair, captivating amber eyes, and stood several inches taller than you. His eyes glistened in mirth mixed with hunger. His muscular build caught your attention, and you found yourself grabbing onto his strong arms.

If his looks didn't captivate you, his mouth certainly did. His wicked tongue unleashed clever comebacks and tantalizing dirty talk that sent shivers down your spine.

The best part? He was older, more mature, more confident and much more good-looking – just so much more than your ex. Comparisons might be wrong, but if you had to choose, the man in front of you was a no-brainer.

Because he wasn't some guy; he was a man who acted like a man, who spoke like a man and touched you like a real fucking man.

The man had been touching and kissing you for what felt like an eternity. You greedily wanted more from him. You didn't want to regret not taking the chance, and almost as if he could sense it, he invited you back to his place.

You nodded, excusing yourself to let your friends know about leaving. Approaching them, you shared your decision to go with him, and Gwyn, Nesta, Em and Elain cheered you on. However, Feyre, always the protective friend, expressed her concern.

“Go get some, but I swear I’ll hunt him down if anything happens, got it? And have your location on.”

Her words, while somewhat playful, held a genuine undertone of worry.

You nodded and promised her you’d be safe before hurriedly made your way outside to the handsome man.

“Still want to come with me, sweet thing?” he asked curiously, making sure it was still something you wanted.

“Mm, yeah, still wanna go. Unless you've changed your mind?” Stepping forward, you grabbed the man's tie, pulling it gently as you looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. A playful glint clouded your gaze as you cocked your head to the side, oozing confidence.

He smirked down at you with a wicked glint, clearly showing his mind was nowhere near changed. The man stepped forward, rubbing his clothed cock against your dress, making you feel his hard on through his pants

“Does it feel like I’ve changed my mind?”

The chemistry you had was unmatched, he was so clever and witty and you wanted to know more about him as he led you to his car, a sleek, black one, indicating money.

You’d blame your forwardness on the alcohol tomorrow when you remembered how you just blurted out the question.

“Hey, you rich or something?” you giggled.

The man opened up the backseat door for you and through the side of his eye gave you an amused smirk.

“Or something.” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grinning, as you hopped into the backseat, enjoying the warmth of his hands securing your seatbelt and closing the door.

But hold on, the backseat?

Weren't you supposed to sit upfront with him? Before you could ask, he opened the other backseat door and slid in beside you.

Maintaining eye contact, he grinned at your confusion and said, “Alden, please take us home.” A faint "yes sir" was heard, and the car started moving. Shocked, you realized he had a driver – clearly, he was quite wealthy.

You scanned the spacious car, realizing there was more than enough room for the fun activities on your mind. With a screen separating you from the driver, you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, straddling his lap.

His hands instinctively found your hips, guiding your movements over him. Lips on your neck, he left dark marks as your hands ventured lower, reaching his cock, which elicited a groan from him. Your eyes widened as you felt the size of him. The man simply flashed you a subtle smile and raised his eyebrows.

You unbuckled his belt, maintaining eye contact as you carefully watched his face show pleasure as you put your hand down his pants and stroked him. You gave him a few lazy strokes, eventually shuffling off his lap and kneeling infront of him, ready to put your mouth to use.

Time became irrelevant and all that was heard were the sinful, obscene noises mixed with his hisses of pleasure as you sloppily bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tounge around the head, running your finger over the slit.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Could use this slutty little mouth forever.” he rasped, hips bucking as his hands went to your hair, slightly pulling on it as you let out a muffled whimper.

Pre cum and spit dripped down your chin, slowly making it’s way to your chest and floor as you pushed your head down further and further, feeling satisfied at his sounds of pleasure.

Once, twice, you grip on the shaft and slap the tip on your tongue before sucking on the sensitive head.

With a quick twitch of his cock, he cums, experiencing euphoria in his buzzed state. He gasps and moans pitifully as his lips twitch between his teeth and his hips buck into your mouth against his better judgement. You pump your hand at the base of his cock where you are unable to fit, swallowing as much of the hot, sticky ropes that coat your mouth as you can. As he pours into you, the walls of your pussy clench around nothing, so badly wishing your were sitting on the cock that was currently on your tongue.

His cum was everywhere - your hair, your face, your tits. He slumped against the seat and moved his eyes down back to you, catching you licking of the sticky residue of your fingers.

Before either of you have a chance to say something, the car slows down to a halt signaling that you’re probably at his place. He tucks himself into his pants and doesn’t buckle them before he opens the door and grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder as you laugh. Your mind forgets about the fact that you’re covered in his cum and just blanks when you take a look at his so called house, a mansion or a fucking estate is more like it.

The lengthy driveway opened up to a stunning front yard adorned with red and orange-leaved trees, an unusual scene for the end of summer. A well-lit, ornate fountain with three tiers stood proudly infront of the house, enhancing the beauty of the surroundings. The massive Victorian mansion, with its beautiful windows and overgrown vines stunned you.

He set you down and held your hand as he led you into his room, and it overmet your expectations. Instead of a dark, edgy space, it was spacious with earthy tones and bathed in soft ambient lighting. The room exuded comfort, making you wish to stay longer. His bed, adorned with a large fluffy comforter and a million pillows, looked inviting.

Various trinkets and figurines adorned the room, but what captured your attention was a massive bookcase showcasing your favorite books. Intrigued, you dropped his hand and made your way over. Your eyes widened at seeing a book from your wishlist, yet to be released. Confused, you asked how he had it, and he explained that Sellyn Drake was an old family friend and had gifted it to him.

You decided to tease him about the book, saying, “You know, I've heard great many things about this book. How about you tell me what it's about? I heard it had some... exciting scenes.”

His eyes met yours, and with a subtle smile, he stepped closer and closer, “How about I show you instead?” The air seemed to thicken with a hint of tension, leaving you curious and captivated by the possibilities that lingered in his suggestion.

——

Your legs trembled as you hastily stood up, determined to make your exit. Having been fucked stupid all night, dawn was approaching, and the new semester was starting tomorrow, leaving you with a load of preparations. You located your dress, bag, and heels, putting the clothes on carefully. Quietly, you ordered a cab to avoid startling the man still asleep. Before leaving, your eyes lingered on his bookshelf. Tiptoeing closer, you took the book you'd eyed the night before and read the teaser on the back. Glancing between him and the book, grabbed it, and silently left his room and house.

——

Feyre, Elain, Nesta, Gwyn and Em, your friends and roomates, practically pulled you across campus to grab your schedule and check out the new students filling the cafeteria. The buzz of excited chatter and the aroma of coffee and sweet pastries filled the air as you scanned the room. After a few moments, you parted ways, each heading to your respective classrooms, the anticipation of a new semester buzzing in the atmosphere.

You wandered through the literature building, searching for classroom LE4, the place where Advanced Literature with Professor Beron awaited. Memories of your first year with him being an absolute ass lingered, so you hoped he'd calmed down over the summer, giving everyone a fucking break.

You finally entered the huge lecture hall and climbed the stairs, opting for a seat at the back, hoping to fly under the radar in case Professor Beron was in a bad mood.

A few rows down, you spotted your ex, Ilias, with a new girl on his lap. His sleazy smile and wandering hands were more icky than anything ever. Reflecting on why you ever went back to him so many times, you turned around, focused on bringing out your notebook and computer from your bag. As the doors opened, the click-clack of quality shoes echoed through the hall, accompanied by girly giggles and voices creating a murmur in the background.

A jolt of surprise froze you, and your heart seemed to pause for a moment as his voice unexpectedly filled the room. All your previous movement ceased, and a sudden hush fell over the surroundings, creating an atmosphere charged with unexpected tension. The shock of hearing someone you hoped thought to see again made time momentarily stand still.

“Hello. I'm Professor Eris, and I'll be taking over this class. My father used to teach it but has passed away, so I'll be filling his shoes. I anticipate a productive year together. If you doubt your ability to keep up with the rapid pace of this advanced class, I suggest you leave now and spare yourself, as well as me, the trouble.”

Panicking, your eyes scanned the room for any possible escape route. There was just no fucking way you could be in this class when your professor had fucked you against his bookshelf, or when you had his dick shoved down your throat. Sinking in your seat, you desperately opened your computer, using it as a shield, praying he wouldn't notice you. The need to escape intensified, but the fear of drawing attention kept you frozen in your seat.

As dread crept in, he pulled out an attendance list. The sinking feeling deepened as he insisted everyone state why they chose the course. Hiding behind your computer, you debated revealing your presence or attempting to stay under the radar.

"Ilias Smith?"

"Emma Wilson?"

"Jess Lennox?"

"Amanda Gomez?"

Each one confidently declared "here" and delved into passionate remarks about Hemingway, Austen, Kerouac, all the authors that made them choose this course or whatever. Your hands started sweating as Professor Eris called your name. When you hesitated, he repeated it louder, his gaze scanning until it locked onto you.

Anticipating an intense reaction, all you saw was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Well? Are you here, Y/N L/N?”

You mumbled a faint "yeah," and when he asked why you were there, your words fumbled, “Uh, I suppose because I like books. A huge fan. Yes.”

Your classmates chuckled at your less-than-impressive answers, and you sunk back into your chair, just observing for the rest of the lecture. A few rows ahead, a group of girls giggled, thinking they were discreet as they whispered about Professor Eris. Their discussions about their fantasies sparked a tiny irritation within you.

Like who the hell gossips about someone, so crudely in broad daylight and during a lecture, especially when it's about a professor? It wasn't jealousy, no, no definitely not.

You just found it… super unsettling.

——

After two suffocating hours, you hastily packed your bag, eager to escape. But just as you were about to disappear, your name echoed in the room.

“Miss L/N, do you mind staying behind? There seems to be a problem with your email,” Professor Eris announced, leaning against his desk with his massive arms crossed. He bid the remaining students goodbye and waited until they all left before locking the doors.

The moment those doors clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. The tension became so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

He turned back around and approached you, merely a few inches away, face a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Hello there, little liar. I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your cheeks heated and nervousness filled you at the memory of the depraved moments you'd shared, causing your gaze to involuntarily drop to his chest and wander downward, reliving those sensations.

However any nervousness vanished as you remembered that he was the one who came to your university. If anyone should’ve been surprised it should’ve been you. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you toyed with the idea of making his year more challenging. Testing how good of a man he really was became a tempting game.

After all, a man like him wouldn't indulge a student, right?

This could turn into a fun little project to spice up an otherwise dull year.

Lifting your chin up, you looked him square in the eyes as your lips twitched in anticipation.

“I could say the same, Professor Eris. You definitely don’t seem like the lecturer type.”

His eyes narrowed at you, jaw clenching as his intense gaze bore into yours. The intensity made you shift a little, almost causing you to lose some of your confidence.

“Do you think you're funny? I believe you understand the situation here. You lied and now you're here of all places. As my student. Well, this is an unexpected twist. One of us will have to quit and report this,” he stated, injecting a hint of playfulness into his serious tone.

Wait, quit? No, you really didn't want him to leave. This could turn into such a nice little distraction, and there was no way you were losing it now. The thought of him leaving added a layer of urgency to the situation, making you quickly reassess the potential consequences.

“Come on, professor. It doesn't have to be like this. I won't tell anyone. And who says we have to stay away from each other? I mean, what the dean doesn't know won't hurt him, right?” you suggested, a sly smile playing on your lips as you flirted with the idea of bending the rules.

Eris looked you up and down before throwing his head back and letting out a hearty laugh. Your brows furrowed as you twisted your lips, wondering if he was laughing at you. Was he not taking you seriously? Despite the uncertainty, the desire to keep playing this game with him intensified.

Eris seemed to notice your mood turning sour and promptly clamped his lips shut.

“I promise, sweet thing, I'm not laughing at you. I’m just amazed at your boldness.” he assured you with a more serious tone, attempting to dispel any misunderstanding.

“Promise?”

He stepped forward, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You both knew that under no circumstances should you be doing this. If anyone caught you, there would be hell to pay. Expulsion and blacklisting from any other Ivy League universities for you, and definitely prison or some sort of pesky law thingy for him.

Yet the mere thought of engaging in something so wrong and secretive made your stomach flip, a mix of thrill and anxiety churning within you.

Looking up through your lashes, you blushed, a deep crimson hue spreading across your cheeks as you once again grabbed his tie and pulled him closer.

“I promise I won't tell anyone, professor. It'll be our little secret,”you whispered, the words laden with a taboo excitement that sent a shiver down your spine.

A wicked gleam flashed in Eris's eyes, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Well then, miss L/N,”he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Let's see just how well we can keep our little secret.”

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anniebeemine · 24 days

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warnings: blinded reader who was injured in the field, anger, some rude comments to Spencer, happy ending :)

You heard the door creak open and the soft flicker of a light switch being flipped. Instinctively, you tried to step over the threshold, eager to be home after what felt like an eternity. But before you could take that step, Spencer’s hand was on your shoulder, the touch gentle but firm as he moved you slightly to the side.

“Hold on,” he said softly. “We sort of left a mess. Let me go in first.”

The air felt different in the entryway—warmer, familiar, and yet, with the loss of sight, strangely foreign. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like everything had changed. You knew the layout of your home by heart, each piece of furniture and each corner. But now, in the absence of your vision, everything felt distant, like a memory you were trying to recall in the dark.

You stood in the doorway, listening closely to the sounds inside your home. There was the unmistakable thud of shoes being tossed to the side, followed by the soft rustle of clothing being picked up and moved. Each sound painted a picture in your mind, filling in the blanks that your eyes could no longer see. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tried to lighten the mood, to bring some semblance of normalcy back into the situation.

“I never realized we lived like slobs,” you joked, your voice laced with a mix of humor and uncertainty.

There was a brief pause, then Spencer chuckled, a sound that warmed you from the inside out. “You’re just now figuring that out?” he teased back, his voice closer now, as if he had moved toward you.

You could almost picture the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, the way his lips would quirk up in that way that always made you feel like everything was going to be okay. The sound of him straightening things up, trying to make the space as comfortable as possible for you, was both endearing and bittersweet.

“It’s not too bad,” Spencer continued, his tone softening. “Just a couple of things out of place. But I’ve got it covered.”

You nodded, the smile lingering on your face.

The first week back home had been a challenge. While you had managed to stay somewhat optimistic during your time in the hospital and through the intensive therapy sessions, reality had begun to settle in now that you were back in familiar surroundings. Learning to navigate with a cane, relying on your other senses, and coming to terms with the fact that this was your new normal had been difficult, but you’d handled it—at least outwardly.

In the hospital, there had been structure, routine, and the constant presence of medical staff ready to offer encouragement or assistance at a moment’s notice. But now, in the quiet of your own home, that structure had dissolved, leaving you alone with your thoughts, with nothing but the unfamiliarity of your familiar environment.

The first few days had been bearable. You found some comfort in knowing that Spencer was there, that he was trying his best to be supportive and patient. He would guide you around the house, making sure you were safe, his voice always calm and steady. But as the week wore on, something inside you began to shift.

At first, it was just a dull ache in your chest, a sense of sadness that would wash over you in waves when you accidentally knocked something over or missed a step while trying to navigate from one room to another. But as the days dragged on, that sadness began to fester, morphing into something darker, more volatile.

You tried to stay positive, to remind yourself that you were strong, that you could adapt to this. But every time you reached for something and missed, every time you stumbled or misjudged the distance to a piece of furniture, the frustration built. It gnawed at you, making you short-tempered and irritable.

You found yourself snapping at Spencer over the smallest things—like when he tried to help you find a cup and you insisted you could do it yourself, only to realize you couldn’t. Or when he offered to make you breakfast and you lashed out, accusing him of treating you like you were helpless. He never snapped back, just took it in stride with an understanding that only fueled your guilt and frustration.

And then there was the anger—pure, unfiltered rage that simmered just beneath the surface. Anger at the job that had taken your sight. Anger at the world for being so unforgiving. Anger at yourself for not being able to accept this new reality as easily as you wanted to. You could see bright lights and shadows, sure, but they were a constant reminder of what you had lost.

One evening, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, the weight of it all became too much. You could feel the anger bubbling up, threatening to spill over. You clenched your fists, trying to keep it at bay, but it was no use.

“Why did this happen to me?” you burst out, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. “Why did I have to lose my sight? I was just doing my job, and now… now I can’t even walk around my own house without bumping into things!”

Spencer looked at you, his expression pained. He reached out, but you pulled away, not wanting to be comforted, not wanting to feel the softness of his touch when all you felt inside was jagged, sharp-edged anger.

“It’s not fair,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to live like this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and stinging, but you couldn’t tell if they were from the anger, the frustration, or the deep sadness that had taken root in your heart. Spencer didn’t say anything, just sat there with you in the silence, his presence a steady anchor even as you felt yourself drifting into a sea of emotions you couldn’t control.

And as the week wore on, that anger became harder and harder to contain. It would flare up at the smallest provocations, leaving you feeling exhausted and hollow afterward. You knew Spencer was trying to be patient, that he was doing his best to help you through this, but in those moments of rage, you couldn’t see past your own pain.

You hated that you were pushing him away, that you were taking out your frustration on the one person who was always there for you. But the anger was all-consuming, leaving no room for rational thought or measured responses. It was like a storm inside you, one that you didn’t know how to weather.

And so, you kept struggling—struggling to adapt, struggling to keep the anger at bay, struggling to figure out how to live in this new world that felt so foreign and unforgiving.

You wake up to the sound of Spencer's steady breathing, the weight of the previous night's argument still heavy on your heart. He’s lying with his back to you, and even though you can't see him, you can sense the distance between you. It’s not just physical; it’s emotional too. The anger from last night lingers in the air, but so does the regret.

You know he’s sleeping like that to give you space. He’d offered to help with something simple, and you’d snapped, frustration bubbling over in a way you couldn’t control. You hated that you were doing this to him, to both of you. You didn’t want him to be the collateral damage of your struggle, but it was happening anyway.

Determined to make up for it, you decide to get up quietly and make breakfast. Maybe you can start the day differently, show him that you’re trying, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. Maybe if you show him that you’re trying, you’ll start to believe it yourself.

The house is eerily silent as you shuffle your way to the kitchen, relying on memory and touch to guide you. It’s still dark enough that the shadows blend into one another, but you’ve memorized the path by now. You reach out for the counter, fingertips brushing the cool surface as you orient yourself. The toaster is where you left it, so you reach for the bread, feeling for the familiar shape of the slices.

You focus on what you can do—something simple, something you’ve done countless times before. You pop the bread into the toaster and turn the knob, trying to estimate the time. It’s a small victory, but one that feels significant in this moment. You can do this. You can make toast.

As you wait, the smell of warming bread fills the air, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything might be okay. Maybe this is enough—a small gesture to show Spencer you’re still here, still trying to hold on.

But then the toast pops up, and as you reach out to grab it, your fingers brush against the metal. The sudden, sharp pain makes you flinch, and you hiss in frustration, jerking your hand back. You’re immediately angry at yourself for making such a simple mistake, and for a split second, it feels like a confirmation of everything you’ve been trying to deny: that you’re helpless, that you can’t even make a simple breakfast without something going wrong.

But you don’t let the anger take over. You breathe through it, trying to remind yourself that accidents happen, that burning your hand on a toaster could have happened to anyone. Even if you could see, this could have happened. It’s not a sign of your failure; it’s just a moment, an accident, nothing more.

Still, the burn stings, both physically and emotionally, and as you stand there in the kitchen, you feel the weight of everything pressing down on you. The toast is done, but the small triumph you’d hoped for feels hollow now, overshadowed by the sting in your hand and the frustration bubbling up inside you.

You think about going back to bed, about lying down next to Spencer and pretending none of this ever happened, but you know that won’t fix anything. You’ve already put the effort in, and you can’t back down now. Even if it’s not perfect, even if it’s not what you wanted it to be, you’ll finish this. You’ll try.

You slowly make your way to the cabinet, grabbing a plate and placing the toast on it. You feel your way to the fridge, finding the butter and spreading it across the toast with practiced movements. It’s simple, but it’s something.

As you stand there, alone in the kitchen, you can’t help but feel the exhaustion creeping in. You’re tired—tired of struggling, tired of trying to make things work, tired of feeling like you’re fighting a losing battle. But giving up isn’t an option, not when Spencer’s still here, not when you know he’s trying too.

When you’re done, you just stand there, letting the weight of everything settle over you. You want to go back to bed, to curl up beside Spencer and hide from the world, but you know that’s not fair to either of you. You’ve come this far, and you won’t give up now, not yet.

Determined to push yourself, you decide to try making scrambled eggs. You remember the guidance from the nurse during therapy—the way she patiently walked you through the process, how she showed you to feel the eggs through the spoon to know when they’re ready. It’s not just about cooking; it’s about regaining some sense of normalcy, some control over your life. It’s a challenge you’re willing to take on, even if it’s daunting.

You carefully gather everything you need: a bowl, a whisk, a spoon, and the carton of eggs. You take a deep breath and reach for the first egg, concentrating as you tap it against the edge of the bowl. The crack sounds louder in the quiet kitchen, and you can feel the tension in your shoulders as you carefully pull the shell apart, letting the egg slide into the bowl. Relief washes over you as it lands safely, the familiar squish reassuring you that you’ve done it right.

Encouraged, you reach for the second egg, feeling more confident. You tap it against the bowl, feeling the crack form beneath your fingers. But this time, when you try to pull the shell apart, it’s slippery. The egg slips from your grasp, and before you can react, you feel the cold, slimy sensation running through your hand.

It’s the kind of mess that would have annoyed you before, but now it’s overwhelming. You freeze, the egg continuing its descent until it plops onto your foot, oozing between your bare toes. The sensation is startling, the cold yolk squishing against your skin, and it’s enough to shatter the fragile sense of control you were holding onto.

You stand there, feeling the egg seep between your toes, and you can’t help but feel a surge of frustration. This was supposed to be something simple, something to prove to yourself that you could still do this. But now, with the egg on your foot and the mess in your hand, it feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost, everything that’s changed.

You want to cry, to scream, to let the frustration out in some way, but you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You reach for a paper towel, carefully wiping the egg off your foot, the sensation of the sticky yolk making you cringe.

You feel the burn of tears behind your eyes, but you blink them back. You won’t let this defeat you, not today. You clean up the mess, your movements slow and deliberate as you wipe the counter and the floor, focusing on each small task to keep the frustration at bay.

Once the mess is gone, you stand there for a moment, your breath coming in slow, shaky waves. You’ve cleaned it up, but the feeling of failure lingers. You were trying so hard, and it still wasn’t enough.

But you know you can’t give up. You won’t give up.

Taking another deep breath as you wash your hands, you grab a new egg and try again. This time, you manage to crack it without any issues, the egg sliding smoothly into the bowl. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough to push you forward.

As you whisk the eggs, feeling the texture change beneath the utensil, you remind yourself that this is just one moment in a long process. It’s okay to struggle, to get frustrated, but you can’t let it stop you. You’ll keep trying, keep pushing, because that’s the only way forward.

You carefully reach for the pan, the cold metal sending a shiver through your fingers. You place it on the stove, your hand lingering on the handle as you mentally prepare yourself for the next step. Turning on the burner, you feel the heat begin to radiate from the stove, a warmth that should be comforting but instead fills you with anxiety. You’ve done this so many times before, but now it feels like a monumental task, the simplest of actions turned into an obstacle.

As the pan heats up, you reach for the butter, guiding it into the pan by feel alone. The sizzle is sharp and immediate, and you move quickly to pour the eggs into the pan, feeling the way the liquid begins to solidify under the heat. You pick up the spatula, gripping it tightly as you start to stir, trying to focus on the texture beneath the spoon. It’s a delicate process, one that requires both patience and attention, and you’re determined to get it right.

But then, in a moment of distraction, your hand grazes the edge of the pan. The burn is instant and sharp, a searing pain that makes you gasp. You pull back quickly, your other hand instinctively reaching for the injured one. But there’s no time to dwell on the pain, not when you’re in the middle of cooking. You shake your hand out, trying to push the pain to the back of your mind, and force yourself to keep going.

You return to the task at hand, stirring the eggs with renewed determination. But then it happens again—another misstep, another burn. This time it’s worse, the heat searing into your skin and bringing tears to your eyes. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to throw the spatula down in frustration. The pain radiates through your hand, and you can feel the tears building, threatening to spill over.

Standing over the pan, you try to focus on the eggs, but it’s hard. You’re crying now, the tears mixing with the pain and frustration of it all. This was supposed to be something simple, something to prove to yourself that you could still do this. But instead, it’s turning into another reminder of how hard everything has become. You want to stop, to walk away, but you don’t. You can’t. You’re determined.

Taking a deep breath, you focus on the task in front of you. You stir the eggs one last time, feeling the way they’ve set, the texture just right. With shaky hands, you scrape them onto the plate, placing them carefully next to the toast. It’s a small victory, but it feels like a monumental one.

You freeze, the plate trembling slightly in your hands. You debate whether or not to serve a glass of juice or milk. The warmth of the eggs seeps through the ceramic, but it’s the heat of his gaze that you feel most intensely.

“How long have you been standing there?” you ask, your voice a little unsteady.

“Since you pulled the eggs out of the fridge,” Spencer replies softly. His voice is a mix of concern and admiration, the words tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, the weight of his presence settling over you. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or embarrassed that he’s seen you like this—struggling, vulnerable, determined to do something on your own but fighting every step of the way. You turn toward him, gripping the plate tightly as if it’s a lifeline.

“I wanted to make breakfast,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended. "For you."

Taking a slow step toward you, he let out a soft, “Thank you.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to admit just how hard it was or to keep pretending you had it all under control. Though you can’t see him, you know how he’s looking at you, pure love and admiration.

“I almost gave up,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But you didn’t,” he responds immediately, his tone firm. “You didn’t give up.”

You can’t tell if that makes you feel better or worse. The truth is, you did finish, but it came with tears and pain, and part of you wonders if it’s worth it.

Spencer’s hand reaches out instinctively, his fingers grazing the back of your hand, careful not to touch the tender spot. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he takes the plate from your hands and sets it down on the counter. You’re grateful for the relief, the pressure of holding it now gone.

“Let me see,” he says softly, taking your hand in his. He examines the burn with the same care and precision he uses when handling evidence, his thumb brushing over your skin with a soothing touch.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures you, though his brow is furrowed in concern. “But I’ll get something for it.”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. Gratitude because he’s here, because he cares. Frustration because you wanted to do this yourself, to prove that you could. But now, standing in the kitchen with him tending to your burn, you realize that maybe you don’t have to do it all alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice catching in your throat.

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “I’m here. We’re in this together.”

You nod again, the tears you’d been holding back now slipping free, but this time they’re not born of frustration or pain. They’re tears of relief, of love, of knowing that despite everything, you’re not alone. Spencer wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and you lean into him, letting the warmth of his embrace wash over you.

As you stand there, you realize that this is the first step in moving forward—not just for you, but for both of you. It’s okay to struggle, to have moments of weakness, because in the end, you’ll always have each other. And that’s more than enough.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #fanfic

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ultimate-chickennougat · 6 months

Text

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 7)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 (Not Required) Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

When Nanami goes on a work trip, his cute little housewife can’t help but miss him…

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, lightly suggestive, wearing Nanami's shirt...

A/n: I was feeling like writing something cute... hope you enjoy!

“Goodbye, my darling, stay safe,” were the last words you muttered to your husband, Nanami, before giving him a kiss as he left the house. Even to him, going on a trip without you was unfathomable, though it had only been three months since your marriage.

It was a work trip for three days, more or less to entertain the heads of a business Nanami’s company was hoping to partner with. It was not his intention to get chosen, there were plenty of other employees, but his standout reputation as a professional, down to business senior manager made him an easy candidate.

Nanami wiped his forehead with the cloth you had packed with his lunch, something that he appreciated after hearing the news. His boss’s booming enthusiasm had him somewhat hesitant to downright decline the offer, especially the part about him being on the only one who could do the job.

Maybe he was starting to like doing the bare minimum to keep on top of his work. Being a slacker wasn’t something to be proud of, but it sure was easier than caring in his case. His demeanor was far more dignified than the younger employees, and it’s not like he didn’t produce good results for the company. But the one thing he didn’t want, was for it to take away from his time with you, and any more attention on him from the higher-ups would do just that.

Instead, it was you who inspired him to go. Something about being able to plan a surprise for him for when he got back, the encouragement for him to do something that would hopefully make him get to know his coworkers better.

While you were happy to know your husband was doing well at work, you still got that sinking feeling when he brought the topic up. “Of course you should go, we don’t have anything planned this week and it isn’t that far away,” you fake smiled your way through the conversation, trying to come up with a reason. It would be the first time you were alone in the house for that long without him, you hadn’t gone on a trip since your honeymoon together.

“Since this one is short, it could help you make up your mind on doing other ones…” you mumbled, carefully stacking the plates on top of each other and carrying them to the kitchen. “I know, but I still don’t want to leave you alone,” Nanami groaned, “Besides, I would rather not spend more time working than I have to.” You sat back down at the table.

“Don’t you also get a few days off afterwords? We could do something together. I have been meaning to get some things done anyways…” you muttered, giving him a look. “Some things… do indulge me, my love,” he smirked back at you. “A surprise,” you shook your head as he laughed. “Fine, I’ll contact my department,” he stood up, sighing in exhaustion.

Nanami left for his three day long trip, though not without a yellow scarf carefully tied around his neck, and a neatly ironed jacket. The weather had said it would be windy where he was going. After loading up his bags in the car, he was being picked up by a coworker, the two of you said your final goodbyes, and then he was gone.

That was in the early morning when it still felt like a normal day. You went about your morning and afternoon routine, you had still packed him a lunchbox to take with him. The sun was shining, and aside from the absent-minded glances at your wedding photo on the table next to the couch, it seemed the same.

Inevitably, the evening came, and by the usual 5:35 Nanami still wasn’t home. Of course he wouldn’t be, he was hours away. You tried to entertain yourself, first eating a dinner consisting of leftovers, and then sitting down on the couch to do the final touches on the new suit jacket you were making for him.

It wasn’t your best work, as you were more used to sewing simple dresses, aprons, and occasionally mending things, so it was the first undertaking of a challenge like that. Getting your husband’s measurements in an inconspicuous manor was a struggle as well, leafing through his closet in hopes of finding a note from the tailors.

A light gray suit jacket, something functional he might be able to wear to work if it was taken to an actual tailors and fixed, but after two months of work in your free time, you were quite proud of what you had created. It was something Nanami could hold onto as a gift from his lovely wife.

The next day was the first without him there at all. As you washed the dishes, all you could think about was calling him, though you knew he would be in meetings all day and would call you when he had the chance. But finally that day passed and it became the third, and you were truly grateful he would be home in the morning.

You dressed yourself in a light pink nightgown, it was Nanami’s favorite. The two nights before had been the worst sleep you’d gotten in a very long time, missing Nanami’s weight behind you while he wrapped his arms around your waist. You sighed, pulling it off and hanging it up again, instead opting for one of Nanami’s sleeping shirts, one that was just worn by him briefly before he left. He would be home soon afterall, it would be a waste to wear it just for yourself.

You put your hair up, sinking into bed. It only reminded you of that conversation the two of you had right after your marriage, trying to decide where the two of you would sleep. However, cuddling always seemed to dictate your spot on the bed, so neither the left nor the right side felt correct to lay on after all those months. You sprawled yourself out in the middle laying on your side, pushing a few pillows next to your back and taking Nanami’s to your face, and coupled with the shirt, it smelled just like him.

Just as you were about to fall asleep, the phone finally rang, and you hurriedly picked it up. “Hello? Kento?” you asked, waiting to hear his voice. “Y/n, I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier,” he spoke, you could hear his heavy breaths through the speaker. “We were with the clients all day, I don’t think I’ll be doing this again if I can avoid it,” he voice was scratchy and tired. “I missed you, Kento,” you tried to speak quietly yourself, focusing on the sound coming from him. “I miss you too, my love,” he smiled hearing your words, even if he couldn’t see your face. “They had us turn in our phones, for confidentiality reasons,” he explained. “Makes sense, you’ll be back tomorrow?” you turned to lay on your back, holding the phone to your ear. “Yes, probably around 10:30,” he let out a long sigh. “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” you smiled, knowing your husband and you were tired. “I’ll stay on the phone until you fall asleep, how about that?” he asked as you put the phone on speaker mode and set it on the nightstand.

He started talking about his plane trip, and the struggle the group had when trying to find the hotel, they barely made it to the first meeting with the business representatives. By the third time he asked if you were still awake, you were sound asleep, he could hear your soft breathing through the phone. “Goodnight, my love, I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered, before hanging up. Smiling to himself in the hotel room, he finished packing up his things for the early flight out, including the picture of the two of you he brought with and sat on his desk.

When he finally got home, it was Saturday. Your gift was already wrapped and set on the table in the living room, and the house was already clean from the day before. Of course with the combination of your tiredness, and being used to sleeping in late on the weekends, it almost lead to your absence at the door when Nanami walked in.

You ran to the door, Nanami walking in promptly at 10:30, and assisted him with his bags as if nothing was unusual. His smile remained as he eyed you, having not seen his cute little housewife in three whole days. More specifically, though, was the way you stood there, wearing his shirt. It was long enough to be a short dress for you, loosely covering your body as you greeted him with a soft smile and quick apology. “I’m so glad you’re back, Kento,” you helped him with his things as he hung up his coat. Nanami smirked, moving his hand to your cheek as he leaned down. “What a perfect surprise, my love,” he motioned to your outfit. Your face flushed bright red as you avoided his eyes, about to speak, though that was shortly cut off with a kiss. “I’m sorry, I slept in on accident,” you started, “your gift is on the table, I’ll go change,” he stopped you from moving.

“I quite like it, actually,” his hand moved down to intertwine with yours. “I’ve never seen you wear my shirts before,” he opened the box on the table, moving the paper from on top of the jacket.

“It’s not perfect, but I tried to make it to your measurements,” you muttered shyly, as he held it in his hands. “To think you’ve been working on this all this time,” he put the jacket on over his usual button up. “It fits quite well,” you always loved how your husband looked in a suit, and it was no different wearing this. “Should I take it to the tailors?” you asked, as he stared at the embroidery on the inside of the jacket. “I think it’s perfect, thank you, my love,” he pulled you against his chest.

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled. “I seem to have a new favorite garment, it came just in time,” he remarked, loosening his tie and folding the jacket back up. “Since I have that time off, we should go somewhere and show this off,” Nanami grabbed your hand, starting to walk towards the bedroom. “Though, right now, I’d just like to spend time with you, my love.”

“I’m curious, why the change in outfit?” he asked once you entered the room. “Because… I missed you,” you mumbled, “and it smells good, like you.” Nanami gave you a smirk, picking up his pillow from where it laid in the middle of the bed. “And my pillow too, hmm?” you covered your face with your hand, embarrassed. “Well if you like my scent so much, I can certainly do something about that,” he chuckled, pulling you into a hug.

#nanami x reader #jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento #jjk nanami #kento nanami #kento #nanami

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elsfairy · 1 year

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ᥫ᭡ HOLD ME WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH ─ 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓

Violet hasn’t been able to trust herself with anyone since coming back from Stillwater. She kept to herself, and only spoke to people when she really needed to, but other than that, she avoided any type of friendship and form of romance that she could. Simply to protect her feelings, emotions, vulnerability, and trust.

When she arrived home, it was different. Of course, everything was going to be different, she’s missed out on so many things over the years from being confined in a small space to looking at the same 4 walls for such a long period of time. She didn’t have that strive in her to find the people who knew what she looked like, what she sounded like, or who loved her. She wanted to seal herself off, not let anyone in and know her, the real her again.

What was the point of trying so hard to build up that relationship with someone when people would either hate you for ‘leaving’ or for completely falling off the face of the earth?

How would she gain the trust of those who cared & loved her again?

No one tried to search for her when she left, so why should she search for that little part of the care that was still there before she was gone?

It was simple, really. She couldn’t.

Vi felt like she didn’t deserve that second chance, because she pretty much became a ghost.

Until she spotted you the second she found herself cramming her way into the very crowded Last Drop.

To her, you were like a shining star. A star that couldn’t be brought down no matter how many rude customers you had to endure, or had to throw out. You were still fuckin’ smiling your way through your job. Had to break up a fight between two idiots arguing over something so pointless yet so big to them? She felt weak in the knees that you were still so polite and kind towards the two strangers. Wasn’t feeling the best? Vi envied how you pushed through without complaints. You were that light energy she didn’t even realize she was looking for until you had looked at her, waved her over and simply poured her a drink with a soft, gentle “on the house”

Simply & constantly believed that she didn’t think she deserved that second chance right?

You could see how.. disconnected she felt even though Zaun was is her home. Sure she would sit there and listen to you talk about what your day consisted of, and if anything exciting had happened but she wasn’t fully there. It was always like her body and brain weren’t even on the best terms because while she was there with you, it was like her soul had left and she was just.. a broken shell and had nothing going for her.

Over the weeks of getting to somewhat know the Violet you’ve heard about, you truly did realize how much she turned off at the mention of friends she once knew, or walked off at the mere mention of Powder. She didn’t wanna hear about how she let them down, nor did she want to relieve the pain she felt knowing she couldn’t protect them hard enough as so many would put it. Talking about it only made her feel shitter and want to crawl deeper into the dark pit she can never seem to fully crawl out from.

Realistically, it didn’t take her that long to open up to you, nor did it take her long to finally have her trust put into someone that she knew would keep it. Of course she was still skeptical if you were there to stay, but not having someone she could call for advice, or to just sit there and listen to her, drained her. Her social battery without being very social was killing her and to know she finally had you, someone she felt safe with to call somewhat home? That meant more to her than you’d ever know.

The time window was small, but big enough whenever she needed you. She needed you like butter needed bread. She needed you like paper needs glue. If you weren’t around, Violet would panic. Not because she felt harmed or scared of Zaun, but more or so was scared to be left alone with the thoughts only you knew about. The ones that slither in at random times of the day. Ones that crept up on her when she finally felt at peace for just a second. Your bright smile, those star shining eyes kept all of those horrendous thoughts spiralling through her mind, at a distance.

She may not have been around you for long periods of time, but she trusted you.

She might be scared to let you know of all the sacred stories she has to tell, but she believed you.

Violet believed you when you once on a cold night, whispered those 4 soft words; “I’m here for you”

That’s how one night she felt like she world was slowly closing in on her, she felt like breathing wasn’t an option because she simply couldn’t feel her heartbeat due to the feeling that all those thoughts, all the trauma, and the feeling of being alone, attacking her any given chance. Which is the same night she somehow turned up at your small apartment, drenched from the rain, teeth chattering as she just looked at you with those soft, big doe eyes, and eye bags that were darker than your usual cup of tea. It wasn’t until you heard how tired she sounded, that you could feel just how broken she felt.

“You’ve given me all this attention that I don’t think I deserve, you’ve helped me heal slowly and you’ve been there when I thought I lost everyone so I'm begging you, just for tonight… no talking, no thinking, can you just hold me instead? please i just need you to hold me.. because I’m scared I’m forgetting what being held felt like”

Right now she’s not okay, but as time goes on she will heal and you’ll be there every step of the way. Even if that means holding her every single night while she cries her heart out to you, and you’re there listening. She’ll knows she will be okay, with you by her side.

Her home.

#hi #vi x reader #vi x you #vi fluff #vi angst #vi arcane #vi fic #arcane violet #violet arcane

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tkaulitzlvr · 1 year

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THE WRONG WAY - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom hasn’t been paying you enough attention lately, and, when you finally snap, he can’t understand where you are coming from, until you reach your breaking point. can the issues between you and him be resolved?

content: angst

a/n: pulled this out of my ass lol, i had to rush it because i’m in the middle of another req but it’s nowhere near done after like three hours of writing so i’ll have to finish and post it tomorrow. sorry if there are mistakes, i only proofread veryyy briefly cause i’m so tired rn😭 hope this is okay tho!!

"you don't love me."

i voice the harsh words to the silent room, clearly and with every sense of belief behind my statement. to my discomfort, saying it out loud does not make me feel any more at ease, in fact seeing the way tom’s entire body breaks for a second, processing what i had just said, before trying to cover the hurt on his face up, only suffocates me even more. the lump in my throat only gets bigger, the tension in the air thickening by the second.

"wow." he begins, shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around how i could even come to that conclusion. "that’s an awful accusation." he glances at me, his eyes already glossy, giving me enough of an idea on how much i have hurt him by uttering those four words. however i stick to it, figuring that it is too late to back out now. within me, behind all the anger, all the upset, i feel that it is true. i sense that he no longer feels the same way he did when he met me, all those years ago, the love within his eyes slowly diminishing until it is now long gone.

"and also." he speaks, leaning forward and looking directly into my eyes, staying in his position spread on the end of the other couch. "it's not true. you know it isn't."

the pressure of his gaze leaves me unable to hold eye contact with him, looking away sheepishly into my lap, hoping that somehow the ground could swallow me up. i grit my teeth, locking my jaw in anger, feeling no reassurance from his quick denial of my statement. so i decide to challenge him, standing my ground despite the nausea only growing within me. though his voice seems somewhat certain, i refuse to believe that i am making it up, that it is all in my head. "do i though tom?"

my eyes meet his, except the ones looking into me are foreign. they are angry, a glint of hostility present within them that i had not yet witnessed, this change taking me aback, yet i refuse to look away. he is sad. those eyes, past the resentment in them, i see pain. i see sorrow. i have upset him, far beyond what he intends to let out. he is usually strong, and perhaps right now he thinks that he is keeping this up, yet i can read him like a book, the way his left brow furrows, creating a crease along his forehead, the way his eyes cannot focus on one thing, darting around the room, i can see that he is struggling. and whilst part of me hurts with him, hating to put him through any sort of distress, i need it right now. because i am tired of feeling unloved and unappreciated - regardless of whether tom intends to make me feel this way or not.

he shakes his head, scoffing slightly in disbelief, letting out a shaky sigh, before speaking up, his voice loud, in contrast to the silent room. "what, so i've been lying every single time i’ve told you that i love you, over the past six years that we've been together? mind you, i say that every day, without fail."

i stay silent, my eyes becoming glossy as they quickly tear away from his. he takes my silence as a cue to continue, my sudden belief that he does not love me angering him as he desperately seeks to remind me of every reason why i am in the wrong. "don't i do everything for you? make sure that you're always safe, give you my everything-"

"give me your money, you mean." i reply, cutting him off. i don’t want to seem ungrateful - i appreciate the way tom would spend any amount of money on me if it made me happy. i am thankful for the house he has given me, the vacations he takes me on, the things he buys me, but those things are not the reasons why i fell in love with him. i fell for tom kaulitz. not his money, not his fame, not his profession. i fell for who he is, for him as a person, whether he is rich or poor, yet it feels that day by day i lose a small part of that. i have always understood that his job means that he will be away a lot, but it is hard to be in a relationship with someone that can't always be there, only their fortunes can.

"i’m grateful for what you do for me, really i am, but i'd much rather have time with you than the latest gucci bag, or the newest chanel perfume. if it meant that i would have to live with nothing for the rest of my life, i would do it. don't you understand? i want you - not your money tom! i don't need you to apologise with gifts when i don’t see you all day, i just...i need you." i am desperate, craving for him to hear me out, to understand that it is him that i need, but the way he looks at me in confusion shows me that i am not going to achieve that.

"i thought you liked the things i buy for you. have you been lying?" he completely ignores the point that i have been trying to make, this only fuelling the frustration within me as i exhale shakily, quickly grasping onto the opportunity to argue my point once again.

"i do but that's not the point tom! i like them because i feel like it's all i get from you!" my voice is raising, something which i did not want to happen. shouting never solves the problem, however right now i am far too angry to care. "i just want some of your time, to feel like you actually care! when you're with me, you're here physically, but your mind is always elsewhere. i just miss you. i need to you be mine again, i-"

"look, i’m sorry okay?" he begins, harshly cutting me off and matching the volume in my voice. "i'm sorry that my job is more demanding than others, i’m sorry that it needs a lot of my attention, but i told you this from the beginning. my career is a big part of who i am and things aren't always easy. they get hard, they get tough, but-"

"that's my problem! when things get hard for you, i don't fucking know about it! because you shut me out, every. single. time. i'm your girlfriend, tom. i want to know about your life, i want to help you, but you always run away from me! you spoil me with gifts and money to compensate for every fucking time you leave me in the dark! i don't want it anymore. i just want you to communicate!" i move from the couch, walking to the middle of the room and standing a few feet away from him. his eyes are glued to me, watching my every step, and he is listening to me this time. "am i such a headache to be around, that you can't talk to me? that you can't deal with spending time with me, so instead you spend your money to try and shut me up, because you have so much that no matter what you buy, it doesn't affect you?"

"don't." he voices shakily as i stare into his eyes, his expression more wounded than ever. my words stab into him, hitting him harder than i had anticipated. his fists clench against his thighs, holding every ounce of frustration. though we have argued in the past, i have never seen him this upset, regardless of whether he intends to show it visibly or not. "you know that i don't think of you that way, even for a second. so stop."

"you can't blame me for thinking it tom." i shrug. "you leave me out of everything, i have no idea what's going on in your life anymore-"

“because i'm trying to fucking protect you!" he interrupts, raising his voice once again. his hand slams against the arm of the couch, the sudden contact causing me to wince slightly. "i'm sorry if you feel like i'm hiding things from you. but i know parts of my life would just stress you out and hurt you. don't you get that? i'm trying to save you from the pain-"

"i want the fucking pain!" i fire back. "we are supposed to be in a relationship. do you know what that means? i want to suffer with you. i would choose that, a million times over, if it meant that i could be with you for another day. i want every part of you, the sad, the happy, the angry, i want it all. can't you see that i need you? i hate being left in the dark. i absolutely fucking hate it.”

my voice pierces through his ears, diminishing the tense silence as tom gulps, clenching his jaw and leaning forwards, pinching his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. the rash and quick responses don’t allow me time to calm down, my eyes becoming glossy with tears, the salty liquid staining my cheeks before i can try to hold them back, my weakness just as evident as tom’s. the pain, the upset, the lack of affection that have been feeling all spills out, reeling outwards from within me as i let it out, no longer attempting to hold back.

he looks up, his face softening as he takes in my hurt expression. he has never seen me like this, so broken, and the fact that he is the cause of this pains him even more, his mind coming to the slow realisation that it is up to him to fix this. although he doesn’t fully understand how i could possibly believe that he does not love me, he wants to try, to try and see from my eyes. he lets out a shaky sigh, swallowing nervously before looking into my eyes.

"i would rather feel the sadness, suffer with you." i begin, my voice small as the tears quickly take away my physical strength. "i would do absolutely anything if it means that you will love me, that you will do it with me, tom."

"i don't live a normal life, and i just want to keep you away from the crazy things." he speaks slowly, trying to reason with me, refusing to turn his gaze away from mine. "some people want to hurt me, and i would never forgive myself if someone ever did anything to harm you."

i try to wipe my tears and calm my breathing, wrapping my arms around my small frame in an attempt to comfort myself, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the situation. but my mind acknowledges tom’s change in tone. not only is he more gentle and calm, he also seems sorry, like he now recognises where he went wrong.

"what do you want me to do?" he whispers, defeated as his tired eyes meet mine. he is no longer angry. he is desperate, longing to resolve this. "i'll do anything. i- i can't lose you. you're my world, schatz, and i'm sorry if i haven't shown it, but you are everything to me."

though there are millions of things i could say, i stay silent, standing still across the room. my heart clenches painfully, hurting at the sight of him so distraught, as his mind considers the dreaded idea of what losing me would be like. his world is crumbling before him, the one thing he seeks to protect seeming to slip through his fingers. i have never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so desperate, and whilst it comforts me to know that he is slowly letting down the walls that have prevented me from truly being with him, it saddens me to see him in such a distraught state.

"all i've ever wanted is to keep you safe. to keep you happy, liebe, because if you're happy then so am i. but you deserve more than this." he points to himself angrily, letting out a shaky sigh. "more than this fucking idiot, who doesn't even know how to love. i’m so sorry if i've done it the wrong way and made you feel like i don't care. because you shouldn't for a second think that i don't love you."

everything that i have been craving to see is happening in front of me. i have longed to see him open up, to break down the barriers that separate us both physically and mentally. i don’t want him to be strong all the time, and it hurts that he feels he has to be. the tears fall from my bloodshot eyes once again - this time out of sadness for him. i hurt with him, hating to see him so upset, but i understand his pain, his anger, and i feel every emotion along with him. for the first time in forever, i feel connected with him.

after a few moments of silence, he stands up, slowly walking towards me. i refuse to meet his gaze, fearing that i will break down once again i realise how hurt he truly is, and looking into his eyes will certainly display every emotion amongst his beautiful features. his hand brushes tenderly against my cheek, wiping a fresh tear that had fallen. he reaches towards my chin, using his pointer finger to angle my face upwards so it meets with his eyes. he towers over me, taking in the sorrow etched upon my face, before tucking the loose strands of hair behind my ears, gently caressing my cheek with his lips slightly parted, shaky breaths escaping from them.

"please, look at me." he whispers, gazing longingly into my eyes. i comply, shifting my own eyes to the deep brown ones in front of me. they are full of adoration, and i feel the man that i fell in love with slowly coming back to me. "i love you, so so much, please believe me schatz. you are the most important person in my life, and i am so sorry that i've made you feel the opposite way." he chokes up, his voice shaky as i can tell he is on the verge of tears.

i listen to him, allowing every word to sink in, as it is now no longer hard to trust what he says. i feel what i have been desperate to - love. i feel truly appreciated, like i am able to confide in him like i once could. though frustrated it took the both of us to get to this state to make him speak his mind, i appreciate him opening up, his apology making up for the lost time. there is no shame in being fragile, and through his entire conversation, we have both learned this, a new found appreciation for each other gained as i feel safe again.

"don't feel like you have to keep things to yourself. i’m your girlfriend, i'm supposed to be here for you, and i'll gladly do it, but you have to talk to me." i respond, lacing my hand with his. a soft smile spreads across his face, contrasting with his bloodshot eyes whilst he slowly nods.

"i hear you. i’m so sorry baby. i love you." he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug as his hands lace together around my waist. he lets out a sob onto my shoulder, my heart breaking at the sound. he clutches onto me tighter as if i may slip away, my own eyes tearing up once again. it has been a while since i felt like this. i feel loved, and it is all that i have ever wanted from the start.

he slowly pulls away, resting his forehead against mine and looking into my eyes through his eyelashes. after a few seconds, he leans inwards, until his lips touch mine. the kiss is gentle, carrying every promise to love and cherish me like he has failed to do, and i gladly accept it, kissing back quickly and wrapping my arms around his neck. he pulls away, planting a few pecks on my lips once again, his breath shaky as the remnants of tears stick to his cheeks. i slowly wipe them away, not breaking eye contact as i do so, gently caressing the soft skin until any trace of sadness is lost within our newfound love for each other.

a soft smile graces his lips, failing to wither as he kisses me once again, the same amount of passion as the last, making up for the lost affection as i feel more treasured than ever. this is all I have ever wanted, to feel like he cares, and now that i am feeling his affection, my mind is oozing with contentment, the feeling almost foreign it has been so long.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #kaulitz twins #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year

Note

AITA for calling the cops (twice, kind of) on someone in a car who swerved at me on the side of the road?

(Disclaimer: I hate cops. But I felt extremely threatened and wasn't going to let this go without something happening.)

I am a high school student and have not yet gotten my license, and therefore cannot drive alone. To get to school I ride an electric scooter, it looks a bit stupid as a high schooler but it is the only way possible for me to get to school on time. (I have a class before school in the morning, and both parents have work.) I've been doing this for over three years and have had no problems until recently.

Two or three weeks ago, I was on my way home from school. I noticed a car approaching from behind, and moved to the very edge of the road as I would normally. I was literally in the gutter on the side of the road, nowhere near where cars would be. This car, however, then sped up rapidly and swerved within 2-3 feet of hitting me. Probably not trying to actually hit me, but clearly trying to scare me or something of the sort. The person in the passenger seat was screaming the whole time.

The car sped off (I should mention that the speed limit on this road is 25 mph, and the car was going at least 50-60 mph) and after standing in shock for a moment I followed them home since they apparently lived in my neighborhood. I caught two teenage boys leaving the car, and asked if they had been in that car and had swerved at me on the road. They denied everything and went inside the house.

I went home and after a short while, came back with my father to back me up. Asshole move from me, I know, but he insisted on going in case the boys decided to get violent. I made him wait a short distance back, then rang the doorbell. Waited for a while, no answer. They were clearly still inside; the car was still parked on the road nearby and I hadn't been gone for long.

When they didn't answer, I then went home and called the police. I gave them the license plate number and the guy's address, and they said there had been reports of him speeding and being reckless before. The cops went to the house and yelled at them, and I thought it was over then. I most certainly did not want to press the issue any further, the shock and adrenaline was wearing off at this point and I just wanted to be done.

But several days later, I was sent screenshots of the driver of that car spreading hate about me on Snapchat for getting him in trouble. Now this is kind of difficult to explain, but I am unfortunately somewhat well known for riding an electric scooter to school. But up until this point, people just were aware of my existence. After the Snapchat posts and messages about me were spread, all of that turned into pure hate. Every time I was seen with that stupid scooter, people would scream that they wished I would fall and stuff like that. None of this had happened before, and I was (and am) miserable and scared. I don't feel safe anywhere around school because this is still ongoing.

I also tried to contact him via Instagram messages, to which he did not respond. That was three times that I attempted to contact him: first by following him as he was getting out of the car, second by ringing the doorbell, and third by messaging him.

Two days ago, I got my mom to pull me out of school early because I was feeling like crap after some particularly bad harassment in the morning. In the office as I was asking to sign out, I started crying in front of the school police officer, and she asked for the full story. I told her about the online posts and the catcalling and harassment I dealt with every day, and she took it very seriously. I didn't want her to do anything really, but she did anyway (I'm not upset about this honestly, it was probably a good thing). She said that the patrol officers usually didn't do much about stuff like this, but she could and would do a lot more.

She pulled the guy out of his class after I had left to go home, and in her words "put the fear of God in that kid"; telling him he should have lost his license and that since he was 18 he could face real consequences and go to jail for stuff like this. He has been told that he has to stay at least three feet away from me at all times.

Since then, he hasn't said anything to me in person, and hasn't posted anything publicly online. I still don't feel safe at school or anywhere in the area, but I've been taking an alternate route to try to avoid being seen and yelled at as much.

Am I the asshole? I honestly think we both might be, but I do feel somewhat justified by the fact that he at least got some sort of consequence for threatening my life like that and causing that level of problem.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 1 year

Text

Early Retirement

Summary: Izzy washes up on a beach after leaving the Revenge and rowing through a storm. Luckily for him, a kindhearted stranger took it upon themselves to take him in and nurse him back to health. Maybe even give him a new home.

Word Count: 6478

It’s cold. Too cold.

It seeped down into his bones and settled there until he couldn’t feel his limbs, he couldn’t feel anything other than that debilitating cold. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but darkness, the salt stinging them. His lungs burnt in their attempt to suck in air but received nothing but water.

Then everything just…disappeared.

The amount of time that passed was a mystery to Izzy but when he came back to consciousness, it was warm. It felt like his body had thawed out, limbs heavy but at least he could feel them now.

His heavy eyelids blinked open, the sunlight coming in through a window making him wince. Everything had a slight blur to it but he could make out that he was in a bedroom, one that he definitely didn’t recognise. He was tucked into a bed, pillows cradling his head and plush bedding cocooning his body, his injured foot elevated on a pile of cushions.

The last thing he could remember was…the sea. Fuck. He had left the Revenge after Stede’s return, at least being allowed the dignity to make that decision himself. A freak storm had rolled in when he was half way to reaching land in his rowboat. It ripped his little boat to shreds and the ocean had pulled him beneath the waves.

He had barely even fought it when it happened. Izzy had always known this would be how he went, at the mercy of the sea, better than the end of a sword. Men like him didn’t get peaceful deaths, he accepted that a long time ago.

Yet, here he was and it was too warm and soft to be Hell.

As his senses returned to him he focused on a smell that wafted up from somewhere else in the house, it was something savoury, something warm and comforting.

He wasn’t alone then. It made sense, of course, but it still put him on edge.

Izzy tried to pull himself up from the bed but it felt like his body was weighed down and his foot throbbed when he tried to move it. With a grunt, he fell back down onto the bed. He could barely move, he’d need a proper plan before he flung himself out of bed.

Before he could try to move again, the door to the bedroom he was cooped up in opened. “You’re awake,” you smiled warmly, “how are you feeling?”

The pale, ragged, looking man in your guest bed was glaring at you. You were sure he would be threatening if he didn’t look like he just crawled out of an ocean grave.

“Where am I?” he questioned accusingly.

“Somewhere safe,” you assured him, ignoring his hostility as you crossed the room.

He hesitated, watching you cautiously. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, he was in a strange place and somewhat incapacitated.

“What happened?”

You sighed. “You washed up on the beach a few days ago. Saw you on a morning walk, thought you were dead by the look of you. Nearly scared the life out of me when you breathed,” you told him honestly.

“Days?” Perhaps his surprise would have been a little more audible if his voice wasn’t so scratchy. His wide eyes conveyed it enough though.

“Your foot is injured but it was wrapped so I assume you know that. You had an infection, have been in and out of consciousness with a fever for the last four days. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it,” you informed him.

“So you just happened upon me, dragged me back to your home, and nursed me back to health?” He was suspicious of you and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“The doctor got some men to help haul you up from the beach and stopped you from dying on us, he left some medication, but then just left me to it.”

“Where are my things?” It was only then, as he shifted on the bed, that he realised he was only wearing his smalls under the blankets.

“For somebody who just avoided death, you are awfully quizzical,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything that survived your little swim is safely stored in another room. I’m generous enough to try to help a stranger but not naive enough to let them have blades on them. I’ll bring you your clothes now that you’re awake and a pair of linen pants, they’ll be easier to get on and more comfortable than those leathers you washed up in.”

“So you know I could be dangerous?” Izzy squinted at you. You know he was dangerous but taking the chance anyway only made him more suspicious. People didn’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts, especially for people who they thought were dangerous.

“No offence but when a man washes up on the shore, armed to the teeth and clad in black leathers, I don’t assume they’re just a travelling merchant,” you rolled your eyes.

“This happen a lot?” he asked sarcastically. At least he was well enough to give you some snark.

“Nope, you’re my first,” you shrugged, smirking slightly. “So, what do I call you?” you asked.

“None of your business,” Izzy growled, though it came out weak and scratchy.

“Well, you’re in my home but okay,” you rolled your eyes at him, as if he wasn’t a threat. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t much of a threat right now.

Izzy frowned, but his glare remained hard on you. “Who are you?”

“You tell me and I’ll tell you, for now you can just call me…your guardian angel,” you offered, making him scowl. “Anyway, you’re looking a lot brighter than when you washed up. You should be able to keep solid foods down now, so I made some healing stew special for you. Oh, and the bread just came out the oven this morning.”

Before Izzy could question you further, you had waltzed out of the room.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to return though, this time entering the room with a tray balanced on your hip. You walked up to his bedside, placing the tray down on the table beside his bed.

The tray held a bowl of stew, a couple slices of bread, a mug of herbal tea, and a glass of water.

Izzy just glared at the tray as you took a step back.

“Look, I’m not holding you hostage. If you want to leave, you can, but have some common sense and stay put for a while. Your foot was inflamed when you showed up, the doctor had to shave down the bone and redo the stitches. You need to rest it if you want it to heal properly,” you chastised him.

The man frowned, looking down at his foot. You saw the pain in his eyes and it made your voice soften. “Doctor said you’ll be able to move around in a couple of days if you use a crutch, then you’ll just have to use a cane. Once it’s healed though, he said it probably won’t affect your movement or balance at all.”

“You sure?” he dared to be hopeful.

“The doctor seems pretty sure. But you have to follow orders if you want it to heal properly. So you can’t go hobbling around looking for your ship just yet.”

He squinted at you, suspicions returning at full force. “What do you know about my ship?”

“Relax. I don’t know anything. I’m just not stupid, I figured you’re a pirate,” you shrugged.

Apparently, that only made him more suspicious of you. “And you still risked taking me in?” You had to have ulterior motives, it’s the only thing that made sense.

“You gonna kill me?”

“No. Not if you don’t give me a reason too.”

“Rob me.”

“No, unless I kill you.”

“...take me hostage and sell me?”

“No…”

Izzy sighed. You were right, he wasn’t a threat right now and even if he was, he had no intentions on hurting you unless you gave him a reason too.

“Then it looks like we’re safe,” you smiled, like you had just sorted some problem out. “Eat, I’ll be back soon to collect your dishes and change your bandages,” you ordered lightly before leaving the room again.

The next time you returned it was to take away his dirty dishes. He had emptied the bowl, having not realised how hungry he had been until he took that first bite. He would probably be able to eat more but knew better than to risk it, too much too soon could have him bringing it all back up.

You had brought some supplies with you to change the bandages on his foot. He had glared at you the whole time, as if expecting you to do something to purposely hurt him. You didn’t though. Instead, you handled his foot and ankle delicately, cleaned the wound as carefully as you could and rebandaged it. Working diligently, only speaking when you were apologising for something you couldn’t help or asking him if the bandages were too tight.

The rest of the day went much like that. He didn’t speak whenever you came into the room to bring him food or take away empty plates, and you didn’t try to engage him in conversation, just polite small talk before leaving again.

The next morning, Izzy woke up to you bringing him another tray of food. “Morning,” you greeted him, placing the tray down beside him. “Made you some breakfast, have to keep your strength up.”

Izzy tried to sit up, making himself wince. You moved quickly, helping him shift into a comfortable sitting position. His whole body still ached but the comfortable bed was helping, he couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if he had been recovering on his little cot back on the Revenge.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, sounding like you genuinely wanted to know, weren’t just being polite.

“Like my boat wrecked,” Izzy mumbled, letting you settle the tray over his lap.

“Well, that’s to be expected. You look better than you did yesterday already, that’s a good sign,” you encouraged. “I’ll be around, have some things to tend to, but just shout if you need something.” Izzy only nodded before you were out the door again.

The next few days went very much the same but with each passing day, Izzy could feel his strength coming back. He could sit up perfectly fine on his own, had even stood once, only to fall back down when his injured foot touched the floor. He could feel himself recovering, the room was comfortable and the food was good. He supposed he shouldn’t complain but…he was feeling cooped up, trapped, useless.

Izzy lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard movement outside his window. It was probably nothing of interest but even that was appealing to him right now.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing his weight against the bedside table as he stood on his uninjured foot. He kept the wounded foot from touching the floor as he hobbled towards the window.

It was morning, you had just taken his breakfast dishes from his room, and the weather outside was bright. He looked out over the garden.

From what he could make out, he was on the second floor of a cottage, no other residences in sight.

From his window, he could see your garden where you were tending to your chickens. Tossing feed out for them. He lent against the window frame to support his weight and just watched.

You wiped your hands on your apron once you were finished tending to your chickens, looking up to see your guest in the window of the guest bedroom.

Izzy felt his face heating up, a shame building in his chest as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But you just smiled brightly and waved at him, silently noting to yourself to chastise him for moving around without support.

Izzy scowled at you from his position, perched on the edge of his bed.

“Here you go,” you presented him with the wooden crutch the doctor had given you for him. “Think you can manage?” you kept your hands out, as if ready to catch him if he fell, as he pulled himself to his feet, letting the crutch take the weight off of his bad foot.

“I’ve used a crutch before,” he grumbled, determined to be able to be properly independent again.

“Just making sure,” you were still watching him closely, hands hovering around him as you moved out of his way.

Rolling his eyes at you, Izzy gave the crutch a test run, using it to walk across the room without grabbing at tables and walls. You just nodded to yourself, satisfied that he was adjusting well to it.

“Listen, now you move around more by yourself but don’t take the piss,” you scolded, surprising him a little. “You still need to rest, to stay off of your foot as much as possible. Okay?”

As much as he wanted to scoff and dismiss you, he could tell you were serious.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously, just accept some help, alright?” you found yourself rolling your eyes at him again, you had lost count of how many times you had done so since this man could hold a conversation again. Still, you found you did it with a little fondness.

Now that Izzy had started using his crutch, he could move around your cottage, moving up and down the stairs with your help. He insisted that he didn’t need your help but you wouldn’t let him near the narrow staircase unless you were with him.

At least that meant he could come downstairs and sit in the living room or the kitchen instead of being locked away in his room all alone, he could even go and sit outside and get some fresh air.

He was currently in the living room, you had left him in front of the fire with a selection of books to choose from, while you finished cleaning up in the kitchen. You had just put the last of the dishes away when you heard hissed cursing coming from the other room.

Tossing the rag down, you rushed into the living room to find Izzy standing, gripping the back of the couch with one hand and clutching his crutch with another. The pain was etched on his face.

“Alright, come on,” you spoke softly, with care, as you hurried to his side.

You took hold of his arm, listening to him complain as you encouraged him to lean some weight against you. Still, he let you guide him back to the couch and sit him down.

Once he was sitting and you had placed the crutch to the side, you knelt down in front of him and pulled his wounded foot into your lap.

He had knocked it against something when he was walking around and when you unwrapped the bandages you saw that it was a little red but looked perfectly fine otherwise. He hadn’t broken any of the stitches, he wasn’t bleeding, it didn’t look too irritated. Thankfully, he was still on the mend.

“You have to take it easy, be careful and don’t over do it,” you sighed. Something about this man told you that he wasn’t used to sitting idle for long.

“I’m fine. Just knocked it,” he insisted petulantly.

“Yeah, well…just be careful. Once the bandages come off for good and you can put proper weight on your foot again, you’ll be able to get around with just a cane.”

“And then I’ll have outstayed my welcome,” Izzy nodded like he was agreeing with something.

“What? No!” you frowned, sitting back on your heels. “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

Izzy blinked at you, face contorting in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I’m kind and you’ve been a decent guest so far,” you shrugged, like it was truly that simple and that true, standing and brushing off your knees. “Now, sit still for once and I’ll fetch you some tea,” you ordered and, well, Izzy could follow orders, couldn’t he.

You were just about to leave the room, just about to cross the threshold, when he spoke up.

“My name is Izzy.”

You paused in the doorway, taking a moment to make sure you had heard him correctly. You turned back to him with a smile, all soft and sweet in a way that warmed him from the inside out.

“Izzy,” you repeated, testing the word on your tongue. Izzy found that he liked the sound of it and you decided that you liked the feel of it. “I like it.”

Izzy only nodded when you gave him your own name, still smiling as you disappeared back into the kitchen to prepare that tea for the two of you.

That evening, the two of you enjoyed a soothing tea in front of the fire together.

“I think it makes you look distinguished,” you complimented as you monitored his movements, smiling at how far he had come since you found him half dead in the sand.

“That’s a generous way of saying old,” Izzy rolled his eyes, adjusting his hold on the handle of his new cane. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was simple and sleek, good enough for him in his opinion.

“Absolutely not,” you tutted. “Anyway, you wear the age well so it still wouldn’t be an insult,” you shrugged.

Izzy looked away from you meaningfully, hoping to play it off as casual. “If you say so.”

“You could get a real nice one with a silver handle or something. Oh! You can get one with a hidden knife in it!”

You could just picture holding a sleek but ornate cane, just simple enough to satisfy him. Looking all distinguished and formal until somebody says the wrong thing, looks at him the wrong away, and he unsheathes his hidden blade.

“Huh…that’s not a bad idea, actually,” Izzy hummed, looking at the cane more approvingly this time. Yeah, maybe he could make this work.

Evening tea had become a bit of a routine for the two of you now. Sitting in your cozy living room in front of the fire, blankets over your laps, a cup of tea in your hands, and maybe a book each depending on your mood. It was a pleasant, calming way to end the day.

Izzy kept glancing at you, watching as your eyes followed the lines in your book, lost in the fictional world. He wanted to speak, to get this off of his chest, to take the weight off of your shoulders but…but he found himself worried that saying what he needed to say would take all of this away from him. He liked this, even if it wasn’t a life made for him. He would miss it.

“I’m really able to leave now. I’d find a ship,” he finally managed to speak, to push the words out without faltering.

You paused, lowering your book to look at him. “And I’ve told you, you’re still welcome. I like living out of the way, like the quiet, y’know, but it’s been nice to have you here. You’re interesting and I enjoy your company. Izzy scoffed. “Really, I do,” you insisted.

“Well, you’re probably the only person who does,” he muttered, thumbing at the pages of the book he hadn’t been reading.

“That can’t be true.”

“Apparently, I’m difficult.”

“Okay…yeah, I can see that. But it’s kind of…endearing, you know?” you laughed a little.

Izzy pondered it for a moment, still not really believing it despite how sincere you sounded. “...if you say so.”

“I do,” you didn’t care how many times you needed to reassure him, he needed it and that was all you needed to know. “Anyway, don’t you go worrying about rushing out of here. You can stay as long as you need.”

“You wouldn’t want me here if you knew who I was,” Izzy insisted firmly.

“Well, tell me who you are, Izzy,” you placed your book down, completely forgotten about, so that he could see your full attention was on him. “Tell me, Izzy. It won’t change anything,” you promised.

Izzy sighed, placing his unopened book down as well, refusing to look at you as he spoke. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’ll never know unless you tell me,” you shrugged.

Izzy took a stabling breath but nodded, knowing you were right, that you would probably find out eventually anyway. It would be better if you heard it from him.

“My full name is Israel Hands and you were right about me being a pirate,” he started. For some, that would be enough information.

“...that name is familiar,” you hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember where you heard it. It didn’t sound like a common name and you were certain you didn’t know anyone with the name ‘Hands’, but you had definitely heard the name before somewhere.

“I’m the first mate of Blackbeard,” he added.

For a moment, you could only gape at him. It wasn’t everyday you found out you were housing one of the most infamous pirates of your time.

Izzy waited for the horror or disgust to set in. He knew the stories and tall tales people told, some true and others wildly fabricated. He knew that you had likely heard one or two stories yourself if you recognised his name.

You shook off the surprise but found yourself more confused about how he ended up here. “What is the first mate of Blackbeard doing washing up here with a missing toe?” you asked, not sounding disgusted or afraid of him.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, figuring you didn’t really want to hear it anyway.

“I have the time.”

Izzy was certain that you were just being polite, perhaps even afraid that if you weren’t he would hurt you in some way, but when he looked at you, you were nothing but genuine. Your eyes held the usual care and sincerity that they usually did when they gazed upon him. Your smile was still soft. Like nothing had changed, and maybe it hadn’t.

So, unable to find a reason not to, Izzy told you everything. You just made yourself so easy to talk to. He started from the very beginning because you wanted to know who he was, not just how he ended up here.

He told you of a young boy at the docks sneaking onto a ship, of a cabin boy aboard Captain Hornigold’s ship, of a newly made captain and first mate that still had sparks in their eyes. He told you about the creation and rise of Blackbeard, of the fuckeries, the victories, and the losses. He told you about Queen Anne’s Revenge and of all the years they served her well. He told you of men growing bored and restless, of a ship christened The Revenge. Of the landed gentry come pirates.

He told you a saga of hope and pain that ended in betrayal, desertion, mutilation, reunion, and finally in the enlightenment that had Izzy Hands climbing into a dinghy in the middle of the night. Only two days away from shore. Only one day before a storm that only his previous captain could have predicted.

Izzy told you everything in front of a crackling fire, the warm mug of tea growing cold in his hands. And you listened, like he was somebody worth listening to.

That night, you both fell asleep in the living room. The fire burning out but the blankets draped over you both keeping you warm. For the first time in a long time, neither of you fell asleep alone.

When you woke up the next morning to find the other side of the couch empty and the house silent, you worried. Your talk last night went very well, in your opinion. Izzy had opened up and you had listened, had reassured him when he was finished or doubted himself.

You threw off your blanket and jumped to your feet, heading out the front door. You walked around to the rocks that overlooked the beach, finding him sitting there, looking out at the sea.

You relaxed at the sight of him, reassured that he hadn't run away in the middle of the night. You joined him quietly, he didn’t look up but he seemed to welcome your company.

The two of you watched the sun rise over the horizon but you couldn’t help stealing looks at Izzy’s face, he looked so…content. There was a faint longing in his gaze, lost in his thoughts, but he looked happy, the early morning sun illuminating his face.

“Do you miss it?” you asked, staring out at the gentle water with him.

“Sometimes…” Izzy confessed on a soft exhale. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really. It’s strange being on land. The ground is always so still.”

“Yeah, it tends to be,” you joked a little, catching the way the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in the imitation of a smile.

A beat of silence passed. “I understand if you want me to leave now.” Unfortunately, he kept speaking before you could protest. “My foot is healed enough. The worst that can happen now is that I need the cane for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

This again…you sighed.

“Izzy, I don’t want you to leave.”

“Even when you know who I am?”

“Even then,” you nodded, smiling fondly. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not some violent barbarian that people tell stories about. I’ve known you long enough to know you wouldn’t hurt me and that I’m rather fond of you. My home is open to you for as long as you want it to be,” you promised.

“Kindness gets people killed,” Izzy chastised quietly.

“Lucky thing I have the best swordsman in the Caribbean to protect me then, huh?” you teased, knocking your shoulder against his.

“Yeah…real lucky…” Izzy mumbled out at the ocean.

“So you’re staying?” you asked, not hiding the hope in your voice. Izzy just nodded. “Good, I’m glad,” your smile grew.

“At least for the time being,” he shrugged.

“I’ll just have to make the most of it then, won’t I?” You tried not to roll your eyes at his attempt to play coy. Izzy shook his head at you but found himself smiling despite himself.

“Now come inside and get something to eat,” you patted his shoulder.

Izzy let you help him to his feet and hand him his cane without complaint. He even let you take him by the arm and guide him back into the cottage, though he pretended that he didn’t find the whole thing comforting.

You walked into Izzy’s room, which you had started calling it instead of ‘the guest room’, and found him shaving in front of the mirror.

“Aw, I was likely the scruffy look,” you pouted playfully.

“It’s a fucking nightmate,” Izzy muttered as he shaved his cheeks clean. Now he could stop scratching at the stubble. You just chuckled fondly at him.

“Want me to trim your hair when you’re done?” you offered. His stubble had grown in almost enough to not be considered stubble anymore and his hair had grown as well, you figured he’d want that trimmed back down if he was so particular about his facial hair.

“I can do it myself.”

“I have no doubt. I usually do my own as well, but a little helping hand would do no harm.”

Moving on to neatening around his goatee, Izzy sighed. “Fine…just…”

“I’ll do it exactly the way you want, don’t worry,” you promised him.

“Fine.”

You sat on the bed while Izzy finished shaving and trimming his goatee until it was perfectly neat. Izzy’s stubble had grown in while he was bed bound, so this was your first time seeing him properly groomed the way he liked. Turns out, you liked it too.

He was huffy about it but allowed you to pick up the shears and comb through his hair. You worked slowly, making sure to speak to him and not take it too short. As you spoke and worked, Izzy seemed to relax, trusting you.

You cut his hair back down to the length he preferred but he still hadn’t slicked it back with pomade like he usually did, hadn’t done so since he woke up in this very bedroom. Instead, it hung loose and soft over his ears. It made him look soft, less intense. He supposed it was more suitable for his current living conditions so he tried not to dwell on it too much.

“There you go. You look lovely,” you complimented, running your fingers through his hair and letting it fall, smiling proudly at your handiwork. Izzy scoffed. “Oh just accept it,” you tutted, “you’re all neat and tidy again, all nice and handsome.”

“Christ,” Izzy complained, glaring at your reflection. “I will maim you.”

“Ah, so there is some pirate left in you. Very nice to see,” you teased. “I’ll leave you to keep grooming yourself.”

You could hear him muttering curses to himself as you left the room, giggling to yourself.

Izzy sat at the kitchen island, cane propped up beside him, peeling apples while you worked on making a pastry. “You really need to make a pie?” Izzy questioned, but didn’t slow his work.

“We need to use up the apples somehow or they’re just going to go bad and that would be a waste,” you reminded him. “Anyway, you’ll like it. I make a great apple pie.”

“...you’ll have a high standard to beat,” he warned.

“You’ve made me curious, Izzy,” you looked over at him but he didn’t look like he wanted to talk any further about it, so you didn’t push. “You can tell me another day.”

You continued to make the pie, the fluidity of your actions telling Izzy that you had indeed done this many times. You would give him a task here and there, and he would carry it out diligently. You could imagine him as a first mate, just as diligent on the deck as he was as your sous chef.

Izzy watched you plate up two slices of freshly baked pie. “Here, have a slice while it’s still warm,” you placed a plate in front of him. “Cream?”

“Sure,” Izzy nodded and poured some over his slice before joining him, sitting beside him. Izzy took a spoonful of pie and brought it up to his mouth before pausing and scowling at you. “Stop fucking watching me like that.”

“I want to know if you like it,” you whined.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he huffed.

“No you wouldn’t. You’d mumble ‘yeah, it’s fine’ even if it was the best thing you had ever eaten.”

Izzy fought back his smile, knowing you were right. “I promise to tell you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Fine,” you sighed heavily, dramatically. “If you insist.” No, you weren’t pouting.

But you also didn’t watch him eat, and that was enough to satisfy him. “Okay, yeah…” Izzy sighed after swallowing his second bite. “This is good,” he praised.

“Thank you,” you grinned, bright and proud, before digging into your own slice.

Izzy just chuckled and shook his head at you, going back to enjoying his pie.

Izzy slows his chewing when a thought dawns on him. This was all so…domestic, the way you moved around each other, shared the space together. He didn’t think he’d ever be sitting in a kitchen of a cute cottage, eating a pie that was made for him by his…fuck, he needed to shake off that thought immediately.

His what? His carer? The person who took him in when he was on death’s door, who took pity on him.

“We could go for a walk later, maybe even down to town if you feel up to it. Give that cane a proper test run,” you suggested between bites.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“But I swear, if I see a single flinch or hesitation in your steps, we are turning around and coming right back home.” You didn’t come off as a threatening person, you were rarely stern with him, but he knew you were being serious about this.

Maybe he was focusing on the wrong part of your warning but…

Home.

You talked about it like it was both your home and his home, a home you shared. Like it could be his home. Could this be his home? Fuck.

“Sounds good,” Izzy nodded.

Izzy had allowed himself to grow too comfortable, he only realised that when the worries seeped back in. He had grown used to your home, your presence. He didn’t like change, never had, and a lot of things had changed lately but the two of you had developed a bit of a routine that helped calm his nerves. Now it felt like it was all changing again.

You had been acting strange, almost distant towards him. As much as you could do while sharing the same space. He would often catch you losing yourself in through but never voicing them, never letting him in on it when he asked. Something was wrong, he must have done something wrong, it was the only thing that made sense. Maybe you were building up the courage to kick him out and send him on his way, you had realised he was more trouble than he was worth.

“Izzy, can we talk about something?”

This was it, you were going to ask him to leave. He has outstayed his welcome, if he has ever truly been welcome in the first place.

“Sure.” His voice didn’t falter and he was proud of himself for that.

“You told me how you ended up here, about what happened and I was wondering…well, the crew, Blackbeard, aren’t expecting you to return, are they?”

That question threw him off. Oh, maybe you were worried about Blackbeard coming to your shores and causing trouble. “Probably not. They’re probably relieved about it as well,” Izzy answered, honest but a little bitter about it, even he could admit to that.

“And you aren’t going to try to go back?” you asked, though the question wasn’t judgmental in any way.

“Wouldn’t be welcome if I tried, I imagine. But I have contacts, I’d find another ship or something,” he didn’t want to lie to you but he also didn’t want you to keep allowing him to live in your home out of pity or guilt. He would manage, he would survive, he always did.

“…Blackbeard was talking about retiring, right?”

Izzy felt himself sigh before he heard it. “Sure. Guess he managed it too, in his own way I suppose. Didn’t think retirement was a fucking option. Still not sure it is,” he admitted.

You looked nervous again, aimlessly fixing a cushion on the couch you both sat on. “What if this could be your retirement?”

“What do you mean?” Izzy frowned.

You might have huffed and rolled your eyes at him for being dense but you could see his genuine confusion. “Somewhere peaceful and quiet for you to relax. Good weather. Somewhere comfortable by the sea. Sounds like a good retirement spot to me…”

“I…what are you saying?”

You had to fight the temptation to reach out for him. “I’m saying that maybe you deserve to have a retirement too. Some…some good days without constant worry and fear. Maybe you deserve it and have earnt it just as much as Blackbeard,” you gave into the need, reaching out and placing your hand over his, “and I’m asking if you could have that here, I’m asking if you would stay.”

“You want me to stay…for good?” His face was scrunched up like he was trying to figure out some complicated puzzle. Like he didn’t believe that you could just want him to stay here with you.

“I do,” you nodded like it was as simple as that, because it was. “I’ve lived out here for a long time. Never felt lonely despite the distance I am from town. I think I would be lonely if you left. Think I would miss you. No, I know I would.”

“I don’t need charity,” Izzy growled, pulling his hand away from yours.

It made you ache but you didn’t fight him, didn’t try to touch him again, giving him the space he needed. “I’m not doing you a favour. I just want you here, Izzy. If you want to go, I’ll support you and do whatever I can to help, of course, but I want you to stay.”

Izzy couldn’t argue with you, apparently. He didn’t snap or accuse you of lying, he paused and considered it. Why would you lie? What would you be getting out of this if you were lying?

“…why?”

There was so much you could say, so much you had yet to put into words. But one of the many things you had learnt about Izzy during your time together was that actions spoke louder than words, the care you had shown him had earnt his trust more than anything you had said.

You acted before you could talk yourself out of it.

You shifted closer to him on the couch, placing a hand against his shoulder when you lent in. The kiss you pressed to his lips was short and tender, just enough to express the way you felt.

When you pulled back, hand still on his shoulder, he was just looking at you. The lines on his face softened and lips slightly parted as he blinked at you.

“Will you stay with me, Izzy?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Izzy nodded, looking a little stunned but the answer felt right. “Yeah, yes, I will. I want to stay as well.”

You smiled adoringly, lifting your hand from his shoulder to stroke his cheek.

Izzy had woken up in your home thinking he had died out at sea but he knew there was no way that was the case because this couldn’t be his afterlife. He hadn’t done enough good to earn this, you were just giving him this out of the kindness of your heart.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, didn’t think he did deserve it, but he was here anyway. Maybe you were right, maybe this could be the next, maybe even the last, phase of his life. He would do whatever he could to earn it now, to earn you and this home.

#israel hands x reader #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #our flag means death izzy #ofmd x reader

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sparrowrye · 5 months

Text

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 30

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 30: gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke the next morning to an empty bed. Alastor's presence wasn't near but the bed still felt warm where he had been. He must've left in a hurry but for what? Normally I would've just went back to sleep and asked him about it later.

But something was off about this, something wasn't right.

I quickly jumped out of bed, falling harshly on my knees from my still lack of energy, and went to my room. I changed as quickly as I was able and went into the haven. The morning sun was coming over the treetops and the first few set of workers were already up and about. I made a beeline for Angel's hut where I know Husker should be. I felt his presence and pushed on it, at the same time knocking on the door. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long as he came padding quickly to the door.

"What is--"

"Alastor's gone."

His tiredness faded. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"I mean he's gone. Our connection it's...it's like before. I don't really...feel it." I was struggling with ways to describe it.

"Where have you checked for him so far?" he asked next.

"Just the house and down here. I'm going to check with Rosie but maybe you can ask Charlie? I have a really bad feeling about this."

He let out a sigh and fixed the strap that had fallen off his shoulders. "Alright. I'll go over and ask. He's probably fine."

"Why does everyone keep discounting what I'm saying?" I half mumbled as I spun away. I melted with Alcine and ran up to the back of the house. I stood over the symbol and teleported myself into Hell, right outside Rosie's store.

Her store was closed but I did the exact same thing I did with Husker, impatiently waiting at the back door. When I explained everything to her, a look of worry finally came across someone's face.

For the next several days, I looked for him. His radio broadcast remained ever silent and our connection remained thin. It was impossible for me to reach him like I had before with Blackwater. He wasn't anywhere in Hell or on the surface. He was just...

Gone.

My panic over Alastor possibly being in the hands of any Angels was somewhat soothed by a conversation with Lucifer. He told me that Angels didn't have power to hold souls in purgatory - that was essentially his job in a way. He also revealed a conversation he had with Heaven. Well, with Adam.

Apparently, Heaven has been upset with how rampant Demons have been on the surface, a place where they naturally didn't belong. They've been arguing for years but nothing was ever done about it. Angel refused to let people know they existed because only their high father could control such events.

It didn't make sense to me.

Regardless, Alastor wasn't in danger with the Angels. That meant he must be somewhere else. Yet there were only two realms. So where was he?

Husker told me that it wasn't uncommon for Alastor to go missing every once in awhile. Apparently he did this right before he helped Charlie with her hotel. The only issue with him disappearing for some time was that he didn't tell me. Considering how we had been the night before he vanished, I had thought he would tell me he would do such a thing, or at least leave a note of some kind.

Perhaps I was wrong.

For the first year, I kept radios in every room tuned to his channel and a single one tuned to random channels. Maybe he would give me a sign through them. Maybe this was something he couldn't tell me for safety reasons. Surely he would want to give me a sign of some sort, a sign that told me I wasn't being abandoned. The only clarity I had of the situation was that he was alive since I was still alive.

The second year I turned some of the radios off and left one on for each floor. I still slept in his bed, wishing and dreaming that he would magically be there when I woke up the next day. Each morning was a disappointment. It was around this time that the hallucinations of him began.

By the third year, everyone had known that the great scary Radio Demon had disappeared. Our location had been leaked by one of Blackwater's men so Humankind and Demonkind alike came after our haven. While the remaining surface Overlords, or anyone wanting new territory up here, tried to attack and disband Blackwater's empire, I was focused on keeping the haven safe. At first it wasn't hard since it was relatively small groups that bit off more than they could chew, however, as time went on, people started bringing in huge groups and powerful Demons.

By the fourth year, I had truely pieced myself back together as a new woman and established myself as the guardian of the haven. I killed enemies, struck deals with new allies, and taught newcomers a thing or two about fighting. The hallucinations came to a near stop.

By the fifth year, the haven had expanded even more. Arleen, who was our lovely architecture and seamstress, was never seen resting. She had gorgeous red wings that mimicked a butterfly's and her personality was as sweet as nectar. She designed a new layout for the rest of the town—though, now it could really be considered a small city. We had multiple teachers, Vivian remaining as the head of them all, several healer apprentices for Althea, a few seamstress assistants for Arleen, an open pasture for cattle, plenty of fishers, many more guards, and so much more.

With the haven expanding and having new things, I also wanted to change my own living place. I painted the outside of the house a more vibrant maroon and fixed the shingles so they didn't look so tattered. I knew the house had belonged to Alastor's mother so I didn't want to change it too much should he return at some point. Reagan and Lucas occupied Husker's old room since Husker and Angel moved to their own secluded apartment in the haven.

My old room was now occupied by two siblings: Nym and Thatcher. They were a rambunctious pair with a thirst for adventure. Nym was six and Thatcher was five when they first came to the haven. They were also children of the ring fights and found it increasingly difficult to make the transition from the ring to the schoolroom. I began working closely with the pair since all other resources had been exhausted, and soon found myself feeling attached like I was with Reagan. Vivian and the others insisted I adopt them, mostly in an attempt to fill the empty house and gaping hole in my heart. So I did.

By the sixth year, I had completely forgotten about Alastor. I would go weeks without thinking of him. I had so much I was focusing on, so much I was keeping myself busy with, that I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Occasionally I would think of him and it would hit me hard. When that happened, I tried not to be around anyone for the whole day. It left me annoyed and snappy at everyone, even Husker and Reagan. Fortunately, Nym and Thatcher were now able to attend school without attempting murder on any of the children, leaving me with more time on my hands.

By the seventh year, things had fallen into a routine. I was still the sole protector of the haven and mother to now three children. As things became mundane, I decided to assist the other Overlords in banishing the lasting traces of Blackwater. There was still one large factory hidden somewhere and I would be the one to find it. My reputation had shifted around in the past few years but this would solidify it for good.

I had grown a lot. It was time to show everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

END OF ACT TWO!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

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squishyneet · 5 months

Text

·˚ ༘₊· SACRED NEMESES ꒰➳ LOOKISM ༊*·˚

tw: pure angst (and whatever Gitae got goin on), implied sexual assault, groping, brief description of blood, description of dissociation, malnutrition, also huge spoiler warning

I've been callin' ya

Ryohei knocked for the seventh time that day, slumped against Mitsuki's door, anxiously hoping she might finally come out. "Mitsuki, dear . . . you have to . . . have to eat something," he managed, somewhat deprived of energy himself as a result of his resolution to monitor her. "I'll help you . . . if you can't do it by yourself . . ." Ryohei's eyes fluttered shut as he passed out safely against Mitsuki's door, unaware of the tears hitting the floor on the other side.

But you won't pick up

"Don't worry, Gyeoul. I will protect you no matter what." Gyeoul stared flatly at Hangyeoul, his dear pathetic and dutiful brother, and wondered he could possibly be thinking. Did he really believe such a feat was achievable? His weak brother who succumbed to coercion, who never once fought for himself was supposedly going to protect him? "I told you to stop saying things like that."

'Nother fortnight lost in America

"That James Lee is merely a dog I keep on a leash. He does his master's bidding," Charles Choi grimly remarked to Gun, clearly disturbed by the mere thought of the man. James listened mindlessly from outside the room, staring and spacing out. "His strength and history don't matter anymore as long as I have him under my heel." James foggily recalled his dear memories of fighting the Kings, people he may have called friends if not for his current situation. He kind of missed that Jichang.

Move to Florida!!!

Thick and syrupy blood still dripped from the walls of Kenta's house when walked to his room to pack his things to move to Seoul. He silently and mechanically folded his clothes, took a tooth brush, and drank some water. Metallic taste lingering deep in his throat, he made his way to the airport feeling, despite only carrying one loosely filled backpack, heavier than ever. He wondered about Seoul, partially worried about how he won't fit in and partially because thinking about his hometown made his stomach churn inside out.

Buy the car you want

Fatigue had ploddingly taken Eugene in his office. Cheeks hollow and eyes going blurry, he impatiently stuck a blank flash drive into his laptop to copy the footage of Gyeoul's kidnapping. He rested his face on his hand and sluggishly gazed at the sun going down, faintly hoping this might finally be enough to make the case against Charles Choi. The chairman of Workers fell asleep in a Rolls-Royce on a dreamy car ride home to the thought of his nemesis, slackly covered in a blanket stored for him.

But it won't start up til you touch, touch, touch me

Jinyoung browsed through his old notebooks, full of information regarding his beloved drugs, ingredients, their combinations, and the like. Messy notes and revisions scribbled in margins and the occasional doodle made by Gapryong or Lightning. He steadily reviewed them as he always had when he got an idea for a new drug. He leisurely recalls a time when he could go out with his friends, study anywhere he pleased, and feel the sunlight on his skin. Now, he is pale with sinking eyes and a blindness to the smell of rubbing alcohol in his lab as he mourns his youth sanctified in faded pages.

I've been callin' ya

"You're leaving?" Daniel murmured, confused. Eli stopped idly in his tracks, hands in pockets, unresponsive. "Is it because you can't afford to go to school anymore?" Daniel lamented quietly, looking away. " . . . I have a family to take care of, Daniel," Eli stated simply. "Please don't worry about me." "Well, if you need help . . ." Daniel began but Eli had already proceeded through the main exit to the courtyard, and his half-hearted offer fell on unwilling ears.

But you won't pick up

"I've already drank with somebody else," Gun expressed calmly. Is this Stockholm syndrome? Goo's chest hurt. He was right. There was no such thing as making friends in Korea and everyone was just as superficial as they seemed. He drank by himself, distracting his mind by pondering how much of his things to take when he moves out of that damn cage of a house. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being groped while cooking anymore. That kinda hurt.

'Nother fortnight lost in America

'Thing were more peaceful with him around.' 'The Kings came so close.' Jichang heard these never ending observations bounce around in his head as he filled his car with the last of his belongings. His brothers were already made comfortable at their new home. Jaw clenched and seething, he mentally bids goodbye and sets off from Seoul for the last time into the blazing sunlight and hot winds of Chungcheong, determined not to lose his new kingdom before he had even claimed it.

Move to Florida!!!

'I'm going back to Mexico.' Gitae tucked his phone into his back pocket, blowing smoke through barely parted lips outside the airport. He shivered and exhaled heavily, eager to leave and to smoke one last cigarette before his flight. The idea that he ever resembled his father made his blood boil and he's glad the rat bastard is dead. He sharply put out the cigarette in the allotted tray, making a mental note to work on his Spanish and to buy a new axe when he arrived. The sight of his hometown made his head spin.

Buy the car you want

Na Jaegyeon writhed weakly against a wall as he felt lips brush his ear. "Do you taste good too, little boy?" Flustered, he held his breath and tried to avoid eye contact. He had the misfortune of visiting Seoul at precisely the wrong time and was approached in an alley by Gitae Kim, against whom he certainly did not stand a chance. "Or should I bring you to Mexico with me? They'll like you over there," Gitae whispered, low and arousing. Jaegyeon shuddered when he felt strong hands snaking around his waist and a warm mouth start to probe his neck. He never should have gotten in the car.

But it won't start up til I touch, touch, touch you

Taesoo was visiting of his own accord. Seongji's grave was silent, clean, and furnished with a multitude of flowers. He dearly missed the time when he could entertain the thought of the Kings acting like family, argumentative as some of them were. He missed the time when peace truly seemed like an option for Korea, fragmented as it was. And he missed Seongji, close as he seemed before his eyes.

Lyrics from 'Fortnight', Taylor Swift, The Tortured Poets Department

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 year

Text

Pro-Hero!Izuku Midoriya (Part 2)

He comes to check on you several times through the course of the night, hand on your forehead for your temperature, or fingers on your neck for your pulse. Once he’s satisfied with your condition he readjusts your blankets and pillows, and leaves.

He knows that waking up with an IV in your arm will only scare you, and the potential for you to hurt yourself trying to get it out is great enough for him to pump you with another sedative. You lay still, limp and compliant as the intravenous tube pumps you full of hydrating nutrients. Over just a few hours, you already look healthier and livelier, some color and brightness returning to your skin.

He’s glad he finally caught you. How many times has he seen you digging through dumpsters, or setting up empty bottles to catch rainwater? How many times have you boiled water over fire just to ensure that it was somewhat clean? How many times have you bitten into thrown out food that was tampered with to keep the homeless away?

He remembers seeing you bite into bread that had been thrown out by a bakery, not knowing that it had been doused with bleach.

He remembers seeing you struggle to keep down dirty water afterwards, your burned tongue forcing you to spit out the murky and stale liquid.

Izuku had wanted to approach you then, to pat you on the back and offer you his own water, and buy you something proper and filling to eat. But you were in a bad state, most likely unwilling to trust what seemed like too generous an offer after getting a big mouthful of bleach from an unsuspicious pastry.

So he “dropped” his own water bottle near you, made of sturdy and durable metal, filling to the brim with clean, clear water.

When you had gone to investigate the clang of metal against pavement, pipe tightly clutched in your hands. It had clattered to the ground seconds later as you scooped up the metal flask, sniffing at the water to ensure that it was at least somewhat safe before downing it.

You’ve already been through so much, if you’re desperate enough to drink from a stranger’s water bottle seconds after it hit the ground, he had thought. And that thought had broken his heart.

What sort of hero would he be if he chose not to interfere?

You need someone to guide you, obviously. Temper the fire inside and file the rougher edges away, softening your scabbed and scarred heart. Someone to help you grow into the best version of yourself. Someone to ensure that don’t spend another day hurt or hungry or cold.

And he’s more than up to the task.

————

You wake up feeling dizzy but warm, the bedding around you incredibly inviting.

But that’s not right. The bed should be thin and the blankets worn, and there certainly shouldn’t be any pillows. Still, your head gently rests on a plush pillow while your body drinks in the heat of the multiple blankets wrapped around you. And the bed conforms and shifts under your weight, comfortably holding you.

You don’t want to get up. If you do, you’ll wake up from this comfortable dream, or realize that you’re in a hospital or in heaven, and neither sounds too good right now.

Only one thing snaps you out of that comfortable haze- loud knocking on the door. You kick into full panic, trying to scramble up and out of the bed, thinking for a moment that maybe someone had found your little hideout, that you’ll be taken into custody and either stuffed into some awful foster family or sent to jail.

The man who steps in none other than the hero you had met last night, Deku. He strides to the bed, pressing his hands on your shoulders to hold you down.

“You’re safe now, Y/N. Everything will be okay. I’m here for you. Just take a deep breath and let me explain.”

You stop thrashing around, if only because he hasn’t hurt you and you really would like an explanation as to why he has you in his house. (And because he’s too strong to fight against, his broad palms pressing you firmly into the mattress.)

“There was a change made to the Pro-Hero system a few years back, actually. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

You pause to stare up at him with wide eyes, hoping that he’ll change his mind or at least say he’s only joking. But he does neither. He just looks down and says:

“Do you know what rehab is, Y/N?”

#platonic yandere #platonic yandere mha #yandere mha #yandere deku #yandere izuku midoriya #tw: drugging #tw: kidnapping #technically?

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farfromstrange · 7 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 25: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: After your conversation with Frank, you start spiraling, and you find yourself at Jimmy's house, looking desperately for answers. Michael isn't too happy about that.

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, snooping around, snakes, allusions to child abuse & PTSD, Michael is pissed (and maybe a bit mean), rough grabbing of the arm (Is that a warning?), fighting, crying, semi-break up

Word Count: 8.6k

A/n: WOHOO I'M BACK!! Anyway, this chapter is only the beginning of this angst plot line, so... Don't hate me.

Tick, tick, tick…

One hour turns into two. Two hours turned into three. You’re alone, stuck in a house that isn’t yours, holding pictures of your sister who you haven’t seen in years in your hands because the man you chose to fall in love with has a family set out to destroy you; and for what? Because they aren’t happy with an adult man’s decisions?

Your life feels like it was written by a sadistic author; far more sadistic than yourself. You can’t keep up anymore.

Just a few months ago, you were somewhat happy working your ass off for some money at the Butterfly Effect. You made the process of brewing coffee for customers your life, and you enjoyed it. You fled your home to chase your dream of being a writer. What else are you supposed to do with your degree, anyway? And you were on a good path, saving money and trying to find an agent, but then Michael walked into your life.

You don’t want to say that he ruined everything. You love him. You love him more than you have ever loved anyone, which is horrifying in itself, but you can’t deny that your life may have been a little easier if he hadn’t come into the shop that morning. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to get attached. Now, you’re involved with a family who is swimming against the flow of legality—and what scares you most about all of this are the thoughts you keep having that perhaps the Kinsellas could help you in a way not even the police ever could.

You’re pressed against the wall next to the dining table, and your lungs keep forgetting that they are supposed to supply your body with life-sustaining oxygen. Every now and then, your eyes drift to the pictures in your hands. A tear rolls down your cheek, landing on the paper. It magnifies the size of your father’s face, and the memories that hit you at full force leave you clawing at the wood of the nearest chair.

You were doing so well. You were an awkward barista with a safe future to look forward to. Now, you’re a barista using up all of her sick days because she isn’t allowed to leave the house of her Irish boyfriend—who just so happens to be part of an organized crime family. It sounds like the plot of a bad novel, but to you, it is very much real.

Time was on your side until it wasn’t, and you have reached a point where desperation seems too kind of a word to explain what you’re feeling. Raw, unbridled anger fills your veins; the need to take the next plane out of Dublin is all-consuming, but you can’t be irrational. Not now. Michael was right about that part.

You can’t help who you fall in love with, you know as much. Michael is damaged, but he’s yours. He is so human, you wish you could wrap him up and shield him from the world forever. From his family. From the pain. From the uncertainty. You wish you could grab him, your bags, and his daughter and run far away from this city. But those are wishes that seem too far away to even grasp.

If you have to get involved to prevent the worst from happening, you don’t have much of a choice but to do so. You only have one more thing left to lose, and she means the world to you. Breaking the rules—the law—seems like the lesser evil compared to waiting for the hourglass to run out of sand.

With shaky fingers, you dial the number you have dialed a few days ago. It’s still in your caller list.

The line clicks, and the woman at Scotland Yard’s front desk answers again. It’s the same as last time. “Uh, hi,” you stammer into the speaker. “I called a few days ago, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I need to speak to Inspector Jones. It’s urgent. Would you mind connecting me with his office?”

Silence follows. Either she is taking a very pregnant pause to tell you something completely opposite of what you want to hear, or she is checking something in her system. You do hope it is the latter option. But of course, luck is still not on your side.

The woman utters your name in the lowest tone possible. “Inspector Jones told me to inform you that he does not want to take your call,” she says. “He put you on his, uh, no-call list. I’m sorry, Miss. I wish I had better news.”

Her apology doesn’t bring back the hope he so mercilessly crushed in his bare hands and left it there, dying on the side of the road. Her apology doesn’t bring back your sister or supply you with the information on the case only Richard Jones has. He used to be so helpful when it happened. He told you that you could always call him.

The question that nags you is, what changed? You haven’t called him in years, and now he suddenly acts like you’re the plague personified? It doesn’t sit right with you, but as soon as you’re on the no-call list, there is no way you can get through to him.

You don’t wish her goodbye. You don’t tell her, ‘Oh no, it’s alright,’ because it isn’t alright. You hang up without another word, your phone slipping from your hand onto the floor.

Swallowing a sob, you decide to pull yourself together. Michael keeps his laptop in the living room—though you suppose not always. You flop down on the couch with a huff. Of course, the device is password-protected. A picture on one of his shelves catches your eye, and you reach for it. Part of you is screaming to stop because looking at a picture of his daughter feels like an invasion of privacy, but you can’t listen to the left side of your brain. You turn it around, in search of the right combination of numbers.

Anna’s birthday. It sounds so obvious—too obvious for a man as careful as Michael—but as soon as you type the numbers into the bar and hit enter, his laptop unlocks.

“So predictable,” you mutter.

Instead of finding his desktop though, you stare right at an open folder you are sure is not meant for your eyes. It is also protected by a password, which you can tell by the little lock following the icon, but Michael must have forgotten to close it.

You should close the folder, open a browser, and do what you intended to do—write an email to forego the no-call list and guilt-trip Inspector Jones into finding the balls to contact you back. It is a desperate attempt that might get you a restraining order, but you have to try. For that, Michael would surely not be mad at you. If you start snooping though…

Your eyes have a mind of their own, following an instinct as old as time. You can’t help yourself. You tilt the screen back, and you take a closer look.

The idea is so maddeningly risky your stomach churns at the thought of the possible consequences of your actions, but who else is going to tell you the truth if you don’t find out yourself? Michael doesn’t want to drag you into his mess as you’re dealing with your own, and while you get that, you are so far beyond common sense that you need to know what the man you love is involved in. You need to know what his family is involved in. If you don’t, you’re sure curiosity might actually kill you.

You tried to avoid getting caught up in the dangers of the Kinsella family; you should have known that trying and succeeding hardly ever go hand-in-hand when it comes to your mess of a life.

You know Michael. You know how careful he is when it comes to dealing with delicate matters. He told you he didn’t want to get swept up in his family’s bullshit again, but as you look at what’s in front of you, you’re not so sure he told you the truth.

The file contains mostly recollections of the family business. Drugs, weapons, larceny—not that it would ever change the way you feel about him, even if he did lie to you. This is not the worst you have seen, and it surely won’t be the last piece of dramatic information that will ever pass before your eyes.

What catches your attention is the mention of Jamie, the record of his death, and a stolen autopsy report. And among all of that, you find a name Michael and Jimmy threw at each other’s heads the other day. Your hand still hurts just thinking about it.

A loud thud echoes through the house when you forcefully shut the laptop. Every nerve in your body is burning itself alive. Your soul can’t withstand the storm of your emotions. The truth hits you. Around you, the world is falling apart, and you are unable to move anywhere but further into the chaos.

Michael came into the café months ago because he was in desperate need of a reprieve—he was the butterfly that flapped its wings over in Asia—and now you are on the verge of getting caught up in something that you will never be able to get out of again; it is a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Destiny and karma are very real phenomena, but so is the Butterfly Effect. Instead of innocent coffee though, you are staring into the face of disaster, and you have no idea what to do.

An idea pops into your head. You shouldn’t seek out trouble. You really, really should not, but not even five minutes later, the door to Michael’s home falls shut behind you as you take determined steps next door. Not across the street, not to your car but next door.

The realization that Michael might never forgive you for putting yourself in this position moves to the back of your mind. You promised him not to do anything stupid while he was gone, but you knew from the start that you would never be able to keep that promise.

Your feet are rooted to the ground as you ring the doorbell. At first, you receive no response. Just when you figured that you must have misinterpreted the movements in the neighboring home that you caught through the bedroom window earlier this morning, the gate opens, and you snap out of the endless spiral of your thoughts.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jimmy asks, his eyes trailing over your disheveled frame on his doorstep.

Your eyes are red and swollen, and your outfit consists of a pair of Michael’s sweatpants and a shirt, but you weren’t planning on winning a fashion contest anyway. Jimmy deserves to see how miserable you are. Maybe then he will let you in.

He raises his eyebrows. “What? Came to hit my wife again? Last time wasn’t enough for ya?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, trying to hold contact with his dark eyes. “I need to talk to you,” you state matter-of-factly.

He eyes you again. “You look like shit.”

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

You expected him to snap at you—to lecture you—but that moment never comes.

You swallow thickly, then shake your head. “I’m here for answers,” you say. “And I feel like out of everyone in this family, you’re the only one who’ll be honest with me.”

“Why d’ya think I’d do that?” Jimmy asks.

“‘Cause you don’t like that I’m fucking your brother. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you couldn’t care less about what happens to me, which means that you also don’t feel the need to protect me or my delicate feelings.”

His lips curl into a smirk. As different as they are when it comes to their behavior, it is obvious that Jimmy and Michael are related.

“I’m so sick and tired of not knowing. Not understanding. Not…not being in control.” Your lip quivers, and you bite down on it for a moment. “You didn’t act on Frank’s offer to threaten someone you don’t even know, so a twisted part of me feels like I can trust you. I won’t apologize for falling in love with your brother because despite what you all believe, he is an incredible man and he deserves the world. But loving him put my sister’s life at stake, and I need to know what I’m getting myself into before I lose her too. I–I just...I need five minutes. Please. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

Against all odds, Jimmy steps aside, motioning for you to enter. The house is as luxurious as you expected. High walls, big windows, and cool tones. The nature of your visit, however, only fills you with a sense of uneasiness.

You close the door behind you and follow Jimmy down the hallway. You wouldn’t dare push your luck by saying something uncalled for.

Now that Jamie’s dead, you understand why Michael always seems so stuck in thought. The stakes are higher. You try to find a sliver of understanding for why Birdy was so cautious with you and asked you all the questions that you saw as a personal attack. She wanted to protect you, and maybe that is true, but she let Frank’s actions slide for a little too long and you don’t know if you can forgive her for that.

She ended up attacking you personally even if that was never her intention, and she let her brother attack everything you hold dear by trying to protect her own family, and that is not something you can let slide.

Jimmy walks up to a set of stairs that lead into the basement. You’re hesitant at first, standing at the top of the steps and staring down at him with narrow eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” you bluntly ask.

He rolls his eyes. “Unarmed,” he says. “You can check me. I’m not carryin’.”

“What if there are guns down there?”

“There are, but I’m not gonna use ‘em to hurt ya. Michael would cut off my head and feed it to the dogs.”

You huff, but you eventually cave and follow him down the stairs. You hear him mumble something about you being complicated, and maybe you are, but can anyone blame you? You feel like you just walked into the lion’s den. Perhaps you are insane.

You function on a very determined autopilot that wants you to do things you would never have done a few weeks ago, and you have no choice but to follow or else you will bang your head against the wall; Michael really shouldn’t have left you alone.

The basement resembles a second living room. A leather couch stands against the wall to the right, and Jimmy has a collection of free weights to choose from to work out. There is even a pool table and a fridge you suppose holds liquor only. It must be the family’s layer for when they get together and discuss whatever a family like them has to discuss.

Looking further, you notice the terrarium in the middle of the room. It’s gigantic. You step a little closer. The yellow anaconda is easy to spot. You don’t doubt it could strangle you if you put it around your neck. It is surely thick enough to crush your windpipe in an instant.

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

He hums. You can hear the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass, and he pours whiskey over it.

“You like snakes?”

You look at him, and then back at the snake. “I find them fascinating,” you state.

“They’re fascinatin’ creatures, alright,” he says. “You wanna hold her?”

You don’t miss a beat, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

You stand there in silence for a while, just watching the anaconda move her large body around her transparent living quarters. She sticks out her tongue. If you could talk to animals, you wonder what she would tell you. What has she witnessed in this room? The snake knows all the answers to the questions you are asking yourself.

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

“He’s a good man,” you answer. It doesn’t require much thought. “I told you. He’s a much better man than you give him credit for.”

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

He scoffs. “You have any idea what yer gettin’ yourself into?”

“I knew from the moment I found out who he was. That doesn’t change how I feel about him.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s my fault that I got caught up in all of this, save it. I’m well aware of that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because I love him!” your voice echoes in the spacious basement. “I love Michael with all my heart. So much it hurts. I would do anything for him because you failed him over and over again, and he deserves so much better than you useless lot.”

Taken aback by the force of your words without actively yelling at him, Jimmy lowers his glass. He stares at you with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment in his eyes, and you’ve seen that look in Michael’s eyes one too many times. You want to smash something, but that would only make matters worse, and you really didn’t come to cause a scene.

Jimmy infuriates you in a way not many men have managed. You want to hit him, give him a shiner that will rival the one his wife is probably carrying, but realistically, you don’t stand much of a chance against this man. He is strong. He could feed you to his anaconda if he wanted to. Even if Michael would behead him, he would do anything to save himself. He is the epitome of selfishness, and you refuse to stoop low enough to be on his level.

You take a deep breath, lowering your voice again. “But I’m not just here because I love Michael. I’m here because your uncle decided that he had to let out his disdain for me on an innocent child,” you say.

“I’m not okay with that either,” Jimmy cuts in. “I don’t have control over Frank’s actions. I lost my son–”

“I’m aware, and I am so sorry for your loss, I am. I know how it feels to lose a child because my father killed my little sister and while she wasn’t my biological daughter, I was the one who raised her. And I raised Maya too. So, even if I left, even if I broke Michael’s heart and gave you what you so desperately want, my sister would still be in danger. My father would still be running free. And I’d still have no choice but to stay here because thanks to you, I am in danger too and Michael refuses to let me leave.”

A sigh leaves his parted lips, and he empties his glass.

“This isn’t about me, Jimmy. It never has been. Not for me, at least. This is about Maya as much as your insecurities are about Michael. Except that Maya is a human being who has nothing to do with any of this. Not with Michael, not with you, and not with your godforsaken family. You don’t have to remind me how awful of a human being I am—I’m well aware of that myself, trust me, but I won’t stop trying to get answers until I have found a way to make sure she’s okay. That she’s safe. That I can get her back and end this once and for all because Frank didn’t leave me a fucking choice.”

You pull the pictures out of your coat. “He came to the house earlier. Gave me those. He said he told his men to leave her alone, but who’s to say that he didn’t already do irreversible damage?” you say. “I don’t know why Michael being happy is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I don’t care. I care about my family. Now, you can either help me or not, but don’t act like you have any right whatsoever to lecture me. You don’t even fucking know me.”

Jimmy takes the photographs. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares down at them. A drop of condensation from his glass drops on the paper, the same spot your tears dried into.

Your chest still heaves with every breath you take. “Jimmy,” you growl. The silence drills into your skull.

When he finally opens his mouth, his voice resembles a steady tune. “I don’t stand behind Frank,” he says. “Not on this. He shouldn’t have done it.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

“None of us knew yer story. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For Frank, for Birdy—hell, I’m even sorry fer how Amanda treated you. If I’d known…”

“Would you’ve stopped her?” you counter.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

“There are ways to get rid of someone without puttin’ anyone in unnecessary danger. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

His expression is set in stone. You can’t determine whether or not he’s lying to you.

“Did Michael offer ya his help?” Jimmy asks then. “Regarding your, uh, father.”

You blink a few times, wondering if he really just asked you that. But you swallow your doubts, straighten your shoulders, and you nod. “Yeah, he did,” you say.

“Offered t’put a protective detail on her? Kill the bastard?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

“Because death would be too kind for that man.”

The faintest smirk starts playing on his lips. “Can’t blame ya,” he states.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I won’t stoop to my father’s level. He deserves to be put in prison for the rest of his life. A bullet to his head would end his suffering, and I refuse to let him down that easily.”

“Is that why you came here?”

You shake your head again. “I need answers.”

“Why wouldn’t Michael give them to ya?” Jimmy cocks an eyebrow. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed.”

“He may love me, but he has a protective instinct that makes it almost impossible for me to get the whole truth out of him,” you explain. “Michael wasn’t there when Frank came over. Perhaps because he knew Michael wouldn’t be there. He caught me off guard. I was vulnerable, and he used that against me.”

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

“Just that he put an end to what he started. But I can’t believe that, now can I? He’d already started it.”

“You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

Your lips part in a bitter scoff. “I found some things on Michael’s laptop,” you tell him. “I need to understand what I got myself into here. Maybe find some common ground. In my mind, after everything that went down at Birdy’s house, you’re the least untrustworthy, and while we may not be the best of friends, I can’t limit myself to what Michael thinks is right. Take it as a compliment or don’t, but I’m desperate here.”

He murmurs your name as he makes his way over to the open bottle of whiskey to pour himself another glass. His steps are careful.

You are well aware that you should tread carefully, and Jimmy seems to be on the same page as you that this is a bad idea, but you were desperate and you saw no other choice. You would have crawled up the walls of Michael’s empty house if you had waited, staring at the bullet holes in the walls and wondering if you would end up dead at the end of this the same way his wife did; or if you’d merely lose everything you’ve ever loved and be left with nothing else left to give.

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out.

Jimmy stops dead in his tracks. You hit a nerve. Seemingly with a sledgehammer, too.

“Because from what I heard and what Michael has on him, he’s a perilous man.”

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

“Please, I just want to know. What is Michael caught up in?”

“We’re all caught up in it.” The tone of his voice has changed and switched to a more dangerous octave, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Eamon—Eamon fuckin’ Cunningham had my son killed, and Michael thinks he’s too good to help us get back at him because of Anna. That’s what.”

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

“He’s our supplier. Drugs. If ya really wanna know. Changed his business model. Wants us t’be his bitches. He’s a power-hungry bastard, that one. I didn’t wanna cave, but then Jamie—and Frank—”

With an animalistic growl that resembles a string of curses, he wipes the small table before him clean. The contents shatter on the ground, scattering millions of pieces of glass around the basement floor. You flinch.

The echo of his shout remains stuck to the walls. One of the shards scratches your forearm—not nearly enough to draw blood—before hitting the ground. The force causes the bottle to implode, and the crystal glasses break beyond repair the second they hit the ground.

You want to tell him that Michael doesn’t owe him anything. You want to tell Jimmy that none of this is Michael’s fault, but you have enough empathy to know when to speak and when to just be silent.

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, then turns back around to face you. “I dunno what I can tell ya, but this family isn’t safe for someone like you,” he says. It sounds as though he actually cares, but you see right through him this time.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you answer, trying to pick your words with an incredible amount of care; don’t raise your voice, don’t shout at him, just tell him what’s on your mind in a way that is respectful and he might not lash out at you. “But Michael is fresh out of prison, trying to find himself a place in this world. I understand why he said that he can’t help you execute whatever revenge you have planned for whoever did this to your son. And I understand that this business you’re in is dangerous for every party involved, but that doesn’t deter me.”

Across the room, he meets your eyes.

“I knew what I was getting myself into from the start,” you emphasize. “Michael promised me I’d be safe, and I trust him with my life, but now your family put my sister in danger, and we have to find a way to put an end to this mess because I refuse to let your little family dispute ruin my life. Michael can’t help me as he promised when he can’t manage to separate himself from you. Finding that file proved to me that he may have said that he’s done, but he isn’t, so I might as well accept that I’m not getting out of this either.”

He exhales, wiping his sticky hands on his trousers. “I underestimated ya,” he says. “But I suppose that’s what happens when your father’s a bastard.”

You shrug. “I just can’t run when you’re my only hope.”

Jimmy chuckles. “If we’re your only hope, I feel bad for ya.”

“Believe me, I feel plenty bad for myself already, but if I’d waited and told Michael about my plans, he wouldn’t have let me come here, and I still wouldn’t be much smarter than I was this morning.”

“Would you do somethin’ for us then? If we helped ya?” he asks.

One hand washes the other, right?

The words for an answer get taken out of your mouth by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

“Where is she?” Michael’s voice breaks through the ceiling.

Your eyes widen. You have heard him feral before—when he was holding the gun to Frank’s head and threatened him, his voice lowering, barely above a whisper but every word as forceful as the next. His silent anger is the most dangerous form. It did something to you to see the man you love so livid because he saw your life at stake.

You weren’t scared of him, you couldn’t possibly be, but the thought alone spikes the adrenaline in your veins, and your mind screams for you to run. It is the kind of effect he wants to have on people when he is angry; it is the type of effect he has on everyone because one looks at his fuming self and anyone would want to cower in the corner and cry. And maybe it makes your thighs clench just a little because no amount of fury could take away from how attractive this man is. But that is not the first thought that crosses your mind now.

The stairs creak with every heavy step Michael takes into the basement, and you hold your breath. Fuck.

Jimmy stares at the mess on the floor, then back at you. You wonder if he’s scared that he might be the next in front of Michael’s gun. He surely didn’t hesitate when it came to Frank. Who knows if he would draw the line at his brother, but from what you have gathered from their relationship, there is a chance he won’t.

“Jimmy,” is the first word on his lips when he makes it downstairs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his fists clench at his sides. The cuddly teddy bear you said goodbye to this morning has disappeared completely under an iron veil.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Michael sneers.

Your first instinct is to step between him and his brother. Only then does he seem to take a look at you. You meet his brown eyes, your palms extended to press against his chest.

“Easy,” you murmur. You don’t see the need to snap at him.

He takes you in, his clothes hugging your curves just right, and in an instant, his large hands are cupping your face. “You alright?” he asks, and the fury is gone for a moment as he checks you for injuries. As though he truly believes that his brother would hurt you.

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

Michael cuts you off. He pulls you to his side, almost behind himself, glaring at Jimmy. “Why’s she here with ya, huh?” Again, his demeanor changes. “She didn’t do anythin’! Frank put her life in danger, and you still treat her like a fuckin’ intruder?”

“Hold up, Michael. No,” Jimmy says. His shoulders broaden as he takes a step forward. “I didn’t–”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ did,” Michael interrupts him. “If you hurt or threatened her in any way, I swear to God—”

“No!” you raise your voice slightly, only enough to catch his attention. His head whips toward you. “He didn’t ask me here,” you confess. “I came here to talk to him, not the other way around. Jimmy…he didn’t do anything. I’m okay, baby. Please.”

His eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of your words, and he slumps. He turns to you, his hand on your bicep, and he asks, breathlessly, “You what?”

The emotions in his eyes are a whirlwind that burns through the guilt in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Come here. Frank came over, and he gave me the pictures he was planning to use to blackmail me, telling me about how he told his men to back off, but—”

Michael snatches them from Jimmy’s hands, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping them.

“I was going crazy,” you say. “I called Scotland Yard, but Inspector Jones put me on his no-call list, so I thought I would write him an email. I was going to use your laptop, but you…you must’ve forgot to close one of the folders, and I accidentally started scrolling, and—”

“Jesus!” He shakes his head. “And you went t’ Jimmy about that?”

“I didn’t have a choice, okay? You said you didn’t want to get involved in anything illegal again, for Anna’s sake, but you lied to me. I don’t blame you. I know I’m not getting out of this, and I don’t want to because you mean the world to me, so I thought I could talk to Jimmy and we could find a compromise. After Frank…I didn’t think there was time to be rational about this. I’m sorry, Michael. I know you told me to sit tight, but I had to.”

“Five hours,” he growls. “You couldn’t wait five hours?”

Jimmy pipes up. “She was curious about Eamon,” he says. “I gave her the answers she was lookin’ for because you wouldn’t.”

Michael’s grip on your arm tightens, and it stings. You try to free yourself, but he won’t let you.

“Whatever you two discussed,” he snarls, “It’s off the table.”

You glare at him. “What?”

His fingers dig into your sensitive flesh. “Off the table, pet. You’re not gettin’ involved with this family.”

“What do you mean, I’m not getting involved with this family? I already am!”

“The fuck you are.” He drags you toward the door.

“Michael,” you choke out, “you’re hurting me.”

You have never seen him like this, and you never would have thought he would grab you like this.

He loosens his grip, but it’s still not enough to free you from his grasp. “I’m sorry,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

You scoff. He may be sorry for hurting you, which you know was unintentional because he often underestimates his power, but he isn’t sorry for treating you like a child because he is still pulling you toward the stairs.

“Michael,” Jimmy stops him. “Maybe we could talk ‘bout this?”

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him.

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

His house isn’t even home to you, but you don’t have a choice. And as you make your way next door again, a feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that makes you sick.

Are you actually scared of him? Meeting his eyes once the door is closed behind you though, you can’t stop imagining your father in front of you, and it makes your heart race up to your throat.

Michael raises his hand to his forehead, the other resting on his hip. “Fuck!” He doesn’t say it to you. He would never.

He is trying to get rid of his anger to have a normal conversation—to talk this through because he doesn’t understand why you would put yourself at risk like that—but your brain doesn’t function the way it did this morning. To you, he is cursing at nothing but you.

You see his hand out of the corner of your eye, and you flinch. Your entire body recoils, and the air changes. He seems to realize what he did almost instantly. You hug your arms around yourself, avoiding his eyes, hoping you won’t cry, but the tears are treacherous as they start to pave their way forward. It burns.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is soft again. His hand is gone, but oh, you can’t open yourself up to him again. “My love, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” He takes a step forward.

He didn’t, and he still isn’t thinking, it seems. You take a step back. He is suffocating you.

“I’m not angry,” he tries again. “I just wanna understand…”

You swallow thickly. “I explained it to you,” the words flow out in a monotone line.

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

“If I’d asked you, would you have told me the truth?” You meet his eyes, and it hits him like a strike of lightning. “If I’d asked you about the folder, about what the fuck is going on, would you have answered or would you have tried to keep me out of it?” you ask again.

Michael gnaws at his bottom lip. “I told ya we’d find a way. We’d make a plan,” he says.

He is diverting. He can’t give you the answer you asked of him, and somehow that breaks your heart. It drills a sharp knife through your ribs, causing you to bleed out in front of him.

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

“I cannot have you doing dirty work for my family. Fuckin’ Christ!” The whisper turns into a desperate plea, “Why can’t you see that?”

You wipe your cheeks with a furious index finger. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked me.”

“Sorry?” He is taken aback by your tone of voice.

“You made me fall in love with you, knowing that being with you would put me in danger,” you cry. “I’ve always been okay with it, but you have to stop coddling me like I’m a child. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

“This isn’t fair,” he says. “I’m just tryin’ to keep ya safe.“

“But I’m not the only one who matters.”

“You’re the only one who matters to me!”

The silence that washes over you is charged to the maximum. Michael’s words echo in your mind.

“I know you love your sister,” he murmurs, “but you promised not to make any rash decisions.”

“I know,” you reply coolly.

“You should’ve waited. You should’ve talked t’me.” Michael shakes his head.

You sniffle. You can’t look at him. “So you own me now, huh?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You say you want to protect me, to keep me safe, but has it ever crossed your mind, even for a second, that I don’t want to be saved?”

His chest heaves with the breath he inhales. His hands remain on his hips. He fiddles with the fabric of his sweater—he always does it when he’s nervous, or when he’s fuming. You watch his body language and read it like an open book, but there is a distance between you. You thought maybe he would be a little pissed, but this behavior is worse. It tears your soul apart, piece by piece.

Again, he inhales, and he exhales again. “You’re reckless,” he states. Somehow though, he makes it sound like an accusation.

“So what?” you retort.

“So what? Are you even listening to yerself?”

“Don’t snap at me.”

“I’m not—” he clenches his jaw. “Trust me, if I snapped at ya, it would sound a lot different. I’m just tryin’ to figure you out ‘cause I can’t fuckin’ read ya right now.”

You offer a sarcastic hum. You don’t have to think far to find the words. They are right there on the tip of your tongue. “Maya’s living with a monster who would raise hell if he found out the truth. The same monster who tortured me. The same monster who murdered my sister. Now, I feel like I’m being followed everywhere I go,” you say. “The family of the man I love would rather see me fall than accept me. I can’t go back to London. I can’t go home. I can’t…I can’t even go back to work.”

You sniffle again. “Brewing coffee used to be my life. I was working toward being something more. Someone more. I was writing, I was being creative, and I was somewhat happy. I had a plan, you understand?” With every word out of your mouth, your voice rises to new volumes. “I had a plan to get my revenge eventually and move on, but now...now my life is whatever this shit is, and I hate it. Okay? I hate it.”

You’re not angry; you’re broken, but saying it out loud won’t move mountains, and when the last word passes your lips, still nothing has changed. It won’t change. You can pray, you can beg, and you can scream at the sky in hopes that someone—anyone—will hear you, but it is a losing game. Life is a losing game.

Michael whimpers in the back of his throat. “Don’t,” he begs.

“I hate—” You stare up at the ceiling. The tears taste salty on your tongue.

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

God, he knows that you only call him that when you feel like you have reached a dead end, but this time, he can’t save you; he, himself, has reached a dead end that he can’t escape from, and the ocean between you is far too broad to cross. You sob, and he wants to sob with you.

“I hate what my life has become,” you cry softly. Your soft cries are the most painful to listen to. “And I hate that loving you hurts so fucking much I can’t breathe.”

This conversation feels oddly familiar. As if you have had it before. As if it is a daily occurrence as your demons fight against each other for dominance.

“I wish I could change that,” Michael whispers back to you. He is so far away, yet you still hear him perfectly.

You shudder. “Make me hate you, you mean?”

“No, not that. Although yes, sometimes.”

“I wish I could hate you sometimes, too,” the admission rolls off your tongue like a bullet from a gun.

He nods. His eyes never leave your fragile frame, barely holding on by a thread. “I wish I could take it all away from ya,” he says. “The fear, the pain... And I wish it were easier to protect those you love. But I dunno how. And I dunno how t’be…better.”

A better man, he wanted to say. Better for you, better for Anna, and better for anyone else. Michael feels unworthy of your love. He had hope; for a few days, he had hope, but hope never lasts long with him. It always dies because everything he touches eventually withers like a fragile flower. He doesn’t say it though. He doesn’t know how.

You sniffle, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be better. I just need you to understand,” you say.

“I do,” Michael insists. “I do understand.”

“I’m glad you do, but I don’t. I need a chance at ruining the life of the man who caused so much damage I don’t even know what has become of me. I want to ruin his life the same way he ruined mine. I want to put him away for the rest of his miserable life so maybe my mother can get the help she refused to get when I last gave her the chance, and provide my sister with a normal life. That’s what I need.”

But what you need and can have are two different pairs of shoes.

After a deep breath that lasts several seconds and allows the silence to stretch into a pregnant pause, you find your words again to continue. “The file I have on Ellie’s death is circumstantial, we both know that,” you say. “It won’t be enough. We won’t be enough—” Your voice cracks. “A security detail or killing my father won’t fix this. You telling me you love me won’t fix this. And saying ‘we will figure this out’ while you keep a folder on your family’s dealings that might as well also impact me now that Frank has painted a target on my back from me won’t fix this.”

He says your name in a way that sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“I just couldn’t wait!” It is unlike you to yell, but you have reached your limit.

Again, Michael curses, running a hand over his face and through his beard.

You lean back against the wall, defeated beyond relief. “What do you want from me, Michael?” you plead. “Because I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“C’mon,” he breathes, “I never said that.”

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

“I don’t want to lose ya, alright? That’s all I’ve got.” He sounds like a broken record. “I…I just found out that I probably have no chance at gettin’ Anna back, even after all I did, and I can’t…I just can’t…”

The urge to reach out and take him into your arms is overwhelming. Tears glisten in his eyes now, and his body is quivering with agony. He’s holding back. He’s trying not to show you just how scared and in pain he truly is, but he can’t hide the truth from you.

On any other day, you would have crossed the room and hugged him with the promise of never letting him go, but can’t bring yourself up to get any closer because he is not the only one close to falling apart.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

“I can’t lose you too,” Michael whispers. “If I get involved again with my family—if I choose to fight—that’s another story. I am who I am, and I can’t change that, but yer not; you’re everything to me. And I won’t put the goodness of yer heart at risk. I can’t—”

You silence him with your hand. “I am not Anna.”

“I know, but—”

“I am not Anna,” you repeat. “I can’t replace her. I won’t replace her. I am not a consolation prize, and I am not yours to command.”

Your steps are heavy as you reach for your bag. “No,” he grunts. He reaches for your arm again, but you elude him.

“Don’t touch me.”

You’re not even sure if this can be called fighting. You were arguing until you weren’t. It’s a quiet storm, but it causes the most damage.

The door is calling for you. You can’t stay here. You feel like you’re drowning—like he is taking all the air out of your lungs. You can’t stand here and argue and fight, and you definitely can’t stay and be quiet with him. That hurts a lot more than being yelled at. Silent anger kills, and you’re not sure if you can come back from this.

How did you get here? When he left this morning, he kissed you. Now, there seem to be a million worlds standing between you, and you can’t find common ground. You’re floating in space, and Michael can’t haul you back, but perhaps that is not the problem. The problem is that you don’t want to be hauled back.

His hand finds your waist, and he pulls you against him. “You’re not leaving,” he says. The gruff sound of his voice used to be your favorite.

“Let me go,” you murmur.

Michael shakes his head. You suck in a sharp breath when he presses his forehead to yours. He smells of whiskey and rum. Did he have a drink on his way here? Did he drown his sorrows in liquor and God knows what else? You don’t want to think about how miserable he is. You don’t want to think about what could happen. You just don’t want to think at all.

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

For a moment, you bask in the feeling of his skin against yours, but when it starts to hurt, you have to pull back. “I have nothing left to say.”

The arrow hits him straight through the heart.

“I’m sleeping in my bed tonight.” You throw your bag over your shoulder, and you turn away so he won’t see you cry. “We’re no good for each other right now.”

He scoffs. It is a bitter sound that laces the air like a toxin. “We’ve never been good for each other.”

You ignore the sting his words leave behind. “Then maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving,” you say.

The sound of the wall breaking under the weight of his fist is the last thing you hear before you step out into the cold evening air.

Your cheeks are wet with tears, but you don’t look back. You get into your car; you don’t even take another look at the house. You turn on the engine, and you pull out of the parking lot.

Michael’s house and the rest of the Kinsellas disappear behind you, your sobs echoing in the small space of your car. You might have to do this on your own, after all, and with that comes the realization that you might have just lost the love of your life, too.

The question is just, was it worth it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory

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fallenwhumpee · 3 months

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Back

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, hypothermia(? I dont think i got that far), self dehumanisation(again, very vague), mentioned possible death.

It didn't take Leader so long to realise that a cramped bus ride was like a first class ticket compared to... this. Being shipped out, by far, was the worst. And Leader had even travelled in a plane's cargo hold filled with luggage.

Their stomach cramped, their knuckles turning while just like their face as they gripped the handrail. The sea was unforgiving, swaying the ship enough to flood the deck before collapsing to the other way, sweeping off Leader's feet.

Their raincoat was barely holding to their body, the oversized cloth doing a somewhat decent job at keeping Leader dry. The same couldn't be told about the boots, though. Those were filled with water, but the weight was doing a fine job with limiting Leader's movements. But even the storm couldn't make Leader go in. The air smelt there, mixed with engine oil and fuel. Leader would suffocate.

Leader's wasn't made for sea travel. And they should have refused it, especially when their body was failing. But a plane would leave a bigger trail to clean after.

The only reason Leader's compliance was their team had been placed on a safe house and waiting— on an island that didn't exist according to the maps. The thought of seeing their team made the way more bearable. And excited, if they were honest with themselves. They missed the team.

Leader ignored that they weren't supposed to feel that way. They were acting like a defective product.

Well, Leader assured themselves, it wasn't their first malfunction. And definitely not the most harmful one. And what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

The ship jolted as they ran to the ground, sending Leader to the opposite edge. Leader took a deep breath, relaxing their muscles sore from holding on for two hours. They went in with holding their breath, grabbing their bag and getting out.

Leader - and the crew, for restocking - got to a smaller boat and paddled until they arrived at the small beach. Leader got off and changed in the small warehouse, giving the coat and boots back. They were left with their own cloths, which was awful considering they had packed for a hot town. But they weren't going to complain or exploit the given kindness.

Leader began walking, following the natural path into the forest. The trees blocked most of the heavy rain, but the remaining was still enough to soak Leader from head to toe in a matter of minutes. The wind whistled between the leaves, sticking Leader's cloths to their skin and sending shivers down to their spine.

By the time they got to the hut deep in the woods, they were trembling. The door opened, a gun held to their face. Before Leader could register, they were pulled into a hug, making their bruised ribs ache. Leader melted into the embrace despite the pain, letting their head fall to Right Hand's shoulder.

"Now it's my turn!" Youngest pulled both of them in, tearing Leader from Right Hand.

Youngest hugged Leader's middle, and Leader drew circles on Youngest's back.

It was nice to be back. But also… it felt lonely to have only two of their teammates.

"I thought we wouldn't see you again for a long time, Leader," Right Hand broke the comfortable silence.

Leader smiled, letting go of Youngest. "That's definitely a pleasant surprise, even though I can't say the same for the way. What's going on here?"

"Someone is hunting us. Even the other teams we had crossed roads. We'll just gather here until we get the full list of casualties."

Leader nodded. They sniffled, dropping their bag. Youngest began digging through their food stock. Good thing Leader was quite... prepared.

"You look like a wet cat."

Leader glared Right Hand, scoffing. After a moment, they let out a defeated sigh. "Tell me we have hot water."

Right Hand pressed their lips into a thin line, shaking their head with a weary smile. "You can always use the kettle."

"Can't even provide some good accommodation," Leader muttered. They couldn't actually complain. Leader's cost was getting dangerously closer to their profit. They were supposed to be grateful for the roof.

"Well, at least we got a fireplace. You can warm up later. I cut the woods, but you're doing it next time. I'm better with a knife rather than axe."

"Looks like we got a deal," Leader smiled and looked around for bathroom.

"Upstairs."

Leader turned back, looking at the spot Right Hand pointed.

"You gotta be kidding with me," they muttered. The stairs looked like they could fall apart any moment.

"Everyone had forgotten about this place so... it was the safest. And it gave us something to do without going mad in this blackout. I fixed the water tank yesterday."

"Just in time, then. This rain will supply our next month alone."

Right Hand chuckled. "Your luck. I didn't see a drop fall ever since i came here."

Of course my luck, Leader didn't tell it loud.

They got their clothes and went upstairs, the stairs bending under their steps, and the floor cracking. They held onto the sink a moment when they reached up, the stairs taking a lot more energy than they thought. Their chest tightened for a moment, and they coughed, blood sputtering into the white surface as their vision blurred.

They needed a break. Their body was falling apart.

But they were also stinking, their hair damp. At least there was going to be a fire when they got down.

Leader got rid of the blood and showered with their clothes, cleaning those as they got rid of the rainwater clinging to their hair. The cold water chattered their teeth, burning their skin. By the time they were ready to go downstairs, they were hardly able to stand straight.

Right Hand wrapped a blanket around them, beginning to dry Leader's hair with a towel as they sat before the fireplace, trying to get warm as their bones ached.

Youngest came in with a tray on their hand filled with black cake dough, pushing it into the fire.

"Medic would love brownies," they whispered.

Leader looked down. "They're not dead," Leader returned.

Leader had to believe they weren't.

#whump #whump writing #leader whumpee #leader whump #tw blood #hypothermia #self dehumanisation #mentioned possible death #spoiler alert for the next tag >#lab whump #or is it obvious now?#anyway another midnight post but at least i proofreaded this one

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d1xonss · 9 months

Text

Desert Rose

Chapter 27 ~ New Beginnings

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 3

✧ Word Count : 6.1k

In this chapter ~ Months had passed as the group had found no real sanctuary, wandering around aimlessly together and bouncing from place to place just trying to stay alive. Although, just when they were close to losing hope, they found something that was only proven to be some kind of miracle. Their safe haven.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ROSE POV *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eight months. That's how long we've been trying to find a place to stay. Eight long months.

We had been close to all over the place since we began to travel east, picking apart houses we came across and staying there for only a night or two before we were on the move again. It wasn't easy and ever since Rick's big, ruthless speech; things haven't been the same. Everyone only grew closer with one another as we seemed to spend nearly every waking minute together in close quarters. But it always seemed different whenever Rick was also present in the room. It's as if they were all too uneasy to breathe a word around him, only speaking if it was absolutely necessary.

I continuously tried to talk to him a few times at first after the whole incident, attempting to speak with him like we used to, but he would either get irritable with me or just plain ignore me. There was never an in between. So after a while, I stopped trying. I didn't want to give up the idea that someday he would be okay, but watching him slowly slip away and ignore the people he once cared so much for, it was hard to keep that idea alive.

Winter was rough this year and if I was being completely honest with myself, sometimes I questioned if we would even make it through. You could easily tell just by looking at us just how much of our spirits had crumbled since our time on the farm. Which now seemed like a lifetime ago. But somehow, we always found a way to keep pushing on.

Though throughout the cold and harsh weather, Daryl somehow got very sick at one point and that lasted far much longer than I would've ever liked. But I stayed by his side at all times, getting him anything he needed as he slowly recovered. It nearly made me laugh at how needy he became when he finally admitted he wasn't feeling good, he never seemed to want me to leave. But lucky for him, I never wanted to.

And Lori alone had her many ups and downs through the long season. She was dealing with a pretty rough pregnancy and was constantly feeling tired and sick even now when she's about to pop. I had gotten a little closer with her than I would've guessed in the past, reassuring her that I would be there if she ever needed something, and she was always grateful for that. I also helped her and Rick out by keeping an extra eye on Carl every once in a while, though I knew he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

He had changed a lot more than the rest of us, more than I ever could've imagined. He had gotten colder. He still liked to joke around with me every once and a while, but he was mostly quiet and was in a constant mood.

It was a lot to get comfortable with, the different things we had to adjust to. But again, that's how we managed to get by.

Currently, we were making our way towards a house that he hadn't checked out yet in a somewhat new area, following behind a few of the guys while the rest stayed outside until we gave the okay that it was safe. I pulled out my bow and loaded an arrow in place, aiming it as we approached closer to the door. Oh yeah that's another thing that happened.

Within the first month of being on the road, I had come across a store filled to the brim with weapons, spotting a bow and arrows sitting in the corner and I thanked my lucky stars. I loved my throwing knives, but I thought it was time for a change. Of course, I let Daryl show me how to shoot it and he was a pretty good teacher...well, when we were actually focused on practicing.

We slowly made our way into the house, opening the front door quietly as I started heading upstairs with Carl to check out the bedrooms. He nodded at me, letting me know that he was going to look in the first door on the right as he slowly stepped towards the entrance. I went towards the left, swinging the door open somewhat loudly with my weapon raised and my eyes scanning the space. I was met with only a lone walker in the corner of the room, and I didn't hesitate to pull back and shoot it quickly before it even turned around to face me.

I walked in further and took a glance around for anything that could be useful but was left with nothing as per usual. Sighing quietly to myself, I pulled my arrow out of its head and placed it in the quiver on my back with the others. I slowly made my way back downstairs and by the time I got there, everyone else was gathered in the living room sitting down and getting settled for however long we planned to stay.

I spotted Daryl sitting in the corner of the room, walking over to sit next to him on the floor as he plucked feathers from a dead owl, and my brows furrowed slightly as I eyed the thing. I wasn't going to ask. My eyes simply lingered on the others, watching them talk quietly to themselves even though the house was completely clear. My mind wandered involuntarily when I suddenly felt something fluffy touch my face.

I glanced over and Daryl was smirking at me with feathers flying around my face, tickling my nose as he threw more at me. I gave him a playful glare and pushed his arm lightly as he chuckled to himself, thinking he was absolutely hilarious. He then pulled me closer to him with one hand and kissed the top of my head, before turning back to defeathering the owl.

Carl's fast footsteps rushed back into the room seconds later with an excited look on his face, glancing down in his arms to see that he had found some canned food. I leaned in closer to look at the label, before quickly realizing that it was dog food. My heart sank at the thought of him being that hungry, he was willing to eat practically anything.

Rick noticed this as well from across the room and before Carl could even do anything, he took one of the cans and threw it against the wall without a word. We all stayed silent as we watched the scene in front of us, not muttering a single word like usual.

But T-Dog giving out a single whistle from where he sat by the window, made us all jump up fast, knowing now that there were walkers making their way towards us. We all quickly gathered our things and made our way out of the back door towards the vehicles parked near the trees. I rushed over and placed my stuff in the trunk of one of the cars along with my bow and arrows with Hershel slamming it right behind me.

I then quickly jogged towards Daryl's bike and hopped on behind him, taking his crossbow to slip on my back while I wrapped my arms around his waist. After he knew I was on safely he started it up and took off with the rest of them following close behind, the dead slowly trailing behind us.

After we drove for a few minutes, the house now long gone in the distance, we eventually pulled over to look at our map, planning on where to hit next. It remained quiet as all of us scanned the areas to see where the next best stop was, with Carl and Beth standing watch in front and behind us for anything in the trees around the area. I noticed pretty much right away that there was hardly anything new that we hadn't already been through, but I wasn't going to lose hope. We were all tired of running around, but that didn't mean we were going to give up anytime soon.

"We got no place left to go." Hershel was the first to state out loud.

"When this herd meets up with this one, we'll be cut off. We'll never make it south." Maggie said.

Daryl came up next to me, pointing to the map as he asked, "What would you say? That was about one hundred-fifty head?"

"That was last week," Glenn confirmed, "It could be twice that by now."

"This river could've delayed them. If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here."Hershel pointed.

I nodded, "Yeah but if this group joins with that one, they could spill out this way." I muttered as I drew a line from the nearby herd, to right where we were moving towards.

"So, we're blocked." Maggie concluded.

"The only thing to do is double back at 27 and swing towards Greenville." Rick said.

T-Dog shook his head with a click of his tongue, "Yeah, we picked through that already. It's like we spent the winter going in circles."

My eyes almost rolled to the back of my head in frustration, "We did spend the whole winter going in circles." I said, feeling him place a hand on my shoulder in agreement.

"Yeah, I know, I know. At Newnan we'll push west. Haven't been through there yet. We can't keep going house to house, need to find somewhere to hole up for a couple weeks." Rick said, glancing back at Lori who was still sitting in one of the cars.

"Alright," T-Dog nodded, "Is it cool if we get to the creek before we head out? It won't take long, gotta fill up on water we can boil later."

"Knock yourself out." Rick replied.

Everyone dispersed after that to do their own thing while I continued to stare at the map for a few more seconds. We'd be stuck here for a little while as we filled up the waters and searched nearby for some food, I hoped the herd wouldn't catch up to us as we didn't have a choice but to stay here for a few hours at least. With where we were at, we had to think through every decision thoughtfully, otherwise shit could hit the fan.

Pushing myself off the hood of the car after a few seconds, I felt an arm gently wrap around my waist and I looked up to see Daryl smiling down at me sweetly, "Hi." I greeted.

"Hi." he muttered while quickly kissing my cheek, "M' gonna go scope the area quick, you wanna come with?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm going to keep an eye on Lori. But maybe take Rick with you? Maybe it'll help ease his mind."

We both seemed to turn at the same time to see the man anxiously pacing back and forth, unsure of where we had parked ourselves for a little while. "Alright," Daryl agreed quickly, "I'll see ya in a bit." he promised while squeezing my hip lightly.

I nodded and watched him walk off towards Rick, subtly glancing down at his ass for a few seconds before heading over to the car Lori was in. In my defense, it was hard to miss and I'm not a saint.

I walked right up to the passenger side door knocked on the window a few times to bring her attention towards me, glancing up as she rolled down the window so we could talk.

"How're you feeling?" I asked her.

She sighed, "I don't know, physically right now I feel fine. But I'm just-" she stopped for a minute, "What if we don't find a place?"

My eyes softened as soon as I heard the slight crack to her voice, "We will. And anyway, that's for us to worry about. You just worry about keeping you and that little peanut safe."

She smiled at the nickname, rubbing a hand over her stomach before her smile turned sour once again, "I can't help but worry Ro. I'm scared for this baby and what's going to happen if we don't find a safe place before..." she trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought.

"We will," I reassured her, "We'll find it soon, I can feel it."

Just as those final words left my mouth, we heard rustling coming from the bushes in front of us and I instantly took out my knife, only to see it was Daryl and Rick already returning. They carried nothing more in their hands, and I was beyond surprised to see Rick with a huge unreal smile on his face, looking the most hopeful he had in months.

"...What's up?" I asked cautiously.

Daryl smiled small before nodding back to where they had just came from, "Yer gonna want to see this."

Seeing their sudden happiness the two seemed to bring back with them, it caused the others to anxiously gather their things and move to follow them to whatever they seemed to find. I didn't know what to really expect, but I can genuinely say I never in a million years expected this.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of large gates that led to an overrun prison, instantly seeing why the guys were so excited about this. It needed a lot of work, but this could be the perfect place for Lori to safely have her baby without drawing attention to ourselves. The perfect place where we could actually start building a life behind the safe and sturdy walls. I felt a smile creep onto my face at the possibilities as Rick was cutting the fence so we could easily sneak in. I didn't know what the plan was, but I would do whatever it took to guarantee a safe place for us to stay for a long, long time.

All of us made it through the hole in the gate and were now running down towards another, noting the number of walkers that filled the grassy field just on the other side. I knew someone would have to go in there blindly to kill as many as possible to make it to the other side, leading us one step closer to the main building. We needed to get the farthest gate closed that led to the cell blocks so more walkers wouldn't spill in, leaving us to take one small herd at a time instead of all at once. There were many of them scattered across the land, but in my mind we could easily take them all on. We just had to be careful.

"It's perfect," Rick breathed, "If we can shut that gate, prevent more from filling the yard, we can pick off these walkers and be in the field by tonight."

"So how do we shut the gate?" Hershel asked.

I was about to speak up, but Glenn quickly beat me to it, "I'll do it you guys cover me." he said.

But Maggie shook her head and protested quickly, "No, it's a suicide run."

"I'm the fastest." he argued.

"In your dreams." I stepped in with a scoff, "I'm definitely the fastest and you know it."

An annoyed look crossed his features as he turned towards me, "It's not a competition Ro."

"I never said it was," I replied, "I'm saying if anyone should go in there to close the gate it's me."

"Nah, ya ain't going alone." Daryl protested immediately.

"She's not," Rick stepped in, "I'll go with her."

I glanced up at him with narrowed eyes, "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know Ro, but we'll help cover you. It's the safest way, just let me help you." Rick nearly pleaded in a softer voice than before.

His just his tone by itself made me stop and look at him seriously. This was the first time in a very long time Rick had actually shown that he cared about me, or anything for that matter. Seeing him be so sure of something, the light slowly coming back into his eyes, I felt I couldn't argue further. So I nodded my head once as he quickly began telling the others what to do, while I looked back out to the many walkers, counting how many I would have to take down.

"Be safe." Daryl's voice whispered as he gently turned me around to face him.

I smirked, "Always am." I replied, repeating his own words back to him.

He gave me a small smile before turning around to go back to one of the watchtowers with Carol, having an advantage from higher up. I watched everyone else spread out, heading towards the gates to bang on the metal fence and distract them while Rick and I slowly made our way into the lions den. While others headed up into the watchtowers, taking out their guns to kill the ones in the distance.

"You ready?" Rick asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded my head and pulled my gun out to have at my side. We opened the main gate slowly and tried to quietly make our way up the gravel path without drawing too much attention, though the small rocks crunched heavily under our feet. I ran a little ways ahead of him and shot the walkers that were getting too close to me while he covered me, making sure none of them were sneaking up on us from behind.

I heard gunshots come from the towers where our people were slowly picking them off, but the noise began to draw more their attention towards us faster than I would've liked. I started to notice more of the walkers were making their way over to us, now not caring about the people behind the gates. The two of us then booked it towards the main gate that led to the prison, now not caring about being silent, but wanting to be fast.

I rushed up to it first, attempting to shut it while kicking a walker back in the chest that was trying to make its way out. Rick came up right behind me as I held it shut, taking clamps to hook it onto the fence, bonding them tightly to close it. We then shot at a few more walkers piling up behind us before making a break for it towards the watchtower to our right just before they could reach us as we slammed the door shut.

We rushed towards the top in a flash, hearing Daryl yell, "Light it up!" the second he noticed we were safe.

The group then didn't hesitate to shoot the rest of the walkers scattered across the field, Rick and I aiming our weapons to help out with the side that we had. And before we knew it, the last walker dropped dead to the ground, and we had the whole field cleared. I turned to Rick with a smile on my face and to my surprise, he was smiling too, amazed at what we had just accomplished. I held up my hand to him and he gladly took it in his own, while looking out at the progress we just made.

The two of us then made our way back down as the rest entered through the gates, amazing positive energy filling the entire now empty space.

"We haven't had this much space since the farm!" Carol yelled as she held her arms out running further into the field with a delirious laugh.

I watched slightly further back from everyone as they carried their things tightly to their backs, finding a good place to set up for the night. The gates being built up around us just gave us all this new sense of hope that I couldn't quite describe, a feeling that we would finally be safe after all this time of running constantly. Finally, being able to breathe.

Darkness now coated the sky as a few hours had passed since we got settled. The group sat around the big fire we had built, having something to eat while Rick and Daryl kept watch on either end of the large field. Small, hushed chatter filled the air around us, the most we had talked in a very long time, and genuine laughter that followed.

Glenn finished eating from beside me and tossed the can to the ground, "Mmm just like mom used to make." he muttered sarcastically.

I laughed quietly to myself before turning towards Lori as if it was a routine, and offered her the rest of the food still on my plate. She immediately declined, like she did every single time, but I didn't budge or move my hand away until she finally took the food away from me with a sigh. I couldn't help but worry that the woman wasn't eating enough along with everyone else, occasionally taking turns in giving her more food each night.

After finally finishing up, I stood to my feet and grabbed a spare plate, piling on the remaining food on it for Daryl who was standing tall on a bus that laid on its side on the far side of the grass. Walking over there was a workout within itself, but the man noticed rather quickly as he placed his weapon down beside him. He held out a hand for me once I was close enough, pulling me up with ease so I could stand with him alone for a while as he ate.

"What's for dinner tonight?" he asked as he glanced down at the food, now looking more like mush.

"Well," I sighed, "The options were either ravioli or ravioli...tough choice but I went with ravioli." I said as I handed him the plate.

"Ah." he muttered as he took it from me, "You eat yet?" he asked before even taking a bite.

I nodded my head, "Yeah."

He narrowed his eyes a little at me, taking a bite silently before muttering, "Yer a liar." I tilted my head in confusion, "I ain't blind, I saw ya give the rest of your food to Lori." he stated.

I rolled my eyes, "Well, she needs it more than I do right now."

He stared at me silently before finishing only half of his food before handing the rest over to me, "No." I immediately declined.

"Yes." he said with a crooked grin on his face.

"Daryl." I warned.

"Rosie." he mocked my tone, "Eat. Ya need it more than I do right now." he repeated back to me with knowing eyes.

I sighed, "Fine. We'll split it." I caved as I ate half of the half and handed it right back over to him.

"Nah." he said immediately.

"Look, it's called a compromise, I know you're not familiar. But everyone wins in this scenario." I stated while placing the plate in his hands.

He scoffed, "I ain't winnin, I wanted ya to eat all of it."

"I ate some of it, now you eat the rest. You're not getting exactly what you want, but kind of at the same time," I explained as if he were a child. Though he didn't respond to me, only giving me a blank stare, "If you want me to eat that you'll have to shove it down my throat." I finished.

He smirked a little, before finally eating what was left on the plate, "Kinky." he muttered.

"Oh my God." I huffed, slightly laughing as I looked down at my shoes, though I could feel his eyes on me. I eventually glanced up and leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, kissing his lips softly and pulled back to watch his cheeks tint a deep red.

"So, how are you feeling, love?" I asked him.

He shrugged, "Hopeful I guess... considerin we found this place. How you doin?"

"I'm good, I'm just kind of worried." he raised an eyebrow at me, so I continued, "What if this place is too good to be true? I just don't want to get my hopes up." I said, looking back towards the small group.

He lifted his hand and placed it on my cheek to get me to look back at him when he spoke, "Ya don't gotta worry bout that. I think this place is safe and if it isn't, I'll protect ya. You know that." he finished, kissing my forehead.

I sighed and took his hand that was holding my face and kissed his palm, before holding it down at my side, "I know you will, I just... can't help but overthink, you know?"

He nodded in response and we both seemed to turn back to look at our group in front of us, huddled close together by the fire. My eyes then wandered up to Rick for a moment who was still pacing back and forth by the fence as if something would suddenly pop out of the woods, and I furrowed my eyebrows in concern. He hadn't stopped by to eat something or even give us an update on how things looked on the north side of the fence that he had been guarding.

He still wasn't okay by any means, but I was hoping since we found this place, it would lift his spirits a bit. Maybe give him some peace of mind for Lori, even if things between them weren't the best. He still loved her more than she even realized.

My shoulder then twitched involuntarily from the pain it was constantly in, causing me to roll it back and forth a little in an attempt to ease the soreness.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, just my shoulder, I don't know it's been hurting recently. Probably from sleeping on hardwood floors for God only knows how long." I joked.

His brows furrowed, "Why didn't ya say somethin?" he asked.

I looked at him confused, "I don't know?"

He chuckled, "Turn around." he muttered with a nod of his head.

I did what he asked and then felt his hands go to my shoulders and rubbed them, not too hard but just the perfect amount of pressure and I sighed in content as my eyes fluttered closed.

"Am I hurtin ya?" he asked softly.

"God no." I said as I let my head lean to the side.

I heard a deep chuckle escape him as he continued to work his fingers into my sore muscles. His hands then slowly moved towards the sides of my neck, traveling his way all the way down my back before landing back up on my shoulders again. I felt chills run down my spine at the feeling of relief washing over me, but then he stopped after only a few minutes much to my dismay. I groaned at the loss of contact the second he took his hands away, hearing him chuckle again to himself.

"Better?" he asked.

"No," I muttered, shaking my head, "I think you need to keep doing that for like...a few hours at least." I said as I turned back around to face him again.

He smiled a bit with a tilt of his head, "Don't worry, we'll get some alone time and then I'll do whatever ya want." he winked.

I raised my eyebrows at him, "Really? Okay, but I am definitely not having sex up against a tree again." I joked.

He smiled and shrugged, "Hey, we can check it off the bucket list."

"You have a bucket list for our sex life?" I asked with furrowed brows.

"Nah but I should." he said, before I felt him reach down to pinch my ass. I gasped and hit him playfully in the chest as he just laughed at his own actions.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help but smile a little at his more positive demeanor. "We should be getting back." I reminded.

"Yeah, yer probably right." he agreed as he turned to grab his crossbow, before cautiously jumping off of the bus.

My eyes followed him before glancing back down to the ground nervously, watching him turn around and see my hesitation, "Don't worry, I'll catch ya." he assured.

"It looks so much higher up from right here." I voiced, and he held out his arms in response.

I felt myself smile before carefully slipping off the bus, feeling him catching me around my waist to bring me back down on my feet slowly. His hands stayed firmly on my waist for a moment, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before turning around and picking his weapon up off the ground.

We then walked back to the others hand in hand, overhearing Beth say something when we got close enough.

"No one wants to hear." she muttered with a shy shake of her head.

"No one wants to hear what?" I asked her while Daryl and I sat down on the grass.

Glenn looked over at me, "Hershel wants her to sing, set the mood, but she thinks no one wants to listen."

I looked back over at Beth, "That's not true, hon we want to hear, sing us something."

She glanced up at me with a small smile on her face, "I'll sing...if you sing with me." she suggested.

I felt my cheeks get hot from embarrassment as everyone around me looked towards me with a certain glint in their eyes. I couldn't even bring myself to look over at the man next to me as I groaned internally. Why? I swallowed the lump that seemed to form in my throat, waving the girl off as I laughed nervously, the group expecting me to say something.

"I don't know." I muttered.

"I didn't know you could sing." Carol said with a smile on her face.

I shrugged, "I don't really...I haven't much the past few years."

"Oh, are you kidding? You sounded spectacular the last time I heard you." Hershel complimented.

I could feel the anxiety slowly creeping back up as Glenn prodded me again, "Come on, just one song. I've been wanting to hear you sing." he tried to convince.

I closed my eyes momentarily as I tried to keep my cool. None of them realized the severity I had behind this whole thing, they had no idea that singing just brought back horrible memories of the past. To them it was all in good fun, a talent that perhaps I shouldn't keep hidden just for myself, but the truth was it wasn't a talent. It was a coping mechanism. Something to distract me while my mother was on her fifth rampage of the day. Some trauma that was still built up and tucked away from when I was young.

"Ya don't have to if ya don't want to." Daryl said suddenly, whispering close to my ear so only I would hear, "Just say the word and I'll yell at em to stop." he joked, though I knew he was completely serious.

I huffed out a laugh as I shook my head, silently telling him that it was okay. I could tell how much the young girl didn't want to do this alone, and at some point I had to get it through my thick head that these people weren't here to hurt me. They weren't here to degrade me or mistreat me like my mother did, they were here to support me and applaud me for even the smallest accomplishments.

I sighed to myself with almost regret in my tone as I asked, "What song are we singing?"

Beth smiled wide, "You pick." she said in excitement.

I thought to myself for a moment before deciding on a Tom Petty song, Free Fallin. That specific song offered me some type of comfort that I couldn't exactly describe, but I knew it would help at least a little when it came to singing in front of everyone. It felt odd, having all those eyes on you as you tried desperately not to think about it, but I was only really doing it for Beth. With the day that we just had after all those hard months, I felt like I couldn't let her down.

Although it got better towards the end, Beth signaling for everyone to join in at the last part so we would all come in together. Our voices all mixed together softly and quietly, still somewhat aware of the things outside the fences, but laughing softly and enjoying it nonetheless. In the end it turned out to be a sweet moment, and one that we would all surely remember.

As it came to a close, soft applause came from everywhere, "Beautiful." Hershel complimented once we were done.

Everyone else muttered something in agreement, filling the silence with compliments about how great it was, especially hearing it on such a calm quiet night. One that we hadn't had in a long time.

Beth reached over to squeeze my hand as they continued to chat in the background, "I'm proud of you." she whispered with a smile.

I squeezed her hand, "Thanks, hon." I said genuinely, knowing that she had no clue how much those words truly meant to me.

She nodded and opened her mouth to say something else, but Rick's presence suddenly came back to join the rest of us, "Better all turn in, I'll take watch over there. Got a big day tomorrow." he announced.

He then continued when nobody spoke up, "I know we're all exhausted, this was a great win. But we have to push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners, looks like this place fell pretty early. It could mean the supplies may be intact, they would have an infirmary, a commissary."

"An armory?" Daryl questioned.

"That would be outside the prison itself but not too far away. Warden's office would have info on the location. Weapons, food, medicine. This place could be a gold mine."

Hershel then voiced his worry, "We're dangerously low on ammo. We'd run out before we could make a dent."

"That's why we go in there, hand to hand. After all we've been through, we can handle it. I know it. These assholes don't stand a chance." Rick said with a nod of his head, turning back to check the perimeter one last time.

I sighed quietly to myself before standing up to find my backpack, to try and get some sleep before tomorrow came quicker than I wanted. I laid down flat on my back in the soft grass, resting my arms behind my head as I looked up at the stars, hearing the others get situated as they too got ready to sleep. I felt someone come and lay down slightly next to me, looking over to see Carl resting on his stomach as he sent me a small smile.

"You sounded good." he said quietly.

I playfully rolled my eyes as I scoffed, "Yeah, thanks kid," I muttered before reaching up to tip his hat down so it would cover his eyes, "Try and get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded and laid down on his back, pulling his hat completely over his eyes to block out anything else as he tried to fall asleep. I followed his actions, seeing as I was barely able to keep my eyes open from the exhaustion, before I felt someone's arm wrap around me and pull me in closer. Smiling in content, I leaned in closer to rest my head on his chest, feeling him breathe in and out deeply.

"You amaze me every day, darlin." he suddenly spoke softly.

I peeled my eyes open and looked up at him, "What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.

He shook his head, "Had no idea ya could sing like that." he said, tracing circles on my back lightly.

My face flushed as his words left a tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach, thinking back to how his gaze was burning into me the whole time I sang softly with Beth. I had noticed it almost instantly, but tried not to let my mind linger too much on it as I focused on the lyrics. Though the feeling rushed back to me in an instant, thinking how no one had ever looked at me like that before him. But I liked it, maybe even a little more than I let on.

But I didn't say anything in response to him as I buried my face in his chest from slight embarrassment, hearing him chuckle before placing his hand on the side of my face to get me to look at him.

"Nah, don't try and escape from it now." he joked, "How come ya never told me?" he asked, lightly rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

"To be fair, I only told Glenn and then his big mouth told everyone else," I said to which he nodded, "And I don't know...it's kind of hard to explain. More like something from my past that I just...want to ignore forever."

His face dropped slightly upon hearing that, somewhat knowing what I meant and didn't say anything else, but only brought me closer to him. I sighed in content as I scooted closer, hearing the steady sound of his heart beating, and feeling him place a kiss on top of my head.

I knew I never needed to explain myself to him, because somehow, he always knew. He always knew without me having to say a single word, and I loved that about him. He didn't pry, he didn't assume, he just held me close as if he wanted to take away the painful memories it brought me.

~ Thanks for reading!

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