#did anybody have a really rough day today???

[like-wuatafauq]

💕💕💕Thank you to whoever gave my tumblr notes today, it was very few but I was beginning to wonder if yall were mad at me💕💕💕

[myosotisa]

Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

‖  summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.

‖  word count: 2.1k

The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.

A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.

So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck.

You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”

“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”

Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.

Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.

Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–

“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”

“I… I’ve been sick.”

“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”

“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”

“No!”

Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”

While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”

There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.

If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–

“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.

“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”

The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.

Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.

This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–

As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness. 

Because they pity you.

“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.

“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”

Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”

“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”

“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.

“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.

“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”

Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”

A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”

“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”

“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”

“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.

What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–

“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”

“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.

But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.

“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”

“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”

Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”

Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them.  “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”

I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–

“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”

Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.

Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–

Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.

“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”

A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.

“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”

“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”

You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”

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now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day four walls closing in from months spent inside them there is too much grief packed into this small place packed into this bed with unchanged sheets packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken and no one has ever been here not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space

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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (1/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you were ona’s biggest headache at man united, until you both move to barcelona.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i’ve been watching the men’s game for years but i’ve finally sobered FINAL TODAY LET’S GO ENGLAND LET’S GO SPAIN (MOSTLY SPAIN)

PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V

It started four years ago when Ona first signed for United. She didn’t notice at first the way you were always gunning for her, she was just doing her job.

But now, you were here in Barcelona with her. As she looked up at you, a soft smile on your face, everything she had buried in the past year all came rushing back.

Everyone was aware of the new signing from the States for her rival club just a couple of weeks before, a dragged-out saga of whether you were going to choose City or United. Unfortunately for her, you chose the Sky Blues.

If things had been different, maybe she wouldn’t have despised you as much as she did.

The first Manchester derby you played, she thought marking you would be easy until you dribbled past her several times to register a goal and assist. She must have been glowering at you when she walked back to the midfield line, because you shrugged before grinning at her, saying: “All in a day’s work.”

“Could I just ask what put Man City above all the other contenders for your signature?” “Well, I mean, it’s a great club with a great history, amazing players too. I’ve spoken at length with the new manager and he gave me a rough plan for next year’s project. So I’m really excited and confident that it’ll be a great destination for me.” “What do you say to the people who think you’ve chosen City for the money?” “People can think whatever they want to think. I’ll just play my game, and they can judge me all they want. It’s all anyone’s good for.” “You’ve just transferred from Portland, you’ve got an enormous price tag for the women’s game, tons of big clubs in Europe wanted you. There’s a mounting pressure on you, it seems. Do you think you’ll be up for the challenge of the Women’s Super League?” “It’s no fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Ona Batlle was what people considered a modern full-back, dangerous in attack just as she was solid in defense. But when playing against Man City, she usually has to stay back to avoid a dangerous winger finding their way into the box; you. It wasn’t her way of playing, and it frustrated her that that was what her role was while her team was struggling to create chances, especially when she knew she could help.

“I want you to stay back and mark Y/L/N. Whatever you do, do not let her out of your sight,” Casey had told her.

She hated you for caging her in, and the worst part was she wasn’t sure if she can stop you sometimes.

The night before her next game against you, she watched how you played the previous match, studied your movement carefully, and took notes. She liked that she had found a pattern. You liked to use your speed, but you also liked to taunt your defenders; a pace of prime Thierry Henry’s, and showboating tendencies like that of Neymar. It’s why you were so entertaining to watch, because every defender you faced ended up a sort of decoration to your parlor tricks, her included.

Ona never liked being second best to anybody, and certainly not to you.

And so when she was on the pitch, zeroing on you like a hawk, there was nothing stopping her from getting away from you. She didn’t need to resort to any risky challenges, she just needed to stick with you, keep you at arm’s length, and stay between you and the goal at all costs.

You may be a skilled player for your age, but controlling your temper is something you haven’t been able to achieve. She heard you cursing a few times, eventually earning you a yellow card when your insults were directed at the referee.

The ball had only left the City’s goalkeeper, Roebuck, yet she already felt you pushing back against her.

The game ended 3-1 for United, but she was secretly much happier that she had managed to piss you off so much, that you didn’t bother shaking hands with her afterwards.

“Congratulations, Ona. A huge victory for United. What do you think went well today?” “I think that our plans worked because we practiced and showed what we’re able to do. We didn’t have a lot of possession, but we focused on the counterattacks, and I think that definitely was a very effective tactic today.” “I have to ask you about Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been a formidable player in the league until now, and notoriously difficult to defend against, but she was practically silenced today on the left-hand side. Do you think you had something to do with that?” “I think what I’ve prepared in defense has worked out, for sure. I’ve also got my teammates to thank for covering the grounds for me. Y/L/N is a good player, and it’s always a joy to play against her.”

Her rivalry with you continued, and soon even the press was picking up on it. Manchester derbies now included Y/L/N v. Batlle, and everyone was predicting what crazy thing would happen next. It wasn’t common for defenders to make waves in the paper compared to superstar strikers or even midfielders unless they were linked with a big move. But soon Ona was reading about herself in the news, how she has defended Manchester United’s left wing with an iron grip, how they started calling her la matadora, for her ability to hold off forwards and tame them like bullfighters do.

One bull remained to be tamed though, and her conundrum continued into her second season at United.

Unlike her, you seemed to take the new breath of fame easily enough. Day in and day out, there were news of you scoring goals and bringing Man City to the top of the table by November.

You were born to be a star.

But Ona knew from shooting stars in the game that burned out too quickly; if you let what’s outside the pitch get to you, you might as well just leave it altogether. You might have been a good player, on your way to becoming a great one even, but you did have a flare for the dramatics which riled up the press quite a bit. If she was lucky, maybe the pressure would take you out of the game before she does.

International breaks were times she always look forward to, being able to represent her country. Even if they were friendly matches, she knew Spain was always being watched, as a team’s form was important on the world stage. The team would play two friendly matches, the first one being against Brazil and the other against the United States. Some friendly fixtures . . .

Brazil was a breeze, mainly because she wouldn’t have to face her biggest adversary. Naturally, you were called up to your national team, and the back-and-forth game persisted.

She had played against you many times at club level, but the way you played for your country was something else. There was more passion to the way you weave your way through defenders, more flare to your shots. It could also be the adrenaline of being called up for the first time, and wanting to prove yourself—she knew that feeling well.

It didn’t come as a surprise, then, that when a long ball was played over the defense line and Marta Cardona was on her way towards goal, you’d be there to strike her down right at the edge of the box. Her teammates appealed, and the referee paused the game, but all Ona saw was red. With a speed she didn’t know she had in her, she sprinted to you and shoved you away as you were bending down in a show of checking on Marta.

“What was that?! You could have broken her ankle, cabrona!”

“Watch it.”

You had never seen her so angry before—her jaw locked as she continued to hurl insults at you. If she wasn’t your mortal enemy maybe you could have found it attractive. So you pushed back, and soon both your teammates and hers crowded around you, trying to separate you. Kelley put her arm around your neck and walked away, telling you to “keep your cool, this is only a friendly”.

Never, you thought. Never while I’m playing against her.

You apologized to Marta eventually, and she was cool with it. “Heat of the moment”, she said, and you were grateful. You never meant to hurt anyone. Sometimes you just couldn’t control your adrenaline spike.

As expected, Ona didn’t even look at you after the match. So you went home with Marta.

The next morning at breakfast, Ona heard laughing from the girls surrounding Marta.

“How was your American late-night snack, Marta?” Leila laughed.

The girl only shook her head with a grin. “It was delicious, alright.”

Ona didn’t know what that twisted feeling in her gut was when she heard what Marta said, as she walked back to her hotel room after breakfast. She just knew that as long as she was alive, you were the most despicable person she knew.

ESPN: Y/L/N-Batlle Feud Continues, Bonmatí Controls Midfield in Spain-USWNT Clash “LOS ANGELES -- Thursday night saw a friendly match between Spain’s women's national team and the USWNT at the Snapdragon Stadium that ended in a 2-2 draw. Several debutants started for both teams, including Man City powerhouse Y/N Y/L/N. After a stunning cross into the box from the left for Mallory Pugh to tap in, a dangerous slide tackle on Marta Cardona ensured Y/L/N to be the heart of a confrontation between several players, including Ona Batlle. It seems their club rivalry persists as they were seen giving each other a very clear piece of their minds, and several clashes succeeded the Cardona tackle. It would have been a good performance for both if not for the slip of attitude. One thing is clear, though; the mentality is there, and it sure is entertaining to watch. […]”

The end of the season was fast approaching, and while you had become a thorn in her side, it came to a point in which she would not think about you until a week before a clash. This one in particular was crucial in the race for a Champions League spot that both Manchester clubs were vying for. She knew what it meant for the club to secure a UCL spot for the first time, and you were not about to ruin it for her.

Tooney and Millie invited her out for dinner the night before the derby, but she turned them down, opting for a quiet night in instead. After a few hours, however, she suddenly felt antsy, the anticipation before the game nipping at her. It was only 7pm when she checked and she decided to go for a run. She followed the familiar path she always takes to the nearby park, and she was glad she did because the sun was going down, leaving a glorious trail of orange in the sky. She loved these peaceful moments, away from adrenaline, away from the constant pressure, away from constantly having to push herself or she’d be called ‘lazy’.

A constant huffing sound appeared next to her, and when Ona looked down she saw an adorable corgi looking up at her while wagging its tail.

“Hello,” she bent down and pet the dog. Loving the attention, the little corgi jumped up in an attempt to lick her face, to which she let out a laugh.

“Bratwurst! Come back here!” She heard a voice call in the distance, which she assumed must have been the owner. “Sorry, he loves people.”

Ona looked up, and her face dropped. You did the same, standing frozen in front of her. Bratwurst was jumping up and down before you, probably excited that he received pets from someone else today.

She had never seen you in plain clothes before. You clearly knew how to dress yourself, because she might have admitted that you looked good if she didn’t hate you so much. But it was difficult to see you as anything else other than Y/N Y/L/N, Manchester City winger, and potentially Golden Boot winner this season by the looks of it.

And yet, she sat down on a nearby bench with you anyway, watching Bratwurst stick his butt in the air, attempting to catch a squirrel.

“I named him Bratwurst ‘cause he’s . . . long, you know?” You chuckled. ”Short form is Brat too, that’s kinda funny.”

In a sea of northern Englishmen, she never got to hear your American accent properly as she’d only heard you speak no more than two words to her, and most of the time they weren’t pleasant.

“How do you have time to own a dog?” She asked.

“He’s a foster. I just got him a couple of weeks ago.” You looked down at your fingers. “It’s nice to have him to come home to.”

The conversation died down, and suddenly Ona felt like this was a mistake. Maybe she should just leave, and continue her run. But she saw a different side to you—a gentler, quieter side unlike the boastful player she knew you as—and she wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.

“Are you planning on adopting him permanently?”

“Maybe. I just want to make sure that I’m settled before making him move.”

You leaned back, placed your arm on the bench, and closed your eyes.

“You don’t want to stay in Manchester?”

“I don’t know yet. Why, would you be happy if I did?” You smirked, and she saw a glimpse of that player again.

Yes. “Your presence doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bring me any joy either.”

“Just face it, Batlle.” You turned your body to her. “I get under your skin, don’t I?”

Ona blinked, her jaw clenching. “You don’t intimidate me, Y/L/N. You might be used to people bowing at your feet, but I won’t let you walk all over me. We will win tomorrow, and you might think to show some respect for others in the game.”

“Sorry, Batlle, can’t let you win. We’re playing Champions League next season.” You really enjoyed taunting her.

Ona huffed and stood up. As she walked away, she heard you call out to her. “See you on the pitch tomorrow, la matadora!”

There was nothing you could ever do to make yourself less hateful in her eyes.

It was matchday, kick-off time. Ona saw you on the other side of the midfield line. “Remember what you came here to do, and finish the job,” Marc had told them in the dressing room. He was right. She had a job to do, and she wasn’t about to let you ruin that for her.

They were to play with a high line today, which required Ona to stay near the midfield line and run back, should a forward slip through. About halfway through the first half, she had a startling realization; you were dropping back too, playing a number-10 role. It meant that she couldn’t do what she did last time you met, because there would be a gaping hole where she covers.

United was leading 1-0 by halftime, and while they had the advantage, the fight was far from over.

“Okay, ladies. Have a drink and take a seat,” Marc stood at the front of the dressing room. “We’re doing good, we’re holding them off. Keep up the pressure.”

Ona sat back to catch her breath. You were much more versatile than she thought, and maybe that was her mistake for underestimating you. It seemed too easy that you were giving her exactly what she wanted, playing high at the flank like she always does. There was more to it, but she needed to adapt.

Ona held your gaze for a moment across the field. You weren’t giving up. It seemed you were confident enough in whatever wicked plan you still had up your sleeve, that you sent her a smirk back.

It was the 70th minute of the game and they were so close to achieving it. Katie was looking for a pass, so Ona made herself available.

There was empty space near the side of the box, and she wanted to utilize it but it meant having to get past a couple of defenders.

“Vilde! 1, 2!” She called, passed the ball to her teammate, and started running. Her momentum was halted when Vilde’s ball was cut off and instantly launched forward.

The counterattack came so quickly, it must have been what you practiced. 1-1.

Suddenly, the tides have shifted. The momentum was with City. Time was running out, and the sudden goal disoriented her team. It took about five minutes for everyone to get their head back into the game, but Ona could tell City were used to having possession by then.

And then, in the 88th minute, you were given the ball from the left. Everyone except Alessia had dropped back to defend a series of dangerous balls up until now. You didn’t have anyone to pass to without getting intercepted, and you were outside of the box. So you took the shot. She watched helplessly as the ball flew past Mary into the top right corner.

1-2.

Ona’s body ran cold as she watched you celebrate with your teammates.

When the final whistle came shortly after, she collapsed on her knees.

Some of her teammates were there to console her, but she let their comfort pass through her. She needed to break something.

She needed to get away from everyone and found a spot near the bathrooms where she could catch her breath. Her boots were dangling from her hand by the laces. She slumped against a wall and began to cry, the boots clattering next to her on the floor.

It wasn’t that she was sad to have lost—she blamed herself for letting you get to her head. The interaction of the day before got her thinking what ifs. What if we didn’t meet under these circumstances? What if I could have just gotten to know you without wanting to rip your head off every time I see you?

You heard quiet sobs down the hallway and knew it was her. You had quickly gone into the tunnel when you didn’t see her anywhere on the pitch, but you certainly weren’t expecting to see her cry.

“Batlle?” You called.

She didn’t seem to notice you, sitting against the wall and wiping her face with her shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay.” That was a stupid thing to say considering you just beat her out of a Champions League spot, of course it’s not okay.

“I’m really not in the mood,” she said, looking away.

“You did good out there,” you said, watching her anxiously.

“Don’t act like you care,” she sniffled. “You got what you wanted.”

“I’m not as heartless as you think, Ona.” You quipped back. “I’m not sorry that we won, but I am sorry that you’re hurt.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” She sobbed and glared at you. It sent a chill down your bones. “I wish we had never met.”

How do you tell her that you never meant for things to go this way? That every word you had ever said to her didn’t stem from malice but from fear? You had wished to push her away so that you don’t collide with her head-on. How do you tell her that no matter how hard you tried, you still gravitated toward her?

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a fool.

She was hurting because of you.

You snuck a glance at the form of the girl in front of you, like you would be penalized if you were caught looking at her. You took a step back to go, but she held onto your arm and pulled your body against her.

You had been fantasizing about having your mouth against her for months, usually in absurd circumstances, like you two making out in a bed of roses or you giving her a kiss after she, a masked superhero, saved you from danger. Never like this, muscles aching, sweat coating your foreheads, wearing your respective uniforms—being so you doing this.

You wanted to enjoy it. Her lips were soft and salty, and she might have secured you by the waist against her. Your knees trembled as you sighed into her lips, pushing her against the wall gently. Your hesitancy soon turned into hunger, as you pressed your body into hers, desperate to feel her.

Murmurs in the distance snapped you out of it. “Where’s Ona?” You made out one of the voices saying.

You looked back at her, your faces just inches away. You never noticed, but she had so many beautiful freckles adorning her face.

“Ona—“ You said, but she quickly picked up her boots and left towards the voices.

Chest heaving and head spinning, you slumped against the wall with a small grin, bringing your fingers up to touch your lips where she had been.

“Where have you been?” Keira asked in the dressing room, but you just shook your head.

“Just to the bathroom.”

Sky Sports: Man City’s Talisman Y/N Y/L/N Nets Stunning Late Goal Against Man United To Secure UWCL Spot […]

a/n: this gif is so y/n and ona coded

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried Threatened to Kill You and 1 Time How He Saved Your Life

Part 5/5: Finale

previous || Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake makes you a life-changing offer, but can you trust him? Can you really trust anybody?

Word Count: 7.3k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language (more than usual), nipple play, oral - m. and f. rec, p in v, unprotected sex, knife play, knife threats, mild injury, blood, wounds, violence, rough sex, creampie, tiny bit of anal teasing, mentions of food, suicide, trafficking and abuse, mental health discussions, not beta'd

gif does not indicate reader's race

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You checked the lock behind Jake. And again. Three times. Then you checked and re-checked all the windows and curtains, even though Jake had secured the house as soon as you arrived. You peered in every closet and under both beds, in the bathroom, everywhere that someone might think to hide.

And you did all this while carrying your weapon. In fact, you inspected the house so thoroughly and repeatedly that you were searching a closet when Jake returned. Your blood went ice cold in your veins at the sound of footsteps. But you drew a deep breath and gripped your weapon, ready to defend yourself if needed.

He called your name and you almost collapsed in relief, making sure the safety was on before setting the gun on the night table. 

“There you are, you okay?” He hurriedly questioned, rushing to check you over.

Nodding quickly, you threw your arms around his neck and held onto him as if he’d just returned from war. 

“I got you, it’s okay,” he murmured against your ear, wrapping his arms around the curve of your back and pressing your body against his securely. “I’m sorry I left. You’ve been through hell today.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, your eyes drifting closed as he folded you closer still, deciding to see how he would respond if you remained calm instead of showing him the absolute panic consuming you.

“No. It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have left you.” Pressing a kiss to your temple, he eased back and took your face in his hands. “It won’t happen again. I’m not gonna control you like everyone else. I should have given you the choice."

You blinked at him so sweetly, stunned by his confession - wishing so badly to believe him, but still so uncertain...

Better to play nice for now.

“Keep talking,” you smiled warmly at him. “You’re more than a pretty face.”

He kissed your lips, chuckling lightly, relieved that you seemed in good spirits.

Jake showed you the supplies, allowed you to change into clothes closer to your size, and the two of you made some food since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

As the evening wore on, he finally seemed to relax a bit, removing his jacket, although his gloves and hat stayed on. And before you had to wonder anymore, or for very long about his intentions, he motioned around him at the supplies he'd gathered, letting you know he had a ton of work to do to get the two of you out of there safely tomorrow - and suggested you go to bed...leaving you completely bewildered.

"I'll fix up the bed - you can sleep in there. I'll take the couch."

Now you were more confused than ever.

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Jake checked with you half a dozen times, it seemed, making sure you felt okay to go to bed.

"You can sleep in here, you know...if you want. Plenty of room," you offered, fidgeting nervously with your hands, which was quite unlike you.

Jake stopped, glancing up from tucking a blanket neatly under the edge of the mattress. "Thanks. Maybe I will. I just don't want to keep you up."

"Okay," you softly agreed, and Jake wondered if the chaos of the day had taken the fight right out of you. "Hey, come here," he said softly, reaching for the swell of your hips to pull you close. "It's been a shit day. I'll come in later."

You nodded, sadness lingering in your eyes and Jake realized he'd never seen you so soft and vulnerable.

"You're safe here," he repeated. "I promise you."

Forcing a smile, you went along with his idea, needing time to think.

Although you'd put up a fight with Jake, at least verbally, several times before, this was different. You were alone, totally isolated and no one knew where you were. You could die here. Or he could be leading you to your death.

So for once, quietly accepting your fate sounded like the way to go. You kissed Jake goodnight and locked yourself inside the bedroom, hoping he wouldn't grow suspicious or worse, angry.

You stared at the pitch black ceiling above your bed, unable to believe this is how your first night with Jake Lockley was going.

This man who haunted your fantasies, who plunged a knife into your abdomen, whose very voice made you wet...was surprisingly the softest man you'd ever met. At least you truly hoped so.

These thoughts turned over and over in your head, making you toss and turn for what felt like hours, wondering if Jake would come to you. After getting up to use the bathroom, you decided it best to unlock the door.

After a while longer, your impatience won out and you remembered all the times in your own bed, in the comfort of your penthouse, when you'd relieved your stress physically - each time fantasizing about Jake - at least for the last few weeks.

Bored, frustrated and wired, your fingers wandered under the cotton t-shirt Jake had given you to sleep in, toying with the scar he'd left with his knife. The knife you came on. The scar he'd caressed while fingering you with his gloves on - something right out of your wildest dreams.

He must think you were so unhinged. Which...was probably true. Even now, toying with your scar, you felt yourself getting wet. Maybe you could just...no. Not with Jake in the next room. He would definitely hear you getting yourself off since you weren't exactly one for quiet orgasms.

The truth was, you simply weren't used to being on your own, quiet, with no phone, no one to call, no one to serve you. Nothing.

"Fuck," you hissed, annoyed with yourself for getting worked up over a stab wound.

"That a request?" Jake's voice sounded from the bedroom doorway.

"Shit! Jake - you scared me." Scooting up in bed, you reached for the bedside lamp.

He stood, shirtless, arms folded over his chest, his curls wild and untamed from running his fingers through them relentlessly...and his hands, finally, bare.

"What, you don't wear gloves to bed?" You teased, drawing your legs up to your chest in a somewhat defensive pose.

"I can if you want, cariño," he smirked, pushing off the doorway to stalk toward the bed.

"I thought you were busy," you huffed, keeping your distance, if only to pretend you were punishing him in some way.

"I was, but...I missed you."

"Sure you did," you fired back, rolling your eyes.

"There it is," he darkly chuckled, easing closer to you. "So sweet before, but I knew it wouldn't last."

"Fuck you," you spat, reaching out to swat at his arm, but he trapped your wrist in his strong grip, condescendingly tutting a few times.

"Mmm, you said that," he nodded, pushing your hand over your head while climbing on top of you, his gorgeous body flexing as he eased you underneath him. Taking hold of your free hand, he pushed it up to join the other, locking your wrists in an iron grip. "Why do you think I came in here?"

Without giving you time to answer, he covered your mouth with his own, strong hips pinning you to the mattress to restrict your movement. Licking open the seam of your lips, he thrusted against you hungrily, growling as your hips shifted to meet his rocking motion.

Keeping a hold on your wrists with one hand, he dragged his free hand down to push up your t-shirt, quickly and easily finding his scar - his mark on you. The one he saw you fondling as he quietly watched you from the doorway a few minutes ago.

He should have let you continue, waited patiently while you slid your fingers into you slick cunt, panting his name.

But he just couldn't help himself, even now, as those same fingers wandered down underneath the hem of your panties. You moaned deeply into his mouth as he rubbed his knuckles between your wet folds.

Tearing his mouth from yours, he kissed a trail down your throat, yanking up your t-shirt to expose your breasts to his waiting mouth, smiling against your skin as he sucked your hardened nipple. Next he trailed his tongue down to your scar, breathing hotly over the sore skin before laving his tongue over the ruined flesh, the steady drag of his knuckles through your folds making you mewl and liquify under his touch.

He continued downward, laying soft kisses along your stomach, down to your panties, before pulling them off your legs.

"Relax, baby," he gruffed out, kissing a trail up the softness of your inner thigh before his lips finally met your dripping core.

"Jake...please..." You gasped, threading your fingers through his thick curls as he softly and temptingly kissed your cunt.

"Think about this every night, mi amor. Wanna hear you when you come on my tongue."

"Fuck, Jake," you moaned as he dragged his tongue through your folds. Your body trembled in pleasure at the way he started eating you - the squelching sounds filthy and turning you on beyond belief.

He nibbled at your throbbing clit before laving with his tongue, over and over and it felt so fucking good you thought you might cry. Then he plunged his tongue into your hole, fucking into you, swirling and licking as his thumb found your clit - circling it with hard, pressing pulses while working his mouth all over you pussy.

You tugged his hair so hard, pushing his face against your cunt, rocking your hips, fucking his face and he seemed happy to let you handle him like a toy, soaking his mouth with your juices.

A pleasure like you'd never known began to build in the center of you and you rushed headlong into it, thrilled that he wasn't trying to control you - seeming pleased with the way you bucked wildly against him.

His tongue felt hot and wild and wet inside you, obscene wet slurps filling the bedroom - only slightly obscured by your shrieks of ecstasy.

Whatever in the world you were mad at him for, he was forgiven because you'd never had a lover or a toy or anything in the world take you to heaven like this.

Just then, his stiff cock brushed against your leg and the thought of how hard he felt and how good he was about to fuck you sent you into oblivion. Your back arched violently off the bed as your whole body shook with orgasm, like a delicious lightning zinging through your entire body, all the way down to your toes.

Jake kissed gently back up your body, knuckles gently stroking your arm, fingers tangling with yours as you rode out your high.

"That's my girl," he murmured against your neck. "Came for me so good. Taste fucking perfect."

"Jake..." You panted, squeezing your joined hands and wondering when the room might stop spinning.

"I got you, baby. I got you."

Your blissed out brain vaguely drifted back to this morning when he said the same thing to you, while trying to get you to safety. It was a hell of a day.

You rolled to your side and curled up against his chest, loving how his arms automatically wrapped around you and pressed your body against the heat of his bare chest. The straining, hard length of him dug into your thigh as his mouth sought yours out once more, this time hungrier, more demanding.

He lifted your t-shirt over your head as you frantically pushed at the hem of his boxers, lips fused every second possible as you freed yourself of your remaining clothes.

He rolled your body back underneath his, kissing you hungrily before pushing your arms back over your head, hissing as his gunshot wound smarted. With fingers tangled, hands linked, he worked his hips in between your legs which fell open eagerly.

Sliding his tip through your drenched folds, he groaned out a few curses in Spanish before pushing into your hole, pausing for just a moment - just to get a reaction out of you.

Predictably, you slung your leg around his ass and urged him into you deeper, hissing as his cock stretched you open.

"Fuck me," you demanded, even as he bottomed out and held himself still, if only to hear you say it again.

Writhing underneath him, the stretched position of your arms put your breasts on a gorgeous display for him. "Fuck me, Jake," you whined, your back arching deliciously as you squeezed your joined hands.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he roughly speared back into you, twisting his body into yours, his mouth falling open in a gasp as your hips rocked to meet his.

He went slowly, but it was deep and a little rough and wild and so Jake.

"I think of you every night - wishing you were inside me," you panted, body rolling beautifully underneath him.

"I'm here now, baby," he groaned, driving his cock into you possessively. "I'll give you anything you want."

"I want you here," you panted, both legs wrapped snugly around him now, fingers gripping his own, spread open beneath him, taking his cock so good. "I want you inside me. Come inside me. Stay with me."

Your words ignited a molten lust like he'd never felt with anyone else. You were such a beautiful paradox - or maybe it was his heart that thrummed with conflict, but only for you. He wanted you wild, cursing him, fighting him, making him burn for you, but he simultaneously needed to tame you, take your body underneath his, just like this - make you soft and desperate for him.

But earlier, you were too quiet and he worried that maybe your spirit was breaking. He couldn't live with that. You were sweet and vicious and filthy and beautiful. He wanted to shove his gun in your pussy or bend you over the hood of his car and make you cry, but he also wanted to pamper you and get down his knees to give you anything your heart desired. He wanted to pull you apart with his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his cock. To pleasure you for hours on end, tender and deep and slow, in a soft bed.

He wanted all of you. And as you murmured against his mouth that you were glad he was here with you, he thought it might feel something like love.

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You fell asleep tangled up in Jake, honestly pleased to simply have his undivided attention. Despite everything, you still felt safe with him, but doubts lingered.

Your sleepy mind dragged you under and into a terrible dream - vague, but with images of your awful bodyguard who attacked you at the forefront. Then Jake appeared, and simply...watched. You cried out for him, but he didn't seem to care.

You woke up suddenly, disoriented and afraid, only to find Jake sound asleep beside you. Burning questions plagued your mind, so you silently slipped out of bed, quickly racing to the living room to locate some kind of weapon. You needed to solve this right fucking now.

Creeping back into the bedroom, you gripped a knife in your trembling hand, drawing a deep breath before laying it against the corded thickness of Jake's throat. Of course, as soon as he woke up, he would overpower you and probably be pissed, so you decided to climb on top of him, straddling his body to more easily pin him down.

Before you even called his name or shook him awake, his dark eyes popped open, feeling your naked body draped over his. But his brief delight quickly evaporated when he felt a sharp knife edge pressing into his skin.

"Shit," he hissed, struggling at first, but faltering when you dug the knife in to the point of pain.

"Be still," you ordered. "I have some goddamn questions."

"All right, okay," he agreed, holding his hands up as if surrendering.

"Put your hands underneath your body," you ordered. "Lie on top of them. Do it now."

You thought you saw a smirk and it enraged you, which caused your wrist to slip and barely nick his throat.

"Fucking hell, be careful with that," he gasped, complying with your demand - wincing at the way his current arm position pulled at his gunshot wound.

"Answer my questions or I will cut your fucking throat," you snarled, using all your weight to pin him down and hoping like hell you sounded believable, if not intimidating.

"Okay, just...go easy."

"You said twenty minutes," you accused, "You said you would be back from your supply run in twenty minutes, but you weren't."

"Corazón. Please - "

"You said twenty," you fussed, trembling with rage. "It was thirty-five minutes - "

"I'm sorry - "

"I thought you left me here, Jake," you insisted, gesturing animatedly with your free hand. "O-or something happened to you."

Wetting his lips, he attempted to explain. "I went to two different stores, but I got most of what we need. So we'll be ready. It won’t happen again. We'll use burner phones next time."

"Who will be ready?"

"You and me, to leave here tomorrow," he reminded you. "I told you." He groaned as your bare cunt shifted against his lower abdomen. Fucking hell, you were crazy but damn if it didn't make him want you so much.

Scared of asking your next question, you pressed on, desperate to know. "Are you going to kill me? O-or hurt me? Are you still out for revenge against my father?”

“What? No,” Jake passionately replied, hoping to convince you with his body held captive. “You were in the car when we were shot at this afternoon. I’m trying to save your life.”

"How do I know?" You clapped back, pounding your fist on his chest. "How do I know you didn't kidnap me?"

"Jesus," he huffed, rolling his eyes, but he seemed oddly relieved. "That's what has you all worked up. You think I fucking kidnapped you?"

"Maybe you did," you snapped. "Maybe you're trying to trick me - to get me to trust you."

"I told you you have every reason not to trust me, after what I did to you," he insisted. "Believe me, I was surprised you even agreed to come here with me. I'm just trying to keep you alive."

“But why?” You blinked down at him. “Why did you change your mind?”

His gaze met yours confidently. “You were in that bathroom with me today. In the club, when you kissed me. Why do you think?”

“For a good fuck?” You smarted. “Mission accomplished. Now what?”

He took the compliment. “Thanks,” he smirked. “I thought so.” Wetting his lips, he added, “I know I won’t forget the way you looked in that mirror for a long time.”

Fuck. The mere thought of it made you wet. Even his voice could rile you up.

"What if you're full of shit?" You seethed, trailing off as you felt his very prominent erection against your ass.

"What the hell...this is turning you on? Are you seriously fucking hard with a knife to your throat, talking about kidnapping me? You sick fuck!"

Jake's head dropped back to his pillow then and he let out a dark chuckle at your apparent obliviousness to the obvious reason he hadn't overpowered you yet. "That surprises you? You're the one who fucks yourself with my weapons, sweetheart."

"Yeah? Maybe I should shove this knife right up your ass!"

"For god's sake..." He groaned. "You're a spoiled fucking brat, you know that?"

"Fuck you, Jake," you growled, shifting your hips down. Using your free hand, you gripped his cock, pushing your thumb over the tip before guiding his length into your pussy.

With the knife pressed firmly to his throat, you sank all the way down, hissing at how he stretched you so good before starting to rock your hips.

"fuck..." Jake moaned, turned on beyond belief at how you were at least pretending to threaten his life while clenching him so tightly.

"Now answer me," you panted, trying hard to concentrate while riding such a good cock. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment - an opportunity Jake should have taken, but willfully chose not to. In this case, getting his dick wet was far more appealing than scaring you further.

"Are you going to hurt me?" You half moaned, dragging your hips back and forth demandingly. "Or let anyone else hurt me?"

Jake wet his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. "No. Never."

"But why?" You gasped, grateful instead of angry when he freed his hands, running them up your thighs. Gripping your hips, he moved you back and forth, helping you ride his dick harder and faster, even as the knife pulled roughly at the flesh of his throat.

"Because...you're mine," he panted, feeling the thrill of victory as the weapon dropped from your hand. "You're fucking mine. Say it."

Bracing your palms on his chest, you bounced faster and faster on his cock - your gorgeous tits mesmerizing him as your body flexed and fucked and you started to moan his name.

After a vigorous round of you riding him hard, he sat up with you, wrapping you in his strong arms, his mouth crashing into yours as your bodies twisted, rolling together like a thunderstorm.

Pulling you harder down onto him by your shoulders, Jake buried his face in your neck, remembering back to the club when all he wanted was to suck a mark on your skin and come against you. But now, you were here with him, alone, naked and he was so deep inside you. You wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice pleading instead of demanding, hands caressing down the curve of your back as he murmured against your throat. "Say you're mine. Because I'm yours. Only yours."

"Jake," you whimpered, your body surrendering to a euphoric wave of passion, arching against him as you came undone. He groaned into your skin, feeling your walls clenching around him, coaxing him toward his own release. Surging heat filled you inside and you held Jake's head against your shoulder tenderly as he he came back to himself.

Easing back, he gasped for air, gazing into your eyes before kissing your parted lips. Touching his forehead to yours, he cupped your cheek with his hand.

"I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever." Reaching for the knife, he felt you flinch, hurriedly whispering his name. He pressed the handle into your hand, kissing your mouth again. "Take it. Do anything you want. I'll never hurt you."

You repeated his name, realizing it was becoming something of a touchstone. Wrapping your arms around his neck with the knife in your hand, you kissed him deeply.

Maybe he really did just want to fuck you, but whatever he was doing was working. You were finally beginning to truly believe him.

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After holding one another in the dark, bodies wet and soft but still joined, the two of you panted, soft kisses and caresses soothing and calming you.

You climbed out of bed to clean up a little, check Jake's gunshot wound, and get a drink. Jake pulled your t-shirt back over your head and found his boxers. Pulling you against his chest, he ran his hands up and down the curve of your back, smiling to himself as you draped your bare thigh across his abdomen.

"I'm sorry I cut your neck," you whispered, running your fingertip over his chin before tracing the shape of his lips.

"No, I don't think you are," he softly chuckled, fingertips brushing the smooth curve of your ass underneath the hem of your t-shirt. "But thanks for saying so."

But you were serious. "I didn't want to hurt you, I just..." You trailed off, your voice faltering.

"You were scared," he supplied. "I don't blame you." Pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he added, "Gotta teach you how to handle a knife though. Just in case."

"Oh don't worry," you laughed, "I'm not planning to climb naked on top of anyone else and threaten them."

Jake hummed against your skin, squeezing your ass. "No, your naked body was pretty effective actually."

You shared a giggle, feeling the tiniest bit carefree, like lovers, instead of the messed up star-crossed whatever-this-was.

After a moment, Jake pulled the covers over your bodies. "Try to get some sleep. We have to leave in a few hours...unless you have more questions."

You did. You asked him again why you had to leave this house so soon. "It’s off the grid - even the electricity and water bills can’t be traced to me, but…it is better to leave soon."

“Okay,” you nodded, “and go where?”

Wrapping you a little tighter, he decided it was now or never. “I’m going to New York. From there, I can’t tell you yet. Not unless…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “You have to decide what you want to do. I can get you back to your father, if that’s what you want."

Chewing on your lip, you squeezed his hand, grateful for his touch. “What if I don’t want? What choices do I have?”

He chanced a look down at you and found you staring at him intently, as if he really could solve your problems. Hell, he was the cause of at least half your current issues. 

“Uhm…” he cleared his throat, dark eyes flickering away and then back to yours. “I’m leaving. I don’t know why you would want to, but…you could come with me.”

Your sharp intake of breath surprised him. “Really?” You whispered, your voice laced with sincerity and not a trace of guile or sarcasm. “Y-you would take me with you? Away from my father, from all of this?”

He eased back, lying beside you, so he could see your face better. “I would. I will - if you want.”

“But what about my father?” You pressed. “What about your revenge?”

The familiar ache inside him ignited as Jake remembered his brother. He shook his head, trying to figure out how to explain… With a sigh he finally peered deeply into your eyes. “I want you more than I want revenge.”

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Fingers tangled with Jake’s, your head rested against his arm as the two of you raced toward New York in yet another different vehicle.

“It really doesn’t bother you to leave stuff behind?” You curiously inquired, nuzzling into the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“I don’t have much to leave behind,” he vaguely responded. “Why? You missing your penthouse about now?”

Turning your gaze up to his face, you noticed his mouth curled teasingly.

“I’ll miss the breakfasts,” you answered honestly. “Omelettes made to order, mimosas, tea… Find me some decent eggs and a waffle and I’ll be happy.”

“That I can do,” he nodded, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I know a few places in the city - greasy spoons, but the best breakfast food you’ll ever eat.”

You hummed out an affirmative, snuggling back into your comfortable spot against his arm. After a few quiet moments, which you realized Jake seemed to cherish, you bravely voiced the most important question.

“So…I’m here. We’re going to New York,” you stated the obvious. “Are you going to tell me what happens next?”

“I will,” he assured you, smoothing his thumb over yours, "when we get there. It's...complicated. But I promise I'll tell you everything."

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NEW YORK

“I think I like your safe house better,” you joked, glancing around at the not-so-nice motel room, noting the presence of one bed and a small sofa.

"It's no penthouse, but it's safe," Jake shrugged, setting down two bags - now your only possessions in the world. "We'll be out of here tomorrow night anyway."

His gaze landed on you, carefully observing, just waiting for you to run out the door and call your father. Why would you want this? Not enough money - danger, leaving your whole life behind?

And why was he taking such a risk, having you here? Rich, well-known and beautiful, you were a beacon, drawing unwanted attention.

Noticing you shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he crossed the room, relaxing as you smiled at him, accepting his embrace.

"Let's get you some waffles," he murmured against your ear, holding you securely. "Then we need a few more supplies. I promise I'll answer any questions you have."

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"I have...a disorder," Jake finally admitted, his voice blending in with the old diner's dull roar.

Fresh pancakes sizzled on the griddle - the aroma of this morning's coffee filling the air with a slightly burned tinge.

Expecting to him to tell you the plan - to reveal the city of your final destination, you asked him, "What kind of disorder?"

And that's how you learned about his alters - Steven and Marc. He talked for a long while, briefly mentioning his abusive mother, his dead father, and the kidnapping and murder of his younger brother Randall.

Steven had been with him a long time, since they were children, but Marc came later, after college. Marc rarely came around, kept quiet and generally seemed to protect them.

"Steven's not like me," Jake simply explained, while you finished eating. "He's good. He's always been good." Then he went on to admit he planned to let Steven live in London and take a back seat in their mind.

Panic began to grip you from the inside out. Was Jake planning to disappear and leave you with this Steven? Or Marc? Had you met either of them?

And was London really your final destination?

"If you come with me, I'm not going to leave you," Jake explained, "but you'll meet them at some point."

Reaching across the table, you squeezed his hand. "Thank you...for telling me. I understand, in a way."

Noticing his confusion, you went on to explain that you were familiar with disorders and mental health issues because your mom was bipolar.

"She was on and off meds my whole life. My dad didn't really believe it was a thing - always treating her like an embarrassment or a burden," you brokenly explained. "She got so low that...she finally killed herself."

"My god...I'm sorry," Jake soothed, squeezing your fingers gently.

"I think...maybe when she realized what my dad was actually doing - how awful he really is - she just couldn't take it anymore," you went on. "That's why I was so afraid of you."

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he reminded you, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb.

Realizing Jake didn't fully understand, you explained to him that when your mom found out your dad was trafficking humans, she took her life.

"I've been trying to get out ever since. But I couldn't find a way, so I played nice. I didn't know what else to do." You shook your head. "Maybe we should find a way to...I don't know - overthrow him. He's truly evil."

Realizing the horrors you'd lived and how they were as bad as his own, if not worse, Jake's heart burned and he'd never wanted so badly to protect you.

"Let's try to get out first. I'll teach you how to fight, and when to avoid a fight," he suggested. "I don't want to think about something like that until I get you safe."

"You know...at first I thought you might secretly work for my dad, or a worse rival - that you took me...to sell me."

"Jesus," Jake whistled in disbelief, making sure to keep his voice quiet. "Are you serious? That must be terrifying."

Linking his fingers with yours, he peered into your eyes. "I was hired to kill you, by a rival of your father's, yes, but it had nothing to do with trafficking. I may have killed some people but I don't know anything about that world. You have to believe me."

Swallowing hard, you nodded once. "It's hard, but...I'm starting to? If that makes sense?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jake retrieved the keys, sliding them across the table to you. "You have your weapon." He nodded downward. "Those are to the car and the motel. You can hold onto them. You can leave anytime you want."

"Jake - "

"Listen it's not just whether or not you feel safe with me," he tried to explain. "I'm not going to make you believe I'm the only path to safety. You're smart and strong. I don't want you to, but...if you need to go, you go."

Gathering the keys from the table top, you managed a smile, stashing them in your jacket pocket. "Thank you."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“I hope you’re not trying to seduce me, Mr. Lockley,” you joked later that evening as you watched him peel a white t-shirt over his head. “Because three times between yesterday and last night has me a little sore.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shot up almost triumphantly. “You out of practice?" He stalked toward you slowly, unfastening his jeans. "Or maybe none of your toys fill you up the way I do?"

"Holy shit," you half gasped/half giggled as he pulled you close by your hips.

"Take a shower with me," he breathed against your lips, fingers inching underneath your shirt. "Promise I'll be nice."

As if you needed convincing.

Underneath the warm spray, Jake pushed you up against the tiled wall and kissed you hard and deep. Your fingers tangled in his locks as your slick, naked body arched into his.

"Can't believe you came with me," he murmured on your ear, running his hands all over your wet body. "Can't believe you're here."

If you weren't already tender from your activities last night, you would have to stop yourself from begging him to push your legs apart, bend his knees and fuck up into you with slow, powerful thrusts. Just the thought of it had you liquifying in his arms and moaning into his mouth.

It was you who blindly reached for his throbbing length, twisting your grip around this thickness before teasing his tip with pressure from your thumb.

Pulling away from the kiss, you locked eyes with him and dropped to your knees, empowered by the lust you saw simmering there.

He grunted out a curse as you went to work, licking and sucking his balls into your eager mouth, fingers naughtily slipping between his legs to momentarily tease his puckered hole. The list of things you wanted to do to this man would probably make even him blush, but you returned to your task, licking a long stripe up his veiny, hard length - tongue swirling over his tip.

His back hit the tiled wall as if he needed it for support, lips parted and panting.

Fingertips continuing to tease his ass, you sucked his hard shaft into your wet cavern, taking him to the back of your throat and swallowing his tip. He felt you gag for a second - the thought of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his cock making him groan in satisfaction.

After your little preview of how good you could make this for him, you got to work, teasing his balls, stroking insistently, alternating between brushing with your fingertips and cupping him in your palm. Your mouth slid up and down his length, humming out tempting moans to vibrate his shaft, sucking greedily on his tip - up and down, over and over, taking him so far down your throat that you gagged with each pass.

"...f-fuck baby, just like that," he praised, his hand cupping your cheek to keep you in place in the perfect spot.

You smiled in satisfaction, working him a little faster, your cunt dripping for him as he grabbed your other cheek and really started fucking your face.

You didn't mind that he took control - you wanted him to take what he liked, needing him to lose himself in pleasure - and his rough handling of you only made you want him more.

"Good girl," he groaned, hips pushing him down your throat faster now, using you the way he pleased. "You're my good fucking girl, on your knees for me, so pretty..."

The ache in your core was pulsing need now - god, if only you weren't so sore you would beg him to pound you up against the wall. Reaching between your legs, you slid your fingers over your clit, rubbing furiously as your hips rocked in time with his face fucking.

You wanted to focus on him but you need some relief so badly. Jake hissed out several curses as his hips stuttered - his cock erupting, warm spend burning down your throat. You greedily swallowed, loving the sounds he made as he finished.

He hauled you to your feet, kissing you hard before offering to wash your body. "Let's get out of here and I'll take care of you."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake wasn't kidding. He washed you, dried you carefully and pulled a clean t-shirt over your head. Then he laid you down on the bed and kissed you for a brief eternity before crawling down your body.

Lying side by side with his head opposite yours, he, drew your luscious thigh over his shoulder and spent the next hour with is face in your bare wet cunt.

If you died tomorrow, this alone would be worth living for. After wringing a couple orgasms out of you, he started up again, pausing for a moment when you half-heartedly called his name as if you might ask him to stop.

When you didn't, he kept going, ignoring the return of his own erection. Since he was so conveniently placed, you took him back down your throat, your bodies thrusting, fucking in and out of one another's mouths, feeling a mutual bond and wild pleasure beyond anything a lover had ever given you before.

You went on like this another hour - orgasm after orgasm - wild and unrestrained, but he never did anything to make you more sore. It was all languid, syrupy pleasure, molten lust and simmering desire.

He cleaned you up later and you fell asleep on his chest in minutes.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

THE PLANE

"Maybe this is better than revenge," you whispered to Jake, hands joined, seatbelt fastened and ready for an overnight flight overseas. "I mean...I finally got away, and I'm going to be happy."

The thought that Jake could be the one to make you happy, to give you peace and safety was indescribable - stronger and more powerful than anything revenge could have offered him. So he tried to tell you...

"That...means a lot to me."

Chewing on your lip, you smiled at him sheepishly. "Thanks for calming me down before the security check. I got so worried they were going to keep me from leaving with you."

Jake rested his head against yours, sighing gently. Worried was quite an understatement. You completely freaked out and started to draw a bit of unwanted attention, terrified that the two of you would be separated, and that you would be left behind, or that your fake ID would land you in some sort of interrogation.

Jake talked you through every step and now you were on your way to London. Eventually. You were flying through a couple of other cities first, just to make your trail a little less obvious. One thing that enabled you to feel safer was that Jake had been planning this escape of his for years, and had some money saved. The only variable was adding you to the mix.

"I understand. It's okay," he softly replied.

"I'm like her, you know... My mom. Maybe." Your gaze dropped to your lap. "I think I might be." Turning your gaze over to him, you smiled sympathetically. "That's why I get it, in a way - having a disorder or...feeling different. I get it."

Feeling a little choked with emotion, Jake cleared his throat. "Maybe uhm...maybe we're perfect for each other."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

LONDON

The blunt tip of a knife grazed your throat, paralyzing you. Your body was pinned to the ground - you were trapped.

"What now, muñeca?" Jake hotly breathed against your ear, shifting his hips against yours tauntingly.

"We fuck...obviously," you deadpanned, meeting his thrust with one of your own. "But I have to be able to defend myself someone who actually wants to hurt me."

Jake winked. "Show me what you got, baby."

Hooking your arm around the outside of his, you jerked your knees up and rolled abruptly to the side, twisting his arm behind him. Applying pressure to his lower arm, you kept digging and writhing until he started to lose his grip on the knife.

You knew he was stronger than you, but Jake was trying to teach you how to rein in your (typically wild) temper and stay in control, mentally. Not only that, but he showed you how to use your body's momentum to your advantage.

Of course, this was Jake, so once you managed to get the knife out of his hand, he pushed you back down to the floor, face down, and yanked your leggings over the swell of your hips.

Pinning your arms over your head, he sucked the spot on your neck that made you weak. "Be still, muñequita. I'm not finished with you."

"Get the fuck off me," you squirmed, moaning as Jake smacked your now bare ass.

"Fight all you want," he taunted, pushing your legs apart so he could shove his thick cock into your slick core.

You gasped at the intrusion, moaning as he rammed into you in slow demanding thrusts, the position tighter than usual because of the leggings restraining your knees.

"Knew you would be soaked," he groaned out, turned on beyond belief at how hard you were fighting to escape his hold on you.

Fucking while training had become a regular occurrence for the two of you, but since you didn't safeword, Jake drove his hips into you faster, using his free hand to wrap around your throat from behind.

"Want me to stop, Princesa?" He taunted, growling as you threw your head back, headbutting him before he could squeeze your throat.

Using his slight disorientation to your advantage, you scrambled away from him, chuckling condescendingly as you roughly pulled off his dick.

But before he could react, you pushed him down and climbed on top of him, sinking down on his cock and pressing the knife to his throat.

"I told you to throw that across the room from your attacker," he scolded between harsh pants.

"Not if I want to fuck him," you smarted, riding him hard and fast before smiling devilishly down at him. Tossing the knife across the room, you leaned over and kissed him wildly, humming in satisfaction as he squeezed your ass.

"Good fucking girl," he praised, groaning as you worked your beautiful body over his cock, tits bouncing, lips parted, panting and kiss swollen.

"I fucking love you, Jake," you panted, linking your fingers with his, slowing your body into a languid roll of your hips, staring deeply into his eyes. "I love you."

Leaning up, Jake wrapped you in his arms and rolled you underneath him. "I know."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake read off the name of your new ID - same first name but a brand new last name you picked out for yourself.

"How does it feel?"

"Feels perfect, Mr. Grant," you teased him, nodding down to his ID, which was in Steven's name.

He nudged your shoulder. "So...are you ready?"

"To get your ass kicked? Or to fuck me again?"

So much training, so little time. You were getting stronger. And you were closer than ever to being able to eliminate your father.

But you would keep that to yourself...for now.

END

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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[blarefordaglare]

Fan Joy July, Day 1

it already started? Wow, okay, HORRAY (this feels like new years and I don’t know why)

anyways, for day one I am writing about @those-arent-poppies art

Link

I really enjoyed Twilight’s facial expressions in this one, and Green on the last frame depicts the stress beautifully! I also love how you incorporated each Four’s (Ok that sounds off but what I mean by that is GRBV) chaos, and the personality in each of them along with it!

I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

____

Four is scared, and that’s an understatement. If he was honest, he was completely terrified. Or at least one part of him was.

Green dashed through the grass, searching for a familiar face. His eyes twitched, in need of the order that was precluded too early. 

“Hey!” Green stopped abruptly at the familiar voice, gasping for breath, he would never admit it, but running was harder with shorter legs. “You good?” He noticed that the voice was the ranchers, and he watched his eyes scan the tunic quizzically.

He had no time to explain, “Have you seen me?!” Green tried to ignore the fact that Twilight most likely had no possible clue on what he was talking about.

His thoughts were proven right at the other hero’s answer, “What?” He gestured towards his body, “I mean… I see you right now?” Okay, fine. Green really didn’t want to break the rancher’s brain today, they already had enough stupid people to deal with.

With an inward sigh, he waved his arms out, thinking that it would ‘get the point across’, “No, no. More of me! I split, and then they split, and now I don’t know where they went.” Sorry Twilight, maybe your brain does need to crack a little.

“And that’s a problem because..?” Green noticed the blank stare of his face. ‘When in doubt, dumb it down.’ A famous quote he created himself.

Okay, maybe Vio was the one who said it, but technically he did create it, they’re the same guy after all. 

“Alright. Three more. Exactly like me. Different color tunics…” He leaned in, knowing full well he looked like a crazy person, “They’re out for blood.” 

He could already hear the rough voice of Blue, arguing with probably, no offense Legend, the most arguable one he knew. He could feel Red’s impulsivity drive to chaotic actions, he wouldn’t be surprised if they just tied him to balloons and let him fly away, and then Vio… he just prayed that his calculated chaos won’t let anybody kill him. That’s the last thing he needed to deal with.

“Well,” Twilight placed an arm on his shoulder, “If they’re anything like you, they will be fine.” 

Green could only run his fingers through his hair, feeling himself go insane.

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - More Than I Do Now

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): none!

Bold and Italic is song lyrics

Just italic is like.. flashbacks of sorts?

—————————————

Shoulda known what I was getting in

Fallin' for a boy from Michigan

You love your mom like every Midwest kid

You like driving to Texas

You put up with all my exes

To deserve you, don't know what the hell I did

“Just put that down at the end of the table, honey.” I lowered the glass of wine from my lips, watching Jack help his mother set the large wooden table outside. Jim was on the back deck grilling burgers, kept company by Trevor. Quinn and Luke were playing croquet with Cole.

It was a beautiful summer day. Jack and I had spent most of it tanning in the front yard. Despite his energetic tendencies, he did enjoy laying with me in the sun. Anything to aid his appearance. Vain, but perhaps not in a bad way. Jack valued his looks.. there was nothing wrong with that.

When Ellen and Jimmy showed up, the whole lot of us spent hours in the living room catching up. Ellen and Jim only had three kids, but one would be none the wiser with the way they talk to their boys’ friends. They were parents to anybody and everybody their kids liked. I found it to be the same with myself.

Jack set down a bowl full of fruit, peeking up from where he stood to look at me. He still didn’t have a shirt on. The boys usually ate without much clothing at all at the lake house. I wondered if Ellen would get on them for that today.

I watched Jack look toward his mother, saying something I couldn’t hear from where I sat, in my boyfriend’s wooden lounge chair. Ellen nodded, they crossed paths and stopped only momentarily so the woman could kiss her son’s cheek. Then Jack grabbed a piece of fruit and waltzed his way over, a dorky smile on his face.

“Watermelon?” He offered, and I leaned forward as he lowered the sweet snack to my lips. I took a bite out of the chunk of fruit, and Jack popped the rest into his mouth.

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now

Jack was a Diamond in the rough. Especially when it came to Jersey.

The first time we met, he had been all over me in a bar. I let it slide because he was cute. Perhaps I let too much slide when he took me back to his place. But there, I met his brother, and if not for Luke asking me to stay when the morning came around, Jack and I never would have been together. I had the youngest Hughes to thank for our relationship.

Jack sat in the grass next to me, and I moved my arm from the armrest of the chair, resting my hand on the back of his sunburnt neck. I placed my glass of wine down on the opposite arm rest.

“Dinner almost ready?” I asked, watching his head turn to look up at me. Through those dark lashes. With those big blue eyes. The same ones I admired endlessly.

I fell in love with him even more every day. Since day one.

Bring me coffee every morning

People said there’d be a honeymoon phase. That it would end. That we’d go through hardship. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, per superstition, but I knocked on wood any time I thought, ‘that never happened.’ Sure, Jack and I weren’t perfect, but we never gave up on each other. We never chose something over the other. Jack was my rock, and I was his.

The first morning we spent together showed me the type of commitment he had, that I never would have seen in him from a one night stand.

“Hey, Lu.” Jack and his wild hair had passed by me completely in the kitchen. Luke mumbled a, ‘hi,’ before retreating back into his own room with a bowl of cereal. When Jack turned to look toward the door, only then had he noticed me.

“Hey.” A surprised look faded into a delighted smile. I smiled back.

“Hey.” I spoke in a sing-song tone.

“Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Coffee?”

We spent that morning leaning into one another seated at the island, sipping on our customized mugs full of caffeine.

We spent the next two weeks going on dates before we finally made it official.

You're fun even when you're boring

“Can we do something?” I muttered as Jack threw his weight against my side, leaning into me like a cat seeking attention.

“No.” His big old smile never ceased to make my heart flutter. His mischievous eyes watched me as he slowly leaned further, until he was laying across my lap. I broke into a fit of quiet laughter, resting my hands atop his stomach.

“Jack.” I complained, inching one of my hands beneath his shirt, only for him to jump at the cold feeling.

“Quit!”

We didn’t have to do much to be satisfied with one another.

And you like me even when I've been a bitch

Like said before. We weren’t always perfect. Sometimes Jack got on my nerves, and sometimes I got on his. Especially during my period. It’s no excuse to be mean, but when one has a bad day, they’re prone to be irritable.

“Jack! Just fuck off!” He’d been trying his hardest to help from the moment the sun rose. He was doting and caring, but admittedly overbearing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him until I couldn’t handle him, until I simply couldn’t do it any more. He looked hurt, confused, lost, but Jack simply stopped talking and laid down next to me in bed. Cuddling was the one thing I’d actually wanted that day, but Jack had been in and out so much trying to find a fix, that I felt I hadn’t been able to ask for it. He turned onto his side and pulled me back into his chest. He grabbed the heating pack from the bed and rested that over my stomach as well.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

“S’okay.” Jack kissed my shoulder.

Always so understanding.

You watch me while I'm gettin' ready

You lighten up my heavy

You're so good lookin' it kinda makes me sick

“How does this look?” I turned to Jack, wearing the fifth outfit of the night. Correction, the fifth one I had tried on. Jack sat on the bed, his phone face down in his lap, eyes raking me over for the thousandth time.

“Good.”

“Jack,” I whined his name, my head falling into my hands. “I can’t go- I just won’t go.”

“Hey, hey. Woah.” I lifted my head when I heard Jack stand, his hands finding my hips immediately. “Baby, you look beautiful in this. And you looked beautiful in the last four outfits too.” Jack reached for my hands, squeezing them and pressing them to his chest. “You’ll be the prettiest woman in the room.”

“Are you sure?” I sighed, still uncertain. Jack was always there to reinforce my foundation when it cracked.

“I know. For a fact.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead, and it caused me to smile. “What about me?” He asked with a playful grin.

“You look pretty good too.” I removed one of my hands from his own to smack his ass.

Jack’s innocent laugh that followed was one I’d never forget.

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now, aye, aye

“How’s that ring feel?” Jack asked, pulling me from my trance. I looked back down at him and smiled.

“Feels perfect.”

“You like it.. yeah?” He’d only asked that question a million times since the night he proposed days ago.

“I love it, Jack. You picked a perfect ring.”

“Mom helped.” I moved my hand from the back of his neck to run through his hair.

“Why don’t you sit here so I can see you better?” I asked, gesturing toward the arm of the chair. I didn’t really care about seeing him, it was more so about kissing him. Jack slowly stood up and parked himself on the arm of the chair, looking down at me.

“Better?” He asked. I reached upwards and rested my hand beneath his jaw, guiding his lips to my own.

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

You're the angel to my devil

We broke apart when I felt something fall into my lap. One of those heavy croquet balls. I glared at Luke.

“Fuck off, blondie.”

“Woah- babe!” Jack’s shocked tone amused me.

The pot to my kettle

“You wanna go?” Luke teased.

Jack and I both looked at him immediately.

“Let’s get him.” Jack spoke, practically reading my mind. Luke’s eyes went wide.

“Good idea, Jack-O.” I agreed.

“Never mind- forget I said anything.” Luke held his hands up in surrender. He’d fight his brother any day, but he knew better than to fight Jack when Jack was fighting in the name of my honor.

To some I might be an acquired taste

Jack started to get up.

“Wait hold on-“ I grabbed Jack’s arm. He looked down at me in confusion. “Let him think you’re still mad. Psychological torture will harm him more than a few bruises.” The brunette looked down at me with concern and adoration in his eyes.

You tell me I'm your favorite person

Hey, what we've got is working

And the years have only made it more that way

“You’re so amazing.” Jack spoke in a playful yet dreamy tone, leaning in once again to kiss me. I pulled away after a moment, smiling up at him.

“I love you.” I whispered.

“I love you too.”

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you anymore

I can't love you any more than I do now

You can try to talk me down

But I can say without a doubt

I can't love you any more than I do now

“Alright, kids!” Jim finally called hauling a plate full of burgers off the deck and down toward the large picnic table. The boys all seemed to drop what they were doing to find their places at the table. Jack stood up, and our hands met almost instinctively. I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand as we found our way toward the table. I couldn’t see myself spending my summer any other way.

“Alright. Everybody get situated.” Ellen put her finishing touches on the table before she and Jim took seats at the head of the table in fold-out lawn chairs. Jack and I sat across from one another, closest to Ellen. Then the food started getting passed around. Jack and I quickly got swept up in the surrounding conversations, eating and enjoying the company of those we valued most.

Heaven knows that I've attempted

“Alright, who wants dessert?” The sun had begun to set, and the once depleted energy immediately spiked at the mention of sweets. Ellen stood up as the boys all chimed in with various versions of, ‘yes.’ Like dogs, they all watched Ellen disappear inside. Jack was the first to turn back.

Couldn't even put a dent in

There were those blue eyes.

He flashed me a smile.

I blew him a kiss.

I can't love you any more than I do now

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Relationships -- slow burn Daryl x You

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

Pronouns -- neutral

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

feedback is nice to get :D

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?” as well as the cooking instructions Sam says in the movie.

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, then Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Oh, did the tension spike.

First thing you'd done was peek around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t.

His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. Then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick.

And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was back on it, it started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, too, but the sensation revved up more after the guitar question. Rest in peace Otis.

And at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed "troublemaker" to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie hasn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

And, well, right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on it. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause dude, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop. So, you know, maybe everyone else is also extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, you see as he scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing while you open the folded note.

It reads:

“aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room.

He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet, hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.” If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. It's his own damn fault— he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him. And now, someone else had seen them.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted, and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — fuck, who cares, it didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off. His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was too quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants or something? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, Y/N really did just worry if I had my hand down my pants.

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.

“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same, I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Just — why’d they need to use that pet name?

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” Y/N inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.”

He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but, he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt.

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a sec. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick Y/N out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to 'leave him be' like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted, “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt ham, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s white and brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you personally aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl who everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl suddenly surprises you by asking.

You snort. “We were trying to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time. I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on?? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…'Yo-ho…ho?'”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, giggling, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to taste how it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great.

But, like, why did Y/N say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it usually meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another quiet, hummed moan, and then Y/N opened their eyes and saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dying, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul bare-naked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.”

Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her. It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. With an empty half-laugh, they mumbled, “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with the hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out. For a few days, it felt to them as if Amy’s blood was still on it and wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Your hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know. It’s nothin'.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“It's not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just...existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his life was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t fix everything boom, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die really bad,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them to him and — shit, sorry, uh, he meant he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, betch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer on the nail, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too. Not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics.”

“Mm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick squinted at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pink because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do.

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savoring it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next bite was funny. “I’b also sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be cobooted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and their giggle, and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them, and so, did.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. It wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N obligingly took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed deh bigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a knockoff.”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend shook their head and smiled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’ve ever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself something nice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me my PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got very good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this?”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

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

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[variety-fangirl]

🔥🔥 body worship/praise with tasm!peter parker please!

Perfect To Me / tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter is a giver, loving to focus his time on your pleasure than his own. So, when you aren't feeling particularly good about your appearance, Peter helps show you just how beautiful you are to him.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS SHOO not much! Smut (unprotected p in v, praise kink, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), female oral receiving, light face grabbing, slight overstimulation), reader feeling unhappy in her appearance, mention of mental health issues and self-esteem, lmk if I missed anything!

Author's note: thank you so much for requesting! I love this idea 😍 hope this turns out how you wanted! I loved the idea, sorry it took so long to do, life's been hectic lately 😅. College has been kicking my ass haha. Liking, commenting, and reblogging really help me out. Thank you!

To anybody who's ever felt bad about themselves, their appearance, or felt like they weren't good enough: you are beautiful, no matter what you or anyone else thinks. You will always be good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough, and worth enough, please talk to someone if you need support, don't suffer alone! 💜💜

Word count: 2.1k

You arrived home to your shared apartment with Peter after a long day at work, your feet aching and your back sore. Today was a particularly hard day, you'd been overly tired and not feeling the best mentally as of late, and so your performance at work dipped a little. You made a few small mistakes and had a customer yell rude comments at you, making you feel worse. All you had thought about all day was getting home and taking a hot shower. Peter watched as you closed the door behind you, took off your shoes and coat, and went to the bathroom without saying a word. He frowned at the sound of the shower running and your light sniffles, shaky breaths leaving you. Peter got up from the couch and made his way to you, it wasn't often that he saw you like this but when he did, he knew what he needed to do.

You sobbed as you stood under the warm sprays of the shower, water flowing down your aching muscles. You looked down at your body and frowned, unhappy with the way you looked. Especially when that one man called you worthless and pathetic at work for making a minor mistake, it fuelled the insecurity and hate you already felt in yourself. You already had a rough few weeks of feeling down and bad about yourself, you didn't need the added extra bullshit from random arseholes at your place of work. The tears continued to fall quickly down your cheeks, mixing with the warm shower water. All you wanted was to have a nice shower, use your favourite body lotion and spray, and get into bed with your boyfriend to cuddle.

You sigh as you hear the bathroom door open, the gentle patter of feet walking across the cold tiles in your direction. You heard shuffling and gentle thuds of objects landing on the floor, and the clinking of the metal rings of the shower curtain being moved. Peter got in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning over to kiss your neck. The overwhelming feeling of your loving boyfriend's comfort pushes you over the edge, more tears breaking free as a sob escapes. Your body shakes in Peter's arms as he holds you, hands grabbing to pull him closer as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Peter understood you so well, better than you know yourself sometimes, that he provided you with what you needed without having to ask. It made you feel so loved, cared for, and listened to. He took the time to make notes of what you needed in times of need and struggle, showering you with love and affection.

As your tears stopped and your breathing went back to normal, you started to wash your body to actually shower. You didn't really feel any better but the crying allowed you to release some of the tension you had felt about everything over the last couple of weeks. The soapy loofa was grabbed from your hands by Peter, "let me take care of you, baby, just relax." he whispered in your ear, placing a gentle affectionate kiss on the side of your neck. You nod, a soft sob escaping as you let your loving boyfriend wash you. You appreciated that he was taking care of you without prompt, he genuinely wanted to make you feel better and do what he could to show you he cared. You sometimes wondered how you managed to get someone so loving and thoughtful, someone, who so selflessly helped others without anything in return.

Peter took his time in caring for you, making sure he was attentive in his actions. He took extra special attention when washing your hair with your favourite shampoo and conditioner, scratching his fingers across your scalp to loosen as much tension as possible. He made sure to lather every inch of your body in your favourite body wash, giving your back a light massage as he went. With every action he could feel your body relaxing against him, your back gently and slowly slumping against his chest. A soft moan of appreciation leaves you as he works on your shoulders, your mouth hanging open as the tight knots loosen and your sore muscles begin to feel less tense. You could feel Peter harden against your ass, and despite how you were feeling, you could feel your pussy become wet with arousal.

"Sorry baby, you're just so beautiful and when you make those little noises, I can't help it," he whispers into your neck, his voice shaky and almost breathless. His hands travelled down to your waist, holding you as close to him as he possibly could. You couldn't help the thought that popped into your mind, the insecurities and self-doubt still looming in the back of your mind. "I'm not" it slipped out before you could catch it, before you could stop the dreaded words from leaving your mouth. You knew Peter would hate that you were doubting yourself and take it personally, feeling that he wasn't loving you enough for there to be doubt. You felt Peter's hands tense on your waist, his fingers digging in but not enough to hurt you, he wasn't happy.

"What?" he muttered, turning you to face him, his tone hurt and filled with disbelief. You face him slowly, keeping your eyes on his naked wet chest to avoid his intense stare. You sigh, "I'm not beautiful." you whisper, exhausted with your current mental state, just wishing you could believe his words. Peter grabs your chin firmly and forces you to look at him, a gasp leaving you at his force, he'd never been this harsh with you before. "Look at me, you stop that right now. You're the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on," Peter grabs your hand and places it on his throbbing hard cock, "look at what you do to me, I'm so hard for you baby." He groans as your fingers grasp him firmly, wrapping around his massive length.

You whimper as he lightly fucks your hand, his face moving into the crook of your neck. "You're so beautiful," he whispers breathlessly as he works his lips across the wet skin, sucking to leave marks in the areas he knew were particularly sensitive to his touch. "I'm going to show you, you want that?" he asks as he stops his actions and pulls back to look at you for reassurance and the 'okay' to continue, he knew you'd had a bad day and didn't want to push you if you didn't want to do anything. He smiles as you nod, his lips connecting with yours in a passionate kiss. As his mouth explored yours, he reached behind you to turn the shower off and led you to the middle of the bathroom. He broke away to gently dry you both, neither wanting to have a wet bed to sleep in that night.

You lay down on your back on the bed, wet with anticipation of what Peter had in mind. His mouth latches onto your left nipple, licking and sucking while his hand plays with the other, pinching the swollen nub in his fingertips. Your panting with need, eyes watching his every action. You watch as Peter kisses his way down your body, taking his time and teasing you as much as possible until you were squirming with need. When he finally reaches where you need him most after what felt like hours but was probably only ten minutes, you're dripping with arousal. His fingers dip into your needy hole with ease, slipping straight into you to the knuckles without restraint, "Jesus baby! Your so wet for me, such a good girl." You whimper at the praise, your pussy clenching around his fingers inside you.

Peter slowly pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy as his mouth attaches to your clit, earning a gentle whimper of approval from you. You can feel him smile against you, his eyes staring up at you with a look of pure hunger and lust, it felt so intense that you had to look away. You felt Peter's mouth move away, your head snapping back to wonder why he'd stopped. "Nu-uh, you watch me, princess. Don't take your eyes off me," he commanded, waiting for your nod before continuing. You give him what he wanted, making sure to keep your eyes on him as he worked you closer to your orgasm with each passing moment, his fingers still pumping slowly. He didn't take his eyes from yours, making sure you were watching him pleasure you, he wanted you to see how much he enjoyed pushing you over the edge.

Peter knew you were close when he felt you clench around his fingers harshly and fingers pulled at his hair, your back arching and mouth open wide with panting breaths. It took everything in you not to look away or close your eyes as you came all over his fingers and mouth, explosions of pure pleasure clouding your vision. Peter's crash to yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he explored your mouth. He wasted no time in lining himself up with your dripping entrance, looking at you for permission. You nodded frantically, needing him to fuck all the bad thoughts away. You both gasp as he slowly entered you, your slick allowing him to thrust fully to the hilt without pain or struggle. You were so wet and ready for him that you asked him to move immediately, "fuuuuuck baby, you're so goddamn wet for me." Peter groaned, the sound of your juices filling the room along with skin slapping.

His thrusts were quick, dragging against your walls with precision to hit all the right angles, and slamming back into you with intent. His cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, his finger returning to your clit in slow circles to stimulate you further. "Fuck Peter." you moaned loudly, head thrown back, nails dragging down the skin of his back. You felt like you were going to explode with all the pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you over the edge once again with a loud scream of Peter's name. He slowed his thrusts down once you rode your high, taking a slow but passionate pace instead. Peter's hands roamed your body, appreciating every dip and curve, every perfectly imperfect inch of you that he loved unconditionally.

"I love you, baby, you're so perfect to me." Peter moaned as he pulled you into a mind-numbingly passionate kiss, one that took your breath away as he pulled away to nestle into the crook of your neck. "I love you too, so fucking much." you sobbed, tears flowing down your cheeks, your body was overwhelmed with blissful pleasure and intense adoration from your boyfriend. "So so perfect," Peter whispered to himself with a deep groan as he secured your legs around his waist and pulled your body close to his, cradling your head in between his arms so you could stare into one another eyes as he fucked you senseless. You could feel another orgasm approaching despite your clit throbbing with overstimulation, "you can give me another one baby, you've been so good for me. Cum with me." Peter pecked your lips as his thumb found its way to your clit, pushing you over the edge.

You scream as you see stars in your vision, your whole body shaking in ecstasy. Your pussy clenching harshly around Peter's cock sent him over the edge, his hot cum filling you over and over again as he rode you both your highs. Peter collapsed on top of you, both sweaty panting messes, careful though not to crush you. You both took a moment to catch your breaths as you bask in the euphoric bliss and try to regain feeling in your body again. Once Peter's cock softens inside you he gently pulls out and grabs a washcloth to clean you. You wince with sensitivity as he tries his best to gently clean you, kissing your thighs as he goes along to apologise. Tiredness overtook you once again, you knew you'd get a good night's sleep tonight.

Peter lies on his back and pulls you to lie on top of him, his large warm arms enveloping you, they made you feel safe and loved, wanted by the one person who always managed to make everything better. Peter continued to whisper sweet nothings and compliments into your ear as his lips kiss every inch of skin he could reach without disturbing you, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns over your skin until you fell asleep. Peter would remind you however many times it would take to convince you that you were beautiful, and to him, you would always be beautiful in his eyes no matter what. His beautiful perfect girl.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

can we get a mark heathcliff X reader, where the reader, cesar and Sarah (little Sarah) give him a surprise birthday party and he gets all emotional about it because not only did his best friend, his sister and his lover all go out of their way to do this for him, but also because hes never had a birthday party because he had only 1 friend in school because everyone thought he was too weird to hang out with 😭 (mark gets tons of hugs and kisses from the reader! because he's the birthday boy and deserves it<3)

I know I'm waaaaaay late but here's something short and sweet for the birthday boy!

..........

"""Surprise!!!!"""

Mark didn't expect anything out of the ordinary when he walked out into the kitchen this morning. To him, it was just another day off of school.

But to see you, Cesar, and Sarah greet him with a "Happy Birthday" banner and kazoos indeed surprised him, making him freeze on the spot.

For a moment, he seemed utterly confused...

Then it finally hit him.

Today was his birthday.

"Oh, wow..I...is this really all for me?" Approaching the table, he saw several giftboxes for him, alongside the cards with each of your names on the envelopes.

"Of course, man! Who else?" Cesar laughed as he patted his best friend on the back, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I know you're not big on parties, but [y/n] wanted to make this one extra special..you're finally 18! Feel any older yet?"

".........."

Sarah was a huge help in picking out the ribbons." You chimed in, ruffling the younger Heathcliff's hair, to which she smiled bashfully and nodded. "We did our best to be quiet, so...."

However, you trailed off when you noticed Mark's gaze seemed vacant. He kept staring at the table, apparently lost in thought, and you and Cesar exchanged concerned glances.

Suddenly a very small part of you feared this was all too overwhelming for your boyfriend.

He did have a rough day at school yesterday and went to bed upset, so maybe this wasn't the best time for a-

"Y-You all did this...for me?"

"We did Mark, I hope it's not too much." You stepped forward, but stopped as he turned to you, eyes watery with the biggest smile on his face. It made your heart melt. "Oh, sweetheart..are you okay?"

"I'm great, [y/n]. I just..." He began to sob, trying yet failing to hide his tears. "Nobody's ever gave a single shit about my birthday..b-but now I have you guys. I'm so lucky..I'm so blessed. Thank you."

Relieved that none of this stressed him out, you smiled back and cupped his face in your hands, wiping away the tears for him. "Awh, you're welcome." You kissed him on the forehead before hugging him, rubbing gentle circles into his back. "You deserve this more than anyone."

Truer words have never been spoken.

He deserved to have a decent birthday..to make up for all the ones he's missed or neglected.

Because back in school, Mark never got any acknowledgement...nor was he invited to any parties. Every year there's always the kids who made plans right in front of him, the classmates who said he was too "weird" to hang around and would rather partner with anybody else, and the teachers who gave him birthday wishes that were either too early or too late, never on time.

It sucked, and he had to get used to that lonely feeling even with Cesar trying to cheer him up. He started caring less and less about his birthday over the years...until he forgot that he literally turned 18 today.

When you first realized it was coming up fast, you believed it was a milestone worth celebrating!

So you wanted to make this day a little extra special, although you didn't think he'd get this emotional about it.

Poor Sarah was flabbergasted when her older brother started crying out of nowhere, thinking he was upset for some reason and hated the surprise, though Cesar reassured her that he was happy.

After he calmed down, he opened the presents (one of which didn't totally include a marketable plushie) and dug into a small cake his best friend bought for all of you to share for breakfast.

Of course, it was his favorite flavor.

As for the remainder of the day, well, he had no plans to go out. But you were okay with that, and he was too.

Rather, you just stayed home and cuddled on the couch together, where you continued giving him a lot of kisses. You had homework, unfortunately, but elected to ignore that for today, instead putting on a movie he casually mentioned wanting to watch. And you let him rest his head on your shoulder while you both stared at the screen, perfectly content.

Mark expected nothing from you...yet you gave him everything.

And he loved you for that.

[patheticlittlemen]

I wanted to ask for a fic of The Spot with a Spider person s/o, but they are allergic to spiders and their skin have like mosquito bites (I don't know how to describe it) and those parts always are itchy and they scratch them all the time to the point it hurts them and makes some skin fall, the mosquito bites are all around their body and makes them insecure

I've been thinking of this idea and I think is good angst potential

i got you anon!!

The Spot x Reader: What if the Spider-Person reader was allergic to spiders?

A/N- the spider person’s name in this is Spider-Sanguis

word count: 1110

Becoming Spider-Sanguis was probably the worst thing that happened to you. You’ve always been pretty allergic to spiders, getting an intense rash that lasted for a few days every time you had been bitten. When you were a kid, your room seemed to constantly be infested with spiders, despite everything you did to keep them away. At some point, you gave up and managed to live alongside the spiders without getting bitten. That is until you got bitten by a radioactive spider.

You’re not super sciencey, so you didn’t really understand what happened or how, but your running theory is that something from the spider has infused into your blood or DNA and has become a part of you. This theory makes the most sense, and would also explain the permanent allergic reaction.

You struggle with who you are now. You hate that your body is fighting against you and that your skin is now permanently marred by itchy bumps ranging from the size of a regular bug bite to rashes spanning large areas. You hate that you can’t wear your old clothes outside, that you can’t go to the doctor and try to find relief at the risk of exposing your identity. 

Despite how much you struggle with your allergies and everything that comes with being Spider-Sanguis, you’re incredibly grateful that it led you to meet your new roommate and partner.

Spot came into your life first as a villain, but after his plan failed and he found that your universe was his favorite (partially because of you but he insists he also likes the “atmosphere”), he decided to stay and make amends with you. After many late-night talks and tension that could have been cut with a knife, he eventually confessed his feelings for you and you started dating. 

Since then, he has been there for you on every bad day, happy to comfort you and hold your hands to keep you from scratching yourself. He gets you itch cream and allergy medicine (which you’re pretty sure he steals, but you have no proof and don’t care to look for any) on your worst days, and helps you apply the cream on parts of your body you can’t reach.

Today, your reaction is especially rough. You have an intense rash spanning your entire torso, mainly down your chest and back. Last week’s reaction, smaller bumps all down your arms, are now starting to peel and causing the skin on your arms to flake off. No matter how long you’ve been Spider-Sanguis, the itching and burning never get better. 

You were supposed to go to dinner with a friend today but had to cancel because you felt incredibly insecure and uncomfortable. That leaves you stuck at home, mulling in your awful thoughts and drowning in a wave of self-hatred. You still haven’t found the courage to tell anybody that you’re secretly a superhero, so Spot is the only person who truly knows what’s going on. You’ve been able to explain enough for your friends to understand, and they’ve been incredibly kind, but it’s still hard not having them fully understand.

To try and avoid your overwhelming emotions you turn on the TV and decide to watch a movie. Spot left right after you canceled your plans and said he wouldn’t be long, so you try and focus on the movie until he returns and can distract you. 

About halfway through the movie, you get up to go to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes scan across your flaky arms and the patch of inflamed skin peeking out from your shirt collar. Trying to ignore the wave of nausea that sweeps over you at the sight, you quickly do what you came to do and leave without looking in the mirror again.

Sitting down and turning on the movie again, you try to re-invest yourself in what’s happening on screen but can’t get past the thought of yourself in the mirror. Spot has recently helped you feel more confident in your own skin, but your mindset of despising yourself is an easy one to settle into. What doesn’t help is that your rash decides to start itching and burning at the same time the hateful thoughts start filling your mind. Tears start streaming down your face and in an attempt to keep yourself from scratching and picking at your skin, you lie down on the couch and squeeze your hands between your thighs.

“Hey, I brought dinner! It’s your favorite-” Spot exits a portal in the kitchen not long after your breakdown starts. He approaches you with a takeout bag but stops as he sees you curled into a ball on the couch. “Oh, dear.”

Spot sets the bag down on the table and sits next to you, gently placing a hand on your back, which makes you yelp.

“My love…” Spot abruptly pulls his hand away. “I’m so sorry. Does it itch?”

You pull yourself up and wipe your eyes, nodding.

“Want me to put itch cream on?” Spot asks.

“How can you love me?” You ask, looking at Spot whose face spot swirls with emotion.

“What? What do you mean?” Spot sounds surprised and confused, and the rest of the spots on his body move around to show as much.

“Look at me. I’m pathetic and disgusting. My skin is falling off and I can barely focus on anything except for the itching and pain. How can you sit here every night and touch me where I’m covered in bumps and rashes? How can you touch me so gently and say such sweet things to me when I’m…me?” You end your rant whispering and sobbing as Spot looks at you.

“I could ask you the same thing. Your touches are so kind and full of love, I can’t fathom how you could love a monster like me. You speak to me like I’m the sun, moon, and stars in the sky, but I’m…just me. I understand how you feel. And I will never judge you on your appearance. I love you and your rashes, just like you love me and my holes.” Spot says, grabbing your hands and rubbing them gently with his thumbs. You chuckle a little bit at his last comment.

“Hm, yeah I love your holes.” You tease, lightly running a finger around one of his spots.

“Wh- no, no, no, you know what I mean.”

“Okay, okay. Thank you for saying all that. It…makes a lot of sense.” You say, gently resting your head on Spot’s chest. “Can you put that itch cream on now?”

“Of course.”

bonus A/N: i love love love doing research for fics so feel free to send any out-there/very specific spot/johnathon x reader fic ideas and i'll try to do it justice🫡

[realfangurlshit]

For the rafe x barry prompts: anything where rafe is jelous and angry. Like rafe walking into Barry’s trailer, like usual, expecting to find barry alone and ready to listen to him complain and rant about his life or whatever, but instead he’s with someone (maybe a girl) and they’re sitting too close on his couch. Maybe they aren’t even together yet but still, Barry’s his.

I finally got my shit together and wrote this yesterday at 1 am. You can see how I gave up in the end but I hope you like my take on it!!

Jealous

Rafe/Barry

Rafe parked his bike in front of Barry's trailer, tonight he needed a distraction, someone to take his mind off all the chaos in his life. Barry was always his go-to for that and he wouldn’t want to be with anybody else but him right now.

He barged into the trailer without knocking, as was customary between them. "Barry, you wouldn't believe the day I've had," Rafe announced dramatically.

However, the sight that greeted him took him by surprise. There, sitting on the couch beside Barry, was a girl he had never seen before. Her smile was big and bright, and it seemed like the two of them had been enjoying each other’s company for some hours, based on the several empty bottles of beer on the table in front of them.

Rafe scowled, feeling a surge of irrational anger. "Well, well, well, look who's got some company."

Barry raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Rafe, you always know how to make an entrance. This is Hannah an old friend."

An old friend huh? Rafe thought. What does that mean? Like an old girlfriend? And why did he even care? (Rafe knew deep down why he cared though.)

Hannah gave Rafe a friendly wave, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. "Hi there, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Rafe muttered through gritted teeth.

Barry chuckled, clearly noticing Rafe was pissed of and enjoying it. "So, what's got you all riled up today? Trouble in paradise again?"

“Nah, just a rough day, I guess” Rafe said and looked away.

Barry's expression softened slightly as he realized Rafe was more on edge than usual. He glanced at Hannah and back to Rafe. "Alright, man, take a seat. Let's chill for a bit."

Rafe hesitated for a moment before sitting down on one of the creaking chairs. He couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that Barry and Hannah had some kind of special connection and it hurt more than it should.

As the conversation continued between the three, Rafe struggled to keep his jealousy in check. He found himself provoking and poking fun at Barry and Hannah, trying to mask his vulnerability.

Hannah had this smug smile on her lips and Rafe felt himself getting really annoyed at it. “What?” he barked at her.

She giggled softly. “You know, I’ve been married for four years. His name is John.” she said.

Rafe fell quiet for a few seconds, reflecting on this new information and what it might mean. The then gave her a genuinely confused look, as he was wondering what that had to do with him.

“So you don’t have to be jealous, honey. Barry and I have known each other since when we were kids and never ever have there been anything romantic between us, so you can chill.” She continued.

Rafe just stared at her with his mouth half open. He didn’t know what to answer. He looked over to Barry who looked equally confused for a moment before a smirk began to form on his face.

“What are you suggesting right now?” Rafe asked her, nervous of the answer he suspected was coming and how the hell he would reply to it. Hannah just smiled and looked from Rafe to Barry and back again.

Barry's smirk grew wider, clearly amused by the situation. He leaned back on the couch, putting his arm around the back of it, as if settling in for some good entertainment. "Seems like Hannah's just trying to clear the air, Rafe. No need to get all worked up."

Rafe's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and frustration. He hadn't expected to be caught in his jealousy so easily, and he didn't like feeling so exposed. "I'm not jealous," he muttered defensively, trying to brush it off.

“Oh but you are” Hannah chuckled “and the two of you are in love so just kiss already.”

Rafe's eyes widened, and his heart seemed to skip a beat at Hannah's blunt remark. He felt like the ground beneath him was shifting, unsure how to respond to her bold declaration. Barry's arm remained casually draped over the couch, but he was now looking at Rafe with an intensity that made him squirm uncomfortably.

"Okay, that's enough, Hannah," Barry laughed, but the look of uncertainty on his face evident.

Hannah just shook her head, smile never faltering. "Uh huh I’m sorry but I’m not gonna let this slip Barry. If there is one time in my life I’m gonna wingman somebody it’s now.” She said apologetic and turned to look at Rafe.

“Me and Barry have been hanging out the whole evening and half of the time it has just been Rafe Rafe Rafe.” she continued.

Rafe felt his face burning hot, and he glanced at Barry, who was now looking a little flustered as well. “I’m gonna head home for the night and leave this conversation up to you.” She smiled and stood up.

As they said their goodbyes and good nights to Hannah and she had closed the door after her their gazes met. Rafe didn't know what to say. His feelings for Barry were complicated, and he had spent so long denying them even to himself. The idea of admitting them to Barry, let alone acting on them, was terrifying.

Rafe swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but they seemed to escape him. He felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him - fear, desire, and a deep longing.

Barry leaned a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hey man I don't know what to tell you dawg, Hannah has a way of being pushy, but she means well." He laughed softly.

Rafe could feel his warm breath on his skin, that’s how close they were. It would be so easy to just lean in the last few inches and close the space in between them but it would also be the riskiest bet in his life so far.

”So you’ve been talking a whole lot about me, huh?” He chuckled instead. Still just inches the other man.

“So you’re jealous of me spending time with girls, huh?” Barry countered.

“What if I am?” Rafe responded tentatively, careful to keep the eye contact even if all the wanted to was looking away from those scrutinizing, beautiful brown eyes.

No point in backing out now he thought, it’s do or die. He would probably either get his ass kicked or have Barry laughing the entire situation off just to never bring it up again. But he had to give it a shot so he bit his lip and continued “What if Hannah’s right and I’m just madly in love with you?”

Rafe's heart pounded in his chest, his vulnerability laid bare in those few words. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity as he waited for Barry's response. He was torn between the fear of rejection and the hope that maybe, just maybe, Barry felt the same way.

After a few entireties passed Barry finally let out a soft laugh. “What if you are, country club, and what if I feel the same way?” Braver than Rafe, he reached his hand forward to grace Rafes neck. Rafe took a tentative step forward just to show Barry that he wasn’t fucking around, waiting to see if Barry were, expecting a slap in the face at any point now. But there were no slap, just a warm mouth on his, and rough hands on his body. Rafe immediately answered the kiss, probably to rough, to needy, but he wanted this for far to long to hesitate even one second.

And that’s how Rafe being his own dramatic self landed him a boyfriend. *jealous girl by Lana Del Rey playing in the background*

[tacticalhimbo]

CYBERPUNK 2077 NEW YEAR'S EXCHANGE

— Male V / Kerry Eurodyne —

WORDS: 1.1k

FANDOM(S): Cyberpunk 2077

WARNINGS: Mentions of Robbery / Break In, Casual Drinking

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Heya choom @wingedhorrors ! I've been paired with ya for this year's Cyberpunk 2077 NYExchange ( @cp77nyexchange ).

I absolutely adored learning about your V and his shenanigans (we live for chaos), and had so much fun tackling a little somethin' something with him and Kerry <3

Let me know if you’d like a more permanent copy of this, too! I’m always happy to provide a PDF version of the writings I do!

Under a cut for length!

The sound of the holo ringing (again) was one of the last things Kerry needed to hear today. Honestly. The deals he'd been busting his ass over have gone to Hell and back. All that bouncing between studios and offices and for what? Oh, some shattered glass and some shutterbugs digging through his trash. The confrontation wasn't even the worst part of it, honestly. They'd frozen at the sight of THE Kerry Eurodyne, and it was easy enough to keep their attention until some badges rolled up and took them in. No, it was dealing with the media shit storm that came after the fact.

Exhausted face plastered all over the screens. Lights upon lights outside his home, shining in on him as he danced around the team of investigators and the cleanup crew. Constant interruptions asking if he was okay, if he was hurt, if he wants to have NCPD patrols stay behind, if he wants to press charges, if he wants—

Did anybody really give a damn what he wanted? No. So he rolled with it. Downplayed it as much as he could. Just some gonk looking to earn a few quick bucks by selling whatever their paws could latch onto. Musical memorabilia. Discarded garments. The fucking hair from his brush, if they were that desperate. And at the end of the day, he just wanted to drink himself to sleep and forget it all happened; hope to satiate the gnawing void in his gut. But the avatar that appeared in his peripheral was more than enough to bring up his mood and motivate him to answer.

"Heyy, V, what's up? Well, besides dyein' your hair again." Kerry couldn't help the low laugh that'd escaped him. It wasn't malicious by any means. "Looks good. Say, wanna come over and grab a drink? Could use the company."

"How can I say no?" A coy grin. "Be a little bit before I get there. Had to take care of some things out of town… You know how it is."

Kerry nodded along. He'd never made the trip himself, but he could always tell when V was out in the Badlands. The subtle static of the call. The obscured scenery. It'd be at least eighty 'til he made it all the way up to Villa Eurodyne. "See ya soon."

The silence that followed the end of their quick conversation was… uncomfortable. Tense, in a weird way. They'd met up like this a thousand times over but, that edge from earlier did little to smooth over. With all the time he'd had, Kerry figured he may as well get a head start and see where things went. And that's exactly what he did, floating toward the rich supply of booze and liquors he'd curated over the years. Gifts from others in the industry, personal purchases, remnants of brands who'd dove out of business with the increasingly cutthroat competition in the city… Huh. Sounded familiar enough. He guessed that's why his hand settled on a nice bottle of aged tequila. Why he'd dug through the collection of bottles for Angostura bitters, stirred in just enough agave nectar, and sprinkled a pinch of chili peppers atop the concoction.

Familiarity in failure; now that was comfort.

Time blurred as the rocker boy absentmindedly found himself a spot on the elegant couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table beside the goods as he downed one, two, three and more. Many drinks and many minutes passed him by, and right as he felt that familiar buzz tickling at his old bones, he heard the rough rumbling of Douglas.

"Door's open!" There was strain in his voice, syllables only just crawling from his throat as he sat up to pour a shot into the spare glass he'd set aside for V. "Oh, and uh—Don't—Don't mind the crime tape. Not my fault this time, promise."

"Yeah, heard something about a break-in on the radio. You good?" The nomad plopped himself onto the couch right next to Kerry, letting the light highlight the rich blue hue of his hair… and the vibrant colors of his jacket.

Kerry gave the outfit a curious glance over.

"Cheesy to say it, but think you're the brightest thing I've seen all day, V. Literally. Any inspirations for the vibe or…?"

"Nah, just going with the flow." Proud eyes peeked over the visor of his glasses. His gaze softened a bit, concern glossing over his eyes even as a sly hand reached for the shot. "But seriously, though, everything okay after the whole thing? Like, you were literally home when it happened."

Kerry briefly paused his own pour. "V, it's chill. You'd be the first to know if it wasn't."

"Uh-huh." A pause to kick back the liquor. "Well, if anything happens—"

"Call you, I know." A nod, and the tilt of his head to join his companion in drinking. "It's all settled, really. Fuckin' amateur this guy was. I mean, who the hell pulls a stunt like this and doesn't hide their face?"

V laughed. "Us? Remember when we met up to ambush that one transport? Who was it for… Oh yea, Us Cracks. You literally just wore a hat and called it a day. At least I tried to keep myself out of sight."

"Well—Come on, the hat did work. Sorta. Besides, your running was more than enough to keep us off any surveillance. And get everything done clean." Kerry couldn't help but laugh himself, shaking his head as he sunk back into the cushion.

A languid arm came to drape over his eyes, shielding his gaze from the light. Golden cyberware glistened beneath the overhead, accentuating the soft flesh between it. Bringing attention to the subtle hairs that needed a good shave. For a moment, he looked properly relaxed. At peace with the circumstances surrounding him, damned be the fact it'd all start over tomorrow morning when the sun rose past the horizon. For now? Such a concept was one of the last things on Kerry's mind.

Especially as he felt V sit back and nestle into the empty space beside him.

"Comfy?" A curious eye peeked open, an arm coming to rest upon the merc's shoulders and coax him closer.

"Hmm…"

The faint smell of dye lingering beneath Kerry's nose. The feeling of V's head upon his chest, shot glass in hand, as the distance was closed. The gentle, passionate connecting of their lips. A gentle hum as they settled against one another. The sounds of the city seemed to drown beneath the comforting blanket of affection that came over them. To be silenced by the sound of their still beating hearts. An equally silent reminder for the two of them that at the end of the day, they were both alive. Both safe.

And that was more than enough.

"Now I am." V smiled. Kerry smiled back.

[kemeticdevotee]

Milestone in my practice

Today, I felt safe and secure knowing the nTrw are here to stay. I have abandonment issues which often cause me extreme paranoia and self-sabotage in my relationships. I have always loved my religion, but for some reason my fears tend to carry on into my relationship with even the divine. As of late, I have been going through a really rough time. I pushed my religion away (which was different from taking a break, breaks from your practice are perfectly okay!!) and even considered renouncing my religion, despite the fact that I still 100% believed in it still, it still made me happy and hopeful. The reason I did this, after deep contemplation, was because I felt that the Gods would leave me and that I was unlovable even for the divine.

That couldn't be farther from the truth.

I started to get the sudden urge to sort of start over, to make new habits within my religion and to re-build my practice. Of course, I had to find out what that meant for me. Today, I returned to the altar four times to pray and give offerings, and just sit with Auset. I made the decision to do this everyday at set times, so now I have alarms set on my phone to pray and give offerings at least four times per day. I do so much research, which is extremely important, but often it feels like I don't actually practice and just research 💀 so I'm trying to find a balance.

Also, I've been contemplating Ma'at more seriously, and finding out what it means for me. What does it mean to live in Ma'at? This question is one I have been, and will be, meditating on everyday. I wish to connect in the mornings, and to set the specific intention of following Ma'at and just being a good person. I will also be practicing gratitude much more often, and just working on myself (along with going to therapy) more often.

By no means am I saying breaks from practicing are not okay. Sometimes, it does get hard. Sometimes, it is okay to take a break. However, in my case, I knew what I was doing wasn't healthy. I wasn't taking a break to focus on other things or to just relax, I was pushing my religion away because I felt like I didn't deserve to worship, which stressed me out even more.

I feel so close to Auset, and just so safe knowing she is our Divine Mother, and she isn't going anywhere, even if I try to push her away 😭. Our Glorious Lady in herself is the best blessing I could ever receive.

To anybody who needs to hear it, no, the Netjeru are not annoyed at you or upset with you. No, the Netjeru do not hate you. No, the Netjeru will not abandon you. Their love is boundless, and can't even begin to be defined by or compared to human love. They see every part of you, even the parts of you that you hate and try to hide. Yes, they see everything. They still love you. They always will.

[justrandomfandomstm]

Blue Leather Book

This was from a prompt and I got that Steve does poetry on the brain today so I made a part 2. On today's menu we have a Steve POV with a side of Eddie panicking and a sprinkle of misocommunication (solved fairly quick i think) and sharing writing as a love language 4.7k word dump.

This one does stray away from the initial prompt which is why I made it the second part, but still.

Here is Pt. 1 and the full Ao3 link. Any and all comments and messages are apreciated, enjoyy

The notebook had come from a stupid idea to try to get a girl to like him.. 

One of his dates had mentioned how much they loved when guys wrote poetry and were ‘in tune with their feelings’ or whatever. It had started with that. They also started to work on poetry in English, and he started paying attention in class. He wrote some cheesy lines that rhymed, but had no feeling. Something his date told him when he showed her. 

The first time he wrote, really wrote in the notebook was the day his parents forgot his birthday. For the third time. When the words left the tip of the pen he didn't even get to enjoy it, only burst out crying. He felt gutted by his own words. He had never understood the phrase ‘pen is mightier than a sword’ until then. But that opened the beginning of something for him.

It was therapeutic putting his thoughts on paper. It made him feel open, like his thoughts were somehow more real when put in ink and paper. He wrote about his parents, his loneliness that he never quite filled. Insecurities and passions. Everything that came to mind. It really started to grow more when he met Nancy. When all those cheesy poems he read in class made sense. He never showed it to anybody. The moment he got close… Well, you know what happened. The world flipped upside down and he was left on unsteady ground with no gravity to hold him in place. 

He went through a really rough time, the only thing pulling him together was Nancy. And when that also ended, he was left afloat again. 

He found the notebook hidden away from when he drunkenly wrote a few lines when Nancy left. He opened it up and started writing again, and it was like a rope tied to his ankle. 

He wrote and wrote and wrote. He found love in it again. He found his voice, He found comfort and an escape and reassurance from it. So he kept it going.

He always left it on his nightstand, in a drawer behind other things but he could reach it with no hassle. Noone had thought to look there, and if they did, they didn't think anything of it. He wrote at night most times when he couldn't sleep. He sometimes climbed up to the roof from his window and sat there with the book until it was time to pick up Robin.

It never left his side for long, or his house. 

So now, he was panicking. 

He was pacing all over, his usually tidy room was disheveled. His thumb was red with the amount of stress biting he was doing. 

How could he lose it? Where could it have left it? He already searched the roof, the floor of his window, the forest, all his jeans and pants pockets, also the jackets. He looked in every nook and cranny of the house and his car. He was starting to go into full blown panic mode.

You see, these past few weeks he had been having… feelings… about someone. So the last things he had written were less monster-fighty and more Oh-no-I-have-feelings-again. Well, and a heap tone of other really personal things that anyone outside the party would have him sent to a mental facility. 

So now he’s here at four in the morning trying to figure out if he took it to Robin's house for their weekly spa and gossip day and if he could call about it with an incessant questioning about why he needs it back so bad.

And he loves Robin, he really does, but if she stole his notebook just because he was avoiding her incessant questioning about a certain metalhead… Her car rides were about to be cut short. 

What was he going to do if she found his last few poems and ramblings? She knew he was bi a while ago, but if she found out he was not only hiding he had a crush on someone, but that someone was Eddie Munson. She was going to kill him.

God, now he was thinking of Eddie. How, they could always talk about nothing and everything. How he feels more comfortable than he ever has just in his presence. Eddie and how he looks when he's concentrating, with his hair up, or just in general. How animated he gets when he figures out a twist in his campaign evil enough to put Vecna to shame. Eddie and him playing his guitar, how his lyrics remind him of poetry. Eddie and his antics. He would probably be all over the place if his notebook was lost. Eddie and-

Oh shit Eddie

Last Saturday Eddie had called him early in the morning when he was out on the roof with the notebook in his jeans. He must've forgot to put it away and took it with him to the trailer. He sprinted to the phone and dialed the phone number he had memorized long ago. It rang a few times before he remembered what time it was. 

He was about to slam it down on the receiver when he heard Wayns gruff voice from the other side. 

“Munson residence, Wayne speaking.”

Steve was going to hit his head on the wall. “Hey Wayne, sorry to wake you.”

“Caught me right before so no problem, what can I help you with?”

“Oh, um, is Eddie awake?”

He heard Wayne grumble about Eddie's unruly sleep schedule and him yelling out for him. A few seconds and some shuffling later Eddie's voice rang out from the phone's speaker. 

“Hey Stevie, what's up?”

Steve involuntarily smiled at his voice, then shook himself out of his daydream. 

“Hey, Eds, sorry for calling so late.”

“No problemo, I was stuck on some campaign things anyway so you’re actually saving me.” He chuckles softly and I try to bite back a smile. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Did you by chance find a small blue leather notebook in your room? Or anywhere really.I think I left it there? I can't really find it anywhere here and I’m retracing my steps and that's the last time I remember having it.” He chuckles nervously and waits a few seconds but is met with silence. 

—

“-ddie? You okay?”

Eddie shakes himself out of his head and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears that started the second he heard those words. The blue leather notebook. Steve's blue leather notebook. Jesus H Christ.

“Yeah, yeah Stevie. I’m here.”

“Could you look for it? If you want I could come over and help-”

“No, no. I have it.” He blurts out. He doesn't really want Steve here right now. Or he does but not right now. Or ever. Or- Shit Steve is still on the phone. “I know where it is.”

“Oh thank god, I did not want to call Robin's house, her parents hate me.” They laugh. “So, I could come by this afternoon? If that's okay with you.”

“Y-yeah. That's perfect Stevie. See you then.” 

He hangs up the phone before Steve can answer and slumps to the wall the phone is on. Then slides down until he’s sprawled out on the floor. Then, finally, he lets out a sound of a wounded dog mixed with a stressed Eddie.

“What’re you on about now boy?” Wayne draws out from where he's getting ready for bed. 

“It's Steve’s notebook.” he whines, not moving from the floor. 

“... Okay?”

“It's Steves. Notebook.”

Eddie can see the second Wayne chooses to sleep instead of paying attention to him. He whines again and when Wayne still ignores him, he rolls his eyes and gies to lay on the floor next to him. Eddie is a lot of things, but a quitter is not one of them. 

“He’s the writing genius who left his notebook here. The one that has been plaguing my mind for days. He’s the mystery writer that puts my and everyone else's writing to shame.” 

Wayne gruffs and rolls to his other side, facing away from Eddie. Eddie rolls his eyes and ups his dramatics for old times sake. He gets up loudly, whining about how he's not appreciated in this house, and goes to be unable to sleep for the next hours. 

 —

Steve goes for a run.

He usually does so it's not a surprise, but his reasons have shifted slightly. He usually does it to shake off the remains of a nightmare, to burn off the remains of fear and dread from his system. Fear and dread are still what he is trying to shake off, but not from a nightmare. 

He hopes Eddie didn't read his notebook. He really does. If he’s honest, he doesn't remember most of what he has written, all midnight fed deliriums he had to get out of his system. But he does  remember the newer additions he has made. Most of his annoyingly persistent crush on the metalhead. 

Like the rest, he doesn't remember what exactly they say, but he was never one to shy away from his feelings towards people. He thinks he remembers writing something about getting  on his knees for the guy.  

He blushes at that and hopes no one is around. Jesus he was hopeless. 

But can you blame him? Eddie was so… just… everything. He could fill journals of what his eyes and dimpled hands and goddamn presence made him feel.

He thought his feelings for Nancy were strong, but this was rivaling strong. The months he slowly got to know him in the hospital, mixed with his visits just to hang out, it is clear he never had a chance not to fall for him.

It was a lot simpler than he thought it was going to be like, falling for someone else. Eddie was just… Eddie. Not only him, but Wayne too had snaked into his heart and filled the gaping hole his parents had left. 

And now he didn't know where he stood with Eddie. 

He had sounded so… something on the phone. When Steve mentioned the notebook, he was met with dead silence for a good few seconds. He got that worried nagging in the back of his head that never leaves him since Vecna when his friends get quiet. If he's talking to someone and they zone out he has to school down panic attacks. And they are getting old. 

He was probably looking around the room for it, he did find it, so that's good. He would hate to lose what he has written. Even if he doesn't revisit them often, he does like to read back occasionally. Looking at his old thoughts made him smile and grimace at the same time. But it was like reading a poetry book made just for him, which it was but it was nice anyways. 

He grimaced at the old things he wrote for Nancy (now changing who they are meant for in his mind), and he always felt a deep kind of desperation and sadness for little him. He wishes he could go and talk to him, give him hope (another of the things he has written about).

He finally got back to the house and got himself some water. He didn't have anything to do today other than go to Eddies for it. So he went upstairs to take a shower and got in bed. 

He thought more of Eddie, a normal occurrence really. What if Eddie did read his notebook? He probably thought it was just something stupid, like some of his favorite teams and stuff. Eddie despised all that had to do with sports so there was no reason for him to look. Eddie was a snooper though. Could he have found his writings intriguing? Interesting?

He smiled at the thought. He knew Eddie wrote for his band, but maybe now that Eddie knew he liked to write, they could write together. Well, his old ones were not entirely great, he was just an angry kid writing his thoughts down. But maybe,

Maybe he read the new ones. The ones about him.

That worried Steve more than he cared to admit. His thoughts jumbled at that, what would Eddie think of them? Would he hate him? Would he think it was for someone else? That may not be possible because of the blatant things he wrote, but hey, who knew? He could play it off if he needed to. 

But… What if he didnt?

He blushed at that thought.

Look, he had eyes okay? Robin kept insisting that he was very obvious of his crush, but she has also made some non-hidden comments about how it may not be entirely unrequited. He knew he was attractive, and what things he could do to make that more so. And he had been doing that constantly with Eddie. And he can't deny it had worked to some degree, catching Eddie's eyes linger a bit longer than they should, looking at him as if he was something he wanted, something to be desired.

God, that thought made something light up inside him. 

Maybe this night could end better than he had hoped? Well, hope was hope after all, and he didn't know what Eddie was thinking at all times. Though he wished he did. Maybe Eddie's lyrics are his thoughts too? Maybe… Eddie wrote about him?

Now he was giggling like a schoolgirl. He needed to get it together, these thoughts were going to get him nowhere. 

He got up and walked around the room, a plan forming in his mind. His thoughts jubling so he went and got his backup notebook and started drawing up a game plan to sweep Eddie off his feet. After a thought dump, he finally had the semblance of a plan ready to go.

All he had to do now was go that afternoon to get his notebook back. He could deal with what could happen, right? 

What could go wrong?

—

He got there a little later than 3, he knew Eddie liked to sleep in so he gave him time. He brought some drinks he knew Eddie liked as a ‘thank you’. And maybe possibly an excuse to spend time with him. But that's neither here nor there. 

He walked up to the door and knocked. After a few seconds, Eddie opened the door and shoved the notebook in his face. Steve fumbled for the book for a second and before he could look up, Eddie had  closed the door in his face. 

“... Eddie?”

“Yep, thanks. Bye” He heard Eddie say, muffled by the door.

“... Is this a bad time?” He heard a soft groaning from behind the door. “I can leave if you want too.” He said quickly after. 

Eddie opened the door with a sort of smile and grimace. “Nope, all clear Stevie.” 

Steve finally was able to look at him. He looked nervous? “You good man?”

“Yep, yep, yeppers. Perfectly a-okay.” Eddie smiled more broadly, but Steve knew a fake smile when he saw one.

He just looked at Eddie with a quirked brow and Eddie relented, letting put a big breath. “Just… come in.” He moved away, motioning for Steve to come in. 

Moved forward, putting the notebook in his pocket. He remembered the drinks in his hand and motioned to them. “I brought you something as a thank you for the trouble.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but a small smile fought his way onto his lips. “Of course you did.” He looked at the drinks and brightened. He made grabby hands and now it was Steve's turn to roll his eyes. He gave them to Eddie and followed him as he walked to the kitchen to put the drinks away. “You really didn't need to dude, just a notebook.” Eddie murmured.

Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on the elevated kitchen nook. “Well yeah, but it's kind of important to me.” Eddie froze for a second, his body turned away from Steve. “Besides, maybe I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Eddie continued moving. He turned to face Steve, leaning his hip on the counter and God did he look hot.  He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Is that so?”

Steve bit back a smile and shrugged. He moved up and walked to the other side of the counter where Eddie was. He leaned on it with Eddie, but he faced forward. Eddie's eyes followed him while he did so, and Eddie bit his lower lip, this made Steve brave. He looked forward, at the fridge, and started to speak. “So, what-”

“I read your notebook.” Eddie interrupts quickly. Steve guessed that much, he bit back a smile. 

“Oh?” he asked softly. But Eddie didn't answer. He looked at Eddie now. He had his eyes shut tightly closed, like he was nervous. Weird. 

When Eddie cracked one of his eyes open slightly, it was a bucket of cold water on him. 

Eddie looked, what, scared? Embarrassed? Shameful? Disgusted? Whatever it was, it was definitely not good. 

Steve shifted and looked down, his confidence down now. 

“What did you think?” He asked quietly.

“I'm so sorry Steve.” Eddie said, equally as quiet.

All the blood from Steve's face drains from his face. Now Eddie not wanting to talk to him at the door, reluctance to let him in, was all making sense. He felt lightheaded, a single thought attacking his mind. 

Eddie didn't want him. 

Eddie wanted him to leave. All those things he thought were flirtatious, the nervousness, it was all because he wanted him gone, not around.  Were his feelings such a curse that Eddie didn't even want him around anymore? Did what he write gross him out? Oh god, thinking about it now, it was definitely creepy. He knew he didn't deserve Eddie, too perfect for his own good, of course he didn't want him. Worst part, he was apologizing for not liking Steve back.

Tears pricked in his eyes. “I'm gonna go now.” He says, barely a whisper. 

“Stevie, I'm so sorry.” Eddie reached for his arm, but it hovered over his skin. Burning the air there. Steve wanted to get closer, feel his touch one last time, selfish for all Eddie was willing to give him. “I didn't mean to, It was an accident, and I just… I kept reading and-”

“Please stop.” He said, looking at the ceiling and willing the tears away. “Don't. It's fine.” He looked at the floor, anywhere than the dark brown eyes he wanted to drown in. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Eddie finally touched him, moving in front of him and touching his shoulder as well. “Steve, it's fine. I mean, it's bound to happen with how many times you faced death in the face.”

He choked out a humorless laugh. “The end of the world didn't make me feel this way.” 

Eddie looked more heartbroken with this confession and Steve wished they hadn't closed the Upside down for a second, just for the ground to swallow him right now. He0d take a demogorgon to this conversation currently.

“Stevie,” Eddie said softly, “Have you gone for help? Talk to anyone?”

Ok, what the fuck? He really read Eddie wrong. He looked at him with confusion and hurt. He pushed himself from the counter and walked to the living room. His emotions are still swirling around him.. “I- No? I mean, I talk to Robin but- what the fuck man?!”

“Im sorry Stevie-”

“You don't get to call me that right now.” 

“Steve, Please. Robin can’t help you with that.”

“Help? I don't need help.” 

“Steve-” 

“You know what, rejecting me is fine, but telling me something is wrong and I need help? That's low, Munson, even from you.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to stay frozen, Hands up as if he was nearing a dangerous animal. Wow, alright. He didn't want to hear this, not now, he needed Robin, to talk maybe, to cry probably. He needed to leave. 

“Steve, wait! What are you talking about? What ‘rejecting’?”

He threw his head to the ceiling and turned around to face Eddie. Crossing his arms in front of him. “Look, it's fine, you’ve said enough. You didn't like what I wrote about you and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. But if you’re gonna be a homophobe about it-”

“Steve, baby, I need you to go back three pages. What are you talking about?”

Oh so he was really going to play this? Fine “The last poems. You read them.” 

It wasn't a question but Eddie answered as it was. 

“I don't know, maybe? I stopped about halfway through the notebook.”

Now Steve was a little lost. Halfway? He was almost done with the book, he had been looking for others even. If he was halfway then that was…

Relaxation dawned over his face. “Oh shit. Oh fuck no.” He took out the book and shoved it into Eddie's hands. “Where did you read it?”

Eddie grabs the book while looking confused at Steve. He opened to the middle.

Oh this was worse than he thought. He groaned and went to the couch and buried his face in his hands. 

“Im, like, really lost right now.”

Steve started to laugh and looked to see Eddie still in the same position as before, looking at Steve like he was crazy. And fair to be honest. 

Steve motions for Eddie to come closer. When he did, he grabbed the book and eyes the poem. He scoffed at his younger self and his dramatics.

“You know why I wrote this? My parents were home for the first time in months and the first thing they did was complain what a mess the living room was. They made me clean it all up. It was after Hargrove bashed my head in and I had been staying on the couch because of my concussion.” He saw Eddie looking at him with a kind of sad/confused/smile. He looked back at his writing. “I was such a dramatic, Jesus.” He laughed softly. 

“But… You…”

“I know what it says and how it may look, and I won't lie, it was like that for a long time. So I did get some actual help, and I did get better.” He looked back at Eddie and smiled. 

Eddie let out a breath of relief. “Good. That's… good.”

They stayed quiet for a beat, just staring at each other. The concern on Eddie's face moved to relief. Steve bumped his shoulder with his. “Thank you though.” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head in a way that reminded him of a puppy. “For caring, that is. Not many people do.”

Eddie scrunched his nose in anger as if he wanted to hurt everyone that dared to hurt him. He wanted to kiss it. “That's… wrong. It's wrong. You deserve so much care. All the care, even.” He said, waving his arms that got a smile out of Steve. His dramatics always did.

“In everyone's defense, no one has ever read this.”

That seemed to startle Eddie back from his plot of revenge.

“No one?” Steve shook his head and Eddie looked as if he just told him the most confusing thing in the world. “But-” Here it was “...It's so good.”

Steve burst out laughing, doubling over as Eddie kept protesting. “I'm serious Stevie! You have some truly good shit in there. Like actual good stuff. Scouts honor.” He looked up from where he had hid his face and looked at him from the side to see Eddie holding up three fingers in a fake salute. 

“I know for a fact you weren't a scout.” He says, shoving Eddie's hand away. “Wayne would have shown me the pictures.”

Now Eddie was laughing, a truly incredible sound. 

“The point still stands sweetheart. It was really good.”

Steve felt a blush spreading and he looked away. “It's really not. I don't even remember writing most of it, Insomnia makes me a new kind of man.”

Eddie nudged his knee with his. “Well, they were good rambles.” Steve looked back to see a fond smile on Eddie's face. He then smiled ridiculously. “As a master of the haunting hour writing, that was the best ones I have ever read.” 

Steve giggled and hid his face in Eddie's shoulder as he also shook with a small laughter. When it stopped a little suddenly, he moved back a little to see Eddie biting his lip in worry. The urge to kiss it came up but was ignored. 

“What?” He asked, moving back further.

“Well… I was just wondering… What exactly were you talking about before?”

Steve blushed immediately at his outburst. Ridiculous now, but there really was no use in hiding from the truth. He wanted Eddie to read his things, maybe that's why he left the book subconsciously, but he didn't want to be here when he read it. 

“Well… It's just… You got stuck in a really dark time of my writing. The new ones are… not that.”

Eddie tilted his head again. “Oh?”

He smiled. “It may or may not be little cheesy, crush-y ones.”

Eddie laughed again, a full laugh this time. The one that made his knees weak. He couldn't resist laughing a little again. 

“Oh I was waaaay off, wasn't I?”

“Only a smidge. But so was I.” They giggled for a second. “Would you- Like to read them?”

Eddie searched his face. Steve was nervous, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and a steady blush still on his cheeks. But he wanted Eddie to read it. It was kind of all he could think about all morning. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded his head. “I wouldn't offer something I didn't mean Ed’s.” 

Eddie smiled and took the book he offered timidly. He skipped forward until Steve stopped him. He looked away as Eddie read. Eddie didn't make any noise so he finally relented and found Eddie looking down at the writings with a slack jaw and eyes wide. Steve made to grab the book back but Eddie hugged close to his chest.

“Holy shit Stevie.” He said, grinning so big his dimples popped out. His face went from awe to a twinge of nervousness. “D-do you really feel this? About me?”

Words were now impossible so Steve fought his extremely red face and nodded.

Eddie moved fast. He dropped the book on his lap as he grabbed Steve's face in his hands and pushed him in for a breathtaking kiss. 

Steve liked to write, he thought he was good too, but no words he could ever have the ability to think of could ever be strung together in a way that could say how kissing Eddie Munson feels like. They pulled away after seconds, minutes, hours. Steve couldn't tell. Panting slightly and smiling until their faces hurt. 

Eddie's smile turned into a smirk and Steve rolled his eyes in fake annoyance as Eddie startet to poke his side. 

“So, devilish looks and curly hair are your thing.”

He groaned and his face in his hands. “Shut up.”

Eddie's grin became wilder. “Oh ho ho no baby. I'm gonna milk the hell out of this.” He looked back down. “Are you giving up your kingdom for little ol’ me?” He bats his eyes and Steve shoves his face again.

“Shut up” 

Eddie, in fact, did not shut up. They kept pushing and shoving and reading until one of them leaned in for a playful kiss. That led to another. Then another. Then another make out session. 

Now this is how Steve hoped the evening would go. 

They ended up going to Eddies bedroom, kissing and teasing and smiling the whole way through. Finally, months of pining endlessly fixed with simple revelations. When they were done, wrung out and tired, they layed there just basking in eachothers company. 

Steve layed his head on Eddies chest, tracing over the scars and tattoos. Eddie giggled above him and Steve looked up in question. He regretted it the second he did when he saw the mischievous look on Eddie's face. 

“So, how many Steve Munson’s am i gonna find written in the margins?”

Steve shoved a pillow into his face as the other man cackled.

The end <3

I did finish and post this at 4.30 am so I will not say much, might edit later idk. Lots of thoughts but cant verbalize them rn soooo bye :)

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Crucible - a Magnus Archives fic

Martin's been having dreams.

He doesn't understand them.

Surely, if Jon had ever looked like that, with unreal wings and a crown of spinning eyes, he would have remembered.

But his memory isn't working as well as it should right now, and Jon never blinks.

Martin is afraid.

Inspired by The Watcher’s Crown by @raynecreates

Note: this is angst. Somewhere Else goes very, very wrong.

AO3

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

The dream again.

The same one he’d been having—vivid, rich, all senses engaged.

Impossible.

But maybe that was just because he’d had none in the apocalypse, right? Because Jon had protected him from them (or their memory, anyway), and who the hell knew how long it had taken to get across that mess, so his subconscious was just making up for it now.

Right?

“Did you dream again?” murmurs Jon in the morning light, so beautiful, the halo of his hair softening the side of his face visible above his pillow.

“Yeah,” says Martin, who feels sticky, who feels sweaty, who discovers the sheets are tangled around his legs as though he’d been ensnared. “Sucks.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon reaches, cups his face. “I could try to… prevent them. If you want.”

That touch is everything—warm and rough, scarred from gods-damned Perry, absolute perfection. Martin turns and kisses Jon’s palm. “No. No, it’s all right. We agreed. Normal. We try for normal.”

“Normal.” Jon repeats the word with no inflection, but he smiles, and that helps. “For whatever that word is worth to me, these days.”

“More than you think.” Martin catches Jon’s hand and pulls it closer so he can kiss each fingertip, then place them over his heart. “It’s been six months, Jon. They’re not coming after us. We’re free.”

“Then ‘normal’ wouldn’t be as big of a concern, would it?” Jon says, unblinking (but he never blinks), still smiling that way which he only ever does for Martin.

Martin has observed. That smile is his, and his alone, and he keeps it locked in the vault of his heart like his private, personal sun.

“I mean,” says Martin, “we don’t want anybody’s attention, right? So yeah. Under the radar. Normal.”

“Of course.” Jon tugs his hand loose from Martin’s, but only to caress his lips like the barest whisper, then finally gets out of bed.

Martin feels loved, and has never felt so loved.

Jon is… something in the light of dawn.

Still too thin (it seems impossible to fix that). Unexpectedly curvy, missing two ribs. Scarred here, there, everywhere, all over the place in unnecessary ways, his rich, brown skin a tapestry to the things that bit him.

He moves like a swan, Martin thinks, because he’s absurdly in love, and doesn’t give a fuck how silly it makes him.

“I have a meeting with the council today,” says Jon.

“Again?” Martin play-whines.

Brushing his long hair and tying it up, Jon smiles at him over his shoulder. “It’s every week, you know.”

“Sure,” says Martin, still play-whining. “I just get jealous of anybody taking your evenings. You know that.”

“I’ll be fantasizing about your pasta dish the whole time,” promises Jon, clean clothes in hand. “Did you name it yet?”

“Not yet? I want it to be poetic,” Martin says, because he’s very proud of his dish, because he’d figured it out via leftovers and stolen produce, because it wasn’t Spanish and wasn’t African and sure as hell wasn’t English, but somehow all of those things with a pinch of cream (but it wasn’t American or French, either) and too much pepper, and made them both sweat and laugh and mouth-breathe while chewing.

“You’ll find it, I’m sure.” And Jon is off to shower.

Martin watches until he’s gone.

The dream. He doesn’t want to remember the dream.

It was obviously a result of the damned eyepocalypse, because really.

Jon hadn’t looked like that in the apocalypse. Not even in those first, fraught minutes when Martin had run (fled staggered survived) back to the cabin and found him on the floor with glowing eyes in the air all around him, and glowing eyes all over his flesh that had torn when they opened and bled.

Martin had fallen to his knees and pulled Jon close (and the eyes felt disgusting, so horrible, but he did it anyway), and then the eyes had focused on him.

All of them, airborne and bloodied, focused on him.

Recognition.

Martin had felt it, as if the universe had sung his name.

Martin shakes it off. No, even then, he hadn’t looked like the dream.

Not that the dream was… bad, exactly? Scary as hell, sure, but Martin’s morning erection wasn’t just about shifting blood flow, and—

The shower is running.

Martin decides to push it all away and go wash his lover’s back.

#

Work is dull, but that’s expected, given the tasks at hand.

Construction doesn’t really suit? But Martin is strong, and it is not hard, though some of the more repetitive things do leave his mind to wander.

He’s a little jealous that Jon could just bluff his way into the local governing body with powers.

They all think they know who he is, and have for years. They all believe he has documentation, of course. Most of them even think they’ve seen it.

When in reality, Jon walked into one of those weekly meetings six months ago, informed them he was running for representative of the district of Eden, and… maybe there was a vote?

Martin’s not sure.

He’s also not sure how he feels about Jon doing that?

But it brought immediate income, which they needed, and immediate housing, which they needed even more, and—so Jon said—paperwork and identification for them would be coming soon.

Of course, that was six months ago.

They hadn’t really needed ID yet, living via cash, cheating via Jon’s powers.

It felt a little risky, but… how bad could it honestly be?

This was damn near close to their United Kingdom. No, not fully identical; there were some changes in the history of this place, and they still owned other people’s countries, like India, which was not so great, but that wasn’t what mattered.

No Fears. That was the biggie. So.

(Then why did Jon have powers?)

(Because he changed, and you know that, so shut up, Blackwood.)

The big gossip from Jon’s council right now was, of course, that the Eden District Council was supposed to be dissolved, their duties split between Westmorland and Furness authorities.

(Furnace! There’s an idea for a spicy pasta dish.)

Whatever. It didn’t seem like it would have a major effect on their lives.

Martin does his job, and laughs with his coworkers. He ensures his bosses like him all the way up the chain, and everyone who matters knows his name.

Sweaty and pleased, he goes home.

#

The dream.

The dream comes again, and as always, he cannot wake.

A dream of wings: two a dark and solid green, two flowing with eyes like rivers in ribbons of light.

And they drop translucent feathers that glow like those eyes, drop from those ribbons of green and lambent sight that knows and knows, and though all four wings shift as though breathing, Martin fears those glowing wings the most.

He fears so deeply what will happen should they unfurl.

#

“The dream again?” Jon’s hair is messier this morning, and Martin smooths it down, mindful of snags.

“Yeah,” says Martin.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

Martin sighs. “Jon, I said no. I meant it.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… hard to watch you suffer. Especially when I can…”

“What? Fix it?” Martin laughs a little. “I sure hope not, because if you’ve been bouncing around people’s dreams fixing things behind my back, we’ll have to have a little talk.”

Jon smiles as though Martin is joking, and Martin smiles as though he is joking, and instead of leaving the bed, Jon slides over him, and pins him down with hands and eyes and heat, and—

(They make love? Of course they make love, because Martin’s body still hums at work, and his thoughts keep slipping back to the sense of caressing, of joining, of fingertips teasing his nerves to wild, near-painful peak, and—)

And he can’t quite… remember?

But no, he does, he does, he remembers what happened, remembers that rarest of gifts that Jon gives, which Martin will not ask for because he knows Jon almost never wants, and he does remember what they did in their creaky bed in their borrowed house in Cumbria.

It’s fuzzy because he was fuzzy. From the dream. That’s all.

And work requires full attention, anyway, what with the power tools and I-beams and whatever.

He does remember. He does.

He focuses on the good and loving feelings, the sensation of being so deeply adored (seen, yet still wanted, still loved), and gets back to work.

#

“Council meeting tonight,” says Jon. “I think it’s tradition now to make your spicy pasta dish.”

Martin laughs. “Already? Sure, that’s fine. Oh—I was thinking of calling it the Furnace.”

Jon laughs. It’s such a delightful sound, so rare when he isn’t talking to Martin, so real. “The Furnace! Why?”

“Heat,” says Martin, simply.

“I think you’re very close,” says Jon, tapping his chin, then returns to straightening his tie and ensuring his braid is tight. “What about… Crucible?”

Martin startles. “Crucible?”

“Not the old morality play, of course. I meant a literal crucible.” Jon’s tie pin (which isn’t an eye, but somehow makes Martin think of one, and he chooses not to think about it) glints as he turns around.

“Huh,” says Martin, who doesn’t really get why that word. “Crucible?”

“It’s just an idea. The concept’s been on my mind, lately,” says Jon. “The changes and all.”

“Changes?”

“It’s not just Eden’s council that’s breaking up. The whole empire’s structure is changing,” says Jon like that’s absolutely nothing to be concerned about, and Martin stares at him.

“What?” Martin says.

“It won’t affect you at all,” says Jon.

“What do you mean, it won’t affect me?”

“Us,” says Jon. “It won’t affect us. Isn’t that what I said?”

“No, Jon, that’s not what you said.”

“Probably because I’m thinking of all the paperwork I’ll need to do,” says Jon.

Martin frowns.

“Hey.” Jon leans in, gives Martin a kiss, and all the fluttery sense-memories from a week ago flood back as richly as they have every day since, and Martin’s tension melts. “It’s going to be okay. Do you honestly think, even here, that I would let anything happen to you?”

Martin laughs. “Jon… things do happen to people. I work in construction, I mean… something could.”

And the next kiss is—

That kiss is—

Martin is on the tube, nearly arrived at his stop for work, and doesn’t recall how he got there.

Wow.

But he does remember?

Remembers the kiss, remembers Jon pushing him gently against the wall, remembers feeling devoured and weak-kneed and worshiped, and then… walking out, and…

He even said hi to the neighbor, Mrs. MacReady.

Hadn’t he?

He had.

Except… he hadn’t?

Of course I did, he thinks, and wonders, at last, if something truly has gone wrong.

#

He doesn’t tell Jon about the doctor’s appointment. No point in worrying him.

Though he almost does after, as the doctor goes over his scans and confirms conclusively that there is no brain tumor, or anything like that.

“You’re a remarkably healthy man, Mister Blackwood,” she says. “Absolutely every single test we ran came back completely optimal—practically textbook, ideal. Whatever you’re doing, by all means, keep doing it.”

I’m doing the Archivist, he thinks slightly hysterically. “But then what about these… blackout moments?”

“All I can say, Mister Blackwood, is it doesn’t seem likely to be… physical. Though you show no signs of stress, the mind can be a funny thing; are you under stress?”

Yes, he thinks, and doesn’t know why. “No.”

“Do you feel safe at home?”

No, he thinks, and doesn’t know why. “Yes.”

“Well, how about this? We can refer you. I really think you’re going to be all right; tests like these don’t lie. But it won’t do any harm to see someone, anyway.”

Martin thanks her, takes the info, and leaves without making a further appointment with anyone.

#

The dream.

Oh, the dream.

Is he seeing more? Or maybe remembering more in that instant before opening his eyes?

Seeing the four wings (two solid, two not), but standing between them now is Jon, and the wings aren’t attached to him but they are him, somehow, some balance between mortality and godhood (how does Martin know?), and Jon in between is—

Jon is—

Martin gasps awake.

“Martin?” says Jon, raised up on his arm, eyes wide and worried. “Are you all right?”

The image. The dream.

Jon, with a crown, but not a reasonable crown, some kind of spinning wheels, one within the other, and lined with fucking eyes. Jon with some kind of rising sun behind him that cuts as it illuminates, and Martin feels seen, and Martin feels eviscerated, and Martin feels burned.

“Martin?” Jon says, looking genuinely concerned.

Martin grabs him.

Holds him tight, maybe too tight, judging by the grunt, but he won’t let go.

Can’t let go.

“Martin,” Jon whispers, and holds him back, and kisses gently along his jaw, and tries to soothe with fingers in his hair. “Hey. Hey, look at me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I’m okay,” says Martin, softly.

Jon goes stiff. “You are. You have to be.”

“I… I don’t know that I am. Something’s been… I feel like I’m losing time. And I…”

Jon relaxes again, tension gone. “And that worries you,” he says, soft. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

Well, that’s not what he expected. “What?” says Martin.

Jon kisses him softly. “We’re both going to be late. Come on.”

“But—Jon, what the hell did you mean by that?”

Jon won’t tell him. He won’t, peeling off Martin’s pajamas (“Jon, really, we’ve got to talk about this,”) and pulling him into their walk-in shower.

It’s not making love, and it’s not even sexual, but it is intimate, and precious, to be cleaned by one who loves, who is loved, and Martin stops asking.

Not wondering. But asking.

He can ask later.

He will ask later.

And on the way out the door, Jon kisses his cheek. “It’s almost over. I promise, Martin—you’re safe.” And he goes, ignoring Martin’s new questions, headed toward the tube.

#

Martin can’t stop seeing dream-Jon’s eyes while he works.

They’re everywhere. (They’re nowhere.)

They’re watching him from just to the side, only gone when he turns to see. (They’re not there.)

Inhuman eyes.

Gleaming green magic star-eyes, brighter than the sun, burning without pain, looking inside without slicing him open.

Except he feels sliced open.

The wings. The falling feathers.

The wings in front were the not-human ones (which makes no sense because humans don’t have wings so why would solid green wings be human?).

Like… Jon’s making a choice, or… some balance is slipping out of hand, or… he’s being overrun, or…

“Look out!” he hears, and with the rest of his coworkers, looks up.

The crane at the top of this building has just fucked up.

They all see it happening.

See the I-beams, the bricks, the sacks of concrete—

See the crane itself, tipping over the edge of the roof and taking all the nearby materials with it.

Is there time to run?

Martin doesn’t know. He tries. They all try. Of course they try, but the ground beneath them shakes (does it?) hard enough to knock every last one of them off their feet, and there are screams and there is panic, and Martin clearly sees the swelling shadow of whatever is about to end his life all around him before his mind goes blank in crushing noise and terror.

#

Martin lives.

No one else does.

Somehow, the beams fell near and not on, and somehow, the bricks missed as if poorly aimed, and somehow, the crane—which had been about to land right fucking on him—hit hoist-first and angled just so, crashing down so he lay curled in the crux of its joint, miraculously uninjured.

He’s covered in dust. He cannot stop shaking.

There are sirens. Shouts. His ears ring. He’s dazed.

But before they drag him away—

Before they get him to medical personnel and begin the mad battery of tests demanded by lawyers to ensure he can’t sue—

He sees what’s left of the crane operator.

Sees the movement in the cab, the wriggling he would recognize anywhere, any time, and will to the end of his days.

The driver, who was crushed when the crane fell down, was filled to the brim with worms.

Everyone tells him his panic attack only makes sense, and nobody blames him for screaming, and he has no idea how long it is before he’s finally discharged to go home.

#

Jon is waiting for him there.

Martin knows Jon is there before he gets to the door, which makes no sense, because he should have come to the hospital.

There is no way Jon didn't know what happened. Why hadn't he come? (Because you were all right.)

No, that's not good enough, why hadn't he come? (Because something held him up.)

What could have done that? Martin knows damn well paperwork wouldn't have done that. Some stupid meeting wouldn't have done that. Only a big thing, the biggest thing, could have done that.

And he knew you were all right. (I am not all right.)

He knows Jon is waiting, feels him, sees green light emanating from every door and window when he closes his eyes, though it isn’t there when they’re open.

So, Martin reasons. Either he’s gone insane, or Jon is…

Jon is not okay?

Martin’s throat is tight as he opens their door, eyes burning, heart sinking.

Jon is okay. Jon has to be okay. (Are we going to have to kill John? he had asked himself, asked his other self in his own domain, and the answer had been yes.)

“Jon?”

“Come in, Martin.”

It’s a gentle tone, calming. Calm.

It shouldn’t be setting off alarm bells, but it is.

Martin pauses on his way to the living room. He gets a knife from the kitchen, tucks it into the back of his belt, and approaches.

Jon is waiting by the fireplace, which he’s got warm and crackling. He looks normal (no wings). In a suit with a day’s rumple, his tie untied, his top buttons unbuttoned (only two eyes).

He looks up and smiles, and Martin knows.

He’s seen that smile before.

Seen it, before he had to do the worst thing to save the whole world.

“Oh, Jon,” he says, breathing too fast. “What have you done?”

“Nothing terrible, I assure you,” says Jon, standing and approaching.

Martin reaches back and finds the knife gone. He stiffens.

“I let you do that last time because I thought it would help,” says Jon, sliding his arms around Martin’s waist. “But it didn’t. They all came with us, and it was all starting again. I know you don’t realize. You couldn’t feel it. Not like I could.”

“Jon, what have you done?” says Martin, louder, angered at the assertion that the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life had been allowed (no matter how true).

“Do you want me to show you?” Jon’s kiss is soft (it’s the same, how can there be terrible things when his kiss is the same).

“You’re going to, anyway,” says Martin, not as sharply as he wanted. (Are we going to have to kill John? and he’d had to, he’d had to, he—)

Jon smiles.

It’s like the rising sun.

It’s impossible to look away from, impossible to see in only three dimensions. Impossible.

Martin can feel himself… melting. Cracking? Changing?

(Are we going to have to—)

(No.)

And then Jon is the dream.

It is so much more than the dream.

And they are in the cottage but not, and they are on the ground but not, and the translucent eye-wings are around and through Martin and sliding everywhere, and he gasps, and stares, and he can see.

“I like ‘crucible,’ because that’s what I did,” says Jon, who is holy, who is too much, who would be melting Martin’s skin off his bones unless consciously choosing to not. “I made a deal with them. With the Web, primarily, but with them all. Either I would drag them to destruction… or we would do this right.”

“Right?” whispers Martin, and feels horrified, but vaguely, distantly, like he’s forgetting how.

And then, he sees it all.

Only for a moment. He can’t do more than that, or he’ll break, his mind snapping, but a moment is enough.

Of a power like a net or a blanket or a spill sliding smoothly out from Penrith, Cumbria, and it spreads like light and it spreads like oil, and Martin can see—

Can see that the members of the Eden Council were changed, each chosen by Jon to be marked as he wanted, and directed, and pointed like a gun—

Can see they were chosen to join him in a version of the mass ritual that was so much worse than Jonah’s because Jon learned from Jonah’s mistakes—

Can see the fear gripping one human after another, each of them freezing where they are, and then, crying, going about their day, continuing their lives, but choking on unending fear—

Can see that Jon has somehow forced the Entities to change.

“This is balanced,” Jon explains, and yes, it is too late, and Martin can see that killing him wouldn’t stop it, and he’d have to go on some kind of murder spree to take out the whole Council, and even then it might not stop it, because Jon learned from Jonah’s mistakes , and this cannot be undone.

And touching Jon back feels like taking handfuls of fire and want, and even as Martin is burned, and he shouts, he pulls him closer because Jon is what he needs.

There is nothing else. Maybe there never was.

He can’t even remember why he was upset a moment ago.

“You don’t need to be,” says Jon. “Never again. Nothing will ever hurt you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Jon,” says Martin, and means it with all of himself, and feels the (oil light poison) power of Jon’s will washing over and around, but the fear doesn’t reach him, doesn’t touch him, and Martin remembers to be upset for the world for all of one second before it’s gone.

Martin loves Jon.

Jon loves Martin.

Everything is good.

Martin is safe.

Jon is safe.

Maybe… maybe everything works out, here, in somewhere else.

Together.

One way or another, together.

Martin settles against his god and closes his eyes, because Jon can see it all, and Martin doesn’t have to, that is the way things should be.

[anandabrat]

Ok what are your thoughts on what the new ep reveals for us, and what might we see next time?

Okay so I like everyone else am abuzz thinking about this last episode and what's going on between Becca and Cam but, to be the biggest surprise (and subsequent brain rot) was something Becca says while she's on her trip with Warren G. She reveals to him that she was thirteen when Gabe died. Thirteen!

I had definitely been assuming she was older and her grief right after he died was what drove her from the island. And it's possible she did leave right after he died... at thirteen... but I don't think Becca and Cam are 23 or 24, right?

Which means she was hanging around that island for a good couple of years *after* he died. I think this makes a lot of things she says make a lot of sense in a completely different way. She tells the Seven Oaks girls oh yeah, I was a really bad kid... and maybe she isn't just trying to get in with them. Maybe she did have a really rough go of it, and she hung out with the kids at Seven Oaks of her day a lot. (She has more in common with Kelly than anybody else, if this is true.)

Her exact words to Cam in the bar, responding to Cam telling her she fell off the face of the earth are, "I was a kid and I was going through a lot when Gabe died, and you shouldn't have had to take care of me or give anything up." It's easy to read that as Gabe having just died, but man, you don't get over something like that right away. That takes years and years, if ever.

Then Cam says, "Yeah well, I didn't give anything up." And Becca just replies sorry.

My thought here is that Becca did get into a lot of trouble as a teen, trouble she mostly got away with, until she couldn't anymore, and Cam was going to end up taking the blame for it, and Becca left instead. Maybe Cam felt like she didn't have as much to lose as Becca did. Becca wasn't willing to let Cam throw away her own future so she left, and now, here we are...

I'd love to know what everyone else thinks about this, it's been pretty much all I've been thinking about today!