#talk me down for the particularly depressing fics

[inkpot-winters]

regulus black is so blue neighbourhood by troye sivan coded

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete arsehole, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?" 

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know. 

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does. 

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?" 

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular." 

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says. 

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla." 

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows. 

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me." 

"That is not true." 

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything. 

"Something isn't right." 

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people." 

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger. 

"What should we do?" you ask. 

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well. 

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect. 

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…" 

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings. 

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence. 

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert. 

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him. 

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully. 

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle. 

"It feels off, you both said it." 

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–" 

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly." 

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan. 

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings. 

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue. 

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath. 

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!" 

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot. 

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts. 

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third. 

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus. 

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings. 

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind." 

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed. 

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?" 

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you. 

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it. 

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed. 

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says. 

"What? Where?" 

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him. 

You're closest. 

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could. 

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die. 

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different. 

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you. 

You aren't in the mood. 

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better. 

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way. 

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket. 

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up." 

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought. 

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll. 

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times. 

Your fingers curl around the remote. 

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again. 

"Are you hungry?" 

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture. 

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough." 

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say. 

"Eat something," he says. 

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now. 

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again. 

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest. 

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please." 

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes. 

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow. 

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed. 

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you. 

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile. 

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy. 

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'. 

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back." 

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel." 

"What? You think these are for you?" 

"Please, I want to see." 

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back. 

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones." 

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?" 

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones." 

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again." 

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it. 

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner." 

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers. 

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes. 

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay. 

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks. 

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk. 

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before. 

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while. 

You choke him half to death. 

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay." 

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me." 

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…" 

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless." 

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–" 

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face. 

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment. 

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault." 

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly. 

"To make you feel better." 

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?" 

"Why do you think?" he asks. 

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on." 

"Wrong." 

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud. 

"Because you care about me too much." 

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again. 

What a stupid hope. 

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits. 

"I really wanted to save him." 

"You can't save everyone." 

He knows better than most. 

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small. 

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

[egcdeath]

the l word

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: the five times you realized that you loved joel, and the first time one of you says it. 

word count: 9.1k

warnings: canon divergent, no apocalypse, 5+1 fic, hurt/comfort, a certain someone gets punched, brief mention of postpartum depression & abandonment, really brief mention of physical abuse in 3, fluff, domestic fluff, angst with a happy ending, found family

author’s note: happy very early valentine’s day! this is part three of the soccer parents au, you can read spectator sport (p1) and clean sheet (p2) here!

this fic would not be possible if it were not for the help of @freakinfairykind, who sent me the idea for scene 3 and listened to my thought vomit whenever i hit a roadblock! you can thank them for the brilliance that is what occurs in that scene :)! enjoy!

part four / series masterlist

Zero

After Nathan, you were sure that you would never fall in love again. Love was supposed to be beautiful and soft—a random bouquet of flowers, having a whole conversation with just your eyes, sweet messages sent to you when you expected it least and needed it most, and foot massages after a long day. For you, love had been nothing of the sort—settling for mediocrity, spitting out venomous words during arguments, and biting back tears on forgotten anniversaries. 

Love wasn’t kind or patient, or rainbows and flowers. Love was a storm cloud that followed you around when you were around him, pouring sadness and anger on you and striking you with lightning bolts of resentment. 

Maybe some people just simply weren’t meant for love. Maybe you were one of them.

One

After years of trying to hold together a failing marriage and hide the myriad of painful feelings you were going through for the sake of your daughter, bottling up your feelings had become your preferred coping mechanism to everyday stressors. 

For the most part, it worked for you. Sure, some days were harder than others, and the smallest confrontation or blip in the day would send you spiraling; but more often than not, you were able to compartmentalize whatever was bothering you and save it for a rainy day.

That was part of what worked so well about the relationship you had with Joel during the soccer season—you had the opportunity to unscrew the lid of the shaken bottle of your feelings just a little bit, taking some of the edge off by yelling about completely inconsequential things. But now, you don't have that outlet. And today was one of those days that you desperately needed it. 

Nathan had come by to pick up Chloe just a bit ago, and it was very obvious that she hadn’t exactly wanted to spend her weekend with him. Some of her friends were going to the mall and having a sleepover, and because Nathan wasn’t particularly fond of their parents, he’d very openly told her no. She begged and pleaded to stay with you (mainly so she could go hang out with her friends), which of course broke your heart a little bit, but also led to a pretty dramatic outburst from your daughter to Nathan when he’d picked her up.

“You’re raising a spoiled little brat,” he hissed at you, pointing an accusatory finger once Chloe was in the car. 

“At least I’m raising her. You only show up when it’s convenient for you,” you shot back. If Nathan wanted to stoop low, you could fall to his level. “Put your finger down. She’s watching us.”

“A little argument won’t hurt her,” he scoffed. “See? You’re proving my point: you spoil her too much.”

“Because years of watching her parents bicker wasn’t traumatic enough? Get in the fucking car, Nathan.”

He huffed, looking back at the car, then over at you. “Fine. But before I go, I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking poorly about me in front of her. Clearly she’s listening to you and acting out because of it.”

“Have you considered that you’re just a shit father and maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you?” you were already making your way back inside, feeling the avalanche of emotions beginning to stir inside of you, and a little frightened of what might come out next. 

“You’re still such a bitch. Every day I praise every deity that’s out there that I left your sorry ass.”

You were viciously fighting the urge to get the last word in, knowing that whatever would come out next wouldn’t be good, and you certainly didn’t want Chloe seeing you like that. You left him with a sarcastic thumbs up, then slammed your front door, taking deep breaths to attempt to calm yourself down.

You crumbled down in front of the door, still maintaining slow and deep breaths. It was no big deal. Nathan just says stuff like that to stir the pot. You just needed to find something to take your mind off of everything. Your mind went to the scarf you’d been working on crocheting, something you could mindlessly do for a little while while you cooled off. 

The scarf was going well. You were calmly crocheting the evening away when you checked your phone to find a few apologetic messages from your coworkers. Feeling confused, you went on to check your email, only to find that the promotion you’d spent the last few months of your life slaving away for had been given to someone else—someone who had worked half as hard as you, and even took credit for a few of your projects. 

Your hands shook as you set down your phone and attempted to pick back up the crochet hook. You were fine, right? Sometimes these things just happen. Sometimes you sacrifice hours of your free time, hours of time you’ll never get back with your child, or significant other, hours you’ll never get back of sleep, hours of-

You cut your mind off, tossing aside the scarf and taking a deep breath. You were gonna be okay. This just meant you could take your foot off the gas going forward, since your work, effort, and time clearly was not being valued. Maybe you would just sit at your desk and play games, then slap your name on projects and presentations like Naomi. Maybe you’d just-

Your phone began to vibrate on your bed and your immediate reaction was to silence it, but upon checking the contact name, you became slightly more inclined to answer. 

“Hey! I almost thought you weren’t gonna pick up,” the man on the other end chuckled. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, although you weren’t sure you’d be able to handle anything else today. With how your day was going, Joel was probably calling you to break up.

“Better than okay. We finished up early, and Sarah’s already at her friend’s. You in the mood for some company?”

No, not particularly. In fact, if Joel came over, you’d probably end up going off on him over something you don’t really mean, successfully putting an end to the best thing you’ve had in a while. 

“Uh,” your voice cracked, and a rogue tear slipped down your face. You didn’t even know that you were on the brink of tears. “I’m sorry,” you uttered, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“Sorry for what? You don’t have to feel bad for not wanting me over,” he said genuinely, not picking up on your emotional state over the phone. 

“No, I do want you over,” you whimpered. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“What? I promise you I’m not going anywhere. Well, I’m going home now, but I can also come to your place if you want me to.”

“Please,” you grit out. 

“You okay?” he asked, finally catching on to the fact that something was very off with you. 

“I don’t know,” you confessed. 

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“No.”

“You sure you want me to come over?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, desperately trying to fend off your tears.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Bye,” you hung up, burrowing yourself under layers of blankets and curling up onto your side. Maybe this tidal wave of emotions would pass by the time Joel got to your place. You closed your eyes as you took deep, shaky breaths, wiping away stray tears every now and then as they fell. You could pull yourself together. 

You kept telling yourself this as you dragged yourself out of bed to answer the door, but the moment you saw Joel with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers, you completely lost it. He immediately tossed the items down and pulled you into a tight embrace, not exactly knowing what was wrong, but instinctually wanting to comfort you regardless. 

You didn’t even really know what it was either. Sure, you were pissed that you’d lost the promotion, and even more upset that Nathan had called your daughter a name while insulting your parenting skills, but it was far more than that. It was every little thing from the past two months that had upset you in some capacity that you had decided to push as far down as possible. 

You sobbed until your throat was raw and your eyes grew sore from crying so much. The whole time Joel wordlessly held you, rubbing soothing circles into your back and swaying you back and forth just the slightest bit. You almost felt like your tears would never stop, and the more you willed yourself to pull it together, the harder it was to do so. 

Finally, you pulled away, head hanging with humiliation by the emotions abruptly pouring out of you. You truly felt like a live wire. You should’ve just told Joel not to come over. 

“Want me to run you a bath?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up so he could look at you, and rubbing a thumb over your cheek. “Or is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“A bath is good,” you said quietly, averting your gaze. You almost felt like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. The shame of being a grown woman who couldn’t even control her emotions was overwhelming, but Joel didn’t seem to mind much at all. He simply led you up to your bathroom and quietly filled the tub for you, checking it every now and then to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Once the tub was filled up, he helped you undress, then held your hand as you stepped into the tub. 

“Would you like me to stay?” Joel asked as you settled into the tub. 

“Not really,” you admitted. 

“Okay. Just yell for me if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”

Somehow, the bath was everything you needed. It was just warm enough to relax your rather tense muscles, and just quiet enough to allow you to actually process your thoughts. You sat and soaked in the bath for a while, just inhaling the scent of lavender, and trying your best to let go of the feelings that you’d been holding onto for so long. 

Eventually, you felt ready to talk about things, and called out Joel’s name, who after a moment, showed up in your bathroom and sat down on a towel next to the tub. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, reaching for your pruny hand. 

“Better,” you answered as you laced your fingers with his.  

“Well, I’m here when you feel ready to talk about it. And if you don’t feel ready to talk about it, that’s okay too.” 

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, the apology being more of a force of habit. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Joel  assured, “we all feel our feelings sometimes,” he pushed away a bit of hair that had fallen into your face. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I guess,” you continued. It had been a while since you’d shown any negative emotions in front of anyone, let alone a significant other. In fact, the last time you’d been sad in front of a significant other, you’d been laughed at and mocked. You’d been conditioned to see your own vulnerability as weakness, as a character flaw you needed to apologize for.

“Like what? Naked?” he teased, trying to at least make you smile when you’d clearly been feeling so down. “You know I don’t mind that at all. Seriously, though. There’s nothing wrong with being upset, and there’s nothing wrong with being upset in front of the people you care about.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. It had been so long since anyone had made you feel like you weren’t a burden for having a rough day. Joel gently brushed away your tears with his thumb, and kissed your forehead. 

“Thank you,” you muttered, feeling all sorts of feelings, particularly one feeling you couldn’t quite describe that had been lying dormant for years of your life. 

You eventually got out of the tub once the water had become too cold and you had become

somewhat of a human prune, and you found yourself curled up in bed with Joel, wearing a flannel that he’d left behind the last time he was over. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked once again, gently rubbing your back as a trashy reality TV show played quietly in the background. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled as you looked up at the ceiling, “it’s been a rough few months.” 

“Months?” Joel asked, scooting closer to you. “What’s been happening?”

“Too much to get into,” you sighed. “I guess it just all came out now.”

Joel turned down the volume of the TV, and turned his body so that he could face you properly. “If you want to talk, we have the time. I may or may not have drank a coffee on my way over here, so I’ll be completely alert for the next few hours.”

He gently grabbed your hand and squeezed it, a little reminder that he was here for you. 

“Today’s just been… bad. When Nathan picked Chloe up, she was upset so he called her a spoiled brat and said that it was my fault that she was one. Obviously I do a lot for her, and I know that I’m a good mom, but sometimes the way he talks about her scares me a little. I don’t want her to have self-esteem issues because her dad likes to name-call. I mean, she’s probably gonna have enough issues from our shitty relationship and messy divorce. That really upset me, but that definitely wasn’t the last straw or anything.”

Joel silently sat and listened, holding your hand and listening attentively.

“I lost the promotion, Joel. You know, the one I’ve been working absurd hours for? But it’s not just that, it’s just… there are months of emotions I haven’t had a chance to process. I guess it just all came out now after that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “Nathan is an asshole. He shouldn’t be saying that kind of thing about his child just to make you feel bad. And your boss is stupid for not giving you that position when you’ve clearly earned it. Everything you’ve felt today is valid, but so is everything else that you’ve been holding in for the past… however long. It’s okay to feel your feelings in the moment instead of waiting for them to boil over.”

“I guess, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve had to be strong for so long. I don’t know if I know how to not wait for my emotions to boil over.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so strong anymore. You’re not alone,” he assured you. “If you ever need me to watch Chloe because you need to go out to the middle of nowhere and scream, or just need someone to talk your feelings out with, I am more than happy to do so. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, setting your head on Joel’s chest. 

You were getting that weird, dormant feeling in you once again. There was an odd warmth in your chest and butterflies in your stomach, that felt strange and familiar, but most of all, exciting. You had no idea what was going on, or what that feeling was, but you did know that you didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

And honestly, it didn’t seem like it would. 

Two

Walking into Joel’s home to the sound of soft guitar chords made you feel a bit like you had woken up in a dream, or died and gone to heaven. It wasn’t often that you’d heard him play guitar. Sing? Sure! He loved to sing along to a song he liked on the radio, or do karaoke with you and the kids. But playing guitar was something that he seemed to like to keep to himself.

Joel had picked Chloe up from school, as you had an important work event that you’d anticipated going quite late, and as you’d predicted, it was nearly midnight by the time you got to Joel’s place. It was rare for you to see those two alone, without yours or Sarah’s presence, but you’d assumed the latter had gone to bed due to how late it was and the fact that they had school in the morning.

So hearing Joel play for your daughter felt… weird. But a good weird. Like he trusted her enough to be doing something that he often kept under wraps, even for you.

“I love this song!” you heard your daughter exclaim from the living room. You rounded a corner, not quite ready to appear yet, but curious enough to eavesdrop on the scene.

Joel chuckled at her reaction, “should we sing it together?”

“Maybe, I’m not very good, though.”

“I doubt that,” Joel said, continuing to play the introduction to the song on a loop. 

“I… fine, I’ll sing.”

The two of them began to sing along to the song, and you could’ve sworn that your heart did an actual flip as you listened. There was something very sweet about the whole scene, of Joel playing a song your daughter loved, of him assuring her that she was good enough, and singing something together. 

You should’ve felt bad for listening in on the scene, for invading on a moment that was clearly meant to be private, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to feel that way when your heart was so filled with… something that you couldn’t quite place.

The song came to a soft conclusion, and you figured there was no better time to finally step out from behind the wall than then. 

“You guys sounded so good!” you stated as you entered the room.

“Oh hi,” Joel greeted a little awkwardly, looking down at his guitar as if he’d been caught red handed. 

“Mom!” Chloe exclaimed, coming over to you and hugging you. “I missed you.”

“We were just killing time while we waited for you to get home. How was work?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, sitting down across from Joel as Chloe curled up next to you. “It was work.”

“Mom, did you know that Joel sings and plays guitar? He’s really good!”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” you acted surprised for your child, but looked mischievously at your partner. It wasn’t often that you had the chance to get Joel to play you something, and you refused to let the opportunity slip away from you. “Can you play me something?”

“He can!” Chloe accepted the offer before Joel could begin to protest. God, was this child your mini-you. “Go ahead, Joel.”

He looked to you as if he needed some sort of excuse to not do it, or encouragement to play (more likely than not, he was looking for an out), but you simply shrugged, far too enthused at the idea of him playing guitar for you. 

Just as the man sighed and began to put his fingers to the string, Sarah came down the stairs and plopped herself right next to you. 

“You guys are loud,” she stated, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” you apologized. “You were just about to miss your dad’s concert!”

“Oh good,” Sarah giggled, getting all comfortable next to you as she pulled a blanket over her lap. 

“I feel like this is a premeditated attack,” Joel held onto his guitar. 

“It’s definitely not. We just want you to share your gift with the world!”

“Alright, fine. Only because I like you guys so much.”

The three of you cheered from the couch as Joel began to play again, the soft acoustic notes of a love song you’d heard a few times before. As Joel played and sang, he looked straight at you, and you couldn’t help but feel like the lyrics were coming straight from his heart to you. 

That warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you’d become more and more familiar with over the course of your relationship began to reappear as you sat there, the moment a snapshot of the perfect domestic bliss that had become your home life. As you sat with your two favorite children in the world, and your favorite man, you realized that you’d never felt more content in your life. 

Three

When you agreed to come to a bar with Joel, you hadn’t expected it to be a quaint little hole-in-the-wall with great live music. 

The atmosphere was lively, the drinks were dangerously sweet, and best of all, it was cute watching Joel in his element. Part of you wondered if he ever saw himself up on the stage, playing for a little audience. Although, he was so bashful and shy playing in front of you and the girls that you wondered if he would like it at all. 

You finished off your first drink rather quickly, but you were feeling up for another, and prepared to head back to the bar. “Do you want another drink?” you asked Joel over the loud music. 

“I’m alright. Thank you, though,” he kissed your cheek, then looked back up at the stage, directing all of his focus there once more. 

You made your way back to the bar, where you ordered another fruity drink for yourself and patiently waited for it to be made, humming along to the cover being sung on stage. 

Being able to find out more about what Joel liked to spend his time doing was (unsurprisingly) quite nice. While he was vulnerable with his emotions, he was often a little more closed off when it came to sharing his hobbies and interests. You wondered how many of these live shows and open mics he was familiar with, how many local artists he was friends with. Would he ever feel comfortable enough around you to share those things with you? Well, you certainly hoped so. 

You looked around with a small smile on your face at the thought of learning more about your partner’s interests. Had he ever been the one up on stage? Maybe before Sarah was born and he was launched straight into the time consuming world of fatherhood. Although, he surely would’ve shared that with you by now.

You were drawn out of thought when eyes landed on a head of hair that looked a little too familiar for your liking.  

No.

There was no way.

This bar was definitely not his scene. In fact, if you’d suggested this bar, he would’ve laughed in your face and called you a hipster, before dragging you out to some stuffy restaurant where he’d complain about the portion size of both his meal and the bill. 

Your mind was just playing a mean trick on you. You’d had a somewhat stressful week, and sometimes drinking made you the slightest bit paranoid. Besides, it was just someone’s hair. Literally anyone could have that hair color, or hair cut, and although the world was small, it wasn’t that small. 

Just as you began to fall headfirst into your nerves, the bartender handed you your drink, and you walked back to Joel, head still in the clouds. 

You couldn’t shake that off feeling, even as Joel danced around with you and stole a sip of your drink, both actions bringing a smile to your face, but not quite quelling the growing discomfort in your stomach. 

You just needed to go clear your mind and freshen up. At least, that’s what you told yourself before telling Joel to keep your drink safe and power walking to the bathroom.

You stood at the sink, splashing your face with water as cold as the faucets would go. Nathan was not here. You needed to just relax, and enjoy the fun date that Joel had planned. You couldn’t keep letting this man ruin your experiences, even when he wasn’t present.

“You okay, hun?” a voice asked you while your head was bowed over the sink. When you looked up, your eyes nearly popped out of your head, as if you were some ridiculous cartoon character. 

Well. Your brain must’ve really been fucking with you today. Or the Universe just really hated you. 

Claire, Nathan’s new girlfriend, was asking you if you were alright in the bathroom of a bar that your new boyfriend had suggested. 

You were completely unsure of whether she knew who you were or not, although she seemed tipsy enough not to care. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled awkwardly at her. “But, uh, my mascara’s a little smudged. Any chance you have a makeup wipe?”

“Yeah!” she said, digging into her purse to check for the item. 

You’d never met Claire before, but as far as first impressions went, this one wasn’t too bad. She offered you the wipe, then stood next to you as you dabbed at your under eye. 

“You meet anyone fun tonight?” she asked, beginning to touch up her own makeup. 

“No, I’m actually here with my partner. He really likes the music,” you said casually, dabbing at the same spot so you could at least attempt to maintain your composure in an otherwise dramatically ironic and tense situation. 

“Oh no. Was he the one making you cry?”

“Cry? No! I was sweating. We were dancing,” suddenly, a slightly perverse question crossed your mind. “Does your partner make you cry a lot?”

“How do you even know I have one?” she giggled, sounding less accusatory and more confused. 

“I don’t I just-“

“No, not really,” she shrugged as she reapplied her lip liner. “He mostly just buys me shit and spoils me. What would I have to cry about? He’s a really good guy.”

Oh, you remembered that phase. Well, phases. The time after he’d slapped you during an argument immediately came to mind. Nathan could probably teach a seminar on love bombing, then making you feel guilty for having any negative feelings because of all the money he’d spent on you. 

“That’s good,” you nodded, tossing the used wipe in the trash and making your way to the door. “Thanks for checking in on me and helping me. Have a good night.”

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” she asked as your hand hit the door.

“No,” you replied promptly, maybe slamming the door behind you a little too hard. 

This was a lot to process, and a lot to take in. Despite having a fun time with Joel, you really just wanted to go home. Finding your way back out to him, you silently accepted back your drink and stood besides him stiffly. 

“You okay?” he asked, gently grabbing your arm. 

“Fine, just… just.. I have an upset stomach,” you explained. You were never a good liar, the concern in Joel’s eyes told you that you hadn’t suddenly become one. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said, rubbing your forearm gently. “Let’s go home, okay?”

You certainly didn’t protest as he began to lead you out of the bar, and you let out a sigh of relief at being able to leave before running into anyone else you knew.

Although, life was never that simple, was it?

As you approached the door, a familiar voice called out your name, sending a chill up your spine. Joel’s head whipped around from where it was coming from, and scowled when he saw who the voice belonged to. Ignoring him, the two of you continued your departure, a newfound urgency in both of your steps.

Once you were outside, you felt yourself puff out a sigh of relief. You’d managed to get out of the bar with only a brief conversation with Claire, and no direct interaction with Nathan. Now, if you could only get home, curl up with Joel on the couch, and tell him the absurd story of how you’d bumped into your ex’s new girlfriend in the bathroom. 

But the universe clearly wasn’t letting you off the hook just yet.

“Hey!” Nathan called as he stepped out of the bar, Claire trailing just a few paces behind him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. Can’t even say hi to the father of your child.”

You were almost alarmed by the speed in which Joel marched over to your ex and reprimanded him. Not even wasting a moment, Joel shoved him back—a warning of sorts, with your knowledge that he was certainly holding himself back. 

“Leave her the fuck alone,” he barked. It was like no tone you’d ever heard him use before, not when he was upset with anyone, and not even when he was yelling at a referee for a bad call.  

“And who the fuck are you?” your ex shot back. 

“Does it really matter?” Joel pressed, not backing down despite the slightly shorter man getting in his face. “You’re not gonna go around trying to degrade women.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna stop me, Mr. Nice guy?” Nathan pushed Joel, but your partner barely budged. 

“You fuckin’ cuck,” Nathan muttered. “Why do you even care about this whore?”

Nathan took a second to think about it, glancing between the two of you before a light seemed to go off in his little brain. 

“Oh, I know. You’re that guy from the soccer games. You two together now?" His condescension was almost jarring to hear, and part of you worried about what your clearly inebriated ex might say or do next. “I see you’re still the community cumrag,” he directed at you. 

You hardly had a moment to process what was just said before Joel was swinging, clearly seeing red as he threw a hefty right hook at your ex, leaving a nasty crunching sound as he fell to the ground. 

“Don’t talk about her, or any other fucking woman like that ever again,” he squatted down to his level, and grabbed both of his cheeks. “Leave her the fuck alone, you understand me? Or next time you’re gonna wish it was just your nose.”

Nathan cradled his bloody nose and whimpered and Joel walked back to you, the fury on his face melting into something apologetic as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he began, cautiously approaching you as if he was something to be afraid of. “I shouldn’t have done that. I overstepped-“

“Joel. Don’t apologize. Do you know how much that asshole deserved it? You did everyone a favor tonight, but especially me.” 

You had never had someone defend you so literally before. Sure, your friends had argued with Nathan a few times on your behalf, but punching Nathan in the face had truly raised your expectations for anyone who claimed to be doing anything to help you. You don’t think you’d have felt this alive or cherished in years. 

“Now let’s get you home and ice those knuckles.”

Four

You were usually a big fan of rainy days. The sound of rain pattering against the window or on the roof of your car, and the smell of petrichor on the pavement were sensations you wished you could experience all the time. But today, you weren’t quite so pleased to see the rain. 

You’d taken the day off to spend it with Joel, who had specifically asked for you to take some time off to be with him. You couldn’t blame him, as you’d been slightly neglecting him after things picked up once again at work. You’d had a whole outdoorsy day planned, with a morning hike, a visit to a conservatory, and a picnic at one of your favorite local parks. Unfortunately, none of those activities could be done comfortably in the pouring rain. 

Instead, you opted to come back to your place after you dropped your kids off at school, and have a domestic little day-in.

After putting some homemade cinnamon rolls into the oven, the two of you found yourselves on your couch, comfortably sitting together and reading your own books while the smell of warm cinnamon filled your house. 

Occasionally, you glanced out your window, the scene of rain granting you a sense of serenity. At one point, you noticed Joel’s gaze out the window as well, and you couldn’t help but comment on it. 

“Don’t you just love the rain?” you asked, setting your book down on your coffee table. It was more of an excuse to break the silence than an actual comment, but you said it regardless.

“It’s nice,” he agreed, his tone oddly somber for a comment on the rain. 

“You okay, big guy?” you asked before moving closer to Joel. 

“I’m alright,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. There wasn’t any real concrete evidence that something was off, but something inside you told you that something definitely was off. 

“You sure?” you asked, squeezing his bicep. 

“Yeah, it’s just,” he paused, looking down at his book as if he was about to go right back to reading instead of telling you the issue. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke once more, “it’s the anniversary of Diane leaving.”

Oh. So that’s why he’d asked to be with you today.

You’d never heard Joel say her name before. Sure, you’d seen her name written under a polaroid or two, but you’d never heard Joel reference her ever. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t really know what their deal was. Amicable exes? Divorcees? Was Joel a widower? You felt awful that you’d gone this far into a relationship and still didn’t know anything about his last significant one. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, not completely sure how to react. You mainly wanted to get a gauge on Joel’s reaction–just how upset was he? Did he want to talk about it? Or just get the importance of the day out in the open?

“It’s just… Today feels like that day in a lot of ways.”

You nodded slowly, still not exactly sure of how to approach the situation. You thought back to all of the times he’d been there to support you when you were having a rough day, and ended up asking aloud, “is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” 

“Maybe just listening, if that’s okay. It helps to talk about it,” he paused. “The rolls smell done. I’ll go get them,” with that, he was off to the kitchen, barely giving you time to react, or even protest his departure.

He clearly wanted to talk, but just wasn’t completely ready to do so at that moment. You could listen. You could be the best damn listener on the planet if that was what Joel needed from you. No matter what he revealed to you today, you were determined to make Joel feel comfortable, and know that whatever he was going through, he wasn’t alone—just as he’d shown you in the past.

By the time he came back to the living room, Joel offered you a plate with an iced cinnamon roll and acted like everything was normal. He sat back down next to you, stole a bite from your plate, then buried his nose right back into his novel.

You respected his right to process his emotions in any way he saw fit. All you could do was be a good partner, and offer whatever he needed from you to feel better, like he’d done for you so many times before. 

While you were fine with spending your day cuddled up on the sofa and reading, you were also aware that there were a good amount of house chores that were calling your name. Upon mentioning these tasks, Joel insisted on helping out, which was how you two landed in the laundry room, laughing at something stupid that had happened to you this week. 

While you loaded light clothes into your washer, Joel suddenly caught you off guard with a question that was a far cry from the banter you’d just been having only moments before. 

“Is it… are you okay with me talking about it?”

By it you could only assume he meant the giant elephant of a woman in the room. 

“Of course,” you turned to him, offering sympathetic eyes. 

“She left just a few months after Sarah was born,” Joel busied himself by pouring out laundry detergent and fabric softeners. “I just woke up one morning to an empty bed and a note in the kitchen saying she was leaving, she wasn’t coming back, and not to look for her.”

You were taken aback by the cruelty of such an abrupt ending, especially with such a young infant. You couldn’t imagine being put in those circumstances so unexpectedly. 

Joel casually poured the respective liquids into their proper places in the machine, then turned it on. “It was a day just like this. The nursery had a nice, big window that we put a rocking chair in front of. Sarah liked looking at the stars when she was younger, it always helped to calm her down. I remember holding her in that chair and bawling my eyes out while she cried too, and with all the rain against the window… it felt like the Earth was crying right along with us.”

You weren’t sure what to say or how to react, but it seemed like Joel was prepared to move right on, quickly changing the subject as he led you out of the laundry room. 

Baking cinnamon rolls had left a lot of dishes in the sink, but luckily for you, you had an extra set of hands to help you out. Joel was on rinsing duty, and you were on loading.

You quickly found your rhythm, as you often did with partnered tasks. You worked quietly while loading the dishes, letting the music from your speaker fill up the silence, but it was obvious Joel was lost in thought.

Eventually, he quietly began to speak again, “I kept trying to make sense of her leaving. I knew that postpartum depression hit her really hard, and that she was barely sleeping at night because of how often Sarah was crying. Sarah was a really sensitive, fussy baby. She’d told me how she’d felt a few times, and I always kinda thought things would just pass. Every new parent hits that roadbump where they just can’t see themselves doing this thing forever, right? Then, she just left. I thought maybe she just needed a few days away, and that she’d be back. But days went by, then weeks, then it had been a month, and it was still just Sarah and I.”

“Did she ever come back around?” you asked, setting down the last dish into the sink, then closing the machine.

“Never heard from her again.”

You closed the distance between you and the man, wrapping him in as tight of a hug that you could manage. 

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered into his shirt as he melted into your embrace. “I can’t even imagine how painful and stressful that was.”

As a mother, you couldn’t imagine abandoning your child; the tiny human being you spent nine months carrying, and would spend a lifetime loving. But as a human, you understood the stress of being the parent of a newborn. Waking up every few hours because your baby is crying and you’ve tried everything to get her to stop but she just… won’t. Paired with postpartum depression, which you were no stranger to, you could understand the circumstances that led Diane to feeling like she had no other option but to leave. But that didn’t, in any way, make it the right thing to do. 

As you held Joel, a sound you hadn’t ever heard from him escaped his lips, wracking his body. A guttural cry that had clearly been trapped deep inside of him for the longest time had suddenly escaped as he recalled an event that had clearly changed his life. 

You stood in the kitchen holding him for what felt like forever, when he finally pulled away, wiping his face a little bit. 

“Thank you,” was all that he managed to get out.

You laid next to him in bed after a rather emotionally loaded session of lovemaking, trying to catch your breath as the two of you recovered from the underlying emotional and physical aftermath of your fornication. As Joel spooned you, a question lingered on your mind. 

“Do you still love her?” you asked, keeping your eyes forward on the wall. You wanted to say you were sure he had moved on, but these types of situations were rather nuanced. There were just some bonds that regardless of time or circumstances, people continued to hold on to. 

“No,” he answered clearly. “I don’t hate her, either. I guess I just understand her. But that doesn’t make what she put me or Sarah through any better.” 

You slipped your hand down to where his were currently laying on your stomach, and you set one on top of his. 

“I’m not jealous, I’m just curious. Do you ever miss her?” 

“I used to,” he sighed, the close breath blowing some hairs on your neck. “I don’t anymore.”

Eventually, your laundry was dry, meaning you two needed to get out of bed and get to folding. 

“She has a new family, now,” he said out of the blue, as he folded up a pair of your pajama pants. “Husband, kids, dog, the full nine yards. Tommy found her Facebook a few years ago, but I still haven’t looked. I don’t really know why.”

You didn’t really know why either, but you knew exactly the feeling he was experiencing. Seeing your ex who you’d invested so much into and had a child with move on with someone was a particularly gut wrenching feeling. You could only imagine how much worse it was in Joel’s scenario, where Diane had abandoned him and their child, yet had a child and built another family elsewhere. 

“Does Sarah know?” you asked, putting a blouse onto a hanger. 

“Bits and pieces. She kinda just accepted that her mom’s not in the picture, but doesn’t know why she left or anything about her mom’s new family,” Joel finished up with his basket, then began to help you with yours. “Maybe when she’s older. Old enough to understand that it isn’t her fault and that these things just… happen sometimes.”

“I guess,” you frowned as you grabbed your last article of clothing and hung it up. “It shouldn’t have happened, though. Neither of you deserved to be abandoned.”

“It was gonna happen one way or another,” Joel shrugged, putting your baskets away. “Our relationship had been on the rocks even before Diane became pregnant. If it wasn’t then, it would be later. I’m just glad it happened early enough that Sarah doesn’t remember. You in the mood for a coffee?”

His words gave you a bit of whiplash, but you accepted the offer of a warm drink regardless. 

You sat at your table, stirring your drink as Joel sat down across from you. 

“Good, right?” he asked. “I think I’ve officially nailed the way you like your coffee.”

“It’s pretty good,” you admitted, taking a sip from a mug that Chloe had decorated in her school’s art class. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good. It is one,” you hummed. 

It was clear that his mood was slightly improving the more that he talked about his experience. You wondered just how much of this information he’d shared with anyone else before you, as he told the story as if he were confessing something for the first time ever. 

“I’ve never told anyone this much about it,” he confessed. “I’m glad that of all the people I could’ve told, it ended up being you.”

“Joel, I,” the words popped into your head, but died on your tongue. “I care about you so much. I know this can’t be easy to talk about, so thank you for sharing this with me,” you squeezed his hands across the table. 

“Thank you for being so supportive. I also care about you a lot. So much that it scares me. Especially knowing that you could lose everything in a literal night,” he admitted. 

“Oh Joel,” you said softly. “I’m also scared. I’m always so scared that I’ll lose you and Sarah and this little blended family we’ve made. But if that’s the price I pay for… caring about you so much, I’m okay with being afraid.”

Joel looked at you like he had something to say, but instead sat there quietly for a moment, processing your words. “Do you want to watch an episode of The Bachelorette?” 

“Is that even a question? C’mon,” you stood up.

The two of you cuddled up on the couch once again, this time with a much lighter feeling in the room, partially due to what Joel had confessed to you, and partially due to the absolutely ridiculous content playing on your television.

“I’m sad that I had to go through what I had to go through, but I’m glad that it led me to you,” Joel said out of the blue, resting his forehead against yours.

You were glad that he found you too.

Five

It wasn’t every day that the forces of the universe seemed to be on your side, but for some reason, today was one of those days. 

When you’d been called into your boss’ office that morning, a pit formed in your stomach. You’d figured that the day you were going to be laid off was coming, especially following the whole promotion fiasco. As you walked into her office, you fully intended to be walking out without a job. 

Except, that wasn’t what happened. You had been promoted, and promoted into a position even higher than the one you’d previously been gunning after. 

Once you found out, you had to fight the urge to skip out of your boss’s office, singing and dancing with joy. Instead, you fought that urge by closing the door to your office, and calling Joel. 

“Hey honey, what’s up?” he answered casually. 

“Joel, they promoted me! And it’s an even better position than what I was trying to get before!” you squealed. 

Joel cheered from over the phone, making you somehow smile even harder. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you. I can’t think of anyone who deserves this more than you.”

“Oh my god, stop it,” you giggled, putting your hands up to your warm cheeks. 

“No, I’m serious,” Joel countered. “I know a lot of hard workers, and none of them work as hard as you. You’ve sacrificed so much to get here and it’s finally paid off.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you had more to say, but you decided to keep it to yourself. Mainly, how did you get so lucky to end up with a man like him? 

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked. 

“I’m just dropping Chloe off at my mom’s, then I should be free for the evening. Why?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place so we can celebrate? You picked the right time to get a promotion. Sarah’s going to her uncle’s for the weekend.”

“Sounds good to me,” you hummed. “I’ll text you when I’m heading over.”

“Alright. Again, congratulations! So proud.”

You hung up and attempted to get back to work, but you were far too excited to focus for too long. You somehow made it to the end of the work day and to Joel’s house without spontaneously combusting from joy.

When you walked in, you were immediately met with the smells of one of your favorite candles, mixed with the mouthwatering scent of fragrant coming from the kitchen. 

“Joel, I’m home!” you announced, making your way to the kitchen only to find it very dressed up. The lights were dimmed, a crisp white table cloth rested on the table, and a gorgeous arrangement of flowers sat in a vase in the middle of the table, right next to a rather nice looking bottle of champagne. 

Joel was finishing up plating something spectacular as you came in. “Please, have a seat,” he directed. You didn’t need to be told twice. 

With the arrangement of the table, you almost felt like you were sitting at a fancy little restaurant, but better, knowing all the effort Joel had put into making the table look this way.  He brought over two plates, set one over at his seat and one in front of you, before leaning down and kissing you gently. 

“Congratulations. I am so, so, so proud of you,” he said after finally pulling away, reaching for the bottle of champagne on the table.

“If anyone in the world deserves good things,” he turned away from you so that he could safely pop the bottle. “It’s you. I’m glad you’re finally getting the recognition that you deserve.”

With the bottle opened, he poured you out a glass, then poured himself some. You lifted up your glass and Joel mirrored you.

“Cheers,” you said with a grin, tapping your glasses together, then taking a sip. Once you finished drinking, Joel leaned in for one more kiss before he situated himself back into his chair. 

“I think you deserve a promotion from best boyfriend in the world to best boyfriend in the universe,” you softly laughed, looking down at your plate. 

“Do I? I think anyone would celebrate the person they…” he paused for just a split second, and you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t paying such close attention. “The person they’re sharing their life with if they made a big accomplishment like this.”

“Honey, you’d be very surprised. I can think of at least one person who would view this promotion as a bad thing.”

“Well, don’t think about them right now. This is an amazing thing, and we’re celebrating you today. Not an insecure man with a Napoleon complex and a small penis.”

You laughed out loud, nearly choking on a bubbly sip of champagne. 

“You’re right,” you picked up your fork and knife, reading to dig into the amazing looking meal in front of you. “Thank you for this, Joel. You always make me feel so appreciated and cherished. You’re truly one of a kind.”

He shook his head bashfully at the compliment, eating right along with you. It was almost cute how he never seemed to accept compliments, but certainly deserved them more than basically any other person that you knew. 

“You always show me how much you care about me. It’s only fair that I do the same.”

“You’re so romantic,” you sighed. “How can I guarantee that I can keep you around forever?”

“Just keep being you, I guess. That’s all I’ve really ever wanted.”

How did you get so lucky? How did you manage to hit the jackpot on men with Joel, almost let it slip through your fingers not once, but twice, and still managed to end up with one of your favorite people in the world? 

However it ended up happening, you certainly weren’t mad at it, and as you sat together, you hoped for things never to change. 

Plus One

Given that you practically lived at each other’s homes now, you often spent your mornings together getting ready to take on the day. It was cute how you both had your own little routines and were able to coexist in a tiny little space. 

Today, you stood in Joel’s bathroom, washing your face as the mirror across from you began to become progressively more foggy from the heat of Joel’s shower. 

“My hair is gonna be so frizzy,” you muttered to yourself as you rubbed moisturizer into your skin. 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to come in here with me,” Joel shot back from the shower, turning the water off. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled, getting back to work on your face as Joel dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy in the morning,” he commented as he approached you, standing next to you at the sink. 

“I am not grumpy,” you argued, then paused once Joel gave you a very disbelieving expression. “Fine. I can get a little irritable in the morning. Especially when someone’s boiling hot showers make my hair get all frizzy.”

“I wonder who that someone is?” Joel looked around the room in faux confusion. 

“Ugh, shut up. You are such a dad,” you fought back laughter, but you couldn’t really help the smile that appeared on your lips. 

“Shutting up,” Joel acknowledged, grabbing his razor and some shaving cream to touch up some of his facial hair. You began to brush your teeth, focusing on yourself in the mirror to make sure that you were making your dentist proud. 

Your eyes eventually migrated and were meeting Joel’s in the mirror. You flashed him a big, foamy grin, and he immediately broke into hysterics, setting the razor down so he didn’t cut himself while laughing so hard. 

“Really?” he asked between laughs. “While I’m shaving?”

“Sorry,” you shrugged with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“You are such a dork,” Joel sighed as he calmed himself down, leaning against the counter as he began to work on shaving his face once more. “Ugh, I love you,” the words seemed to come out of his mouth involuntarily, if the horrified look on his face told you anything. 

It seemed like the whole house stopped after Joel said it, the dripping from the showerhead ceasing, the faint buzz of the air conditioner nowhere to be found, and the noises of your children downstairs coming to a halt.

You were shocked at the admission, and Joel seemed to be shocked that he’d said anything. 

Now that he’d mentioned it, you really did love Joel. You loved how he supported you, and how he treated your daughter like she was his own. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to fight for what he believed in, especially when that included socking your ex in the face. You loved his ability to be vulnerable with you, and the way that he seemed to always know what to say at the right time. You loved knowing that no matter how shitty of a day you’d had, Joel would always be there, ready to order your favorite foods and spoon you while decompressing with the worst, most trashy reality TV you could find. 

You’d spent all this time thinking that you’d never experience romantic love again, that romantic love was tumultuous and exhausting, when you’d been in love with Joel the whole time. 

You were one of those people who were meant to love and be loved. Joel had proven that much to you. 

“I love you too,” you confessed, toothpaste still obstructing your mouth.

Maybe love wasn't so bad after all.

[wroteclassicaly]

Walk Until You Belong

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Amongst confusing and mixed up words, you think you realize where you really stand, with those who matter the most to you, particularly Eddie Munson.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, teases Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, anxiety, panic attack, extreme self-esteem issues, HEAVY on the angst, no happy ending (this one hurts, folks), Eddie is mean with his words, depression, & extremely (be warned) sad thoughts.

A/N: This thought randomly came to me in the car today, then proceeded to poke and prod at me until I wrote it down/out. This is what came of it, and it’s a product of mind mindset, as of lately. Please read the warnings and air with caution, because it’s meant to work out my own feelings, and as of now, there’s no second part planned and there isn’t a happy ending here. I leave it open-ended. Just know, this piece is really vulnerable to me, and I’m not gonna and say I didn’t cry a little while writing this, so I feel like it’s a personal breakthrough, and I wanna share it with you all ❤️♥️

Sidenote: Using the nickname of Princess in this fic, instead of Y/N. Also, Eddie isn’t nice in this. He’s not exactly awfully, openly mean, but his words are pretty cruel. So… be warned! Nancy makes an appearance as well!

You didn’t really peg Eddie Munson for a mean person. Intimidating, sure, tough because he needed to be - yeah. But outright cold and as nasty as his former bullies? You stand frozen, back against the cool wall of the hospital corridor. They’re still talking, bonding, two completely different people that never knew one another three months ago, yet they’re making it work. You’ve known the entirety of the party since this whole underworld shit began, roped in by being Dustin’s neighbor and giving him rides home from Hellfire for his mom.

No one ever called you outside of the world ending, outside of you taking a kid some place, bringing your random gifts, lending an ear on the phone when the trauma got too much. You weren’t invited to their gatherings, you weren’t in on their inside jokes, but you figured if you made yourself more approachable, more social. And seeing how they welcomed Eddie, someone you had admired since your freshman year - you were sure it was gonna work, that you were slowly being accepted. You helped defeat monsters and evil men, dark creatures, and underworlds. It was you who helped Steve Harrington drag Eddie’s bleeding and mauled body back into your world.

Since that night three months ago, you have done everything to help him. Brought his school work so he could graduate, promised to hand deliver his diploma if he wasn’t strong enough by mid June to walk across that stage, even saying you’d flip Higgins the double bird for him. You tried to help him plan campaigns, you bought him several tapes, and most recently - you’d taken up a magazine subscription of his favorite metal scene, just so he would have all copies. He was always so boisterous, making you melt and smile, and you wanted to help put some light back into his eyes after he’d lost a lot of that sparkle. The issue you got in the mail today, it looked promising, making you eager to take it to him on your lunch break from the video store.

Recently able to fight off your anxieties and getting into the workplace to cover shifts for Steve as he healed, you had extra money to spare and a pep in your step. But when you had reached Eddie’s room door in the hospital, Steve’s voice had halted you. You’d pressed your back aside and out of view, a smile on your lips as they mentioned you. They were gonna be your friends, maybe Eddie would even show you what certain things meant in the magazine, what he liked about their scene, his scene. You wanted to know so much about him, but could never muster the courage to ask.

“I thought the Princess was coming by today?” Your nickname. Not one in malice, but one gifted by your peers for your love of literature. It extended to everyone, apparently.

Your heart leapt, pulse in your throat, eyes casting down at the glossy cover in excitement. And then Eddie had sighed deeply, as if he was in pain. You were prepared to go and get a nurse, when he speaks out, “Seriously, dude?”

Your brows had knit in confusion, a gnawing starting in your stomach, a coolness chilling in your muscles, scraping apart your veins and brimming them full of ice. Steve confirmed, causing you to step back further out of sight. You should’ve left immediately, because you knew you were not going to be able to handle what Eddie’s reply would be, what you fooled yourself into thinking wouldn’t happen.

“What if I pretend to be asleep? Think she’ll leave and go bother someone else?”

A sharp ache pries apart your ribcage and fills it with hot ash, wafting smoke from the destruction suffocating your throat. The first wave of tears prickles your sclera, clouding your vision as your head bows.

“Munson…” Steve sighs.

“Listen, Harrington, I know I’m a freak, man, but she’s just weird. She doesn’t even know me and she subscribed to a magazine I have, just to bring me the issues. She tries to get involved in my campaigns. I know she drives Henderson around and that she’s fought all that nasty shit with you guys, but like… She’s not even in your ensemble of friends, is she?”

Your entire lifetime of actions involving them all flash in the forefront of your mind, and everything you went through by their sides.Have you done anything so out of the ordinary that none of them haven’t? You’re not loud, not like Eddie is, you’re not extremely quirky. You were sure you weren’t bothering anyone when you started being more vocal. Salt. You taste its first humiliating tang hit your lips, your tears free flowing.

“Not really.” Is what Steve responds with, prying back your subconscious with a crowbar and letting reality crack your skull open to let your insecurities flood you until you begin to feel the beginning stages of dissociating panic.

More than two years and you’re still considered a nobody to people you fought beside and nearly died for. People you convinced yourself that they just needed to know you, to see, and they would care about you just as much as you care about them. You realize, however, with a sickening irony, that Vecna must have been fooled by your sated mindset, thinking you weren’t alone and that you were happy, or he would’ve targeted you instead of someone else. And that part, the deep part that’s engraved into your DNA, rooted to every cell and particle, it bites back thoughts you try not to pin on yourself. Maybe he should’ve.

“Hey, Princess, what’s going on?” Her sweet perfume and her soft demeanor make your body feel like it’s weighted down, caught and unable to escape. You don’t look at her yet, turning your head to attempt (pathetically) to wipe your tears and clear your vision.

Steve and Eddie hear and the conversation is halted, their smiles happy and comfortable. But even as you bypass Nancy’s concerned looks, her question at your obviously panicked expression, forcing yourself to walk into the room with her to save face — you aren’t buying either boy’s look. It’s not you they’re happy to see. You shift, a discomfort squeezing your sternum and extending into your guts, anxiety using your esophagus as a trampoline and tempting your food to expel. You feel as if you’re not even here, that this isn’t real, that it’s a nightmare bigger than anything you’ve ever faced.

Dealing with demons and evil creatures that only existed in storybooks is one thing, but doing it alone, knowing that that’s all you’ve ever truly been… it’s worse than when you automatically followed Nancy into that rift to save Steve. No one called you after Vecna, sans one simple call from Steve to ask if you needed anything. But that was it. Your brain snaps back, still able to get you as you’re not all here. King Steve hated you, and not even this kind version cares for you.

You’ve kept the magazine at your side so far, and you let it fold in your tight grip, crushing and crumbling the pages, voice becoming weak and breathless as Steve asks why you’re here, a grin on his face, knowing already. Fuck this. You’re drowning and you need to get the fuck out of here.

“I have to go. I’m… I gotta go, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, shatters your facade, and you don’t look at anyone.

Nancy leans out as you move quicker down the hallway, faster than anticipated. She watches your arm elongate and toss something into one of the janitorial cart’s trash cans.

“What the hell was that about?” Steve is confused, Eddie bewildered.

“I was gonna ask you guys. She looked upset before we even came in here,” Nancy responds.

“Didn’t you two walk in together? Maybe somebody bothered her, or she saw something?” Steve questions once more.

“We all agreed to give her space, just like we always do. So no, I didn’t want to crowd her. She was already here anyway, just standing outside the door and looking… I don’t know, lost? I’ve never seen the expression that was on her face before.”

Eddie feels as if something else entirely has re-stripped his recently healed skin. Steve swallows harshly and fixes Eddie with an immediate glare, both sharing realization and regret.

“She just trashed some magazine, maybe it was because of that —“

“Shit. Fuck, man.” Eddie finally speaks, starting to lift his upper body, his underused limbs protesting, stitched skin screaming.

“Stop, I’ll go, okay?” Steve interjects, resting bitch face activated and his jaw clenching, upset he let himself say what he did, and is already out the door, leaving Eddie to explain to the ever inquisitive Nancy Wheeler and her journalistic heart and soul.

By the time Steve catches up to you, jogging and slightly out of breath, he isn’t prepared to share his ex’s sentiment on your tormented expression. You look… demolished, haunted. Steve has felt it, a fragment of what bullshit you must be feeling, given what you’ve just heard. He’s done a lot of things, but he’s never felt more like an asshole than he does now, staring at your trembling hands that drop your car keys twice, your eyes so full of tears he wonders how you were even able to see to get out of the building and into the parking lot. He has the sudden overwhelming urge to wrap you into his arms and hold you. So he lets his instincts go and attempts to reach out.

You sound strangely reserved, settled. You smile sadly, wiping at your eyes, the skin raw and overheated. “No. I understand, okay. I got it. I really do. I’m fine.”

“Princess, you don’t have to —“

A beeping sounds off between the two of you, your fingers reaching into your belt loop and unclipping the beeper after a quick glance. You still don’t look at Steve. He can feel his own irises becoming shrouded with tears, his chest being clawed apart and dug into. It hurt more than any hive mind bats or Russian torture. You sidestep away from him, mumbling. “It’s Keith. I have to go.”

“It’s my shift, Princess,” Steve grasps your wrist in his big palm and squeezes, trying to pull you back to him, to convey, to express. He cares. He didn’t mean it in the way that you thought, “Please?”

You jerk yourself away from him. You look angry now, and wipe your nose at the same time Steve does - water finding his lash line.

“I took the shift. It’s fine. Goodnight.”

You’re falling apart as you turn around again, not permitting yourself to watch Steve and his attempts to amuse your anguish with pity - standing in the parking lot, wiping at his nose continuously, in your rear view.

Steve grits his teeth as the tears drip onto his cheeks, his hands running up into and through his hair. They beyond fucked up…

// Eat me paragraph //

[lee-laurent]

The Past - John Marino

Summary: The timeline of John and Tori's relationship

notes: This is like a prequel to 'Done Trying!' You don't have to read this part, but it gives background on John and Tori's relationship. How they got to where they are in the fic now. The part after this will be a continuation of 'Done Trying' so look for that in the next few days. Also, I do not want to hear any negative criticism about how I've written her depression. I have depression myself and this is how it manifests for me. It's different for everyone, so I don't want to see any hate. Your experience may be different than mine, but every mental health experience is valid.

content: angst, fluff, unplanned pregnancy, break ups, anxiety issues, arguments, birth (not super graphic), mentions of sex but no actual smut, depressive episode, body image issues, mentions of abortion

2019

Tori wasn't drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy. Her fake ID had worked and she was enjoying her night out with her friends. The bar wasn't particularly busy, but the girls were managing to make it feel like a party.

The group of girls all turned to look at the door as a group of rowdy men entered. They were all cheering loudly and patting each other on the back.

"Was there a hockey game tonight?" one of Tori's friends asked.

"I think so," she shrugged, downing the rest of her rum and coke. "I'm going to get another one."

"We'll be here!" one of the other girls giggled.

"Hi, could I have another rum and coke, please?" she grinned at the bartender.

"Sure thing," the man returned with the drink a few minutes later, placing it in front of her, "That'll be 6 dollars."

She reached into her back pocket, when a voice beside her stopped her, "I've got it."

She turned, looking at the man next to her. He was significantly taller than her five foot frame, with tan skin and unruly, dark curls he brushed from his eyes.

"Oh! Thank you," she grinned, taking her drink from the counter.

"I'm John."

"Tori."

"You come here often? Sorry, I know that's cliche as fuck."

"Ha! No worries, my friends and I come here some weeks. It seems your group of friends is making it a bit more lively."

"Hope we're not interrupting your night."

"Not at all. We were the only ones making noise before you guys showed up. You from around here?"

"I'm from Massachusetts. But I moved here for work. You?"

"Pittsburgh born and raised," she smiled, raising her glass up before taking a sip.

The couple continued talking for the rest of the night. Tori wasn't the hookup type though, so instead of going home with him, she gave him her number. Leading to a long line of dates, until he finally asked her out officially.

2020

The world had locked down. No more hockey. No more school. No more work. Tori had subsequently moved into John's apartment so that they would be able to spend time together during the pandemic.

"What're you making?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Tori's waist, tucking his face in the crook of her neck.

"Oatmeal cookies."

"Smells good, baby."

"How was your nap?"

"Relaxing. Would've been better if you were there."

"You know naps make me feel like shit."

"I know... but the bed feels so empty without you."

"God, you're cheesy," she grinned, lifting her hand up to run through his mop of curls. "You want me to trim these?"

"Mmm, not today. I like them long. Why? Do you not like them?"

"I love your curls, Johnny. So sexy."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"I'm going to play 'chel with the boys. Call if you need anything."

She nodded, turning back to rolling the cookie dough into perfect balls. She'd taken up baking during the lockdown. John kept telling her he was going to be out of shape for the next season if she kept it up, but he continued to taste test everything for her nonetheless.

Another month into the lockdown and Tori wasn't herself. She wouldn't leave bed, she was taking naps, and John could barely get her to eat. She claimed she was fine, but he didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Come on, baby. I made mac and cheese, your favourite," he tempted, sitting on the bed and running a hand through her matted hair.

"Not hungry."

"You've gotta be hungry. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning. And all you had then was a couple crackers."

"I'm not hungry. Let me sleep."

"You've been sleeping all day. Can you get up and take a shower for me?"

"Too tired."

"Tori, baby..."

She just rolled over, hiding her face in the duvet. He sighed, leaving the bedroom and going to eat the food he'd made... why let it go to waste.

"How's Victoria doing, love?" John's mom asked through the phone, worry lacing her voice.

"I can't get her to do anything except sleep. I'm trying, Mom. She just..."

"Do you know if she has a history of depressive episodes?"

"Yeah, one when she was in high school. But she said she learned skills to cope."

"Just be there for her, John. That's all I can suggest."

"Thanks, Mom."

Two hours later, Tori emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing the same clothes she had been for days and her hair desperately needed a wash to rid it of grease.

"Hi, baby," John smiled softly.

"Hi. Will you come take a shower with me?" she whispered.

"Sure, but first can you just eat a few bites of the food I made?"

"I... I don't know."

"Please, Tori. Just so I know you're eating."

"Okay."

She sat on his lap, picking at the bowl of pasta in front of them.

"Five bites and we can take a shower."

"Okay."

It took her 20 minutes to take those five bites, but she did it. The couple stood under the hot water of the shower, embracing the time together outside of their room. John helped her wash her hair and brush out all the knots. She forgot how nice it felt to feel clean. She turned in his arms, squishing her face into his torso.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, John," she sobbed, "I've been a terrible girlfriend."

"Shh, no you haven't. You're just struggling right now. It's okay. We'll get through his together."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. I just want what's best for you. And rotting in bed isn't."

She leaned up and pressed a soft, loving kiss against his lips. When she went in for another one, he turned his head, her lips landing on his cheek.

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry," she cried again.

"No, no. I just... I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you. I love you so much, but I can't... do anything until you're yourself again. Okay?"

"Okay."

The next day, John helped Tori find a therapist online. Even going as far as to join sessions to learn how he could help her to help herself.

2021

Now that lockdown restrictions had been lifted slightly, Tori was thriving. She was going on daily walks and working on new coping skills to use when she felt that numbness creeping back in.

John was back to playing hockey and finally their lives had back some normalcy. A normalcy that had formed itself into a very... intimate love life for the two. There didn't seem to be a day that the two weren't having sex. Tori was pretty sure roadies were the only days they weren't falling asleep naked.

It was amazing, until it all came crashing down at the end of December. Tori had been feeling like shit for almost a week now. She felt sluggish and the sent of John before he showered after practice had her sick to her stomach. The idea of being pregnant though wasn't even a thought that crossed her mind. She had an IUD. They were safe. Surely it couldn't be...

"Do you want me to pick up a test, just in case? I know you said it's like almost impossible," John asked as he walked to his car at the arena.

"Sure, if it'll make you feel better. Pick up two, just in case one is faulty."

"Sounds good, babe. Be home in 20. Love you."

"Love you too, Johnny."

The couple stood in the bathroom, re-reading the instructions for the tests.

"I think it's self explanatory, John."

"I just want to make sure you're doing it right!" he swatted her hand away as she tried to grab the paper from him.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the toilet with the stick.

"Yeah, just piss on it. Then we've gotta wait 5 minutes."

"Sounds good. You stayin' in here while I pee?" she giggled.

"I'll be right outside."

Peeing on the test was harder than she thought. It was like she couldn't get herself to pee, she was so nervous. After a couple minutes though, she'd put the caps back on and placed them on the counter.

"Come in, John. But I'm telling you, I'm not pregnant. Trusty old IUD keeps your sperm outta there."

"Maybe I've got really persistant sperm."

"I-" the timer rang. "You ready?"

"Yep."

At the same time, they flipped the tests, the plastic clattering against the sink as Tori dropped it.

"They- They must be faulty. False positive, right? Right, John?"

"I- is that a common occurance? I'll google it," he typed on his phone quickly, spelling half the words wrong, "There's less than a 1% chance of that, Tori."

"So? Maybe we're in that percentage. Did you even get good ones?"

"They were the most expensive ones! I just grabbed them!"

"They're wrong."

"Victoria..."

"Don't 'Victoria' me! They're wrong! I'm not pregnant! It's just a cold."

John rolled his eyes, "Can you at least go to the doctor? Get meds for your cold then."

"Fine! I'll make an appointment right now!"

"Perfect. I'm going to make dinner."

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered to herself as she typed in the number for her doctor.

"Is there any chance you're pregnant?" the doctor asked, staring into Tori's eyes.

"I have an IUD."

"I've seen it happen. Would you mind giving us a urine sample?"

Yay. Peeing into more things.

It didn't take long for the results to come back. The doctor entered the room holding a stack of paperwork.

"So, the urine sample came back positive for high levels of hCG. Which means you are pregnant."

"That's not possible."

"I know this is probably a lot to take in right now. I've written down some suggestions for a few OBs I reccomend. As well as some supplements we reccomend for the early stages of pregnancy. From the test, I'd say you're about three weeks."

"Shit. Um, sorry. Thank you. I'll, uh, call these numbers," Tori forced a smile, rushing off to get home.

"So? You are pregnant?" John asked, his eyebrow quirked.

"Yes. I just-"

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Tori? 'Yay! I'm so excited to be a dad at 24!' Cause that'd be a lie."

"Stop acting like this is all my fault!"

"I never said that! I just... we've never even talked about having kids! This is all very sudden."

"How do you think I feel?! I'm the pregnant one! Now I have to tell all my friends and family that I got knocked up at 22!" she threw her purse down on the counter.

"You told me the IUD would work fine."

"Why are you blaming me? God, John! Grow up!"

"I should grow up?! You're the one yelling at me!"

"You're fucking infuriating!" she shouted, stomping off to their room. The door shut with a harsh slam, making the pictures on the wall swing.

"Fuck me," John muttered, grasping at his hair.

John slept on the couch that night, not wanting to deal with being yelled at again.

"We should talk about this, Tori," he offered at breakfast.

"Why? I'll just get the pregnancy terminated. You don't it."

"Tori... can we think about this? Make a rational decision."

"Why? Is getting an abortion not rational?"

"Not what I said. I just think you're still angry about yesterday, so you're not think rationally. We need to make a decision together here."

She rolled her eyes, "You made it clear how you feel."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, I think your words were 'I'm not excited to be a dad at 24!' So, there's our answer. You won't have to be," she sassed.

"Victoria, sit down."

"You're not my fucking dad."

"Stop acting like a child! Sit down!"

John rarely yelled at Tori, so the tone of his voice had her sitting right back down.

"Thank you. Listen, I'm not thrilled to be a dad right now, but I'm not telling you to end the pregnancy. I- we can make this work. I want you to make the final decision, but I won't be leaving if you decide this is what we're doing. I love you. And I support whatever decision you make. I will love that baby unconditionally."

"I... I need time to think about everything," she nodded, her lips pursed.

"I understand. But I really don't want to continue this arguing. I want us to enjoy our trip to Massachusetts. Not dwell on this and see our family."

"Okay, I have another appointment in January. You can come... if you'd like. I don't want to tell our families yet."

"Of course... I love you."

She sighed, "I love you too. No more fighting?"

"No more fighting," he nodded.

2022

Tori knew that nobody in the waiting area was judging her, but she felt judged. Her leg was bouncing, her nerves getting the best of her. She was filling out the paperwork that they'd given her. John placed a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to calm her.

"They're removing the IUD today. I don't know if you wanna be in there when they do it."

"I'll stay for moral support."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not," he shrugged.

Tori opened her mouth to respond when her name was called.

"Is your boyfriend coming with us today?" the nurse smiled.

"Yes, if that's okay."

"No problem! The doctor will be right in. We're going to start with the IUD removal. So if you could just strip from the waist down, she can get started."

"Do you want me to turn around?" John asked, taking a seat on the chair in the corner.

"No? Nothing you haven't seen before."

She sat down, throwing the sheet they'd.given her over her legs.

"Nervous?"

"A bit. It hurt to get in. People say it's worse coming out."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled.

There was a knock at the door, "We all ready in here?"

"Yep. Come in."

"Hi, Victoria! I'm Dr. Reese. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hi. This is my boyfriend, John."

"Nice to meet you as well! We're going to start with the IUD removal, then we can start chatting about baby. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Is it okay if John holds my hand?"

"Of course! Alright, scooch, scooch. Perfect. Take a deep breath for me."

Tori inhaled, squeezing John's hand. Her eyes screwed shut. A pained breath escaped her mouth. Even John squinted, watching as the doctor pulled on the little strings.

"And done!"

"Thank God," Tori whispered.

"I'll step out! You can throw your clothes back on and I'll be back in a minute with the ultrasound machine."

"You ready?" Tori asked John, buttoning up her jeans.

"Yeah," he shrugged, sitting back down.

John and Tori had discussed things the day before. They were keeping the baby. It was an emotional discussion. Talking about the logisitcs of the whole thing. Especially with her still in school and John playing hockey.

"Ready to see baby?" the doctor smiled brightly.

"Yeah."

"Mhm."

"Alright. I warmed up the gel, it shouldn't be too bad," Dr. Reese moved the wand over Tori's lower abdomen. "And here is baby."

It looked like a little blob, but it still made John's eyes water.

"So, you're about 6 weeks. Measurements look good. I'll want to see you again around 18-20 weeks. You can schedule that on your way out. Congratulations, again."

"You alright, babe?" Tori asked, noticing how quiet John had gotten.

"Hm, yeah. I just... I didn't think I'd be this emotional. Especially over what looks like an alien."

Tori laughed, "Don't call our baby an alien!"

"I'm sorry," he giggled, wiping his eyes, "But it does look a little like an alien."

"Okay... maybe just a little."

The couple left the doctors' office laughing quietly to themselves, their hands intertwined.

Six Months Pregnant - May 2022

It was three in the morning and Tori was sobbing, "You don't understand, John. We're out of pickles."

"I heard you. I just... I don't understand why you're crying."

"I need pickles, John," she cried.

"I- I don't know where to get you pickles at 3am. Everything is closed."

Tori pulled herself out of bed, storming into the kitchen. She dug through the fridge and freezer, trying to find anything that would help her cravings. She pulled a bowl of watermelon out of the fridge, digging in.

John sluggishly joined her in the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll get you pickles in the morning."

She just nodded, taking another forkful of melon. It wasn't as fulfilling was a jar of mini dill pickles, but it was helping. She couldn't even count how many jars of pickles she'd gone through during her pregnancy, but this was the first time they'd been out. It felt like the end of the world to her pregnancy hormones.

John loved Tori to bits, but the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy was beginning to make him tired. He knew it wasn't fair and that she was going through much more, but lord was he exhausted.

"Do you want me to stay here? Or should I go back to bed?"

She shrugged, shovelling more food into her mouth. John sighed, coming around the counter. He placed a hand on her waist and one on her growing stomach.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

She hummed, taking one last bite. They shuffled back to the bedroom, Tori hugging onto her pregnancy pillow. John fucking hated the thing, but Tori couldn't sleep without it, so... he'd deal with it for the next three months.

August 2022

John had just been traded from Pittsburgh to New Jersey and now... it was time for their baby to enter the world.

"Ah!" Tori gripped her stomach. She was walking around the hospital room, waiting to be fully dilated. John was being supportive as possible, getting her more ice chips when requested and holding her hand when ever she felt a contraction. "Is it time yet?"

"The nurse said it could be a while, because it's your first."

"It's going to be our only. Holy shit! Why did you do this to me?"

John laughed, "I'm sorry, baby. You're the strongest woman I know. You've got this. Do you want to use the yoga ball again?"

"No! I just want the baby out of me!"

"And they said that the yoga ball will help that."

"Fine," she groaned, squatting down on the blue yoga ball. John smiled, watching as she bounced up and down, her cup of ice chips in her hand.

"They'll be back with the epidural soon. Then it'll be smooth sailing," he comforted.

10 hours later and she was finally pushing. She was squeezing John's hand so tight he thought it might break. But he tried to be supportive nonetheless.

"One more big push, Mama," the doctor smiled.

"I can't do it."

"You've got this, Tori," John whispered.

"I can't do it."

"Just one more push and our baby is here, love."

She braced, feeling the pressure one last time. She pushed and a wail filled the room.

"And here's baby boy."

"It's a boy?" John was smiling so wide, it hurt his cheeks.

"It is. Want to come cut the cord, Dad?"

He nodded excitedly, watching as they gave his son his first bath.

"Here you go, Mama," they placed the baby on her chest.

"Hi, baby," she was too tired to cry, but her son was so beautiful. He had a head of dark hair which explained the heartburn she'd had during the pregnancy.

"We'll be back in a bit to help you get him to latch. And then they'll be in with the name paperwork."

"Here," John smiled, unbuttoning part of her gown so she could do skin to skin.

"Riley."

"Hm?"

"Riley Alexander Marino."

"It's perfect, baby. Here, I'll hold him. You get some rest."

December 2022

Things were falling apart. The couple was arguing almost every day. Tori was struggling. She hated the way she looked and that feeling of numbness was starting to creep back in. But she wouldn't allow it, she needed to be there for Riley.

John was going through the hockey season and adjusting to a new team. He was barely home. And when he was, he was beyond tired. Not being much help at all. Night shifts were nonexisitant. It was always Tori getting up to get their son. John either "slept through it" or "was too tired from hockey."

Everything came crumbling down a week before Christmas.

"You're not any fucking help! Ever!" Tori yelled, throwing the burp cloth down on the counter. "I haven't left the apartment in days! I haven't been able to take a shower in days! All I do is take care of Riley!"

"Your his mom! Did you think you wouldn't have to take care of him?!"

"God! That's not what I meant and you KNOW it! Your his dad! When are you going to step up and actually do some fucking work?"

"I'm providing for us, Victoria! Would you rather I quit and we have no income?!"

"That's it. I'm leaving!"

"You're leaving?! Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that you aren't, John. I can't fucking deal with you right now. Call me when you've grown the fuck up and decide you actually want anything to do with your son," she stormed off to the bedroom, throwing things into a duffle bag.

"Victoria! You can't just leave! Talk to me!"

"I can leave! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"You- you can't just leave with Riley!"

"Sure, I can! Not like you parent him at all!"

"Victoria!"

"No! Fuck off!"

The screaming woke Riley from his nap and his wails soon filled the apartment as well.

"Great! Look what you've done!" John threw his hands up in frustration.

"What I did? You're so fucking immature. Stop acting like you're 12 and start acting like the 25-year-old you are!" Tori went to the nursery, grabbing some of Riley's things and putting them in the bag as well. She picked up her son, strapping him into his carrier. John was standing in the door, shell-shocked.

"Please, Tori. Just think about this. Please."

"No. I'll be back for more of our things in a couple days," she shook her head, leaving John all alone in the apartment.

March 2023

It was official. John and Victoria were done. Tori had gotten her own place and Riley went to see John every weekend. Slowly but surely, John and Tori were forming a friendship. They wanted things between them to be good for Riley.

And this friendship leads us to where we are now...

[peeponastick]

Touch My Soul, Pt. 1

Uchiha Itachi x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: This will be a NSFW 18+ multi-part fic. Part 1 doesn't have any outright explicit content tho. Part 2 here

cw/tw: SPOILERS, mentions of sexual harassment (Hidan is a skeevy perv), emotional turmoil, angst?, sexual tension (but nothing actually happens sorry to edge y’all), major eye contact, like way too much eye contact reader and itachi are basically eye fucking each other 90% of the fic, dramatic asf I can't help myself im sorry

Idk what im doing This is my first time writing and really being on tumblr in general, please let me know if I missed any tags or if you have any advice!! 

not canon at all (but SPOILERS!!!!) pls humor me, everyone in the Akatsuki is alive and led by Madara/Tobi

Synopsis: Madara, the elusive figurehead of the Akatsuki, is an ambitious yet paranoid man. That’s why he has you, as a security measure, given your secret jutsu that allows you to see into people’s souls to confirm their true intentions. When Itachi Uchiha shows up to join the Akatsuki, what will you see behind his obsidian eyes?

Exhausted. Another cross-country mission with pain in the ass Hidan was just what the doctor ordered for your repressed rage and depression living in basically a wet cave with the rest of these jerks. You tried your best, you really did, to not let any emotions slip through the cracks of your cold facade. Some of them had better qualities than others, but none of your fellow Akatsuki members were people you felt particularly amiable towards.

Most of them viewed you as Madara’s stone-cold right hand, his own personal weapon. He trusted you more than any other member, and that fact alone was enough to instill a certain kind of fear in the hearts of every other Akatsuki member. And you know what, good. The more you kept your distance, the better. 

Though your body ached with fatigue upon returning to headquarters, your senses immediately picked up a foreign energy hanging in the air– a presence. Not ominous per se, but definitely a palpable and strong chakra signature.

Leaving Hidan’s perverted requests to join him for some “one-on-one post-mission relaxation time” behind, you made your way to Madara, the chakra getting stronger the closer you got. 

There he was. 

Your breath hitched as your eyes set on a statuesque man standing across from Madara, his tousled, raven-black hair draped around his stunning face and strong shoulders. A lifetime of stress and hardship left evidence of weariness across his features, and yet his eyes still sparkled with a fierce softness, framed by a set of beautiful, thick lashes.

He was so... pretty. Your eyes dropped down to his lips, then his chest downward as you began to drink him in, feeling flushed with an unfamiliar warm tingling the longer you studied him.

He glanced at you with his penetrating eyes, your cheeks burned at being caught in your lustful admiration. Without a doubt, it was Itachi Uchiha standing next to Madara, a solemn look spread across his delicate face.

You’d seen him in the bingo book before, but all the talk you had heard didn’t compare to standing in the same room as him. It was intriguing, though, for someone with such a reputation, and clearly such immense power, his energy didn’t feel threatening or overbearing to you.

Madara raised a hand to Itachi, finally pulling your gaze away from him, before walking over to you. 

“I’m sure you’ve completed the tasks assigned to you, y/n, correct?” Madara asked rhetorically.

You had never failed him, it was important for you to maintain your position in his eyes. Your usual self would have made a sardonic remark about your disdain for working with Hidan again, how a pet rock would have been just as helpful with none of the sexual harassment. But, with the third party in the room, you simply nodded while maintaining your cold, detached demeanor.

“Good, I have another task for you then,” Madara commanded lowly in his deep, chilling voice, pointing his chin in Itachi’s direction.

“This is y/n,” Madara announced, gesturing in your direction as you followed him towards Itachi.

“She’ll just perform a little security check if you don’t mind, nothing personal. I am interested in your usefulness, but I just like to be sure of who I’m working with, I’m sure you can understand. After all, ‘clan killer’ doesn’t exactly have a trustworthy ring to it, now does it?” Madara taunted.

Itachi’s beautiful, brown eyes glinted with an undetectable emotion before connecting with yours, and again you began feeling the wave of heat washing over you.

What was this?! Some sort of jutsu he was using on you?? No.. my god, had it really been that long since you’d been attracted to someone? 

Snapping out of your embarrassing realization about your pitiful sex life, you cleared your throat as you pulled yourself together to perform your special jutsu. Your specialty was energy and emotions– detecting, reading, transmuting. This made you very handy to Madara, after all, knowing what’s inside someone’s soul makes it much easier to manipulate them and offer them what they want to hear, in exchange for whatever Madara wants or needs.

Your secret jutsu was something you dreaded performing. You were incredibly sensitive and receptive to energy, so oftentimes it would leave you completely drained and horrified— seeing all of the vile things people have done, let happen to others, things people buried and hid deep within themselves. It was a lot to witness and take in, and have to maintain your icy demeanor on top of that, lest Madara begin to question you. 

After weaving the hand signs, you hid the nerves buzzing in your body as you approached Itachi to place your hands on either side of his lean, muscular shoulders and touch your forehead to his. By the power of your jutsu, you were transported into Itachi’s soulscape, where you’d be able to confirm for Madara upon exiting, Itachi’s true intentions and trustworthiness as an Akatsuki member. 

Given what you had heard about Itachi, you braced yourself upon entering his soulscape, but were totally unprepared for what you saw.

Time stopped as you and Itachi stood under an endless blue sky painted with magnificent rolling waves of white clouds. The sound of rushing water caught your attention as you looked behind you to notice you were standing several paces away from the edge of a breathtaking waterfall. The cascading water plummeted down the carved earth into pools of emerald green.

Peace. You felt peace standing in this supposed monster’s soul? Itachi stood silent, his eyes intensely watching you as you began to take in more of your surroundings. You’d never seen or felt anything like this, this energy was so.. pure. 

Taking a moment to gather all the information flooding your senses, you turned to look at Itachi as tears pricked your eyes. Your heart broke as you began to fully understand and feel the weight of what he’d been through– what he’d been forced to do, and how much of a monster he believed he was because of it. You felt a gut-wrenching familiarity that ignited an inferno in your own soul, pulling you to him like a magnet and calling you to embrace him and never let go.

“Itachi, I-” you moved close to him, your mind racing as you tried to process the truth, “I’m so sorry, for everything you’ve been through.” You delicately placed a hand on his cheek while looking deep into his gorgeous eyes. His demeanor softened as the emotions overcame the both of you.

“Y-You know?” he hesitantly asked, almost too scared to believe you were seeing the real him and not judging or looking at him with disgust.

Your brows twinged with sadness as you nodded, “Everything,” you replied, tears streaming down your pink cheeks. 

He placed his large, warm palm over your hand as he searched your eyes for confirmation that this was really real and happening to him. He had always been expected to take on insurmountable tasks, things that made him question morality itself, all alone.

And yet, here you were, seeing him, understanding him, accepting him for who he truly was and not what he had done. The burden of his past finally being shared by an open heart, something he never could’ve imagined he deserved.

You reassured his fears without words, both of you lost in each other’s all-consuming gaze. You had never met before, and yet it felt like your souls had known each other many lifetimes. 

You were standing so close to him, the heat of his flushed skin radiated his intoxicating scent, smelling of old-growth forest and clean musk. Every nerve and fiber of your being was lit aflame as his eyes dropped down to your plump lips. His soulful eyes returned to yours as he moved his other hand to gently push a strand of your silky hair out of your face.

You were entranced by his beauty, slowly blinking as you held eye contact with him, fighting every urge to taste his lips that were mere inches away. He equally was mesmerized by your beauty, his eyes scanned all of your features, trying to take you all in and understand what this all meant, how you came to be the you standing here holding him.

“Who are you?” his deep, gravelly voice purred, a gentle smile lighting up his face. 

Panic overtook you as reality came crashing down, remembering that Madara was waiting in the real world for your answer. Though time operated much differently in your jutsu, Madara would certainly become suspicious if things took too long.

You placed your hands on either side of Itachi’s face as you held him close, a frantic look in your eyes.

“We’re out of time. Come to my room tonight, I’ll explain everything.” You hurriedly released the jutsu, and collected yourself so you could resume your emotionless facade so as to not draw suspicion. 

You turned to face Madara, immediately detecting his impatience, “He passed,” you confirmed, “Sorry for the delay, there was.. a lot there.”

Madara stood silent for a moment before releasing a booming laugh, “Yes, I suppose given our Itachi’s history there would be quite a lot to sift through, y/n.”

He turned to walk past Itachi and beckoned him to follow as he began to discuss his plans for the Akatsuki and, eventually, the world. You stood frozen, body still processing all of the huge waves of  emotions you’d experienced in your jutsu. A pit of anxiety began to form deep in your stomach knowing this fated meeting with Itachi meant it was finally time to begin your plan. To take down Madara and the Akatsuki from within. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If you read this far, thank you so much I appreciate you!! I hope you liked my first fic ♡ᵎᵎᵎ

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

So...hi

I may have decided on a whim to continue Your Scars Are Mine for no reason.

No reason at all. Nope not me.

Why's he gotta be so pretty how dare he

No need to read the previous fic, this one is still a oneshot.

Anyway here it is.

Ten Years

Hurt/Comfort and Smut

NSFW

Trigger Warnings: Trauma, Mentions of Self Harm, Depression

OPLA!Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

♫♬ Medusa in Chains — The Fratellis ♬♫

Before this whole thing began I had some sense of pride

Just one more night with your lips, your company is hard to eclipse

Four days.

Nearly four damned days had passed since you had last ate. Last bathed. Last done so much as dragged yourself out of bed to do more than half-stumble to the bathroom, and Mihawk was growing as impatient as he was concerned. It had been a few weeks since he had brought you to Kuraigana Island, and you had spent a fair amount of time flitting around the castle learning its halls and corridors front to back, dusting corners that even he had forgotten existed.

Then, a few mornings ago, you had simply refused to get out of bed.

Refused to speak as to why.

The warlord had told himself it was fine. That it wasn't as if he wasn't accustomed to having the sprawling stone castle to himself, that he could let whatever was ailing you play out, give you your space to work through it on your own.

But it was clearly doing no good, not to him or you. He had already grown too accustomed to your presence there, and seeing you in your present state was driving him completely mad.

He lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed and leaning his shoulder into the doorframe, his eyes scanning slowly over you as you lay there with the sheets pulled up to the nape of your neck and your back to him. He had known you for nearly five months, had deemed to call you his lover for two of them. You did have a tendency toward the silent treatment when you argued, as much as that drove him mad, but this was different. This hadn't come on the crest of any argument, and it clearly ran far deeper than that.

You weren't doing this to get under his skin. That was clear to see, and Mihawk was at a complete loss on how to approach it.

He gave a small growl of annoyance at the sound of his transponder going off in his pocket, digging the thing out and shoving it into his ear as he turned the corner into the hallway outside the bedroom you had all but made your tomb.

"Little busy," he said impatiently. "Make it quick."

The last thing he wanted to deal with now was the goddamned government.

"Oof. That bad, huh?" Mihawk's eyes darted toward the transponder, the pad of his index finger pressed against it to hold it in place as Vice Admiral Garp's gruff brogue went on in his ear. "I figured. How's the kid holding up?"

Mihawk furrowed his eyebrows, and then lifted one if them as he glanced back toward the doorway of the bedroom.

"What are you talking about?" he said slowly. Garp knew something, and the old Marine had an irritating tendency to withhold information.

"Sounds like ya know damn well what I'm talking about, Hawk-Eyes." His jaw set at a rigid angle, gritting his teeth, Mihawk considered for perhaps the thousandth time just pulling the transponder from his ear and tossing it out a window. "Your associate. I'd be willing to bet your old bounty that she's not doing the best right now."

"Is this a business call or are you truly this insistent on wasting my time?"

Mihawk cringed at the sound of Garp's laughter in his ear.

"Little of both," he said, amused. "Word came down to me that my grandson may have formed an alliance with Fire Fist Ace in Arabasta a couple days ago. Around...the thirteenth, I believe. Something I asked you to keep an ear out for personally. And it's not really like you to not know what's going on around the Grand Line."

"As I said, I'm busy," he said through his teeth. Mihawk had no intention of standing around being insulted—particularly not with you in your current state. "My apologies if I haven't been babysitting your grandson closely enough for your liking."

"I can handle my own family affairs," said Garp. The amusement dropped from his tone as he went on. "This is more of a personal call. Your associate. I'm checking in. I imagine this hasn't been a good week for the girl." Mihawk remained silent, his eyes shifting to the open bedroom doorway once again, waiting for Garp to continue. He had no intention of letting on to anyone in a place of authority just how much he had come to care for you—not when they could very easily use it against him, threaten you to gain further control over him. "The sixteenth will mark ten years since the day she witnessed her home destroyed."

And today was the fifteenth.

That put quite a few things into perspective.

Mihawk leaned back against the wall behind him, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a slow sigh left his lungs.

"She's barely moved in three days," he said finally, quietly to ensure his voice didn'treach your ears—if you were even capable of listening right now. "Or spoken."

"Aye, I figured." Garp let out a heavy sigh himself. "I don't like to admit the failures of Marines any more than any other of my comrades, but...what Admiral Vesper did ten years ago was an insult to what we're supposed to stand for. I'd have seen the man executed a thousand times over for it if I could have. It was a goddamned massacre. All but, anyway, since he left her alive. I can't imagine how the poor girl even sleeps at night, honestly."

You didn't sleep well. Mihawk had noticed that from the start. Your hours of unconsciousness were frequently plagued with nightmares that you claimed not to remember, but he was sure you had to remember some of them. He was sure of it from the distance that lingered in your eyes some mornings as you sipped a cup of coffee or tea, from the way you spaced out and barely heard a word anyone spoke to you.

"I would like the coordinates of the island," Mihawk said after several long seconds, still rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"There's nothing there. Her village was destroyed. It's just a rock in the water at this point."

"I don't care."

He rolled his eyes when Garp gave a snort of laughter—but the man did at least rattle off the coordinates without any hesitation, as if there were a map sitting right in front of him.

"N 22°6'5.3535" by W 159°33'55.7474". I'll give you a minute if you need to write it down."

Mihawk definitely hadn't expected the vice admiral to have the coordinates all but memorized. He sighed, ducking around the corner into the bedroom where you still lay motionless several feet away. He crossed to the desk, and leaned over it, lifting a pen and pressing it to a pad of paper.

"Again," he said shortly, and he quickly noted down the letters and numbers as Garp repeated them. And he added, just as shortly as he set the pen down, "Thank you."

Garp gave a short laugh. "White roses and blue orchids." Mihawk's brow furrowed as he crossed the room, glancing at you before slipping out the door again, ascertaining that you still hadn't moved an inch. "Those were her favorites."

"Sounds as if you were fairly familiar with this pirate."

"Oh, quite a few men were. She wasn't called The Siren for no reason." He sighed, and chuckled a little. "But yeah. I guess I was more familiar with Helena than most."

Mihawk barely had a moment to wrap his head around the connotations of that claim before Garp spoke up again.

"If you're at Kuraigana and you take that eyesore you call a boat, you'll have about a twelve hour trip due East," he went on. "Probably best get going if you plan to make it there tomorrow."

And with that and nothing else, the call ended.

Mihawk pulled the transponder from his ear, staring at it for a moment in mild alarm, before pocketing it again, glancing toward the bedroom door to his right.

Garp was familiar with your grandmother. He couldn't help but wonder whether you were aware of that.

Now wasn't precisely the best time to ask, however. He had to find some way to coax you out of bed, to get you dressed and—

And you had, at some point, rolled onto your other side, so when he entered the room again you were facing him. Your eyes locked onto his as you lay there on the four poster bed with your hand tucked between your cheek and a pillow, and Mihawk stopped abruptly in the doorway.

"We have a job, I take it?"

For a moment, Mihawk remained silent, standing at the threshhold and simply staring at you. This was the first you had spoken in days with the sole exception of the occasional single-word reply. His eyes passed quickly over you—and then he gave a brief nod.

"Yes," he said, crossing the room to the wardrobe at your side of the bed.

He wasn't sure how you would react to the truth of the matter, but he had a sneaking suspicion that you would resist, and he preferred not to even erect that bridge, much less cross it. Ten years had passed and you had gotten absolutely no closure—however much it would hurt, you needed this.

"You'll need to bathe and dress," he said, pulling clothes out for you and setting them across the foot of the bed. "We'll leave within the hour."

You nodded, your eyes shifting away from his as you sat up, letting the covers fall away from you and standing. You were wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned with nothing but a pair of black panties underneath, and had it not been for your despondent state at the present he wouldn't have been able to resist tearing them off of you and pushing you right back into bed.

Instead, he watched you pick up the clothes he had set out, head into the adjoining bathroom, and close the door quietly behind you.

This wasn't like you. None of it was. Your proneness to dry remarks and comebacks, your snide little smirks that infuriated and enticed him in equal measure—there had been absolutely none of it for days now, and it was getting under his skin like nothing else had in years. He took a seat on the bed, kicking off his boots in mild frustration and reclining back against the headboard, staring at the closed door you had just disappeared through.

Folding his hands over his stomach and listening to the sound of running water at the other side.

Waiting.

Thinking.

It would be both unfair and unsafe, he decided as you emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, not to give you some hint, some clue of his intentions. You were already dressed—at least half dressed, your shirt hanging open over a lacy black bra, a towel hanging around your shoulders to catch the water still beading in your damp hair. You paused in buttoning your shorts, meeting his eyes as he pointed at the edge of the bed next to him.

"Sit," he said, his tone light but commanding—halfway for the sake of observing your reaction.

You would often snap that you weren't a dog, roll your eyes at him, intentionally try to aggitate him; but now you simply sighed a little and did as you were told, taking a seat at the edge of the mattress, your hands resting at either side and your head declined to stare down at your knees.

"Here."

You glanced at him briefly when he held out a hand, and you placed yours in it after a moment. He tugged you down to him, across his chest, curling his other hand in your hair, searching your eyes and your face for anything.

And finding nothing. Not sadness, not anger, just a blank numbness that gave the impression you weren't even there. Despite the weight of your body, despite your forehead resting lightly against his, you were as good as a ghost.

He moved a hand to your waist, and your breath hitched in alarm when he flipped you onto your back, moving both of his hands to yours at either side of your head, entwining his fingers with yours to keep you there—to keep you from bolting, as you were so prone to doing when anything about your past came up.

"Were you planning on telling me what's going on, little one..." said Mihawk, lowering himself to his elbows, his forehead to yours, giving you nowhere to look but his eyes. He moved one hand over, brushing a thumb lightly across your bottom lip, "or do you prefer me hearing it from our Marine friend?"

Your eyes widened just a little at that—and your breath hitched again when he moved his thumb to your cheek and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss. It had been days since he had gotten a single taste of you, and your lips were much too tempting to resist.

He felt your grip briefly tighten on his hand before pulling away, close enough that he felt the warmth of your slow, trembling sigh brush across his own lips. "Ten years tomorrow, isn’t it?" he asked quietly.

Your gaze shifted away in an instant, your eyes slipping shut. "It's my problem," you said quietly. "Not yours."

"You wasting away in bed for three days straight makes it very much my problem." You bit your lip for a moment. Swallowed. "We've had this discussion before. And not very long ago." A small shudder crept through you when he released your hand, trailing his fingertips down the length of your left arm, where your white sleeve hid the marks you had put there over the years yourself, marks of defeat. The freshest wound there still had yet to heal fully, and he could feel the bandages wrapped around your arm just above your elbow through the thin material of your shirt. "Hiding things does neither of us any good."

You gave a short nod, your eyes remaining shut, your breathing the slightest bit uneven as his fingertips brushed across your cheek and returned to your hand, slipping between your fingers. "S...sorry," you forced out in a whisper. "It's just...not really..."

"Don't apologize." You opened your eyes at this, meeting his gaze. "But next time something of this magnitude comes up..." A slow sigh left your lips as his brushed at the edge of your jaw, near your ear. "You'll tell me."

You gave another small nod.

"Good girl."

His eyes drifted down your body, your smaller form pinned beneath his, his fingers drifting across the bare strip of skin between the folds of your unbuttoned shirt, brushing over the soft lace at the center of your bra, barely grazing the edge of your breast. In any other circumstance he wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to tear it away from you right that second—but now wasn't the time. As much as he detested not being in control, that had to be on your terms for now.

So he left you with one last slow, deep kiss, his hand moving to wrap around your waist under your shirt and pull you against him for a moment, for as long as he could stand to, before parting from you and standing from the bed.

"Finish getting yourself ready," he said, pulling his own half-buttoned shirt over his head and off and laying it at the edge ofnthe bed. "We'll be traveling for a little over twelve hours, with one stop on the way. The sooner we leave, the better."

You didn't say a word as he crossed the room, dropping the shirt into a hamper by the wardrobe, but he heard you shift on the bed behind him. Heard the matress creek as you rose and crossed the room slowly, your bare feet a whisper against the cold stone floor, stopping just behind him.

He paused in taking down his long overcoat as your arms wrapped around him, your cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder.

"I am sorry," you repeated quietly. "I...I didn't know it would be this..." Your breath shook a little as you took a step closer, as he looked over his shoulder and saw only the crown of your hair from the way your head was turned. "It's been almost ten years, I shouldn't be...."

Mihawk sighed, letting go of his coat as he felt you trembling against him. This was still something he was entirely unaccustomed to—he had seen you in this vulnerable a state only once before, only a few short weeks ago, when he had caught you pulling the blade of one of your daggers across your arm. When you admitted you had been doing so for the better part of ten years—a tally mark, a physical reminder for every mistake you made.

After a moment, he took your wrists in his hand, pulling your arms away.

He turned to face you, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, resting a hand near the crown of your hair to cradle your head against his shoulder, leaning back against the wardrobe.

"Have you considered that that's what happens when you spend a decade blaming yourself for something that was beyond your control?" he said lightly.

Your breath hitched and stuttered, your shoulders shaking as you struggled against the torrent of emotion you had been fighting off for more than three days. Fighting within your own head, leaving you so exhausted that you could do little more than lay in bed and stare at the wall.

"I—if I had stayed hidden like she told me to, she—she'd have—"

"No." It was a hard truth, but it was one you needed to hear. "In all likelihood, you both would have been killed amid the destruction." A small whimper escaped you as he moved his hand down, cupping your jaw lightly to lift your head. Your eyes snapped shut immediately. "Don't do that," he sighed, shaking his head. He lowered his own, resting his forehead against yours. "Look at me."

You clearly hesitated, swallowing, before allowing your eyes to slowly open, meeting his. He brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek, his eyes shifting for a moment to your lips as they trembled a little.

"I can replace most of the things I have in my possession." His sharp yellow eyes moved back up to meet your gaze, keeping his voice quiet, as gentle as the caress of his thumb across your skin. "You, my little bird, are not one of them." Mihawk moved his other hand to your shoulder, slowly pulling your shirt down to expose your left arm, his fingers grazing over the bandage wrapped around your delicate skin, across the scars. "I won't stand to watch you hurt yourself, be it with your blades or by any other means."

He saw as well as heard your breath hitch in your chest, your brows furrowing as your gaze softened.

And then your hands slipped from his shoulders, meeting at the nape of his neck as you tilted your head up to press your lips firmly to his.

You were impossible to resist, your breath shaking amid the fierce kiss. He pulled his arm tighter around you, tugging your shirt down your other shoulder, tossing it away onto the floor. His hands wrapped around your arms as he pushed you back toward the bed, pressed you back into the mattress as he bent over you.

His lips drifted away from yours, curling his fingers in your hair and tugging at the roots to turn your head and give him better access to your soft skin.

"I thought—" You gasped, arching your back as he pushed his hand up your waist, under the soft fabric of your bra. "You said—we need to leave soon—"

"It can wait," he growed into the crook of your neck. The soft moan that left your lips as his thumb brushed across your nipple was like music to his ears. "You've made me wait nearly four days." Perhaps it wasn't fair to phrase it in such a way—but it was the truth of the matter. He turned your head, his eyes burning into yours as he murmured against your lips. "Do you have any idea how much I've craved you?"

It seemed with that you had no further protest, no further questions—you simply gripped a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and crushed your lips to his, arching your back and moaning breathily into the passionate kiss.

He curled his arm under your back, deftly unhooking your bra, and had it ripped away from your body in seconds, shifting you further back onto the bed and trailing his lips down the column of your throat. He had no intention of punishing you, of making you wait—not this time. No, his only focus now was purely your pleasure; making you forget, if only for a brief spell, everything that had been tormenting you.

He lifted you off of the bed to pull one of your nipples into his mouth, his eyes shifted up to watch your head fall back against the comforter, your soft moans filling the sprawling bedchamber as his tongue swirled around the sensitive protrusion. Shifting to your other, a slow sigh leaving him as you arched your hips to grind against his knee between your thighs.

If you wanted more, then, oh, you were going to get it.

He trailed his fingertips down your stomach, quickly unfastened the buttons at the high waist of your shorts, and pushed his hand into them, under the elastic waist of your panties, spreading apart your folds.

Once more he pressed his lips into the crook of your neck, then again just below your ear.

"Yes," Mihawk breathed against your delicate skin as a soft cry left your lips, reveling at the shiver that crept through you, the way your clit twitched and throbbed under his touch. "Break for me, my darling."

You turned your head and pressed your lips to his, drawing in a sharp breath as your hips rolled slowly under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your breath left you in a soft whimper as your tongues swirled together between your lips amid the deep kiss, his dragging across the roof of your mouth before drawing back, your eyes glazed over in lust as your gazes met.

"More." Your soft, breathless whisper against his lips was almost enough to drive him into a frenzy—your fingertips trailing down the hard lines of his abdominal muscles, stopping at the buckle of his belt. "Please."

And that was enough.

He hated losing control, but goddammit, you made it utterly impossible for him to retain it.

In an instant he slipped his belt loose, shoving his pants down his hips as you kicked your shorts away. His gaze drifted down your body slowly for a moment, admiring every inch of you as if you were the finest work of art lying beneath him, just waiting to be vandalized and ruined.

He shifted you a bit further back on the bed, grasping one of your thighs and pressing it down against your chest.

The way you arched your hips when he thrust into you—the way your eyes rolled back and a quivering moan passed through your lips as the warmth of your tight, slick channel wrapped around him—the way you clung to his neck as he thrust intonyou again and again, your eyes glued to his and your nails digging into bis skin—to say he had been craving this, craving *you* would have been a grievous understatement. It was more than that now, an intrinsic *need* that he couldn't shake, one that he had felt so deeply with no one but you. Without even being consciously aware you had become an addiction—your body, your touch, your moans and whimpers and sighs and gasps, you.

You were wound so tightly from the brief teasing that barely a minute passed before your hips arched high against his, a deep, breathy moan leaving your lips as your thighs clenched around his hips and shook, as your walls clenched tight around his cock. He pulled himself up onto his knees, pulling you up with him, holding you against his chest as he pressed a hard kiss to your lips, groaning quietly into your mouth.

One of his hands found your hip, grasping your soft flesh hard enough to bruise as he tore his mouth from yours, eyes brimming with lust as he growled one quiet word against your lips.

"Again." He pressed his lips to yours again briefly, gripping the nape of your neck. Pressed his lips to your neck, your chest, lowering his hand to push one of your breasts up, kneading at the soft flesh as he guided your hips to roll onto him again and again, before you had even recovered from your intense orgasm. "I."

And again and again, almost as if you were made for the sole purpose of coming undone under his touch. Every one of your wordless moans and breathless whimpers fueled him, drove him wild, his lips trailing across every inch of your skin he could reach—across your chest, the soft swell of your breasts, down your smooth neck and across your shoulders.

Until he couldn't the any more, until the tension building in the pit if his stomach was too much to bear—until he gripped a fistful of your hair and pulled you down hard by your hips, crushed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss and thrust into you hard, shoving you down onto your back and pinning your hands over your head as he completely lost himself within you, his breath shuddering into a low groan that was drowned out by your breathless moans.

Your hips rolled together slowly on the crest of your shared euphoria, your breath leaving you in soft whimpers as his grip on your hands loosened, allowing you to lower one to brush your fingers back through his dark hair. A deep sigh heaved from his chest as his lips parted from yours, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him to lay across his chest.

His fingers combed down through your hair as you lay your forehead in the crook of his neck, both of your catching your breath. Mihawk lowered his head enough to brush his lips to your temple, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "You're going to be the death of me, little one."

You swallowed, laying your cheek against his shoulder, your eyes closed as your soft fingertips caressed the back of his neck, the light touch sending a slight shiver down his spine—as did your breathless, whispered reply.

"I love you."

It wasn't something either if you said often. It had remained more or less of an unspoken understanding between the two of you since he first said it himself a few weeks earlier—and maybe that was why it seemed to have so much of an impact when the words were spoken aloud.

He turned his head and brushed his lips to yours, pulling his thumb across your temple to brush your hair behind your ear.

"I...love you."

The words still felt strange rolling off his tongue—strange, unfamiliar, but not wrong by any means. He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours, closing his eyes. It was the truth, a truth that was difficult to admit after years of solitude, but one that couldn't be left unspoken.

If Mihawk was to expect truth from you, he couldn't withhold it himself.

For sometime he just held you there against him, his arm curled around your back, his thumb brushing slow circles against your waist...and then he spoke.

"We're not going on an assignment." Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his in question. "Twelve hours east of here," he said quietly, slowly, "is the island where you grew up—no," he interjected, when your eyes widened and you began to pull away. He pulled his arm tighter around your back, his other hand at the nape of your neck, curling in your hair to keep you from pulling away. "We're going. You need to." The pain that dawned in your eyes was almost enough to make him relent—but he wouldn't. He couldn't. He shook his head. "You know you need to."

You swallowed, your gaze falling away from his. "I...I don't know if I can..."

"You can." He brushed his lips against yours, fingers combing through your hair, and you lifted your gaze back to his. "You..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his eyes boring into yours, "...are the strongest woman I have ever met—don't do that," he added in a lightly chiding tone when you rolled your eyes. He curled his hand around your chin. "You'd have to be strong to have such a chokehold on me, little one."

You rolled your eyes back over to his at that...and you gave a small, quiet chuckle, nuzzling your cheek against hid shoulder. "Touché." Your eyes flickered away for a moment, but returned to his quickly. "I just..." You swallowed, and shook your head. "There's nothing there. Just...a rock in the water."

Your claim echoed Garp's eerily—but the claim echoed just as empty as his had. The mere thought of that rock made your eyes fill with emotion, made your voice break. That rock was the final resting place of one of the most infamous pirates that had ever sailed the Grand Line—the woman that had raised you. Your trainer, your caregiver, your role model.

Your grandmother, the Siren.

"There's a lot more there than just a rock. I think we both know that." You swallowed again...and, after several long seconds, you nodded. Your eyes slipped shut and your breath hitched, and he combed bis fingers slowly through your hair. "We'll rest for a bit, and then we'll leave."

"Y...yes." You gave a short nod, and a slow sigh, your eyes opening to meet his again, full of renewed resolve. "Okay."

His thumb brushed across your cheek, his eyes glued to yours. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but pain was often a necessary catalyst in healing. He sighed slowly, his forehead touching yours.

"I love you."

Your eyes glued to his, you echoed his murmured words without a second thought.

"I love you."

[viviennevermillion]

we just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time

note: loosely based on the vibes of the song for the first time by the script. starts with an argument. reader and leona both are pretty harsh here but they'll get there eventually. ♡ this took me two days and idk what possessed me but I really like how this fic turned out and I appreciate comments or asks about it. ♡

contains: leona kingscholar x gn!reader, relationship development, angst to fluff, fighting and making up, bonding experiences

word count: 7.6k words

warnings: argument, leona's crippling depression, some hurtful things have been said

dark content creators & consumers do not interact

It was the middle of the winter holidays and Night Raven College was probably as quiet as it could be. You had left behind the festivities of late December and for now you decided to take some time to focus on yourself and rest up before school would resume in about a week. On a particularly cold Friday evening you had made yourself some pasta for dinner and laid down in bed after putting away the dishes. The night sky was clearer tonight than it had been for a while and your room was lit up only by the stars and the dim light of the magical ignis fatuus lamp on your nightstand. You took out your phone and checked the messages your friends had left you; keeping you updated on the presents they had received and the activities they engaged in during their well-deserved vacation. 

You didn’t know if it was just a whim or the fact that you may or may not have missed a certain someone…but you eventually decided to reach out to Leona to check up on him. You remembered how annoyed he had sounded when you saw him leave for his homeland through the dark mirror. It was no secret that the second prince of Sunset Savannah was anything but keen on going back to the palace over the winter holidays. His abrasive behavior was quite off-putting sometimes and you had to admit it made you hesitate sometimes to reach out to him even though you wanted to. You were long past the point of considering Leona your friend. His perspective on the matter, however? A mystery to you. 

It could just be that you were a nuisance to him. That he didn’t necessarily dislike you but rather had you minding your own business instead. Or maybe that was just the way he was. You found him hard to read sometimes; never knowing whether a question would get you a snarky comment or a calm and serious answer. Leona was more than capable of both. Still, especially after his overblot and having seen a glimpse of how he was feeling inside, you had decided to push your pride away for a while and put some effort into being his friend; even if he had a tendency to push everyone away. You presumed it was because at least, if he pushed people away, he was the one who’d have the last word. He could retain the reputation of someone who simply didn’t care, rather than risking to be seen as someone who just wasn’t wanted. You didn’t know how much Leona was aware of the extent of his feelings that he divulged while in an overblotted state. It was probably best if he remained largely unaware. 

Still, you decided to shoot him a quick “Hey, how are you doing?” over your messaging service. Leona didn’t seem very busy at the moment, as his answer came not soon after. “Oi, herbivore, what do you want?”, he texted back. 

“Just wanted to know how you’re enjoying your winter holidays so far. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Thought I’d text you so close to the new year to check how you’re doing. You didn’t seem too pleased to go back to the palace after all”, you replied. Leona shifted his position on his bed, staring at the words on his phone for a while. His expression darkened a little. The fuck did it matter to you how he was doing? 

It wasn’t particularly well, that was for sure, but you didn’t have to know that. However, Leona didn’t really feel like talking at all. Contrary to how easily he could try to sleep away his problems for a while when he was at Night Raven College, they seemed to always catch up to him when he was back home. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours; not since the annoying political gathering Farena had dragged him to on Wednesday. His days consisted of laying in bed and trying to avoid his brother’s nagging and Cheka’s attempts at playing games with him as best as he could; trying to get some sleep but consistently failing to. He let out a bitter laugh, wondering what Ruggie would think if he saw him like this. The hyena beastman had tried multiple times to get him out of bed after Leona had slept for more than 10 hours and failed miserably. And now Leona couldn’t even take a nap for a couple of hours. 

“Yeah, it sucks, dunno if that’s the answer you expected”, Leona typed and ran a hand through his dark hair, slumping back into the pillow and holding the phone above his face, “there’s nothin’ to do here except fancy crap and arguing with my brother, the beloved king. Only good thing is my personal chefs; their food is fantastic as usual.” Leona held his head in pain, the headache from the sleep deprivation getting to him more and more. He turned the brightness of the phone down and reached for another painkiller on the nightstand, downing the medication with a glass of water. 

You had no idea of the beastman’s predicament; comfortably resting under the covers of your own bed. “Let me guess, you’re eating nothing but meat again?”, you chuckled and clicked on ‘send’. 

“Heh. The chef told me I need to eat more greens. I told ‘em I’d rather starve than touch some leaves and eat like a herbivore.”

You rolled your eyes. He always had such an attitude. The poor chefs were probably just doing their best to keep their prince healthy. “Classic Leona”, you replied with a chuckle, “do you plan on handing your essays in after the holidays this time? We don’t want you to repeat another year.” You remembered how Ruggie had teased him that if he didn’t pass his finals again, they’d be in the same class from next year on. Leona furrowed his brows and rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t have other things to worry about than schoolwork at the moment. What idiot even came up with the idea of giving students homework over the holidays?

“You sound like Farena”, you got your next answer, “‘You need to pass this class’, ‘You need to get better grades’, ‘What are the citizens gonna say if Prince Leona can’t even graduate from school?’ Gimme a break. Ugh. Can’t a guy take a vacation? I don’t wanna worry about stupid essays now.”

You sighed. “You’ve pretty much taken a vacation since the school year began…you’re hardly attending classes because you’re always nappin’ somewhere in the greenhouse”, you turned on the light of your room, knowing this conversation was likely not taking a pleasant turn anytime soon, “I’m sorry I remind you of your brother. But I’m not saying this to pester you. If I didn’t give a shit about you, I’d have long since ignored you.” It was true. You hardly would have bothered with him if he hadn’t grown on you overtime. And if it weren’t for the feelings you secretly harbored for him; getting stronger with every passing day. Most people would have probably advised you against falling for Leona. But it was not like that was something you could control. Sometimes you felt like it wasn’t a good idea at all to keep trying to stick around when he wasn’t willing to let you in. But there were moments where Leona was one of the most pleasant people to be around; regardless of how much your classmates would have raised their eyebrows at you for admitting that. He was calm, honest and all the shallow things people around you were obsessing over, Leona was hardly interested in. His demeanor was refreshing sometimes and his jokes were funny. But on other occasions he just had to be so difficult. The worst part was that you knew he could do better. But on most days he wasn’t even willing to try.

Meanwhile Leona wondered what your reason was for reaching out to him if you were just going to lecture him anyway like everyone else did. Why didn’t you just let him mind his business and leave him alone? It wasn’t that Leona was annoyed with your presence. He too felt quite comfortable around you most of the time. But you had the same criticisms for him as everyone else did. And even though he knew deep down you were right; he just kept standing in his own way. It was frustrating sometimes, but he hardly had the energy to do the 180° turn others expected from him. He felt inadequate. Especially for you. What was he expecting from you anyway? That you’d love him and choose him over everyone else you knew? All the people who were responsible and had their lives figured out? So for the sake of his pride he did the one thing he knew best how to do: Keep pushing you away. 

“Fineee, I’ll turn in my essay. I’ll go to class. I’ll even go find some herbivore friends just to humor ya”, he shut you down and it was evident from his phrasing that he was hardly serious, “now shut up and let me go back to sleep for a bit, eh?” He ignored the twinge of guilt in his heart for being so rude to you; who had been nothing but kind to him since the year started. What did he care for anyway? He felt like his emotions were getting the better of him; all the frustration and anger and hopelessness of the past few days creeping into his mind like a shadow that was taking hold of him. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand; knowing full-well he probably wouldn’t be able to take the nap he told you he’d take under these conditions; knocking the glass of water to the floor in the process. “Ah shit”, he groaned, sinking back into the bedsheets. He supposed he could clean that up tomorrow. Or get one of the staff members to do it for him. He just hoped Farena wouldn’t lecture him about it. That’s how far you’ve come, huh? Don’t even have the energy to pick some glass shards up. Pathetic. 

He tried to push down that voice inside him as best as he could, putting his phone aside and burying his face in his pillow to muffle the quiet sobs that he couldn’t stop from escaping him. Though he doubted anyone would hear them anyway. There was another small gathering in the garden below his window and he could hear the upbeat music and some of the chatter from the guests. At least his attendance wasn’t required for today’s event. Leona hated crying. He hated how vulnerable and weak it made him feel. He’d much rather lie to himself and convince himself that he really didn’t give a damn and just enjoyed being lazy and provoking the people around him. In those moments, somewhere deep inside his heart, Leona wished for someone to be there for him. But it wasn’t like anyone out there cared; they were busy with their small garden party to honor his homeland’s coexistence with nature. And you? You had reached out to him and asked him how he was and Leona just couldn’t have given you a normal answer. Instead, he just pushed you away to guarantee that you’d probably stop caring about him too. Your newest message confirmed his suspicions, reading: “Fine. Whatever.”

You were tired of the constant back and forth. You had reached out to him with good intentions and care and this was what you got in return. Maybe it truly was time to leave Leona Kingscholar behind for good and make sure you wouldn’t have to deal with interactions like these on a peaceful night. This was exactly why you had hesitated to text him anything. But instead of taking his nap, Leona replied back. You had the feeling he wouldn’t do that if he had no interest in talking to you whatsoever.

“You really gotta learn to lighten up a little. Not everything’s all serious, ya know? Sometimes a nap is just a nap”, he tried to de-escalate the anger he caused with his previous messages; attempting to play it off as just his usual demeanor and nothing personal. What he didn’t get at the moment was how much that played down your own feelings and words. 

You rolled your eyes, debating whether you should just log off and leave him to his own thoughts. Maybe that was for the better. You sighed. “You didn’t have to start it with ‘shut up’”, you answered, just hoping anything you said wouldn’t make things even worse. 

Leona had gotten up from the bed and sat down near the window, gazing out onto the garden; wishing anyone at that gathering would actually care about his thoughts regarding the development of his homeland. The cheerful laugh he could hear from Farena and his guests filled him with a sense of anger so strong that it hurt nobody but himself. He felt stressed; just wanted to finally go to sleep and actually manage to drift off into the land of dreams. But life seemed to have other plans for him. He had gotten himself into a fight with you, one of the only people who seemed to genuinely care about his feelings; the royal court was just proceeding with their schedule as if he was nothing but a ghost sometimes lingering at them and he knew he had to do the damn essays if he wanted to pass this time. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I should’ve said something more polite like ‘I’m trying to get some shut-eye here, would you kindly shut up so I can rest peacefully?’ or perhaps ‘Excuse me but I have some slumber to catch up on, would you please cease talking so I can focus on that?’ Better?”, Leona snapped, his expression darkening.

His rude behavior and disrespectful reaction to you just trying to be nice to him frustrated you. So much so, that you waved the idea of being polite and holding back your thoughts about the matter a friendly goodbye. If it’s a fight he wanted, he can have one, you thought with a bitter mood. So you replied something you knew you probably should not have said.

“And this is why people don’t put you first.”

Your words stung. You hit him right where it hurt and both of you knew that. The crying that had stopped, resumed again as tears ran down Leona’s cheeks. He knew he got himself into this mess but admitting that seemed like the hardest thing for him right now. Not with how angry you had made him over the past 30 minutes.

“Because I’m sarcastic? Wow. Really settin’ the bar high there. Not everyone needs to be a happy-go-lucky sunshine boy, ya know?”, Leona replied with a spiteful feeling in his chest, “maybe I just express myself differently. What do you care ‘bout it?”

Okay, we’re really doing this, are we? You took a deep breath and shook your head. 

“The problem is that you’re rude as fuck and then you’re complaining about only ever being the second choice. Yeah, sure, it sucks for you that you can’t be king or win the Magift tournament against Malleus; I get that; but everything else is your own doing”, you reached a point where you weren’t holding back your thoughts anymore, “you’re literally not even letting people be nice to you. That’s like, the bare minimum. I’ve been trying to be your friend for the whole school year and sometimes you’re really pleasant to be around but other times you’re just taking your bad moods out on people who care about you and I’m tired of it. I tried. I really did. But you push everyone away and then you go sulk in your bed about how no one understands you.”

“I don’t need you to care about me”, a lie and a pretty damn pathetic one; Leona knew that. But he was in the wrong headspace at the wrong time and on top of everything else, he was panicking because he felt like you were close to abandoning him. And this time it would be his own fault. 

“Goodbye Leona. See you in school, I guess.”

Leona frantically started typing again; not feeling like he’d be able to tolerate the silence. To just be left alone with his thoughts again. To have lost you.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there. I’ll be the best prince ever. Good, hardworking, loyal, reliable…then everyone will love me, huh?”, he let out a bitter laugh, clutching the pillow he was holding, “is that what you wanted?”

His response was as sarcastic as ever but he was in luck that you were not one to just let him put words into your mouth. 

“No”, you texted back, having calmed down a little and gotten yourself a tea, “I just want you to at least be respectful towards the people who care about you and not lash out at us like this. That’s literally all I ask for. Ruggie and I stuck around even through your stupid overblot and all your depressive episodes where you locked yourself in your room and slept for 14 hours as if that’s gonna solve anything.”

Under normal circumstances, Leona would have been a lot more careful with his words. He was hardly one to even remotely talk about his feelings; always keeping them to himself to make sure no one had anything they could use against him. But the sleep-deprivation, emotional distress and headache put him in a state of mind where he was a lot more honest and open than he intended to be.

“Oh? It must be a real burden on you that I’m not just one of those happy, energetic herbivores, huh? If I was nice and polite; if I just did what I was told, everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?”, he could hardly even still see the screen as his vision got too blurry, “then you wouldn’t have to be burdened with being nice to someone like me….someone who can’t even smile genuinely. Someone like me should just disappear, right?”

As soon as he sent that, he wanted to take it back. This was too much. More than he ever wanted to let you know. He had given you a glimpse into his heart and he was certain that this had been a grave mistake. And simultaneously it made you realize what was really going on here.

Oh god, he’s not doing well at all…shit. You realized Leona hadn’t reacted this way towards you because he hated your presence or saw you as an annoyance…this was his own self-doubt talking and he obviously was not okay right now. You saw that now. 

“Leona…that’s not what I’m saying at all…did something happen at the palace? You’re a bit of an asshole sometimes, but it’s usually never this bad…you okay?”, you messaged him and Leona let out a bitter laugh. Even through all this…even after how rude he had been to you and how hard he had tried to push you away, your first response to his accidental self-deprecating talk in the heat of the moment was to worry about him. You deserve better…, he thought.

“Listen, I don’t expect you to smile or be happy all the time or do what you’re told”, you continued, “and I’m sorry you feel the way you do. I understand and I respect your feelings. You don’t have to be all smiles and super friendly to everyone or fulfill anyone’s expectations. Just don’t let your anger and frustrations out on your friends. Hell, i don’t know, rant to us about how much life sucks or whatever; maybe we’ll end up with a bitter joke about it or something….anything’s better than this.”

He had to admit that…did sound more pleasant. You weren’t done yet.

“I’ll be there even if you’re not feeling well. Even if that lasts weeks or months at a time. But if you don’t give me the basic respect and kindness a friend deserves, then I’m out”, you added, “and I’d never want you to disappear, Leona. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

Leona remained silent for a moment. Minutes passed by and you were wondering whether he’d even reply at all. It had started to rain outside and for whatever reason the thunder seemed to calm you down. You put your phone aside and tried to distract yourself by reading a book you grabbed from the school library. After a while, you heard the notification sound of your phone again. You checked the display to see a new message from Leona.

“...heh. You really got me down to a t, didn’t ya?”, it read, “Sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to. I’m just tired. Tired of all the things I have to do, tired of always being second pick, tired of being angry. I guess I took it out on you and that was wrong. I apologize for my rudeness.”

You knew it took a lot for Leona to ever apologize for anything. He had decided to swallow his pride for the sake of fixing the mess he made. You were exhausted from the fight and this was the first time you had heard him apologize to you for being rude. It had never been this bad before; but Leona could be quite dismissive on a regular basis. You had more to say but it was probably best for you to indulge him for now and let him rest and calm down. 

“Thank you. Wanna talk about what happened?”, you asked.

Leona hesitated for a moment. He remembered the gathering two days ago. Farena had pressured him into attending; saying the whole royal family was expected to be there. So Leona had begrudgingly put on the tight, fancy clothing and sat at the dinner table with dozens of politicians and investors. He heard them talk to his older brother and the queen about the current status quo in Sunset Savannah; even acknowledging Cheka as the heir to the throne. But Leona? Leona was meant to sit there for the whole evening and look pretty. Farena shot him a glare when he attempted to take out his phone to distract himself; as it was not proper etiquette for a prince. 

Leona couldn’t remember anyone but his own family members having attempted to talk to him that night. No one had cared about his opinions or the fact that he was even there. For all the talk about how crucial it was that the whole royal family attended, Leona sure felt like an extra at the event. There were many investors who were advocating for a better infrastructure and to develop more parts of the country aside from the capital; making use of its natural resources to achieve a bigger state of welfare. Leona had many thoughts on the matter. He had visions and ideas on how to make them happen. He did care. But it didn’t matter what the loathed second prince said about any of this. Farena would probably scold him for trying to butt into the official state affairs. Not that it mattered whether he said anything or not. His brother’s opinions and his own differed greatly; that much he knew. He’d never listen to any ideas Leona brought to the table. He had tried often enough.

So all Leona did was sit there and listen. Not saying a word; just holding his tongue when he had so many thoughts wanting to be said. He listened to everyone else; let everything happen whether he agreed with their decisions or not. Eventually he just blended the voices out, concentrating solely on trying to keep his act together when his facade was threatening to crack because it occurred to him just how much he didn’t matter. Cheka had tried to climb onto his uncle’s lap and show him a bracelet he crafted, expecting a response from Leona. He knew he had to react somehow. He couldn’t just ignore when someone was talking to him; especially not with so many people right next to him. But he feared, were he to say something now, his voice would crack and he’d break.

So he took all his strength to keep it together, gently placed Cheka on the ground again and walked over to his brother, excusing himself and saying he was feeling sick. Not a lie technically.

Leona took a deep breath before replying to you.

“No, I’d rather not. That’s…my own personal life, y’know?”, he answered, “I’ll stop being such an angry prick towards you and Ruggie all the time. I guess I needed that wake-up call, harsh as it was. At least I know you’re not one to lie to my face, heh. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to catch up on some shut-eye. I’ll talk to you later.”

You leaned back with a slight smile on your face. That was a lot more genuine than what you were used to from Leona. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you were beginning to feel like, bizarre as it was, today had brought you closer to one another. That Leona had reached a new level of trust towards you he didn’t have before.

“Heh…see, that’s much better than ‘shut up and let me take a nap’”, you replied with a relieved smile, “get some rest, Leona. Hope you’ll feel better afterwards. ❤️”

“Did you just send me a heart emoji?”

“That was an accident. Go to sleep. :)”

Leona realized he had a smile on his face. He chuckled, burying his had in his hands. You were really getting to him, huh? You had said a couple of things that really stung and yet somehow at the end of the day he treasured you enough to smile at a sign of affection from you. I better make sure to treat ‘em properly from now on, he mused and smirked, laying down on his bed again. He wondered if you actually had feelings for him or something of the sort. Somehow with the thought of you on his mind, he fell asleep easily, relieved you were able to sort things out. And he was already looking forward to talking to you again… 

You didn’t hear from Leona again for at least half a day. You were already suspecting that the sleepy lion may not have gotten any sleep at all lately, so you were glad he was resting. What you didn’t expect was for Leona to call you when he woke up. He’s calling? That’s a new one.

“Mornin’ Herbivore”, his voice was raspy and was cracking slightly. He sounded a little bit like he had cried but you didn’t dare to comment on it. “It’s 3pm. Sleep well?”, you chuckled and had a smile on your face again. “Hmm, I’ve had better nights but yeah”, he responded, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, “sorry again about last night. I had a bit of a moment there…I’ll do better. If you forgive me that is. But only if you wanna. I was kind of an ass.” Leona turned on the camera of his phone and so did you. He gave you a triumphant grin when he saw how your reaction to seeing his face was just smiling instantly. 

You sighed. “It’s fine. You’re lucky I like you. You’re an acquired taste.”

Leona chuckled. “I’m glad my terrible sleep schedule and awful personality can be considered an acquired taste in this day and age”, he winked at you. You let out a laugh. You looked at Leona’s calm expression; the way his hair looked messy and his ears twitched a little. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and you thought he looked absolutely ethereal. You had to admit you missed him.

“Okay, you made me laugh, I give you that”, you chuckled and grinned at him, “feeling better?”

“A bit”, Leona answered, “Thank ya for being so patient with me. You’re a real one. I guess I’m just used to people not sticking around long enough to deal with my bullshit…..it feels weird….having someone care.” Something had definitely changed inside Leona. He was still weirdly genuine about his feelings. Maybe he was also still very exhausted. 

“Well, you’re in luck. I’m really stubborn and I always want to have the last word. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Even if you hiss at me like a feral housecat”, you teased him. “Heh”, he laughed and you could see his ears move along with the rising and falling of his chest, “fine, I won’t try to get rid of ya then. Still gonna be a bit of a prick tho. Maybe I will start hissing at people. Make a reputation for myself. The hissing prince of Sunset Savannah.” 

The two of you laughed and Leona ran a hand through his hair, trying to adjust it somehow. “You know what? You just gave me my first real laugh of this week”, he gave you a genuine smile and you could tell he was feeling better, “normally I don’t hang around herbivores that much. But I like ya. Thanks for stickin’ with me.”

You gave him a kind smile. “See? You’re pretty fun when you’re not being an asshole. And I assure you, you already have a reputation. Not a particularly good one, but it’s certainly….something.” 

Leona chuckled and excused himself for a moment to open the blinds on his window. He put his phone aside and all you heard from him was a sharp hiss of pain and him cursing under his breath. “The fuck happened?”, you looked at him with concern once he was back. “Stepped in glass shards”, he mumbled as if that explained anything. “Why the hell are there glass shards on your floor?” “Ancient royal trial that every member of the royal family has to go through at some point in their lives”, he commented dryly and you were pretty sure he was making this up. 

“Anyway, you should probably get first aid for that”, you raised an eyebrow. “Alright”, Leona smirked, seeming as tough as ever, “don’t miss me too much.” He winked at you before ending the call. He’s certainly growing bold now, hmm? You laughed and went to make yourself some food, awaiting his return eagerly.

It took about 30 minutes for Leona to return and start making fun of you for worrying about him so much. “I’m not made of glass, y’know?”, he smirked, “I just step in it sometimes.” 

You sigh and put your friend on speaker, tending to your kitchen appliances once more. “Did you get first-aid for your injury?”, you asked, throwing some carrots, broccoli and zucchini into the mixer. “Yeah. Staff bandaged my foot and told me to be more careful. Got a whole lecture because they’re so considerate”, Leona rolled his eyes and then cringed at the sudden loud whirring, “fuck is that noise, herbivore?” “Oh…sorry”, you apologized and turned the mixer off, “I’m making a soup. Noticed I haven’t had lunch yet today.” 

“Ew with like, vegetables and shit?”, Leona shook his head in disappointment. You chuckled. “Yes, not everyone has the strength and insanity it takes to attempt to solely live off meat”, you teased. 

“Anyway, to get back to our conversation from before, it’s nice to know I have a reputation for something, heh. Even if it’s just that”, Leona chuckled, “I don’t get people sometimes. ‘Ugh, he’s so pretty! Too bad he’s a jerk!’ Why do people keep sayin’ that? Am I supposed to be flattered or pissed?”

You laughed. “Well, I think they’re having a crisis because they’re attracted to a guy whose personality is like a matryoshka doll where you’re kinda intimidated to take off another layer because you’re not sure if it’s gonna get better or worse.”

Leona snorted. “Okay, that was a fun analogy, I’m not even gonna be mad. I’ll remember that one”, he smirked, “so, given that you have first-hand experience now, do you have the feeling it’s getting better? Or worse?” So he’s acknowledging that he’s opening up to me more than he did before, you pondered and smiled, that’s good. “Better”, you admitted, “now I know I didn’t go that wrong with giving you a chance. Anyway, what do you do all day over there?”

“Oh, nothin’ much”, Leona shrugged, “sleeping…trying to sleep, avoiding my nephew, avoiding my brother, avoiding the chamberlains, playing chess against a computer…when I arrived I drove around a bit and stopped by Elephant Legacy to take a bath in the secluded hot springs only the royal family has access to. I guess that counts for doing somethin’”

“And you made fun of Idia for being a shut-in?”, you raised an eyebrow. “I also nap outside, that disqualifies me from being a shut-in”, Leona grinned, absentmindedly playing with an old yoyo he got from a market when he was 7, “but yeah it’s pretty boring. Night Raven College is a little more interesting.”

After a week of hardly doing anything, Leona had to admit he was growing quite bored of the winter holidays. You didn’t have many plans either, so that was how the two of you ended up playing online chess. “God, with that strategy or lack thereof you have, your king is gonna be down in less than five minutes”, Leona held his head in second-hand embarrassment and reached for a glass of water to take a sip. “Oh so you think you’re close to losing?”, you smirk and heard Leona choke on his water, coughing frantically. Did you really just call him your king?, he thought with a surprised expression, his ears laid back against his head.

“What’s the matter, Leona?”, you asked and he could hear your teasing tone through the speaker, “did I perhaps fluster you?” You were really playing with fire today, huh? Leona smirked. He didn’t admit it, but he did absolutely like that. “Why don’t ya focus on your shitty ass playstyle instead, you just lost the best piece you still had on the board”, he hissed back, his tail swishing back and forth. “I didn’t see your queen there”, you whined. “What do you mean, you didn’t see it there? It was literally right next to where you were standing-”, Leona shook his head and held it with his hand, “I don’t even know where to start with this one…”

As the day went on, you got Leona to play a couple of other online board games with you, mostly luck-based ones because you insisted you were “good at them”. He also agreed to teach you some chess strategies, arguing that even with knowing them you wouldn’t be able to beat him. He never let you win. Not once. 

He had to admit that your company brought him amusement and joy. That you distracted him from the problems he was worrying about. So he didn’t mind spending his days with you. He was looking forward to seeing you again at Night Raven College. 

“Leona, it’s your turn. Leona?”, you asked when he wasn’t responding. It was already evening and the sun had set. You could hear soft breathing and some light snores coming from the phone. You smiled and closed the game the two of you were playing. Something inside you didn’t have the heart to just hang up on him. So you put your phone aside and went to bed yourself, feeling somehow closer to Leona this way.

He woke up with surprise upon finding out you were still there. He wondered whether that was intentional or not. He quickly pushed away the idea of waking up beside you; of pulling you into his arms and falling back asleep in the comfort of the blankets and your warmth. Leona pouted when he noticed the smile on his face. Then, upon having another fantastic idea, his expression turned into a mischievous smirk as he made his way over to the wardrobe where he had hidden a plastic aerophone that he confiscated from Cheka after the latter had attempted to “play a song” for him and followed him through the entire palace. He sat down next to where his phone was laying on the bed and blew into the cheap instrument; causing it to emit sounds with a terribly loud volume. He stopped just in time to hear the angry “WHAT THE FUCK, LEONA????” from your side of the call. “Rise and shine, herbivore”, you could hear him snicker. “You’re such an asshole”, you muttered.

The days went by fast when you had each other’s company. Leona kept you updated on what was happening at the palace; the stuff that wasn’t confidential at least. This mostly happened in the form of him ranting about how much it annoyed him. He had ditched the Sunset Savannah New Year’s ceremony and spent it on the palace roof, turning his camera on and letting you see the fireworks of his homeland and how the city was lit up for the celebrations. “If you ever visit, I’ll show ya around”, he had promised you.

Your presence in his life made the holidays pass by fast. When Leona stepped through the dark mirror on his way back to the school, you were already waiting for him on the other side. Both of you felt a little awkward at first. Things had changed a lot between you since you had last seen each other, after all. Leona rolled his eyes at your attempts to make smalltalk, waiting for the rest of the students to exit the mirror chamber before he opened his arms. “Come on now, y/n, don’t be a stranger”, he sighed and you stepped into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. You hoped he didn’t have a sliver of an idea how much you had wanted this over the past few days. What you didn’t know was that Leona felt exactly the same. He held the back of your head with his hand and let you bury your face in his shoulder. Leona had his tail wrapped around your waist and you got goosebumps where it touched your arm. A strand of his hair was tickling the skin of your face and you noticed how much you liked the smell of his cologne. 

The two of you walked back to the dorms together, Leona staying closer to you than usual. Much to your surprise, the lion beastman actually showed up to class on the first day. It was his most hated lesson, even. He sat down next to you. “Glad you showed up”, you said and reached for the cup standing next to you, “I got you a coffee.” Leona inspected the beverage with surprise, not expecting you to get him something to drink on the off-chance that he came to class. You raised your eyebrow at him when you saw him sniffing at the coffee. “If you’re gonna complain that you don’t like this kind, I’m never getting you anything ever again”, you threatened and Leona patted your head. “Don’t worry, herbivore”, he smirked and took a sip from the coffee as the lesson began.

Reunited at Night Raven College, Leona still enjoyed spending his time with you. He had invited you over to show you some more strategies in chess; as it was easier to teach you anything if you were there in person. You had eaten dinner together (a bunch of meat that Leona ordered from a take-out restaurant in the village on the isle) and decided to take a breath of fresh air on the roof of the Savanaclaw dorm. Leona looked at you as you gazed at the stars. 

“Do you think the sky is fake?”, Leona was caught off-guard by your question. “The hell?”, he raised an eyebrow and sat up. “Like, the ones over the dorms. What even are the dorms? Are they actual locations the mirrors just teleport us to? Are they weird pocket dimensions? Why do I never hear anyone talking about this?”, you asked. Leona chuckled. “Considering they’re never locked and we haven’t seen anyone try to rob us yet, I thought it was pretty obvious they’re not just standing around somewhere in the wild”, he shrugged, “but yeah, this isn’t the actual night sky. The constellations are super off.” “I see someone actually paid attention in astronomy class”, you commented. “Not really”, Leona replied, “in my homeland there’s the belief that the stars are the great kings of the past who are watching over you from above. Heard the story a million times. Learnt about the constellations as time went on. If you’re worried or in despair, you can ask them for guidance and supposedly they would answer you. Personally I think that’s a bunch of humbug.” 

Leona shrugged and you thought about his words, having learnt something new about his culture. “If you believed in it…what would you ask them?”, you wondered and looked into Leona’s emerald eyes. “That’s a little too personal, don’t ya think?”, Leona smirked but then conceded, “I suppose I’d ask them why I pulled such a dumb result in fate’s lottery, among other things.” “Idia called it ‘god’s rigged gacha machine’”, you chuckled. “That’s one way to put it”, Leona mused. “Then again, you never know what life’s gonna give you”, you tried to add a more positive point of view, “who knows maybe you’ll soon receive a great deal of luck or something. You never know.”

Leona let out a bitter laugh. “Then I suppose, I’ll have to thank the great kings of the past”, he crossed his arms, “anyway, it’s getting late. We should probably head inside again.” He got up and so did you, making your way towards Leona’s room again. 

You couldn’t even react fast enough when you stumbled on the roof and fell over, Leona catching you just in time and pulling you back into balance. You were leaned against his chest and Leona was holding onto you to keep you steady. “Geez, herbivore, first you’re all talk about stickin’ by me and being my friend and now I have to prevent you from breaking your bones every 5 minutes”, Leona sighed. You pouted. “Name ONE other time where you had to prevent me from breaking my bones”, you rolled your eyes.

You only noticed then how close the two of you were. Determined to tease him back, you spoke before you realized what it was you just said. “Are we about to kiss now?”

The smirk left your face when the realization hit you. Leona, on the other hand, was having the time of his life with this. He grinned at you and let out a laugh. “My, you’re getting bold now”, his ears twitched as he laughed, “I mean, go ahead if you wanna, I ain’t gonna stop ya.” He was challenging you, part of him thinking you weren’t going to do it anyway. 

His eyes widened and he was caught off guard when you took him up on the offer and he found himself with your lips on his instead. 

Leona closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, kissing you back softly. There was a sense of relief to his kiss; as if he had waited for this to happen for centuries. He wouldn’t ever have dreamt that you might feel the same for him as he did for you. Not with the behavior he had shown to you before. Not with the way he went about his days. And yet, you had given him a chance. The chance to prove to you that he was worth it. And he swore in that moment that he was going to make the most of that.

Leona sighed against your lips and cupped your cheek with his hand, deepening the kiss eagerly. He furrowed his brows and pulled you as close to him as possible. 

When your lips parted from each other, Leona still held you in a tight embrace, resting his head on top of yours. “So…”, you began, nuzzling his neck and relaxing into his embrace, “are we going to get on people’s nerves together from now on?” “You still have to ask that? Take a hint, herbivore”, he hissed and then chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You remained like this for a while, just holding each other as Leona looked up to the night sky. “You’re more quiet than usual”, you said softly, “what’s going through your head, hmm?” Leona rolled his eyes. “Life clowned me with irony and now I gotta thank the great kings of the past for ‘a great deal of luck or something’”, he sighed and laughed. You pressed another soft kiss to his lips and held his face in your hand, looking into his eyes with a loving expression. 

“I love you…and at the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy”, you confessed and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, “you’re my first choice, Leona. Always have been.” Leona hugged you tightly and squeezed you slightly, holding onto you like he feared you might disappear any second now. He buried his face in your neck. Your words had touched his heart and made him feel a sense of happiness and closure he was longing for for god knows how long. He kissed you once more, pouring all his pent-up attachment and care for you into the kiss as the stars gazed down on you.

[bellysoupset]

i’d actually requested this a while ago, and iirc it didn’t really fit with the timeline back then? when luke and vince weren’t talking.

i’d asked for a fic where lucas and vin watch leo take care of jon during a vertigo episode. like maybe they’re at jon and leo’s place and leo isn’t back from work yet when jonah gets hit with an episode. and both of them are lowkey freaking out. and leo comes in and takes over effortlessly and manages to calm jonah down so much better than either of them did

but if you’d not written this for some other reason then please feel free to ignore it! 🍄

This is probably my favorite fic so far. Maybe. Possibly. It's also long.

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

“Hey, Monacelli,” Vince raised his head and saw Max tapping lightly on the half open door of his classroom. It was halfway through the day and Vince’s classes were already over. From what he had glanced at the overall teachers’ schedule, Daniels still had two more classes to teach, but Vince could go home… But that just seemed a little depressive. 

His parents were busy and his sisters were in class, so going home just meant being alone and he’d much rather stay in school and finish going over the kids’ papers. 

“Yeah?” Vince lowered his red pen and the blonde man pointed over his shoulder, to the sunny patio behind him. 

“Your boyfriend’s here,” Max said in a smug tone and Vince’s blood immediately boiled over. 

He could count in one hand the amount of transphobic shit he had witnessed with Wendy, but Vince wasn’t stupid. He was aware Doveport was fairly conservative and had been bracing for a bigoted comment for a while now.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, you asshole, I have a girlfriend,” he said sharply, dropping the pen immediately and Max jumped back, startled. 

“Uhm, okay, sorry for assuming? But there’s some guy in the parking lot waiting for you,” he shrugged, seeming offended, “geez,” the blonde turned around with an exasperated eye roll and power walked away, leaving a befuddled Vince behind. 

Vin grimaced, realizing he had assumed the worst for absolutely no reason and making a mental note to apologize to the other teacher, before the reality of some dude caught up with him. Weird, but a good surprise, Vince thought, packing up his bag and locking up his classroom. 

He fully expected to find Luke in the parking lot and was not wrong, the guy was sitting on the hood of his green jeep, sunglasses on and chuckling about something. What Vince did not expect was to see Jon standing right next to him, also wearing sunglasses and a jacket, smiling. 

Hell must have frozen over, Vince thought with a smirk, watching the two laugh. It wasn’t rare to see Jonah and Lucas laughing together, even if the two wanted everyone to think they hated each other, but today they looked particularly relaxed. 

“What is going on…?” Vince asked, opening a huge smile of his own when Luke promptly jumped from the hood of the car in order to tackle him into a hug. He squeezed the guy back, half hugging Luke with one arm as they pulled apart, in order to look at Jonah, “Jon?” 

“Hi,” Jonah gave him a small wave, “so uhm- Wendy showed me your birthday gift to her and uh- I wanted - I was wondering-”

It was so weird to watch Jon fumble with his words. Vince frowned, confused, then looked at Luke for an explanation. His best friend was blushing on Jon’s behalf, with a smile so gigantic Vince could see his molars. 

“Oh my god, Jonah!” He exclaimed after a minute, “he wants to buy Leo a ring.”

It took Vince a second, but then he let go of Lucas, all but yelling “YOU’RE GONNA PROPOSE TO LEO!?” and rushing to pull Jon into a hug. 

The other man stiffened, but he had no chance to fight Vince off, nor did he even want to and he melted into the hug for a minute, muffling a chuckle and mumbling a little sheepish “yeah… And I wanted your jewelry recommendation. I really liked Wendy’s birthday present and I think Leo would have my head if I got him a Cartier.” 

“And he wants our help to pick,” Lucas completed the unspoken truth and Jonah glared at him, turning a shade darker with a blush. 

“Shut up-”

“Yeah! YEah, of course, of course!” Vince interrupted the bickering, all but bouncing on his feet, his voice breaking and going up a note,  “Leo’s going to explode with happiness-”

It took Vin a moment to calm down and then yet another moment as they figured out the logistics of it all. Vince still had his motorcycle, so they decided he should just stick with it and drive ahead of them, Luke and Jon following in the jeep. 

The local jewelry shop where Vince had bought Wendy’s birthday was also owned by Italians. The old owner was a friend of Vin’s mom and he lit up as the three men walked into his store. 

“Back for more so soon, Vicenzo?” he asked in a thick italian accent, “I told you, there’s no coming back from the first diamond you get her.” 

“No,” Vince shook his head, planting his hands on Jonah’s shoulders and shaking him like a rattle toy, “today I’m here just as a helper. My friend wants to buy his man a ring.” 

“Hi, I’m Jonah,” Jonah tried to shrug Vince off, offering his hand to the owner.

“Niccolo Fanucci, it’s a pleasure.”

Luke was already inspecting the rings on display, crouching down to get a better look at them, “Leo wouldn’t want anything too flashy,” he said, tunnel vision fully on, “so what are you thinking? Yellow, silver? Tungsten?” 

Jonah wrinkled his nose, “tungsten?” he scoffed, “I’m not buying my fiance a tungsten ring.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” Vince frowned, completely out of his depth. Buying Wendy her birthday gift had taken him hours and he still wasn’t convinced he had done a good job. Probably had, Jonah wouldn’t be there if he didn’t think the quality and design were good enough. 

“Tungsten is extremely durable, almost impossible to scratch-” Luke shrugged and Jonah glared at him. 

“And cheap,” he said sharply, “I want a real ring for Leo.”

“How real?” Vince raised his eyebrows, noticing Niccolo — the owner — visibly perk up as it became clear Jon was down for purchasing the whole store if needed. 

“The best. I want a diamond. Or a bunch,” Jonah leaned over the display, as Niccolo hurried to get his best stuff out of the safe, as well as his design magazines. 

“You want personalized, son?” the man asked and Jon shook his head. 

“No time, I want to propose before his birthday,” he explained, “and that’s next month.”

“We could design something in time,” the man shrugged, opening the bunch of magazines, “how’s this boy of yours? Flashy? Shy?”

“Shy,” Luke got up from his crouched down position, “Leo would rather die than walk around with a huge sparkly ring, Jon, you know that.”

Jonah pouted, “but I want it to be a wedding ring,” he stressed, “I want everyone to know he’s married from across the court.”

“Lawyer?” Niccolo raised an eyebrow, shutting his magazine and throwing it to the side, opening a much older one, “is he traditional?” 

“More or less…” Jonah shook his head, while Vince interrupted him, nodding. 

“Yes,” he flicked at Jon’s ear, “he’s shy and not flashy at all. He also doesn’t wear jewelry, so it has to be comfy.”

“It has to be yellow,” Jon didn’t argue with Vince, despite grimacing. 

Luke frowned, “he’s blonde and super pasty, white gold would look prettier-”

“I want yellow gold, I want it to be clear it’s a wedding band.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Niccolo shook his head, “it can be white gold or platinum and still look like a wedding band.”

“He’s in a straight dominated field where men wear rings, if he has a silver band people will assume it's just some ring,” Jonah groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this is pretty.”

“Absolutely not,” Vince and Luke chorused, looking at the yellow band Jon was pointing at, with three baguette diamonds in the peak. 

“Alright, so yellow gold,” Niccolo flipped through the pages, “and not flashy, but flashy enough people know.”

“It has to be something he likes,” Jonah sighed, studying the rings, “he’s gonna wear it until he dies, so.”

Luke let out a snort, “or not,” he mumbled, only to immediately recoil and jump back as Jon turned to face him like a snake, “because he might get a new one!” he exclaimed, hands raised as if his friend was gonna hit him, “relax!” 

“Shut up, you don’t know Leo enough. What do you think, Vin?” Jonah turned away from Luke and Vince grinned, noticing the other man pout behind Jon. 

“I think I agree with you about the yellow,” he shrugged, “but the diamonds are a bit much, man. Let’s focus on how thick it is, how about?” 

Jonah didn’t know it could take so long to pick a ring. He had expected it would take more than a couple of minutes, after all he was a perfectionist and not willing to compromise in this matter, but at every little thing he said, Luke and Vince had twenty different arguments. 

Finally, after about two hours of back and forth, they settled on a yellow gold ring, with a brushed finish instead of smooth polish and with a baguette small diamond sitting in the middle of it. 

“Now you need to pick the thickness,” Niccolo said, “wait a minute while I get my kit. Sit around, Vincenzo knows where the coffee is. Have a torrone.”

Jonah snorted quietly to himself, he had never been to a jewelry shop that offered a torrone or any type of sticky, sweet food. But then again he had never been in a locally owned shop. 

He walked outside, hearing as Vince and Luke bickered over the gem cut — Vince still thought the pear one was prettier, Luke was team no gem and partial to some design fussiness on the band — and then pressed his forehead to the brick wall outside the store and picked out his phone. 

There wasn’t a text from Leo, they had last spoken that morning, when Jonah had lied through his teeth that he had a surgery to watch that evening and so they couldn’t have lunch together. 

Jonah rolled his shoulders, letting out a breath. He felt stiff all over from stress, the huge weight of picking something that could make or break his proposal making him sweat. He felt nauseous too, but in all truth he had been feeling sick to his stomach with nerves ever since Leo got his promotion and Jon made up his mind about proposing. 

That had always been his plan, after all. Wait until his boyfriend got the promotion that would put them on equal pay, so Leo wouldn’t have a breakdown over wedding prices or feeling like he was being given anything when Jackie inevitably tried to hijack the bill…

“You okay?” Luke planted a hand on his elbow. 

Lucas was almost levitating with how happy he was. It was like he was the one getting married, the dude simply didn’t seem able to stop smiling, even now looking a little concerned and holding a paper cup of coffee. 

“Yeah,” Jonah wiped the sweat off and straightened up, “Niccolo is back?”

“Yep, we’re just waiting for you,” Luke chugged the rest of the coffee that his hyper ass definitely didn’t need and squeezed Jon’s bicep in a cuteness aggression fit, shoving him further inside the store. 

The old owner was holding a large hoop, with a bunch of silver rings on it. Upon Jonah arriving, he opened the hoop, so he could remove the rings one by one, “you said he’s traditional and shy, but not so traditional —” the man said, barely looking up, with that certainty of someone who’s been doing their job their entire life, “and you’ll have a diamond on the band, so you need some thickness, especially if you don’t want the bling to stand out that much…” 

He carefully pushed two bands towards Jon, “try these on and tell me what you think, son.”

Jonah went to grab it, only for his hand to completely miss it. He blinked a couple times, feeling Vince grab him by the elbow.

“Jon, hey- You wanna sit down?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jon shook his head, swallowing down the heightened nausea and grabbing the ring on the left. It was too large on his hand, he had thinner pianist fingers, but the important part was the width, “looks a bit bulky… What size is the rock again?”

Niccolo grabbed a tiny piece of sticker paper and measured, cutting it out and then planting the paper in the middle of the band, “this size.”

“Yeah, no…” Jon shook his head, “not this one.”

“That’s a 5.5mm, try the 4.5mm one,” Niccolo took the ring back, once again doing the paper trick, “that’s a more old fashioned groom width.”

“I think it looks better,” Luke said, as if someone asked him, poking his head in. Jonah nodded, suddenly feeling too woozy. He darted out a hand to grab on something… Anything… Then landed on Vince’s forearm and squeezed. 

“That’s the one,” Jon determined, dead set on getting the bloody ring before vertigo took him out, “uhm- Luke, can you…?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can,” Lucas stepped in front of him, smiling to the confused old man, “I’m buying.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jon overheard Niccolo say, but there was a ringing in his ears starting to drown everything out. He squeezed Vince’s arm, “help me outside…”

Vince helped him the couple of steps it took for them to get to the door, then he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Jon almost off his feet, dragging him to a bus stop bench. 

Jonah crumpled, spreading his legs and grabbing on the plastic of the bench with all his force, breathing through his mouth, “Fuck,” he sighed, cold sweat spreading down his back, “of all days…”

“I’m sorry, man,” Vince squeezed his nape, “help me here, what do I do?”

“No-nothing…” Jonah leaned forward even more, as his stomach rolled, the world turning into a complete blur. He let out a whimper, feeling like he was falling forward, except the ground never met his face, he just kept falling, falling-

“Should he be lying down!?” Vince’s voice broke through the fog, “I don’t know what to do, you’re the one who’s good with sick people!” 

“Not sick like this!” Luke’s voice answered and Jonah groaned, blindly trying to grab at Luke and shut him up.

“Ssssstop-” Jonah slurred, realizing his mouth felt super sticky and his pants humid. Oh no. Had he wet himself? 

Mortification caused Jon to open his eyes, only to realize the wet spot was just the fact he had puked the McBacon he had had with Luke on their way to Doveport all over the ground and his pants. 

The sight of the chunky brown mess caused his stomach to flip again and Jonah heaved once more, the movement ruining the sliver of balance he had regained and sending the world spinning on its axis once more. 

“ — My place?” Vince, his voice much closer now, as if he was talking in his ear. Jon let his head roll towards the sound and his cheek met something soft- Vince’s thigh? Stomach? 

“I guess!?” Lucas, sounding more than a little nervous, “should we call Leo? Wendy? Hell, your mom?!”

Jon groaned. He wanted none of these people, except maybe Wendy. He desperately wanted Leo’s comfort and the fact his boyfriend wouldn’t be freaking out like the two idiots, but that would mean telling Leo what he was doing in fucking Doveport and-

“Noo,” he slurred, his voice muffled by something, probably Vince’s shirt, “no k- no calling-” his stomach was done with his words and Jonah coughed again, as liquid rushed up his throat and world tilted completely to the left, then right-

“I’m calling Leo,” Lucas, all decisive, “there’s no way this is normal, right? I’m calling him.” 

“The fuck will Leo do if this isn’t?” Vince, sounding far away now. Jonah tried to cling to his voice and make himself responsive, but he just… Couldn’t. When he tried to open his eyes again, he realized he was in a completely different place. 

A pink room?

The black spots clumped in front of his eyes and Jonah let out a whimper, scared and humiliated, and then darkness swallowed him up.

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

“Where is he?” Leo’s heart was hammering in his ears. He didn’t suppose anything was scarier than hearing the person you loved the most was completely down for the count, hours away. 

Luke’s call had come at the very end of his day, just as he was packing up to go home. Leo had never made it home, he picked it up on the elevator and felt his heart plummet down to his stomach. 

During the four hours of drive he had plenty of time to think, but had actually done none of that. His head was spinning, nothing made sense, but he didn’t actually give a shit about puzzling things together until he got a look on Jon, because from the way Luke described it, all panicked, it sounded like his worst case yet. 

In fucking Doveport.

He hadn’t been to Vince’s new place yet and for a second Leo felt completely out of place, standing outside of the small one bedroom apartment. Then Luke stepped out of the bedroom, the front of his shirt with a huge wet spot on it and looking visibly worried and Leo’s confusion melted straight into worry.

“He’s here, but he’s really out of it,” Luke leaned on the doorway as Leo walked past him, storming into Vince’s bedroom. 

Jonah was a sight to behold. His six foot tall boyfriend was curled up on his side, almost in a fetal position and looking terribly tiny.

“God, Jon…” Leo walked closer, sitting on the bed and touching the other man’s naked shoulder. Luke and Vince had stripped him down to just his boxers, but he had no fever, in fact he felt cold and clammy to the touch, “why did you dumbasses remove his clothes?”

“Uhm- He kinda, hurled all over ‘em?” Vince scratched at his cheeks, seeming embarrassed, “we didn’t know what to do, once we got them off every time we tried to move him to get him dressed he just seemed to get worse…”

“Great, that’s just fucking great,” Leo scoffed, scooting closer and stroking Jon’s cheek, pushing his tight curls back, “did you get any water in him? When did-”

“It was around 4 PM,” Luke answered, while Vince shook his head to the previous question. 

Leo glanced at his watch. 9:26 PM. Amazing.

“Get me some water, the meds that are in my car, in the glovebox, and a straw. And an empty bowl. And a big sweater, he’s fucking freezing,” he glared at the two, before returning his gaze back to Jon, stroking his head again, “Jonah…” he whispered, leaning in, “angel, I need you to wake up.”

His boyfriend was completely out. His breath smelled sweet, causing Leo’s nose to wrinkle, and he was shivering violently. Leo smoothed a hand down his naked back, moving even closer and feeling Jonah’s steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, Jon,” he pressed his hand in, instead of shaking him, “baby, wake up.”

It took another minute of gentle pushing and calling until Jon’s eyes slipped open. He was out of it and his eyes rolled back, taking another thirty seconds to fully focus on Leo.

“Oh no,” he groaned, curling up more, “not you.”

“Yeah, me,” Leo rolled his eyes, pushing the flash of hurt he felt at Jonah’s words away and grabbing the items Luke had planted on Vince’s bedside table, “I need you to drink some water, okay?”

“Won’t stay down…” Jonah whispered, closing his eyes again, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows as if he was in pain, “Leo, I don’t feel well…”

“I know, angel, I know,” Leo’s heart squeezed in sympathy and he leaned in, planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s brow, “trust me here, okay?” he squeezed Jon’s arm, before turning slightly around in order to dissolve the little pink pill that was supposed to help with the vertigo episodes in the glass of water. 

Technically speaking, Leo was aware he shouldn’t do this. Wendy had scolded him once about it… But so far it worked like a charm every time and Leo was not about to listen to Wendy when the matter was Jon. 

“Okay, just a tiny sip,” he held the straw between his fingers, pushing it in Jonah’s mouth and grabbing the man’s pillow in order to tilt his body up just enough he could swallow without choking, “just one, baby.”

It took some prodding, but eventually Jonah took what Leo counted as a fourth of the water. He glanced at his watch again. 09:41 PM. 

“Try to keep this down and we’ll try the rest in a bit,” Leo whispered, draping Vince’s older sweater around Jonah’s naked shoulders and continuing to pet his hair. 

Luke entered the room, every bit like a dog with his tail between his legs, “is he okay…?”

“He will be,” Leo rolled his tense shoulders, then turned his head until his jaw clicked, holding all the tension on his mouth, “what the fuck is he doing in Doveport?”

Luke and Vince exchanged a look, then they both shrugged.

Leo squinted at them, “well?”

“I called him,” Vince said, his whole face turning red, “I called them both, I’m sorry, I just- I was having a bit of a breakdown over Wendy and Jonah just came over to say I’m stupid and-”

“And he brought Luke?” Leo didn’t buy this for a second, but most importantly, the fact Vince was lying to his face only made him feel more furious, “okay.”

“He did! Because he knows I’m the only one who can get through Vince!” Luke sounded so smug about the lie, Leo stared at him, unimpressed. He let his eyes drift away from the dark haired men, looking around the room. 

Jonah’s clothes were folded on top of Vince’s little office table, alongside other papers and all sorts of school items, like stickers and scissors. One of Vin’s bedroom walls was painted dusty pink. 

“You called Jonah first?” Leo asked, feeling his blood turn to ice in his veins, as Vince nodded enthusiastically. 

“I mean, it was about Wendy,” he said, as if that explained everything. Leo nodded, looking over his shoulder. Outside the window he could see Luke’s green jeep parked all crooked in front of the place.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed through his teeth, turning mechanically and grabbing the glass of water, “Jon, let’s try another sip, baby.”

It took nearly one hour to have Jon fully draining the glass and by then Leo was in full automatic pilot. If he thought too much about the lies, then his thoughts turned a dark, spiraling path that he didn’t enjoy and he didn’t want to indulge. 

Because lies or no lies, he knew Jonah would never do any of the things his brain kept sprouting up. Break up with him. Cheat. 

“I’m fine,” Leo overheard Luke say across the house, as Vince ordered all of them food from the living couch, “no, Bell, I’m really fine, I promise. I’m with Vin, Leo and Jon.”

Leo gulped down the knot in his throat and glanced down, to Jonah napping near his thigh, still all curled up. At least now he had quit shivering violently and none of the medicine had made it back up, so it was well into his bloodstream. 

They were out of the woods, as soon as Jon woke up he’d feed him another round of meds and then- 

“Leo?” Jonah whispered, curling up even more and pressing his forehead to the blonde’s knee, “Leo?”

“Hey,” Leo leaned in, folding in half and forcing his voice past the lump in his throat, “I’m here.”

“Uhm,” Jon let out a little pleased noise, then opened his eyes, “I wanna go home.”

“In a little bit,” Leo kissed his cheek, squeezing his arm, “let’s try sitting up first, okay? It’s a long trip, you really don’t wanna be in the car in case you’re not feeling your best-”

“Leo,” Jonah frowned at him, pushing himself up and letting out a moan, getting a gray cast as he paled, “what’s wrong?”

“My boyfriend is sick?” Leo rolled his eyes, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice, “how’s sitting up?”

“It’s fine,” Jonah raised a shaky hand to his face, rubbing the sleep off his eyes, “I wanna go home.”

“We’re leaving in a bit,” Leo said more firmly, pushing back and collecting his dignity. He felt terrible, equal parts worried and furious and intrigued and terrified – “drink some water, will you?”

Jonah obeyed, frowning, but he was right. He really was as fine as he was going to get so soon, even if weak and shaky, clearly nauseous still. 

Leo managed to keep him down for another one hour and a half, but by the time midnight rolled on — Vince flipping through the TV channels clearly trying to be a decent host, while Lucas had passed out on the floor next to the couch, his head tipped back as he snored —, Jonah glared at him and said in a firm voice, “I wanna sleep in my bed. Can we please go home?”

Leo nodded, rubbing his eyes and trying to feel a little less sleepy himself. He wasn’t so sure he could drive, but he was feeling too proud to admit to that. 

 “Are you sure?” Vince yawned, stumbling up as he saw Leo helping Jonah put on his clothes – they had already been washed and dried long before, “you can stay the night, guys, take my bed and I’ll take the couch and-”

“No, we’re leaving,” Jonah shook his head, holding tightly on the wall to stay upright, “thank you, for everything, but no.”

Vin didn’t look one bit pleased, “this is a horrible idea, it's super late... Leo tell him it’s a horrible idea-”

“We’re going,” Leo couldn’t feel a shred of sympathy for Vince. He was trying, but failing miserably. Now that Jonah was up and stubborn as ever, concern was quickly getting replaced with simple, unmitigated fury. 

“Please call me when you get there,” Vince hung at the door, “please? I’m gonna be up.”

“We’ll call,” Jonah agreed, stumbling to Leo’s car and bracing against it, breathing through his mouth. For a split second Leo considered staying, ignoring Jon’s stubbornness and his own pride and the anger and fear bubbling at the pit of his stomach and just stay and think all of this through in the morning- 

“Goodnight guys,” Vince said in a small voice and Jonah waved, opening a little secret smile to the guy and Leo’s second thoughts burst like a bubble. 

They needed to head home and only then he’d be able to think things through clearly.

Leo’s fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel as they hit the road, Jon curling up against the window and watching the cars zoom past them. Headlights turning into lines of yellow and white and red.

“Why were you there?” Leo asked, one hour into the trip, when he could no longer hold it in. He turned up the heater, just a bit, noticing Jon was trembling again.

His boyfriend shrugged, but didn’t say anything, and Leo squeezed the steering wheel with a bit more force. 

“Jonah,” he said, his voice dropping, “I need you to talk with me, because I’m freaking out-”

“I can’t tell you,” Jonah’s voice was shot, “I can’t, okay? You just have to trust me-” 

“You already lied to me today, so cut the crap and tell me what were you doing in Doveport and not in surgery like you said-”

“Vince told you!” Jon exclaimed and Leo looked away from the road, his eyes wide in complete shock and anger. 

“You mean the lie he told me!? Do you think I’m stupid?!” Leo forced himself to look ahead, “Vince cannot lie to save his life and you want me-”

“It wasn’t a-”

“He called you first, but it was Luke’s jeep outside, not your car. In his story, you picked up Luke,” Leo hissed, starting to see red, “you lied to my face this morning, Jonah, so this was not some random, panicked call you got in the middle of your day. This was premeditated and-”

“Can’t you just please trust me?” Jonah glared at him, “Leo, what reason do you have not to trust me-”

“The fact that you’re LYING!?” Leo exclaimed, pulling the car to the dust shoulder and causing Jon to let out a whine at the sudden motion. He couldn’t drive like this, barely paying the road any attention. 

Jon was breathing through the dizziness when Leo turned to him, panting as he tried to keep his emotions at bay, “Jon, just be honest with me-”

“Please, please just drop it. It’s nothing bad-”

“Are you cheating on me?” Leo said without thinking and felt pathetic as he heard the words said out loud. He knew this wasn’t it, he knew it deep in his bones that whatever Jonah did, it would never be that. 

It didn’t stop the intrusive thought from continuously sprouting up.

Jonah’s head snapped and he glared at Leo, all vulnerability slipping away for a second and being replaced with anger, “oh my god, listen to yourself, Leo! You really think, I- God, you’re being fucking- You’re ruining everything,” he pushed the passenger door open and pushed himself out, causing Leo to jump out of the car as well. 

“I don’t know what to think! You’ve been acting weird for days and now you’re lying to me and your little buddies are all helping in the lie and I’m here, fucking nursing you-” 

“I DIDN’T FUCKING ASK YOU TO COME!” Jon yelled, hitting the car with a hand and Leo jumped at the explosion, his eyes wide and his heart speeding up, only to suddenly stop as Jonah’s shoulders shook and he folded in, grabbing on the top of the car with both hands and letting his head hang. 

Leo took a second, trying to make any sense of the scene in front of him, but then his body was moving before his mind caught up. Grabbing Jon by the shoulder, feeling his whole frame shake with sobs. 

“Jon- Shit, shit, shit, Jonah I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Leo mumbled frantically, his thoughts clearing up due to the searing certainty he had just messed up severely, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby, shit-” he cupped Jonah’s face and tried to wipe away the tears, only for the other man to shove his hands away. 

“Stop- Stop fucking t-touching me-” Jonah groaned, stumbling and falling sit on the passenger side, his legs still out of the car, covering his face with his hands as he continued to cry, “I can’t be-believe you think I- I would never- I-”

“No, I know, I know,” Leo sunk to his knees, mind reeling as he ignored Jon’s plea to stop touching him and grabbed his boyfriend’s wrist, “Jon, I’m so sorry, I’m an ass, I know you wouldn’t-”

Jonah’s whole frame shook with a sob and he angrily shoved Leo back, but in his movement the blonde got a decent look at his face and his heart broke in a billion pieces. Jonah looked genuinely hurt, tears streaming down his face and clinging to his chin, green eyes all red due to the crying-

“I’m so sorry,” Leo leaned in, pressing his forehead to Jonah’s and cupping his face, “baby, please stop crying-”

“I- I was-was,” Jonah pulled back, angrily wiping the tears and Leo let out a whine at the loss of contact. 

“I don’t wanna know,” he cut him off, “you’ll tell me later, a- another day,” Leo forced himself to say, “it’s fine, I don’t wanna-”

“I was buying your fucking proposal ring,” Jonah spat, glaring at him, his voice raspy, “and now you ruined it.”

Leo’s ears rang and he fell back on his ass in the humid grass, feeling like suddenly he was the one who had vertigo. He opened and closed his mouth, then felt tears springing up, “my proposal ring?” the question didn’t even sound like his voice.

Jonah scoffed, nodding, “yeah. You jackass, your proposal ring. Happy now? I was gonna propose at your birthday and they were just helping me and now you fucking ruined it and-”

“Yes,” Leo answered, without thinking and causing Jon’s mouth to snap shut, then open again, then shut in a tight line.

“No,” he glared at the blonde, “I’m not-”

“I’ll ask then,” Leo rolled his eyes, moving forward so he was resting on just one knee in front of the car door, “you can’t un-propose, you bought me a ring, I- I’ll ask. Are you gonna say no?”

Jonah frowned, clearly stuck between the rock and the sword, because he really didn’t want to propose on the side of the road, with his head throbbing from crying and puking, still wanting to strangle Leo and feeling wounded as fuck- With the ring on the pocket of his jacket… But there was simply no world or reality where he said no to Leo asking him to marry him. 

“You can’t steal my proposal,” Jonah scoffed, grabbing the box in his pocket and grossly sniffling, wiping the tears with the back of his hand, “you’re such a dick,” he opened the box. 

“You’re a romantic,” Leo grinned, then chuckled, “I can’t see the ring, it’s too dark.”

“SEE!” Jonah exclaimed, angry, “it’s a horrible proposal and you’re the one who ruined-” he never quite finished the complaint, as Leo leaped and kissed him, pushing Jon flat on his back inside the car. 

“I don’t need to see the ring,” Leo groaned, kissing him again and again, "the answer is always yes, Jon. Ring, no ring, it's always yes.”

[chuuyascumsock]

Hot Cocket || Minors DNI

I just realized I never posted my Dazai fucking a hot pocket fic on here. If the Ao3 babes had to suffer, y’all do too LMAO.

Summary: Ah, yes, welcome to the bullshit that I call “art”. Today’s episode: Dazai fucks a Hot Pocket. Don’t ask me what gave me this idea, my friend came up with it so thank him for this utter monstrosity. I suppose I’ll take the smallest bit of credit for wanting to write a crackfic of Dazai sticking his dick in something he shouldn’t— because it’s called having a sense of humor.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Hot Pocket, I talk about how dazai would definitely be a ham and cheese hot pocket kind of a guy, I make kind of weird metaphorical jokes, If Asagiri gets to blow children up then I can throw them into traffic, descriptions of fucking a hot pocket, descriptions of burning the dick (because he’s fucking a HOT pocket), um… creampie in a hot pocket..?, oh— and then Fyodor eats the hot cum pocket lol.

Dazai had been feeling particularly lonely on a Saturday night.

Without any women around to woo with his unhinged rizz, Dazai sought after a cheap comfort food he often turned to in his crippling depressive times. The freezer flings open with a creak to reveal the godly image of a box of hot pockets. As expected— nothing else resided in the freezer other than said hot pockets because Dazai was as broke as a medical college student in debt.

Dazai reaches a bandaged hand inside before grasping the box and pulling it close to his chest. He could already feel saliva pooling in his mouth as he re-lived his previous encounters and tastes of his hot pockets. But this one was different. This one was pepperoni. Normally, Dazai was a ham and cheese kind of guy, but they had been barren of any ham and cheese hot pockets. It made him sad to think about, but it also brought rejoice as he could finally try another flavor of hot pocket.

Dazai is quick to tear the box’s top off and reach a hand inside to grab the frozen snack pocket out. Even in a plastic wrapping, he could still smell the permeating waft of garlic and herbs. He fumbled around the kitchen as he ripped the plastic off and put the snack into the small cardboard pocket, basically throwing the hot pocket into the microwave like you would throw a small child into oncoming traffic.

Not really giving a fuck, Dazai punches the microwave which some how starts a two minute timer and the hot pocket starts spinning in small, grueling long circles. His eyes stare into the microwave’s glass window, taking in the way the hot pocket slowly warms up.

Deep down, Dazai wished to be a hot pocket. Because he, too, wished to be cooked in a microwave. What a way to go out.

It feels like eternity until the microwave beeps loudly to signify that the slutty— I mean tasty treat is done cooking. His eyes light up and Dazai takes the hot pocket out of the microwave. “It’s… It’s beautiful…” He whispers tearfully as the hot pocket steams from the packet. Realizing how hot it was the next few seconds after, he tosses it between his hands and onto the counter gently, “Ow— hot, hot— ahhhh.”

Staring at the hot pocket, Dazai begins to drool excessively— oh, and he was hard. Dude got a raging boner from looking at this hot pocket too long. Just like me fr.

“Aw man, now I’m super horny…” He whines as he looks down at his tightened slacks. He thinks for a moment before he looks back to the hot pocket and gets an idea.

The hot pocket steamed in need of his ACHING COCK (I can see you cringing behind that screen, Guac <3). Or at least that’s how Dazai took it because of how horny he was. “You want me, don’t you?” He grins at the hot pocket with desire— only getting a soft puff of steam in return and a whiff of garlic that made him twice as hard.

Eager to get off now, Dazai unzips his slacks and pushes them down enough to have access to the hot pocket. His accurate sized dick of three inches— I mean— his monster cock slapped against his stomach as he wasn’t wearing underwear because it’s canon that he goes commando. Dazai then took the hot pocket and brought it to his lips before taking a slow bite. And in typical Dazai fashion— he moaned loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear and got several noise complaints which all went to Kunikida’s answering machine.

“My god, you’re such a slutty tease,” Dazai groans, swallowing the cold ass bite that’s always at the end of the hot pocket. Pushing at the sides with his fingers, the hot pocket opens to reveal its gooey melted cheese and sloppy pizza sauce insides with the occasional chunks of pepperoni. Dazai stroked his cock until he had spread enough precum along his length, though it’s questionable as to why he would as he’s fucking a hot pocket pussy and not actual pussy because he gets none.

Wasting no more time, Dazai slid his dick into the scalding hot pocket and screamed from the pain of literal lava burning the skin of his dick. But he kept trekking through the feeling, because he’ll be damned having his dick blistered by some hot pizza sauce and melting mozzarella chunks ruin him from being horny enough to fuck a microwaveable snack. “Yeah, you like that you dirty, saucy whore?” He grunted, uncaring of the melted cheese and pizza sauce sticking to his now blistering cock.

As this poor hot pocket was being violated like no one’s business, Kunikida was sobbing himself to sleep after getting multiple detailed complaints about how loud Dazai was being while he was aggressively fucking a hot pocket like I did to your mom last night.

“I’m gonna turn you into a toaster strudel, baby,” Dazai moaned loudly, thrusting harder into the hot pocket before filling it to the brim with his cum. “That’s it, take my seed you cheesy whore…” He panted, pulling his dick out of the cum stuffed hot pocket. It took a few moments until he realized the damage that the hot pocket had done to his dick as he looked down to see the various red burn spots and blistering skin covered in pizza sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. “Now I’m going to need bandages for my dick…” He sighed, tossing the hot pocket aside like they didn’t have a special bond. “Well, I’m not hungry anymore, my dick hurts… Time to stick it in some ice cream~” Dazai trailed off to get Kunikida’s credit card to go buy and defile yet another item of food.

As the hot pocket sat on the ground oozing with cum, a rat squeaked and scampered by before sniffing the hot pocket. Deemed worthy enough to take it back to its master, the rat dragged the hot pocket into a mouse hole and scrambled through the walls of the apartments until it made its way outside and into a manhole. Making its way through the sewers, the rat finally arrives at its master.

“What is this?” A Russian accent echoes through the sewers. Slender hands pick up the rat and the hot pocket, Fyodor looking at both with a questionable gaze. The rat squeaks to communicate with the Russian joker and squirms out of his grasp to scatter off to its family.

“A toaster strudel, you say? I’ve never seen such a thing, incredible…” Fyodor doesn’t even bother to take a good look at the hot pocket to see the fluids dripping out of it before he takes a large bite and chews. His face scrunches up— but he keeps eating because man is anemic and refuses to eat anymore of his belly button lint to survive.

“What a strange tasting toaster strudel…”

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Writing prompt (It’s silly)

- They sit down and TALK (while cuddling maybe). Stede explains what happened that night, and Ed explains what happened that day (was it at daytime? I don’t remember. But it’s izzy’s confrontation. That turned depressed ed into Kraken (and also depressed) ed )

““You don’t have to tell me or anything- I just- I’d just like to know what happened. The night you…”

Abandoned me was left unsaid”

They thank each other for being sincere at the end, ed feeling particularly guilty for leaving the crew at an island and throwing Lucius overboard.

I just want them to sort it out, to know the full story. Stede to tell ed he ended up faking his own dead in the most dramatic way possible to be back with him. And Ed to tell stede how it was when he first went back to the revenge, just curled up on bed and crying

I love heavy dialogue fanfics, sue me

LOVED this one! It wound up being one of my personal favorite fics I wrote for my birthday! <3

“Was it the kiss?”

Stede paused, his fingers stilling in Ed’s hair. He might’ve been close to drifting off, before Ed had to open his mouth. “Hm?”

Ed had to take a moment, push down the urge to leave this conversation for an easier time. They were trying to get past that. Talk it through as a crew of two, Stede was saying. And Ed had been thinking about this all fucking day, ever since Stede woke him up with a smiling kiss.

“I, uh,” he said, humming softly when Stede’s fingers started right back up in his hair. They’d taken to going to bed a full hour early, lately, just so they could cuddle and chat, and Ed never felt safer than he did just like this, his head pillowed on Stede’s chest. They could talk. He would be okay. “I was just wondering. Y’know, that day. Was it the kiss that made you panic?”

“Ah,” Stede said softly. “No. No, Ed, I promise it wasn’t the kiss. I loved the kiss.”

“Okay,” Ed mumbled.

Stede offered no further elaboration, instead moving his hand down to scritch lightly through Ed’s beard in a very obvious ploy to distract him. That could be the hard part about talking it through as a crew of two. Stede was a slippery motherfucker.

Tough luck. Ed could multitask.

He nuzzled into Stede’s hand, eyes closing at the feeling of Stede’s fingers in his beard. “You don’t have to tell me or anything. I just - I’d just like to know what happened. The night you…”

He trailed off. Hadn’t quite thought through where that sentence was going to go, distracted by Stede’s lovely fingers lovingly brushing along his jaw, and the last part, the abandoned me, hung heavy in the air.

“Because, like,” Ed went on, desperate to fill the silence, “if it was something I did, then I’m kinda scared I might repeat it -”

That was it. Fuckin’ bulls-eye. Getting Stede to open up could be like pulling teeth, but if he realized that his silence was making Ed suffer…

“No,” Stede gasped, reaching his other hand away to land on Ed’s side. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and like this, Stede’s hand always rested protectively over the cluster of scars on his tummy. “No, Ed, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything.”

Ed hummed softly, invitingly.

“I don’t want to make excuses,” Stede whispered, his eyes wide in the dark of their bedroom.

“No excuses, but I just want an explanation,” Ed said.

“Well…” Stede let his head flop back against the pillows. “Honestly, Ed, if I’d been woken up, I probably would’ve been there, but -”

“Wait, back up,” Ed said, resting his hand over Stede’s on his tummy. “If you’d been woken up? What do you mean if? I had a guy -”

Stede let his eyes close, like he didn’t want to watch Ed’s face. “That guy never woke me up, Ed,” he admitted, his voice a near-whisper. “It was Badminton -”

“The admiral?” Ed frowned. “What would he - shit, Stede, did he hurt you?”

Stede grimaced.

Ed sat bolt upright in bed, looking down at Stede in shock. “Did he -”

“It’s alright, sweet pea.” Stede sat up, too, taking Ed’s hand, putting it on his chest so he could feel his heartbeat. “Think he was a little pissed. About the whole thing with me killing his brother. He was so worked up, marched me out there at gunpoint -”

“What the shit,” Ed whispered.

“It’s okay,” Stede hurried to say, “because he tripped. Shot himself right in the eye. He was really drunk.”

“Stede, holy fucking shit,” Ed whispered, bringing his hands up to cup Stede’s face, just feel for himself that he was alright. “That’s fucking - shit! You could’ve died!”

Stede frowned, like he was digesting that.

“Oh my God, Ed,” he near-shouted, then. “I could’ve died!”

“Are you just now realizing that?”

“It’s the first time it’s really - fucking sunk in, thanks,” Stede snipped, shaking his head at the cieling. “Holy shit, I almost missed out on…all of this!”

Ed rubbed Stede’s back, trying to help ground him. Thankfully, Stede seemed a bit pissed more than truly rattled, and just mumbled about how Badminton really should’ve been kicked off the base acting like that before he was able to get to him, and…

Was Ed happy that Stede had been held at gunpoint? No. Fuck no. He wished he could bring Badminton back from the dead so he could shoot him personally. But…it was nice to know the context. He didn’t think he’d ever actually been angry with Stede, but it was still easier to swallow the whole thing knowing that Stede had been through something that would’ve made anyone panic.

It meant that it hadn’t been Ed’s fault.

Which led him directly to - 

“Hey, Stede,” Ed realized, shaking Stede’s shoulder. “Do you think what happened with me was your fault?”

Stede paused in the middle of his tirade about poor guard management at the barracks (“really, there was no reason he should’ve been able to march out a registered academy member at gunpoint without us being stopped by some authority”), and he blinked at Ed a bit blankly. “Uh,” he said, “yes?”

“Alright, that’s what I was afraid of.” Ed squirmed a bit. “Can you hold me for this?”

They repositioned, moving Ed between Stede’s legs so he could lay with Stede’s arms around his back and his head resting on Stede’s wonderful soft tits. The world was better from this vantage point.

“You really don’t have to get into any of it,” Stede told him, resting a hand on Ed’s cheek.

Ed nuzzled into his palm. “I want to,” he said, a bit surprised by how much he meant it. “You don’t deserve to think it was your fault. Just like…”

“Just like how you didn’t deserve to think me not showing up was your fault,” Stede finished with a smile, encouraging.

Ed took a deep breath.

“So,” he began, haltingly, “you know what happened when I got back to the ship?”

Stede frowned. “You pushed Lucius?”

Ed let out a little frustrated huff of a breath. “No, man. I mean, I was upset, but I was okay. I cried a lot, made a blanket fort. Slept in your robes because they smelled like you. I wrote some lyrics. I sang for the crew. I was feeling so much better. I thought they were gonna support me, in not wanting to be pirates anymore.”

Stede’s frown was deepening, a confused line popping out between his eyebrows.

“It’s not an excuse,” Ed hurried to say. “But Izzy, y’know, I said I wanted everyone to call me Edward, and then Izzy came in and told me he should’ve let the English kill me, and he said death was better than how I was acting, and he yelled at me until I tried to choke him - just to get him to stop, I swear - and then he said that was me, the violence was me, and he told me I better watch my fuckin’ step.”

He was rambling, a bit, because Stede had gotten very still and very quiet.

“Stede?” Ed prompted, nudging him a little.

“You’re telling me,” Stede said, his voice quivering with an anger Ed was a bit thrilled to realize wasn’t directed at him, “that he did that and I mourned his death? I let everyone blame you for what happened with his leg? Fuck, Ed, I would've shot him in both legs my fucking self, if I'd known! I just let him walk around my ship and -”

“Hey, hey, babe!” Ed rested his chin on Stede’s chest. “It’s okay, he got better -”

“Holy shit.” Stede dragged a hand over his eyes. “You had to interact with him - he came into our bedroom and opened the curtains on us in bed, after he did that to you.”

Ed frowned. “That’s - it’s okay, he was just being Izzy.”

“It’s not okay!” Stede shook his head emphatically. “You must’ve felt so unsafe -”

“I didn’t,” Ed promised. “I didn’t, because you were there.”

Stede let his breath out, long and slow.

“It doesn’t excuse what I did,” Ed mumbled, deciding to play with Stede’s chest hair instead of meet his eyes any longer. “And I feel awful for the crew. I shouldn’t have pushed Lucius. It wasn’t right, to take it out on them.”

Stede, apparently, had not moved on. “If I were you, I would've eaten his toes myself, just to really drive home the point.”

Ed snorted. “Babe.”

“I’m serious, Ed.” Stede held Ed’s face, making him meet his eyes. “Be sorry for the crew all you want. They’re okay. But you did not deserve that - do you think Buttons can bring people back from the dead? I’d like to have a word with someone.”

“Stede.” Ed let his body relax, curling around Stede’s. “Y’know, I wasn’t planning on giving you visions of bloodlust.”

Stede huffed. “You deserve the bloodlust.”

That was an idea, that Ed was worthy of the protection. Ed tabled it for later.

“Anyway,” he said, forging bravely ahead, “the point was - it wasn’t your fault.”

Stede blinked. Looked at him. Blinked again. 

“Oh,” he said, then. “I mean, it didn’t help -”

“Did not help, no.”

“But it wasn’t…” Stede nodded. “It wasn’t all me.”

“Wasn’t primarily you. Wouldn’t have happened at all if it had been just you.”

“Huh,” Stede said. “That’s…good to know.”

It was. It was good to know that it hadn’t been Ed’s fault, for Stede to know that it hadn’t been his.

“Life’s a dick,” Ed shrugged, figuring that was really the best way to sum it all up. “Hey, uh, if you don’t mind me asking - how did you leave Barbados? If you went back to your wife?”

“Oh!” Stede cuddled Ed close, his face breaking out into a smile. “Ed, you would’ve loved it! It was amazing - so, it all started when my ex-wife tried to stab me in the earhole with a skewer…”

Ed laughed and gasped through Stede’s story, and something in him felt quiet, for the first time in a long time. He still thought he had more amends to make. He still felt awful for the crew. But the whole world felt lighter.

Ed snuggled close to his boyfriend, and the world felt easy.

[myrxellabaratheon]

Is there a fic where Rosie is Blitzø’s therapist or somehow has Blitzø and Stolas sat down and has the two of them fucking TALK?!

Like please tell me there’s one because I NEED IT YESTERDAY!

This idea is getting in my mind just now: we know Vassago is probably an Overlord — even if I don’t particularly like the idea of hell born, especially regals, being Overlords but still — and Stolas’s friend so what if he finds him super depressed and is like: I just know who you can talk to

So he brings Stolas to Rosie and Blitzø is there because she’s his therapist. So they just stare at each other in the waiting room and one glance to Vassago is enough for Rosie to understand

[euphoriaslux]

hello!

hi everyone, so sorry i have been mia this month your girl had a wee bit of a depressive episode but you know what we're BACK! I'm going to get back to writing daily so i can feed you guys and stop focusing so much on perfection because ultimately i am writing smut about fictional characters who do not know who i am, why do i care so much!!

anywho, here's a little snippet of my part two for "two's a party" that will hopefully come out very soon :) this is mainly angst but there are three separate smut scenes in the whole fic because I'm sick in the mind. my vincent fic will also hopefully come out soon, i have had such trouble writing him for some reason so i think i need to rewatch aoaf and get an idea of his characterization again... ANYWAY enjoy this snippet and let me know if u guys have any requests :p

The sun has set, and you find yourself standing outside of the tennis courts. You passed by gaggles of students on their way to parties and bars, wearing tight clothes and big smiles with the scent of cheap liquor stuck them like a cloud. Hearing the sound of tennis balls clanging against the metal gate, you open the door to the courts ever so slightly, peering in to see Art grabbing neon green balls from a bucket before slamming them with his racket, making you cringe at the harsh smack it makes when it comes in contact with the wall. 

There’s no one else in the courts, likely because it’s nearly sunset on a Friday.  You try and close the door quietly behind you but it makes a loud sound as it goes back to its original position, and you shake your head slightly as Art turns around, meeting your eyes. He’s wearing a Stanford Tennis sweatshirt, with his blond locks peeking out from the black cap that’s backwards on his head. He stands, staring at you for a few moments before he puts his racket on the floor, walking towards you. Your heart starts thumping in your chest, so fast that you’re scared he’ll be able to hear it through your ribcage. 

“Hi,” you smile, hoping your nerves don’t show. You hug your arms as a particularly strong wind chill passes through, feeling the goosebumps start to form. 

“Hi,” he parrots you, slightly breathless. 

“You haven’t been to class lately, just wondering if you’re alive.”

“That’s a good excuse to stalk me,” he grins, and you feel your shoulders drop at the sight. 

“Good to see your confidence hasn’t taken a hit,” you say as he takes some tennis balls from the pocket of his sweatshirt and tosses them into the bucket before taking a few steps closer to you. 

“Nope,” he says, his mouth popping at the p. 

“I think that may be impossible.”

“What gave you such an impenetrable ego, Art?” you cock your head and he shrugs, smiling as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Don’t know, maybe being great at hitting a ball with a racket your whole life does something to your brain chemistry. The jury’s still out on if it’s a good thing,” 

You hum, stifling a laugh. The two of you stand quietly for a few moments before you talk.

“Last weekend, if I did something wrong-”

“No, you didn’t do anything,” Art cuts you off, sighing at the topic. “Patrick and I-”

“We got into a stupid fight. It doesn’t matter.”

You play with the skin around your nails. 

“That makes me feel like it was my fault.” You take a deep breath before talking again.

“What you and Patrick have, how you know each other. How you’ve grown together, and play together. I would feel awful if I played any part in messing that up.”

Art scoffs. “No need to be melodramatic, we’re not fucking dating or anything.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. 

“I saw he has a match this weekend…” you prompt, and Art nods.

“Are you gonna go?,” you ask gently. Art says nothing, and you decide not to press him. 

“Okay, well I’m going to go,” you adjust the strap of your backpack. 

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

Art looks you up and down before he takes off his hat and then brings his sweatshirt over his neck, tossing the sweatshirt into your chest as he puts his hat back on. 

“Don’t want you getting cold.”

“It’s fine, Art-”

“You’ll give it back to me next time.”

Feeling the fabric between your fingers, a grin crosses your face at his words.

"Alright, next time.''

Art watches as you walked out of the tennis courts, leaving him alone in the quiet noise of the sunset. He’s forced to remember that morning with Patrick.

 

It was a couple of minutes before seven, the sunlight just starting to creep through the blinds of the hotel window. You’d just shuffled out of the room a couple hours ago, your shoes in your hands and your shirt on backwards. Art was laid across the two twin beds that they pushed together, his hand on his stomach as he watched Patrick grab his shirt, pulling it on and buttoning the bottom three buttons. 

“Can’t find my pants,” Patrick muttered as he stopped his movement, his eyes scanning the room. Art snickered from his position on the bed. 

“They’re on the chair,” Patrick turned at Art’s voice, grinning as he walked across the room to find his jeans perched on the wooden chair. He could feel Art’s eyes on him as he tugged his pants above his thighs, zipping his jeans and leaving a sliver of his boxers visible. 

This continues for a while - Patrick haphazardly packing and stressing about his tennis game tomorrow as Art falls in and out of sleep, slightly jolting when Patrick closes a drawer particularly hard or trips over a piece of clothing on the floor. Art was almost asleep again when he heard Patrick’s voice, muffled by the bathroom door. 

“Can I use your razor?”

 Before he could think, Art yelled back “I have a new one in my backpack, just use that.”

Patrick’s movement stills for a moment before he pops his head out of the bathroom door, his hand raised with the razor and a slight furrow in his brows. 

“I can’t use yours?” he asks, and Art doesn’t like the guilt that the question causes him, and doesn’t know why the ask makes his mouth dry. 

“Just use the new one. You won’t get my hair on you.”

“No sweat,” Patrick moves to go back to the bathroom but is cut off by Art.

“Use the new one, Patrick.”

“Jesus Christ Art, I just need to use your damn razor,” Patrick’s smiling, but his voice is a little sharper, a twinge of hurt playing on his tongue. 

“Fine, use it. I don’t care,” Art sighs as he rises from the pillow to sit up, pinching the place between his eyes.”

“My dick was in your mouth last night, in case you forgot.”

Patrick rests against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Art stares at Patrick for a few moments, feeling the skin on his face get warm. Of course he remembers last night, but hearing it out loud makes him feel a weird mix of rage and embarrassment. Art stands up and moves towards the dresser, grabs his clothes, and starts to put them on. 

“Dude, is it so insulting to think you wanted to fuck me?” Patrick says through a laugh, watching Art intently. 

Art pulls his arms through the sleeves of his sweater, staring at his brunette counterpart as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket. 

“Patrick. Don’t think I did anything last night that wasn’t just to fuck her, alright?” Art gives a tight-lipped smile as he grabs his keys. He tries to move towards the door but Patrick is faster, cutting him off as he blocks the door. 

“C’mon Art,” he playfully taps his chest. 

“It’s just me. You can be honest.”

The soft tone Patrick uses, the implications, the stuffiness of the room and the sight of Patrick’s slightly tousled hair infuriates Art. 

“What the fuck did you think was gonna happen today, Patrick? I mean, what, we were gonna walk out of here holding hands, drinking a milkshake with one straw or something?” Art chuckles dryly, seeing the change in Patrick’s face as he realizes what he’s saying. He knows he’s being mean, but he doesn’t know why. He’s too far gone, now. 

“I don’t want to be with someone like you, and I thought you knew that.”

Art’s words stick in the air as Patrick chews on his lower lip, slightly nodding. 

'“Good luck tomorrow,” Art pats Patrick’s shoulder as he pushes past him to open the door, but Patrick grabs his wrist right after the key clicks open. 

“You know, you have so much going on in your head,” Patrick points his finger into Art’s face, any humor in his voice long gone. 

“That you let it rule your whole life. Well, I’m done letting you infect me with it. I won’t let you turn me into a pathetic coward too.”

Art slams the hotel room door so hard that a couple from across the hallway creaks their door open, asking if Patrick is okay. He doesn’t answer.

[jesse-cosay]

pls share no exit au i want to cry

The no exit au is exactly what it sounds like. Jesse gets his first exit and Lake can't come with. There are not return trips on the train, not for impossible/unsolvable problems at least, and Jesse can't get back to them.

This was partly inspired by Weevilo's fic, which really got me thinking abt the possibilities of what would happen if Jesse hadn't come back!

In this au they didn't run into the apex, and were on the train a little longer because there was no Big Confrontation to push Jesse's number over the edge.

Jesse gets off the train and still tells Nate everything, Nate believes him to some extent, but his parents don't. Because really, who would? It sounds crazy and Jesse has been a missing person for months.

Eventually, he goes through some therapy (real therapy) once things settle down, but it's a struggle because everyone and everything is telling him to let go of Lake. To move on.

But Lake is still alive. Still out there. And it's a lot harder to move on from something (someone) when you know that they don't want you to.

Without any real support (because while his family loves him, they can't truly believe the stories Jesse tells them without proof), Jesse gets a bit depressed. He hangs out with Nate a lot more too, since Nate says he believes him.

Nate, consequently, feels a bit of responsibility towards Jesse. He sees how his parents not believing him hurts Jesse, he sees how distressed Jesse can be after a particularly bad day, and he sees just how sad Jesse is when he talks about Lake or the train. Like he misses it.

With Nate as Jesse's only confident, it takes a toll for him, too. And after a few years of the two of them stewing the train does come back.

But it comes for Nate.

Who (though not immediately) soon stumbled across Lake. A shiny metal person, just like his brother had described to him. Except different. Older and taller- not as warm and friendly as he'd pictured.

It doesn't take long for Lake to make the connection, to see the resemblance. Nate and Jesse looked so similar. They promise to help him off the train because Nate is a connection to Jesse they never thought they'd have again.

Nate gives Lake hope. He tells them stories, he's silly and happy to explore the train- something that Lake hasn't been in a long time.

And Lake sees the way Nate tries to take others pain and make it his own. They see the way Jesse's grief has become Nate's. How he feels responsible. And even when Nate is helping them, whether he realizes it or not, Lake reminds him that those problems aren't his. That he can't control other people or how they feel. That it's not his fault.

I should also mention that Nate's number starts out broken, because really his problem is that Lake is on the train (the reason the train picks up Jesse in canon), but once he learns not to make other people's problems his own, it zeros instead. Because Lake being on the train was never his problem to begin with.

Then it's Lake and Nate standing at the exit, with Jesse on the other side.

And it's- they can't touch. They can't go through the door, because it's Nate's exit. But they still talk a little.

"I waited for you. I was always waiting for you. I'm not gonna go anywhere this time."

Nate and Lake argue about his exit, because Lake wants him to go back and Nate has decided that- while Lake being stuck on the train isn't his problem, he doesn't really care. He may have learned his lesson and got his exit, but he isn't going to make the same mistake and leave them there.

So they go to the engine and confront one-one much like in canon, devising a plan before they get there instead of after.

And they all live happily ever after!

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way: Chapter 5

Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Tommy Miller x reader (secondary)

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, an both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death

New character alert! Face claim, of course, is Oscar Isaac, specifically his look in Drive 🥰

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

Dandelion

A million little wishes float across the sky

But it's a waste of breath and it's a waste of time I know

Cause just like him, you always leave me cryin' dandelion~Danelion, Kacey Musgraves

“So then Luke goes to Dangobah to find Yoda”

“Wait, whose Yoda? Is that another Jedee?”

“Jedi, but yes”

“Why?”

“Old Ben told him to”

“Isn’t he dead?”

“Yes, but he came to Luke at the start of this movie?”

“What? When?”

“When Luke was in the cave”

“Are we sure he wasn’t hallucinating?”

“I- No, no it was Ben. Jedi can come back in visions, like ghosts”

“Well, that’s awfully convenient”

“The force makes a lot of things convenient”

Joel was doing as he promised, explaining the Star Wars movies you had never had a chance to watch so you could understand the collection of comics he had found. You weren’t particularly interested in the comics, but they seemed to excite him, so you were going to read them, hoping to continue in conversation about it. This was the first time you two had talked about anything other than The Horrors for longer than a short back and forth, in fact, this was the only piece of personality or hints of before he had given you, the rest you had gleaned from Tommy. Joel was curled up with you on your mattress, having held you close all day yesterday and last night, and after what happened with Nick, after all Joel did for you, you happily accepted it. Joel had been soft before, absolutely, but not like this, and never this long… it bordered on Tommy territory. Slowly, you noticed little similarities, small phrases or mannerism that said yeah, these two are brothers, despite the drastic differences.

He played with your hair as he laid with you, tender in his touch, it was damn near domestic you almost forget where you are.

“Do you wanna go outside? Go for a walk?” Joel asks, his voice strangely soft in your ear.

You can’t help but smile at that. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Joel instructs you to stay put, and goes into his room and comes back with shoes he must’ve gotten and kept hidden from you; you’d get farther if you ran away wearing shoes. He knelt down beside you, lacing them up and tying them for you. He, of course held your hand tightly the entire time.

He asked if you wanted to see him. You knew what he meant.

Joel had kept him strung up, hanging from the oak tree, and although you had seen many horrific things in your short time on this god forsaken planet, the sight of a man you knew, hanged, skinned and swaying in the crisp spring Wyoming breeze… this was one of the worst. Somehow, however, you couldn’t find yourself feeling any guilt. Nick had done what he did knowing full well what Joel was capable of. The risk he took was calculated, but like you, it seems he couldn’t do math.

You felt Joel slide up behind you, unsurprisingly hard, no doubt recalling last night as his hands slide around your middle, his lips beginning to graze your neck and you couldn't help but remember how he had fucked you while telling you the graphic things he had done to your rapist.. “Do you still wanna cut off his dick?” He nudges your eyes to Joel’s switchblade still in Nick’s heart.

The idea was sexy while Joel was fucking you, but the reality of it was, frankly... Icky. “Can you?”

He kisses your cheek. “Happily.” Joel directs you, his long arms reach around, taking the blade out of his naked body and, with the aid of rigor mortis, he swiftly cut off the bastards dick. Stabbing the switchblade back into Nicks cold chest, Nick’s cock between the blade and his skin. “Feeling better, little one?” His arms are quickly back to you, the hand that held the switchblade playing above the line of your sweatpants. 

“Yes, Joel” You sighed, leaning your head back into him as his hand went between your legs. You did feel better actually. The whole situation you were in was fucked, but you did feel better…

He began finger fucking you, and although you realize he hadn’t washed his hands since skinning Nick, you weren't bothered. You were about to fuck about two feet away from a rotting corpse... “Let's go back to the house.”

“No” You whispered, and Joel looked at you curiously. “Here.” You get yourself situated against the tree trunk, and you swore you heard Joel chuckle; he had you whipped.

“Good girl” He adjusted you as needed, you brace against the tree Nick was hanging from, his body feet from you, and Joel pushed your ass out, pulling down your pants before slamming into you. “Good fucking girl” He pace was immediately hard and fast, and at this angle you swore…

“Joel.”

He didn’t stop. “Hm?“

You grab his hand, placing it over your stomach, where he could very very clearly feel himself entering you, his hard cock protruding out your stomach. “You feel that Joel?”

The hand on your hip was painfully tight, he growled and bite into your neck. “Fuck, fuck baby, you like me pounding you like this? Out in the open where anyone can see you?”

“Yes” You whine, having to  rest your face on the rough bark, sweat prickling at your skin even in the cold, his hands making you feel so, so warm. “I know you’ll protect me”

He moved one hand to the tree trunk, protecting your face from the scratches, his other moving to your clit, although right now you were certain he could make you cum just from just dick right now. “I’ll always protect you, little girl, always. Won’t let nothing bad happen to you ever again.” The irony was clearly lost on him, seeing as most of your suffering was at his hands but, fuck, if it wasn’t starting to get lost on you too… He was so tender when he wanted to be, the good was so, so good, and the sex… fucking hell. He pulled your ass out a little more and suddenly you were blinded, a brand new feeling making you cry out “Right there, pretty girl? Stay still, I’ll take care of you. Look at him” Joel turned your face to the decomposing body next to you. “Look at him, little one, I’ll always take care of you”

Why did this always make you feel so fucking warm? “I know, Joel, I know, J-Joel, fuck!” You rest your face fully on his large, veiny hand, protecting you from the tree, protecting you from Nick, protecting you from everything…

For a few weeks, things go better than they had been for years. Sex with Joel kept getting better and better, and he was opening up more. Not much from before, just little bits like telling you the plots of his favorite movies… you hadn’t been in his room, nor Tommy’s… Tommy had shifted a bit too. He was more and more affectionate with you, with the door closed of course… He held you in his arms, missing you brother, or when you called out to him in the middle of the night from nightmares and he pulled you onto his lap and cradled you when you cried… sometimes he went away from days on work as trusting more that Joel wouldn’t hurt you again and none of the men would dare. You were on dangerous waters, you knew, but sometimes you could only sleep when you smelled Tommy’s skin… but again, dangerous.

That’s why, when no one came into your room with breakfast, or lunch, or to spend time with you or fuck you… you were worried. Not as worried as you were when the door finally opened and a new face appeared with food.

You scramble to stand up, images of Nick and early days of Joel flashing in your head, and you open your mouth to scream for Tommy, but he cuts you off.

“Relax, sweetheart, Nick’s body is still rotting out there, I’m not tryna match him.” He spoke with a thick accent you’d heard before; your brother, Zach, had said it was from somewhere east, one of the big cities, but wasn’t sure where. 

“What do you want?” You ask, still shaking.

He set down the food. “Tommy’s paying me to feed you today”

You narrow your eyes at the sandwich. “You’re not doing very well, missed a meal.”

He shrugged with a small, smug smile. “Didn’t pay me enough for that.” He watched you still eying the food suspiciously “You wanna talk to him?”

“Where is he? Where’s Joel…” You can’t imagine they would let a random man in your room if one was able to do this…

“Food poisoning, we think.” 

You look at the sandwich again. “I’m not eating that”

He laughed, obnoxiously loud. “Smart girl. Come on, you can make yourself something” He nudged out the door.

You couldn’t help perk up at that. You get to leave? You get to make your own food? You weren’t sure who the man was, but you were happy to take the little bit of independence. You wouldn’t do anything that would make Joel mad, just put together a sandwich or heat up some soup! How strange your life had become that these were the little pleasures. 

The man watched you intently as you managed to make some soup. He was short; taller than you still, but short none the less, a few inches under Tommy. His hair was buzzed as was his beard, dark hair to match dark skin, and large eyes that watched you like a bug.

It was fun, cooking again… You had rather enjoyed when you still were living with your dad, your mom taught you well, you were a good cook… you wondered if Joel might let you cook more… you save soup for them when they were feeling better, maybe they’d like it enough you could continue? You toast some bead on a frying pan, demand (well, ask, but with a little force) to see Joel.

When you tentatively peaked through the cracked door and Joel saw you, his eyes went wide and you saw he was about to get up, no doubt thinking you got loose, so you opened the door to reveal the strange new man you hadn’t seen around the house before. “It’s okay, he’s with me. I wanted to check on you… can I come in?” Joel lays back down, tentatively, obviously not thrilled about being seen in a vulnerable position. He was clearly sick, his tanned skin looking pale, his eyes bleary and you couldn’t help but feel bad for him… even as you placed your hand on your hip, feeling the JM etched into your skin… a reminder of what he could do… You kneel down before him with the toast. “Can you try and eat some of this for me?”

He shakes his head. “I feel like shit”

Opting to sit by him, you gently play with his hair. He looked so young like this… “I know, sweetie… but you gotta try and eat… keep up your strength. Toast won’t be so bad on your stomach…” You try to coax, and look up to see the man watching you, eying you… was he confused, wondering how the little kidnapped girl was playing nurse to her capture… but he wouldn’t understand. You weren’t sure you could explain it yourself… but this was the position you were in, and you were doing what you could…

“What are you doing?” He grumbles, taking a small bite.

“I’m helping you”

“Why”

Great question. “Because you help me”

“I hurt you” another bite.

You were taken aback by that, absolutely… he was right, he did… “But you can also be so, so good to me.”

He wouldn’t look at you. “I don’t deserve you” 

You sigh, just a little bit… deserve wouldn’t be the word… but you wouldn’t say he didn’t deserve you… he was good to you, wasn’t he? He fed you, brought you nice things, little treats, he treated you good in bed… maybe he deserved you? He did everything right… how you got here didn’t really matter, and he was right, months ago, this was better than the strange men that mouth raped you and beat you senseless… he took you away from all that, he made a better life for you… in a way, he saved you.

“You do deserve me, Joel.” You kiss his forehead, hair stuck to it with sweat from the food poisoning. “I’m gonna check on Tommy, then I’ll be back to nurse you back to health, okay?”

Joel smiled at that. “Okay, little one”

A groggy Tommy looked at you and the man, then flopped his head back down on his pillow. “I see you met Lorenzo”

So that was his name. “Yeah, when he finally decided to bring me food.”

Tommy groans. “I told you to feed her, not bring her here”

Getting on the bed, you brush Tommy’s long hair away from his face. “It’s fine, I saw Joel, he’s okay with it as long as he watches me.”

Tommy couldn’t even open his eyes. “I feel awful, honey. Fucking awful. Never eating chicken again”

You can’t help but laugh a bit as he groaned on about how much he ‘odia pollo’ as you coax him into eating a bit of toast.

You spend the day helping the Millers feel better, whipping their faces with a cool clothes, feeding them bites they could eat, cleaning up the bowls they puked in, all while Lorenzo trailed around you, no doubt in charge of making sure you didn’t run away… you couldn’t help but admit you like this, you liked taking care of them, even if you couldn’t be as affectionate with Tommy as you wanted to. The other men, it seems, were all out sick, leaving just you and Lorenzo, and of course, like everything, it was a deliberate move… There were no coincidences.

Of all the things you expected to see as you rounded the corner back to the kitchen after having left Tommy’s side, your brother was not one of them.

“Zach.” He was alive, Joel didn’t kill him… but how had Tommy not known- oh. Tommy knew. He had to have, as did Joel. They would have begun collecting from your dad again, they had no know...

He rushed over to you, taking you in his loving arms that held you so many times before, whispering your name. “Thank god you’re okay”

You blink, brain still trying to catch up. “Wha- what are you doing here?”

Zach begins to pull you away, towards the door. “I’m rescuing you, we’re leaving”

Leaving? To go where? No doubt he had a plan, but he had no idea, no idea what happened, what things were like now, how bad they had been but it had gotten so, so much better. You stop. “Zach wait!” You whisper harshly, and he turns around at you, confused.

“I have somewhere to go, I got a plan, it’s okay, everything will be fine, I promise” 

You believed he believed it… but there were 1000 things in your head right now. First, if you leave and Joel finds you… he might actually kill you, but the things he would do to you if he didn’t were much worse. Secondly, “He’ll kill you, Zach.”

“He won’t catch-”

“He won’t let me go! He won’t drop it! He will hunt me down as long as it takes and skin you alive like the last man!” 

You could see the fear in his eyes as he hushed you, grabbing your arm. “Shut up, or he’ll kill us both! Just, god, just trust me. No one will notice until morning, we’ll be hours ahead.”

You stayed firmly in place… there was the third reason you wanted to stay… the fact you’d grown comfortable here, the fact you were, despite your better judgment, falling in love with both of the men here and- wait, where was Lorenzo? “I can’t, Zach. You don’t know what he’s capable of”

Rolling his eyes like only a brother would, he tugged you. “Of course I-”

You pull down your pants just enough on the side, revealing the brand. “He did this the last time I tried to leave, fucked me on the table in front of all the other men, then left me there for them to all rape!” You didn’t tell him that Tommy had saved you, that Tommy had tucked you in and how tenderly Joel had treated you the next day, how both had bandaged you up, cared for you, even though you had been so bad. “It’s calmed down, he doesn’t hurt me, I have more freedom… I don’t want to throw this away”

Zach was panged, desperate, eyes watering as he tried to take you away from what you knew he thought of as your hell, but was truly where you had felt most at home since your mothers death. “I won’t let him hurt you again, I’ll protect you.”

“Like you protected me against dad?” It came out fast than you’d expected, no chance to block it… it wasn’t fair, you couldn’t and didn’t blame Zach for that but it was true. Joel saved you, cared for you, Joel killed men that hurt you… Joel wasn’t who you needed to be protected from, Joel was the one who protected you. You yank your hand away from your crying brother. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t blame you… but I’m staying”

He opened his mouth to argue, but all that came out was a desperate 'please'. You shake your head. You belonged with the Millers now. “You change your mind, you find a way to escape, I’ll be at the ranch, and I swear to god I will keep you safe this time.”

Now you were crying too as you went to hug him. “Thank you, Zach” Alone in the kitchen, you back up against the fridge, sink down, and cry, cry, cry… keep crying until Lorenzo appeared in the doorway

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

 Of course. Of course you didn’t avoid the shitshow. “Okay so you saw that. You gonna tell Joel, rank up, get whatever it is you want.” You sniffle as he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. 

“No, I already got my payment for this shitshow“ You look up at him, wet and puffy eyes telling him to go on. “He paid me to give everyone food poisoning so you guys could leave, and you fucking wasted it. No skin off my back, but Jesus. You know, pre-outbreak, we had a word for girls like you, who stayed with men who beat them”

“Joel doesn’t-”

“You wanna know what that word is?”

You sigh. “Wha-”

“Dumb bitches”

Lorenzo was pissing you the fuck off, but there was something else that was pushing your repressed anger up… You stand, shoving Lorenzo aside and storm down the hall to Tommy’s room, bursting in.

He smiled lazily up at you as you close the door. “Hey honey, the tea helped-”

“You fucking knew” Pointing dramatically at his sick figure on the bed, you watch the confusion on his face. “What? What did I know?”

“That my brother is alive, asshole!”

As he slowly realizes whats happening, he forces himself to sit up, despite the dizziness and nausea, his hand open palmed and out towards you. “Okay, just relax, tell me what happ-”

You were angrier that perhaps you had a right to be, feeling betrayed and hurt by the man you had trusted, however foolishly. “Don’t use your ‘Calm down Joel’ voice on me! You knew my brother was alive and you didn’t tell me!”

He almost argues. He almost says no, no I didn’t know, this is news to me too… but you’ve already figured it out. “If you knew he was alive, you’d try to leave again, and you’d get caught, and God knows what he’ll do to you if you run away” his eyes were pleading with you to understand, but he was not asking for forgiveness… you knew he’d do it again.

You step closer. “How many times did you hold me while I cried, missing him, wanting him-”

“That’s just it!” He stands now, towering over you, but you know him better than to think it’s a threat, so you don’t back away and simply look up at him, glaring. “You wanted to be with him, and I couldn’t let that happen”

“So you kept me away from my family, because you’d miss me?”

“No it’s because you’d be dead!”

You shake your head, not quite believing his motivations… “I don’t think so. I think you want to stay because you just want me here so you can play knight in shining armor”

Wide-eyed and hurt, he looks down at you. “No, that’s not it-”

In your anger, you shove him; it doesn’t go very far considering his sturdy stance and strong shoulders, but the action caused what you wanted it to. It hurt his feelings. “Fuck you, Tommy”

Tommy put his hands on your shoulders, not backing down despite the wave of nausea threatening him. “Honey, I swear to you, I’m just trying to help, all I wanted to do this whole time was help you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn’t pull away from his touch yet; you never could. “Fuck. You!”

Frustration boiled over before the vomit did. “What is the big deal! Joel knew too!” At that, he gently pushed you back as he dropped to his knees, violently throwing up in his trash can, his whole body wracked into heaves. He did the hard part for you; you weren't sure if you were strong enough to disengage his touch.

You watch him, wanting so badly to kneel by his side, to rub his back and keep his hair out of the puke as you had done all day today… but you couldn’t. You need to have something, something, for your anger to hold onto, even if it was Tommy, even if it was just for a night. “You are the one I was supposed to trust!” You scream, not caring who heard you. “I was supposed to be able to believe in you, but you held me as I screamed, and cried and you didn’t tell me! Fuck! You!” Your face was soaked as you screamed, screamed at Tommy for every rape, every violation, every beating and branding that he had only every tried to save you from, and took it out on him for one small thing that he actually did. Because he was Tommy, because he was supposed to be different. 

And because he was Tommy, he let you. 

You slammed the door when you left. 

Lorenzo was in the hall, watching you with crossed arms as you left Tommy for Joel’s room, muttering again about you being a dumb bitch, but you don't care.

Joel’s room was dark; he didn’t open his eyes, and for a moment you thought he was asleep and began to retreat away when he spoke. 

“Come on in, little one”

You slink through the door, closing it behind you. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

He opened his eyes at that. Today was the first day you had even seen his room, did he even want you in it? You watched him consider, before opening up his blanket for you. With a smile, you crawl in, and he tightly wraps you up in the blanket and his arms where you were growing more and more comfortable.

“Everything okay? I heard yell’n. Couldn’t tell if I was dream’n or not.” He asked, sleepily, nestling his face into your neck.

You considered the options… best to not lie completely. Safe and secure in Joel, despite the chaos of today, you began to relax in him. “Yeah, Tommy just pissed me off, that's all” 

You could feel Joel smile against your skin.

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

Not nearly as high drama as the last few by next week we're back!!!

I've seen a few of you saying you have theories and i want you to know I WANNA HERE ALL YOU'RE THEORIES!!!! Drop them in my ask box so i can share them with the class and everyone csn share their thoughts!

Also as I stated above, I GOT A PLAYLIST GOING! if you have a song you think matches, comment or send in an ask and ill add it if i think t fits!

Also, i've moved to 10 chapters + the alt ending for the series! I'd love to here all thoughts and theories you have <3

Thank you alllllll for the reblogs and all the kind words!!!! It really means the world to me

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