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zegrasdrysdale · 6 months

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[ slip of the tongue ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : after a Devils win, Nico gets interviewed in the locker room after scoring his first NHL hatty. he slips up in front of the cameras and mentions his girlfriend for the first time. it doesn't stop her from showing Nico how proud she is of him though ...

warning(s) : smut ! p in v protected sex, oral (m receiving), pet names during sex, language throughout. possibly wrongly translated german (i'm learning)

author’s note : this plot has been in my head for a while so here i am. pls just indulge me w this bc i was having a moment while writing it

18+ below the cut ! MINORS DNI

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(Y/N) swears she won't have a voice come the morning.

As soon as the puck went into the net and the goal horn went off for the third time, she's been screaming in the suite with the other Devils wives and girlfriends. Her boyfriend just scored his first NHL hat trick and she couldn't be prouder of him. They're now up 5-2 on the Sabres with less than a minute left in the game.

Jack and Dawson have a goal each along with Nico's three goals. It's a four-point night for her captain boyfriend since he got an assist on Jack's power play goal. She remains standing until the final horn that signals the game is over. The Rock is buzzing as the Devils give Vitek some goalie hugs.

She records when Nico is announced as the first star of the game for his four-point night. The crowd cheers as loud as they did when Nico scored the hat trick. Her lips hurt from smiling for nearly ten minutes straight.

As soon as Nico skates off the ice, (Y/N) makes her way down to the players' lounge room that the wives and girlfriends usually hang out in before and after the game. She hangs out with Vitek and Erik's wives as she waits for the players to come in after they've changed and showered.

Notifications start coming through about a half hour after going to the players' lounge. A lot of notifications. New followers, lots of likes and comments on Instagram. A lot of mentions on Twitter. She has no idea what's going on.

(Y/N) reads one tweet that's in her mentions that has a clip attached to it.

vina @/hischiers i knew there were rumors but nico hard launching his relationship after the game was not something i expected to happen today of all days

She clicks on the clip of Nico in his postgame interview and watches it.

Amanda Stein asks off camera, "Did you have any friends or family present for the game today to witness your first NHL hat trick?"

Nico doesn't hesitate to reply, "My girlfriend came to her first Devils home game today." He smiles and bites his bottom lip. "Yeah, she, uh, this game was really special for me because she's here and she got to witness my first hat trick in person." He blushes and doesn't stop smiling in the clip.

"Oh my God," (Y/N) gasps as the clip restarts.

They never talked about going public with their relationship. They've been dating for about seven months. Nico is one of hockey's most popular players, and (Y/N) has seen how loved he is among the fans. She's basically a no one from Newark dating the captain of a hockey team in the NHL.

The players begin to make their way into the lounge area. They make their way to their wife or girlfriend or really whoever they invited to the game. Her eyes are on the door as she waits for Nico to come in.

Jack and Luke walk into the room with Nico five minutes after the rest of the team does. They're deep in conversation but she can't help but run over to her boyfriend and basically jump into his arms.

Both Hughes boys both laugh as Nico catches her and she wraps herself around him completely. He wraps his arms around her torso so she doesn't fall.

"Congratulations, baby," she says against his hair. It's still damp so he recently showered. "I'm so proud of you."

"Guess you're my good luck charm," he laughs in reply. (Y/N) pulls back so she can see his face and he looks genuinely happy. "I play a lot better when you're in attendance."

She shakes her head and smiles. "I think that's bullshit," she tells him. "There's a reason you're one of the league's best players since you came back from your injury. It's not because of me."

"I think you should come to more games anyway," Nico says. "Clearly I like when you come to games."

(Y/N) laughs and rests her hands where Nico's shoulders meet his neck. "I'll come to games whenever you want," she replies. "You like to show off when I come."

He smiles and nods. "I gotta show off for my girlfriend," he retorts. "Especially when she looks so good in my jersey."

"Flatterer," she laughs before she leans down and captures his lips in a soft kiss. Nico laughs into the next kiss before she pulls back and looks at him. "By the way, did you know you told the entire league and it's fans that you have a girlfriend during your postgame interview?"

"You saw?"

"It's all over social media, Nico. People are saying you hard launched our relationship."

She lets her legs drop and Nico lowers her to the ground. "There were rumors anyway," he replies. "It was bound to come out. Did it bother you? It just kind of came out when I was asked and I wasn't really thinking about the fact that we never talked about it."

"I just would've liked a little heads up," she tells him with a smile on her face. "Are you ready to go?"

He nods and begins to make the rounds to say goodbye to the Devils. She never lets go of his hand as he says goodbye to his teammates. It's his job as captain to tell the team how good they did so he doesn't forget about that. He congratulates Jack and Dawson on their goals before they finally head to the parking lot.

Nico drove them to the Prudential Center in his car so she sits in the passenger seat of the car so Nico can drive them to whoever's place is closest. Which is Nico's apartment.

As they leave the parking lot, Nico stops and says hi to some fans. Pictures are taken where (Y/N) is definitely in the background but at this point, she doesn't care. Nico already told the entire world that he had a girlfriend that was at the game.

He signs some jerseys and pucks, takes some pictures, and gets more than a few congratulations on his hat trick before Nico finally pulls out of the parking lot. He looks over at (Y/N), who gives him a small smile as they stop at a red light.

"You played really well tonight," she tells him. "I'm not just saying that because you had a four-point night but you played really well. I'm so proud of you for getting your first hat trick tonight. I can't believe that I was able to watch it happen in person."

Nico laughs and says, "I told you that you're my good luck charm. The first game you come to after we start dating and I score my first NHL hat trick. It's not a coincidence."

She shakes her head with a smile on her face and looks out the window until they get to Nico's. She plays with her thumbs under the sleeves of her too big jersey that Nico gave to her a few weeks ago.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the arena, Nico pulls into his apartment building parking lot and parks in his usual spot. Her car is parked next to his. They get out and begin the trip up to the top floor of the building where Nico lives.

The building is ten stories tall so it takes a minute for the elevator to get up to the tenth floor from the first floor. Their fingers are laced together the entire time.

(Y/N) follows close behind as Nico unlocks the front door to his penthouse apartment. She wraps her arms around his torso as he unlocks the door and presses her front to his back. "You can't wait until we get inside?" Nico asks as the stupid door finally unlocks.

"Nope," she replies, popping the "p". "I wanna show you how proud of you I am."

He laughs before he pushes the door open. (Y/N) stumbles inside after her boyfriend. She closes the door behind her and Nico presses her against it with his hands on her waist. She stares up at him like she’s challenging him to do something.

Nico looks her up and down. “I wasn’t lying earlier when I said you looked good in my jersey,” he tells her. His voice is deeper and accent thicker than it normally is. “I love seeing my name and number on your back. Knowing you’re mine. It’s so hot. You're so beautiful.”

“Do something about it.” Her voice almost comes out as a whisper. She is absolutely challenging him at this point.

He leans down and captures her lips in a searing kiss. Her heart leaps in her chest when their lips touch. Her back hits the door with the force of the kiss and her fingers grasp at the collar of the jacket Nico is wearing. (Y/N) pulls him as close to her as she can get him.

He presses himself completely against her and slots a thigh between her legs. She has to resist the urge to grind up against his thigh to give herself some relief from the pressure that's building between her legs.

"Off," she mumbles as she pushes Nico's jacket off his shoulders. He helps her out and shrugs the fabric off. He kicks it to the side when it hits the floor and grabs her by the waist.

She pushes her waist off the door and they stumble toward the master bedroom where Nico sleeps. Their shoes are kicked off by the door and Nico's jacket is abandoned on the floor. He loses his tie in the living room and his button-up is lost in the hallway.

When Nico falls onto his back on the mattress, all he's wearing is his suit pants. Even they're unbuttoned and the belt is on the floor. (Y/N) looks down at her boyfriend on the bed and gnaws on her bottom lip.

Sometimes she doesn't know how she got so lucky. She fell in love with the most beautiful and loyal guy. He's captain of a NHL team but still manages to find time to see her whenever he can. He's a talented hockey player that fell in love with her.

She can't believe this is her life. Being able to fall in love with Nico has been the best thing that's ever happened to her. Being able to be loved by Nico is an honor.

"You okay?" Nico asks as he sits up. His hands run up and down the back of her thighs. "You look deep in thought."

"Just thinking," she tells him as she crawls onto his lap. She straddles his waist. "I don't know how I got so lucky to love and be loved by you. You could've fallen in love with anyone but you fell in love with me."

Nico smiles up at her and wraps his arms around her waist. "I fell in love with you because you are the most incredible and beautiful woman I have ever known," he replies. "You're so supportive of me despite my crazy schedule. I don't know how I got so lucky."

Her face gets hot as she smiles. "I'm proud of you, Nico," she says. "I am so happy that I get to see you grow as a person and a player." She leans down and presses a quick kiss to his lips. "Gonna show you how proud of you I am."

She slides down to her knees on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her fingers work on unzipping his pants. She pulls Nico's pants and boxers off in one pull. His hard dick pops out of its prison and stands against Nico's stomach. (Y/N) throws them to the floor and kisses up the inside of his leg from his knee.

After placing a soft kiss to his hip bone, she takes him in her hand and gives him a few slow pumps. Nico grabs a pillow and uses it to prop his head up so he can see her without straining his neck. She smiles up at him before she takes him in her mouth.

"Oh, fuck me," Nico breathes out as (Y/N) moves her head up and down on him. "That mouth of yours feels so good, liebling."

(Y/N) loves it when Nico uses German nicknames on her, especially when they're in bed. They sound ten times hotter when her mouth is on him or when he's inside of her. There have been times when (Y/N) has been in control and Nico has been reduced to speaking his native language.

She'll never get enough of it.

One of her hands makes up for what can't fit in her mouth while the under snakes into the leggings she's wearing under the jersey. Her own fingers run through her folds and work her toward her orgasm. She lets out an occasional hum, which drives Nico crazy. She knows it drives Nico crazy by the way he squirms under her touch every time she does it.

Then she does the one thing she knows gets Nico to come almost as soon as she does it. She hollows out her cheeks and sucks before she swirls her tongue around the fire red tip.

"(Y/N), baby," Nico pants. "Gonna come in about two seconds if you keep doing that."

With a pop, she pulls off his leaking dick. She uses her tongue to get a bead of precum that was on the corner of her mouth. "We wouldn't want that to happen so soon now would we?" she asks as she stands up.

Nico's eyes widen as she begins to undress. The leggings come off first. She reaches down to pull the jersey over her head and Nico sits up quickly. "Uh uh," he says. "Jersey stays on."

"If you come on it, you better get me a new one," she tells him as he slides back on the bed. "I'm not walking into games wearing a jersey you came on." He laughs as he reaches into his bedside drawer and pulls out a foil package.

She finishes getting undressed but leaves the jersey on. Nico slides the rubber contents of the packages onto himself as (Y/N) straddles his thighs. He sits back against the pillow and headboard. She leans down and captures Nico's swollen lips in a tender kiss. He matches her pace and slowly kisses her back. He puts a hand on the back of her neck. His fingers curl into her hair.

All of her emotions are poured into this kiss. Her hands are on his jaw so he can't go anywhere. Not that he could go anywhere since she is sitting on his lap.

(Y/N) begins to move her hips slowly. She hums as Nico's dick slides through her folds and against her clit. A soft moan falls from her lips into the kisses she exchanges with Nico.

One of her hands leaves Nico's jaw and she positions him at her entrance. She presses a long kiss to his lips and leaves them connected as she slowly sinks down onto him. A whimper comes from her as the familiar pressure fills her. Nico takes the opportunity to lick into her mouth before he pulls back to look at her.

"You feel so good, schatzi," Nico tells her. "So good for me. You take me so well, you know that?" She replies with a soft hum as he completely fills her.

She allows herself a moment to adjust before she begins to roll her hips. Nico's hands fly to her thighs before sliding under the jersey to her waist. "Fuck, Nico," she breathes out as he moves in and out of her while she rolls her hips. Her hands are on his torso to keep her balance.

Slowly, she begins to pick up her pace. Moans fall from her lips the faster she moves.

One of the best things about being with Nico is how intimate these moments are. It feels amazing to be physically connected to him like they are one person. She wouldn't trade this for the world.

They fit together like two puzzle pieces. His hands fit perfectly on her waist. Their lips mold together every time they touch. The way his nose fits perfectly above hers when their foreheads touch is her favorite thing. She molds against his body every time they lay in bed together.

It's like they were made for each other.

"(Y/N), liebling," Nico breathes out. His eyes are on her as she rides him. "Ich liebe dich so sehr."

This is what she means. It's like he's forgotten how to speak English when they're in bed together. She loves it.

"I love you too," she pants because she's slowly been learning simple phrases and knows what Nico said. He tells her he loves her all the time in German. "I love you so much. I'm so proud of you. Fuck. You're amazing."

One of Nico's hands slide to the back of her neck and he pulls her down so their foreheads rest against each other. Her nose brushes his every time she moves. Her eyes close and Nico's thumbs brush her cheeks. "Open your eyes, baby," Nico tells her. "I want to see them. Please."

Her eyes open back up and meet Nico's big brown eyes. He smiles and she leans down to kiss him. She breathes hard into the kisses that are exchanged between them.

Nico takes advantage of the distraction and rolls them over so he's hovering over her. She smiles up at him until he begins to thrust hard and deep inside of her. A pornographic moan passes her lips and she arches her back to get closer to Nico.

He reaches between them and his fingers find her sensitive clit. She gasps when he touches the bud then whines when he begins to rub her closer to her pending orgasm. "Holy fuck, Nico," she cries out. "Keep going. Fuck."

Nico throws her legs over his shoulder so he can get a new angle and move even deeper into her. She has to bite her lip to keep from screaming his name as he begins to slam into her g-spot over and over again.

"Let me hear you, liebling," Nico says. "Don't hold back."

His pace quickens and she has to grab on to something. She chooses his hair when her hands slide up into his locks and her fingers curl. "I'm gonna come, Nico," she warns him. "Fuck, I'm close."

He keeps the same pace and uses his fingers to bring her over the edge. She comes so hard she sees stars. Her vision goes almost white and Nico's name passes her lips along with a string of curses. Her legs shake as they hang on his shoulders and she cries out as she has one of the most intense climaxes of her life.

Only Nico could ever get her to come like that. No one has ever made her come like that. No one besides Nico will ever get her to come like that.

There's a weight on her chest as she comes to and she realizes that Nico is lying on her chest. They're both panting messes as Nico gets off of her after resting for who knows how long. He ties off the used condom and tosses it into the trash can by the bed.

(Y/N) pulls off the jersey and takes off the bra she's wearing because she's sweating before she crawls under the blankets to cover her naked and spent body. Nico joins her and she rests her chin on his chest. Her eyes are on his the whole time. She traces little shapes on his belly.

"I think I got a little carried away," Nico admits. "I blame the jersey."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Good to know you have a thing for me wearing your jersey," she replies. "I'll have to remember that when you're having a bad day or you have a rough game."

Nico smiles and brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. "I really do love you a lot," he tells her. "Thank you for coming to the game tonight. It meant a lot to me that you were there to watch me score my first hat trick."

"Thank you for inviting me," she says. "I had a lot of fun watching you score your first hat trick. It was incredible."

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

Their night is nowhere close to being over. Nico has a day off so she is going to make sure she takes care of him and gives him whatever he wants for the rest of the night. All because of that hat trick.

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#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl fluff #nhl smut #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #hockey fluff #hockey smut #nico hischier #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier smut #nico hischer x reader

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woso-dreamzzz · 6 months

Text

Kid

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join Arsenal Women at age sixteen

Moving to England hadn't exactly been your plan when you started to play football.

To be honest, there hadn't been a plan at all, seeing as you were four when your parents first signed you up for your local academy in Sweden. It was just an excuse to keep you out of the house, so your parents didn't have to take time off work to look after you when school finished.

It helped that your school was partnered with the academy so a representative would come and walk all the academy students there and back.

Football may have been a convenience but it was clear to everyone that you were somewhat of a prodigy. Linköping Fc signed you as soon as they could, forcing you to make the move from your tiny town to the city.

Your parents were more than happy to finance the move - the kind of parents that happily parent from a distance but brag to all of their friends about how smart, how talented their daughter was.

You were happy to be rid of them.

You were even happier to get the callup for the National Team for the World Cup.

Your chest thudded in your throat when you received the call. You hadn't thought you would get the call-up, not when you were so young, so you had been at a café with some of your school friends when your phone rang.

You had picked it up absentmindedly and almost passed out from shock when Peter revealed he wanted you on the team.

The World Cup came and went and the bronze medal you won stayed with you. You had flat-out refused to give it over to your parents, who wanted to put it in the trophy cabinet in a house you no longer lived in.

The high of the World Cup bled into the high of getting a call to sign for Arsenal.

You hadn't even really thought about it.

You just accepted.

Which was how you had gotten here, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you waited for Stina to lock her car and walk in with you.

●～●～●～●～

You couldn't help but look at your jersey in awe. Your number combined with your last name on the back of an Arsenal jersey felt like a dream come true.

"There she is," Amanda said when you finally wandered into the meeting room, free from media duty. She pushed out a chair that was clearly meant for you at the table she was sitting at.

You sat in the seat awkwardly, suddenly feeling shy and awkward.

"This is y/n," Amanda said to the others, presenting you to them like you were someone really exciting.

"Hi, y/n. I'm Jen."

You didn't tell her that you already knew who she was, who they all were. You just sat there and let everyone introduce themselves to you because that was the polite thing to do.

"Hi."

"You're young, aren't you?" Asked Kim, even though you knew that she probably already knew that.

You nodded though. "Yeah." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sixteen."

"But she's a superstar." It was nice of Amanda to butt in. It saved you from having to speak.

"I think we know that," McCabe said with an eye roll," I think we all saw that match-winning goal against Australia."

You winced slightly as you snuck a glance to McCabe's other side where Catley sat, the very defender that you megged before scoring your goal.

Your eyes widened in horror when she made eye contact. "Sorry." You looked down at your lap, hiding your shaking hands under the table.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Catley replied with an easy grin," No hard feelings. It was a good call." She smirked at you. "Though, the deer in headlights look you had after it went in was pretty funny."

Laughter rang out through the group and you relaxed marginally, groaning at the reminder. Everyone you knew had sent that picture to you and you knew for a fact that it was still circulating the internet as a meme.

●～●～●～●～

It was easy to settle into life at Arsenal.

You were still shy and awkward off the pitch but you fit in well with the other girls and Lina, Stina and Amanda were always ready to sweep you away when they noticed you getting too overwhelmed.

Somewhere along the way Catley became Steph and McCabe became Katie.

You weren't really sure when that happened but it was a welcome change from when you first joined.

"Come on, kid. You've been studying too much," Katie said as an arm dragged you away from your laptop to where the others were playing FIFA.

You were dumped between Less and Vic while Lina laughed.

"She's always studying."

You rolled your eyes. "Just because you don't have to go to school anymore, doesn't mean that I don't."

"Online school isn't really school," Cloe said before swearing when Gio scored another goal," It's like...school without the deadlines."

"Except the deadline is before Christmas," You replied with a huff," I have essays to write, Katie! Let me go!"

"Don't let her go, girls," Katie said from where she was curled up with Caitlin.

Alessia mockingly saluted as she bracketed you in her arms while Vic pinned down your legs.

"Less! Vic!" You squawked as you tried to wiggle away from them.

Their holds were unrelenting and made even worse when Kyra popped up out of nowhere, digging her fingers into your side and tickling you like you had personally offended her or something.

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, tears running down your face as Kyra remained unrelenting. "Cait-Caitlin! Caitlin, help!"

Caitlin looked at you thoughtfully, humming to herself before giving you a faux look of sympathy. "Sorry, y/n, I can't. You see, I'm still holding a grudge against you for grabbing that bronze medal." She winked to let you know she was joking.

"Oh, come on!"

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It took you nearly two weeks of being in London to meet the ACL squad and it was only because Kathrine slid in for a tackle at the wrong time and hit your ankle.

You hadn't even been on the ground for that long but it was enough that Jonas sent Gio to take you to the physios to get it taped up with an extremely apologetic Kathrine following after you.

"I'm so sorry," She was saying when Gio shepherded you into the room," I'll make up for it. How does one of those big jelly baby packs sound?"

"I'm not allowed to eat them," You replied," Stina said that they'll rot my teeth."

"Fine, fine, I'll think of something. How about dinner? I'll buy you dinner for your cheat day. Just tell me when."

You rolled your eyes, having no intention of doing so but still nodded.

"What's up with all this commotion?"

You had to admit, seeing Leah Williamson in person made you feel a little starstruck and you immediately retreated into yourself.

Gio jerked her thumb at Kathrine. "Kuhl hurt the kid and seeing as we need the kid, Jonas wants her ankle taped."

"My ankle's fine," You said stubbornly but allowed a physio to usher you onto the bed between Goldie and Wienriother. You gave them both one of your trademark awkward smiles as you let the physio pull off your boot and socks.

You didn't want to look at your ankle, already knowing it was bruised by the way that you saw Goldie wince sympathetically at you while the physio moved away to grab some ice.

"That looks nasty," She said," Does it hurt?"

"Not too bad."

"I'm Teyah, by the way."

"y/n."

"I know." She smiled at you. "It's nice that there's someone younger than me and Naomi now."

You looked down bashfully. "Happy to be of service."

Next to you, Weinriother laughed. "Don't mind Teyah, she's just glad no one will call her kid anymore. I'm Laura, by the way."

"And I'm Beth!" She leaned over Laura to shake your hand before indicating to where her girlfriend was being worked on. "That's Viv, she's a little prickly sometimes but if you ever need some peace and quiet, I'm sure she wouldn't mind you sitting with her."

You nodded, still feeling a little awkward even though the tension had disappeared.

"You're living with Stina, right?" Leah asked," How's that going?"

"Good," You replied, focussed on the way that the physio was moving your ankle," She lets me play music on the speakers while I study."

Leah laughed. "I live right round the corner. If you ever need a break, feel free to pop in. I reckon I'm more fun than Stina anyway."

●～●～●～●～

You hated asking for help.

You hated it even more when you had to ask for help on schoolwork.

You were smart. You knew you were smart. If there were two things that a lack of parents in your life gave you, it was excellent football skills and the ability to solve your own problems.

But this maths section in your textbook was causing you more pain than a Katie tackle in training ever could.

You glanced around the room. The media room was almost always empty at this time of day - the two and a half hour window between morning training and the gym session.

Almost everyone lived close so headed back home to rest before coming back. Stina had asked if you wanted to head back home with her but you decided not to, needing to finish your maths homework.

Lina had asked if you wanted her to drop you off on her way to her own place as well but you didn't relent.

You hunkered down in the media room with your textbook and, after just over an hour, your eyes stung like you hadn't slept in three days.

You glanced around again and finally swallowed your pride.

"Frida?" You asked the least intimidating person in the room," Can you help me?"

She looked up from her phone. "What is it?" She dragged your textbook towards her. "Oh! I can help!"

Despite her optimism, within a few seconds, it became clear that Frida could absolutely not help you. The more she read through your problems, the deeper her frown got until she was holding a pencil between her fingers and mouthing the question to herself as if that would help her understand.

She looked positively ill when she looked up at you before she cleared her throat. "Lia? Do you know how to do fancy algebra?"

Lia, from across the room, sighed as she approached. "I used to be quite good at algebra," She boasted," What's the problem?"

"Algebra," You deadpanned, shoving the textbook and your notepad at her," Help."

To her credit, she got further than Frida did, jotting down her working out before falling at the last hurdle - just like you did. She frowned. "Give me a second."

She rewrote all of her work but still ended up stumped at the same place as before.

"Kim? Jen? How were you at maths in school?"

Kim and Jen tried to help as well but it was like the blind leading the blind. You were going around in circles.

"When are you going to need this in life?" Kim said, drawing a line through her most reason equation and sighing.

"Unless you want to be an engineer, never." Jen sighed and flipped the book shut. "You don't want to be an engineer, do you, kid?"

"I'm happy playing football."

●～●～●～●～

If you weren't doing schoolwork at every spare moment, it was safe to say that you napping.

Back at National Camp, it wasn't uncommon to find you curled up in bed or with your head in Frido's lap while everyone watched a movie.

It seemed that your need to nap every moment you weren't occupied had carried over to England.

It got a little embarrassing the first few times you had been caught napping in the communal space. It was even worse when you woke up to Viv staring down at you with an unreadable look on her face, taking in your form curled up under your travel blanket.

You had smiled nervously as she stood in front of you, unmoving.

When Beth appeared through the door a moment later, Viv shushed her sternly and tucked your blanket up over your shoulders again, taking a seat nearby with a book.

Beth, it seemed, hadn't been able to keep her mouth shut about it so your constant naps had just become an expected thing and, after Leah had accidentally woken you up and gotten yelled at by Viv for it, the team tended to just leave you alone.

You were slightly delirious and warm when you woke up from your nap, eyes fluttering open and then shut again.

The low murmur of chatter let you know that contrary to when you started your nap, you were now no longer alone.

You were still quite confused, brain still thick with sleep, but you could recognise Sabrina's Canadian-accented English so you gathered that the keepers had finished their morning practice and had found you asleep in the media room.

You also recognised that your head was now slightly elevated so one of them must have moved your head into their lap while you slept. That was nice. Sometimes you would wake up with a crook in your neck from sleeping on the beat-up sofa that Leah swore she was one bad back away from replacing herself.

Your eyes fluttered open again, blearily blinking.

Across from you, Naomi laughed. "The kid's awake."

"I'm not a kid," You said stubbornly even though you were," You're not that much older than me."

"Still older," Naomi replied.

Next to her, Sabrina laughed.

That meant that Manu was sitting with you, your head in her lap. She laughed as well, jolting you slightly as you clutched your travel blanket tighter around your body.

You yawned.

"How long until gym?"

"Hour and a bit," Came Manu's answer.

You hummed and yawned a second time.

"Don't tell me you're going back to sleep," Sabrina said.

"Fine. I won't tell you."

●～●～●～●～

You spent the first few matches stuck on the bench.

You were young and not as experienced as your teammates so it made sense that you would be stuck there for the time being. Besides, it made you feel a little bit better that Kyra was stuck on the bench as well so you had someone who acted younger than you to muck around with.

"Chin up," Laia said with a grin, an arm thrown over your shoulder as she walked onto the pitch with you for warmups," You're starting today. Aren't you excited?"

"You look more excited than me," You replied a little sourly," I...I feel a little sick if I'm honest."

"You'll do great."

"So long as you tie your boots correctly and don't trip," Noelle said in way of greeting.

Your cheeks lit up in flames instantly at the reminder of training a few days ago when Beth had snuck up behind you and made a stupid sound in your ear. You had jumped into the air in shock and your laces weren't tied correctly so you tripped over your own feet and went tumbling to the ground in a way that made you look clumsier than Alessia.

"Don't be mean," Lotte chastised as the four of you passed a ball around," y/n knows how to properly tie her laces." She sent you a teasing smile and a shrug. "Besides, I'm sure she'll have some of the older girls lining up to make sure they're done properly."

You huffed as you kicked the ball back to her. You spun on your heel. "You're all mean," You declared," I'm gonna warm up with Vic and Less."

●～●～●～●～

The ninety minutes of your debut match were gruelling.

The ball went back and forth between the teams. Every shot that went in was equalised quickly. Everyone was growing tired, especially when five minutes of extra time was awarded and Katie was one dirty tackle away from earning herself a yellow card.

You took a moment to catch your breath, pulling up your socks before breaking into a sprint.

The opposing team's defence was in shambles and you could see their goalkeeper getting antsy.

A long ball from Katie fell neatly into Alessia's feet and she began her run.

You followed after her quickly as the opposing defence broke their line. It was carnage for a moment as you both approached the box.

The goalkeeper came off her line ever so slightly as the defence mobbed Alessia, who passed quickly to you.

Your foot moved automatically as you chipped the ball over the goalkeeper's head and into the back of the net.

Your instincts got you the goal so when your brain finally caught up, you were sporting the same look on your face as the one you had when you won against Australia.

The final whistle rang out as you stood there in shock.

Half a moment later, the team crashed into you.

Less made it to you first, pulling you in for a tight hug before everyone else converged on you.

You felt a bit like a dog, with the amount of head pats you were receiving but the blinding smile on your face more than made up for it - especially when Viv meandered over and gave you a hug and congratulations.

"Come on, l/n!" Katie cheered as she dragged you through the victory lap. "Party tonight! I'll pay for the drinks!"

"She's sixteen," Lina reminded her.

"I didn't say we had to go out to a pub! It's legal for sixteen-year-olds to drink at home! What do you say, kid?"

You laughed. "Good luck getting Stina to agree."

#woso x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #woso community #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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sweetandgentlecreature · 9 months

Text

Homeward Bound

Author’s Note: Hello, lovely readers! I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Amanda, and I’ve been a long-time fan and lurker of every iteration of the Cavill tag. As a southern(ish) small town native myself, I have quite the soft spot in my heart for our sweet military Captain. I absolutely adore all of the works and worlds we’ve created around a character that doesn’t even have a first name. It’s been a long time coming that I finally dust off the old chromebook and give it a crack as well. I hope you enjoy my first take on ole Sy.

The only warnings I have for you this time are for explicit language and implied mentions of smut, so please do not interact if you are under the age of eighteen. All mistakes are my own, gif credit goes to the owner. Otherwise, please don’t hesitate to reach out, share your thoughts, or just fangirl along with me. Thanks for stopping by!

“Shut the fuck up! Cowboy’s got an old lady?! Who’d wanna fuck that ogre?”

Liquor flowed like the newly established running water in that small, nameless village they’d been exiled in for far too long. Two more weeks in this shithole and they’d be on the first redeye outta here. Sy could almost smell the fresh texan air, feel the warm breeze blowing in through the open window of his old pickup. Crickets chirped behind his closed eyelids, fireflies danced in the treeline behind the house. The steady creaking of that old porch swing made his heart hurt as he thought about her bare feet urging it to rock back and forth, back and forth. For a moment, he could taste the sweet tea in his favorite mason jar, fresh brewed and ice cold as it clung to his mustache in sticky, damp droplets. He licked his dry lips and shook his head, chuckling softly under his breath as he eavesdropped on the conversation as it unfolded in the next room.

“Have you lost your mind, Private? Do you want him to put your ass on latrine duty for the rest of our stay? He catches wind of you talkin’ shit about his woman, and they’ll be shipping us all back in pine boxes.” Cole scoffed and shook his head. They’d spent nearly a year out here busting their asses to get the water flowing again and he wouldn’t let the actions of one drunk jackass get him in trouble with the boss. He took a heavy pull from the amber bottle in his hands and sighed. “For the record…even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then.” His comment sent the rest of the platoon howling with laughter. Sy simply smirked. He got that one from me.

Cracking open the old metal tin with his name spray painted across the top, Syverson took out the stack of letters he’d accumulated over the last several months he’d spent away from home. “One last time, darlin’” he promised her. “Then I’m all yers. Ye’ll be sick’a me. Beg me ta’ get outta yer hair.”

In truth, the thought of returning to civilian life scared him a bit. He enlisted the moment he could on the day he turned eighteen. Signed his life away, threw himself to the wolves, and got married to the job. Two decades later, he wasn’t sure he’d be any good at keeping a normal schedule. Johnny at the sawmill promised he’d hold a place for him when he got back, but spitting sawdust day in and day out somehow seemed worse than dodging bullets. His last tour was shorter than this one was. He’d barely been home long enough to shit, shower, and shave before word came down the line that he’d be shipping out again. The look on her face when he sat her down for dinner that night to break the news…he’ll never forget it.

Sy brushed a thumb over the stack of neatly folded letters in his hand. He’d read and reread them a million times while he waited for a new one to come in. Phone calls weren’t guaranteed out here. Even the satellite phone struggled to hold a connection. Conversations over noisy interference were brief. “How ya doin’, baby? How’s yer mom an’ them?” “Has the screen door been given’ ya fits again? It’s first on my list” “Alright, darlin’, I best be goin’. Keep sayin’ yer prayers fer us. Good girl. I love ya, sugar.” Nervous energy churned in his gut as he thought about laying eyes on her again. He wondered how long her hair had gotten. She knew he liked it long. Long enough to wrap around his fist and pull her back into him as he… Fuck. He couldn’t think about that right now. Two more weeks. Two more weeks and he’d be home. Home for good.

—

Life bustled around him as heavy, dusty boots thudded dully across the floor of the Houston airport. Men in suits talked into cell phones and toted briefcases as they brushed past him to get their luggage. Kids headed off to their fall semesters embraced their parents one last time before heading to the gate. Sy moved with a smooth, calculated accuracy to dodge the crowd as his eyes scanned faces for a familiar one. His heart thudded hard in his chest, the rush of his pulse flooding his ears over the sound of muffled last calls over the loudspeaker above.

Syverson wasn’t one to worry too much, but when he couldn’t find her right away, a voice in his head scolded him. “Ya must’a told her the wrong day, ya dumb motherfucker. Now what’re ya gonna do? Ain’t got no cash ta pay for a cab. Hitchhike? Flash a tit for a ride back ta’ town?” But then, he heard it. Clear as day, loud enough to rid the thoughts from his mind and send goosebumps skittering up and down his tanned forearms.

“Clayton.”

Sy stopped suddenly, nearly bumped into the couple who walked behind him, and turned on his heels. He mumbled a half-assed apology to the disgruntled folks he plowed into as he brushed by them. The man was on a mission. Ditching the old green duffel bag at his feet, he threw open his arms as she met him half way and threw herself against his chest.

He was an impenetrable wall, the force nearly knocking the wind from her lungs as she crashed into him. Tears brimmed in her eyes, wide and wild, the color of sea glass, gleaming in the fluorescent lights above as she searched his face. The lines at the corner of his eyes were deeper, a new scar graced his left temple and was already a soft shade of pink as it faded. A soft, satisfied smile spread across her freckled cheeks as she smoothed a hand over the center of his chest, letting it fall to rest over his heart. The steady thump of each beat against her palm gave her a sense of peace. He was whole; he was home.

“You’re late,” she chuckled, fisting his clean, pressed t-shirt and tugging him down for a quick kiss. Sy grasped her tightly, a rough hand coming up to hold the back of her head to keep her still. His eyes were alight with a silent warning as he held her close. Nuh uh, lil girl. Yer not goin’ anywhere.

“Nah, baby,” he breathed out, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he brought them down to meet hers once more. “I’m right on time.”

—

“What’s this I hear about us getting a dog?” Sy had his arm slung over her shoulder as they walked out of the sliding double doors. He toted the duffel higher, up over his other shoulder as they paused at the curb and let traffic pass by.

“She’s in quarantine right now. Once she’s cleared, we can pick ‘er up in a couple of weeks. Ye’ll love her, scout’s honor.”

Her laugh was music to his ears, as she shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. “Of course. You just can’t quit picking up strays, can you, big guy?” They crossed the path and headed out to the parking lot to find the beat up old Chevy that awaited them. The thought of her having to scoot the bench seat all the way up to peer over the steering wheel made him grin.

“Hey, I picked you up. Look at us now.” That earned him a swat across the chest as she broke away to unlock the driver’s side door. Boy, was she a sight for sore eyes. This. The whitty back and forth. This is what he missed the most.

“Oh, shut up, asshole. You were drunk. I had to drive us back to your place, remember?” Sy stopped her before she could get the door open. He dumped his bag into the bed of the truck and backed her up against the side of it, reaching out to brush her hair over her shoulder.

“Let’s make a pitstop on the way home, alright? It’ll be quick.”

Her face burned bright red, and she giggled nervously as her eyes darted around them, worried that they might catch the attention of some nosy onlookers if she’d heard him right. “Clay…we haven’t even made it out of the parking lot yet. Let’s just go home and–” He let out an amused snort as he shook his head. Devil woman.

“Nah, baby…not like that.” He slipped his hand into the back pocket of her jeans to draw her in close as he met her gaze. His voice was soft and sure. His mama was right. She’d been waiting on him long enough.

“I was thinkin’ somethin’ a little more…clerical. We’ve got some business ta’ attend to. At the courthouse.” Sy squeezed a handful of her backside, just enough to earn a little yip of surprise from her parted lips. “Gotta change yer last name.”

#captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson fluff #syverson smut #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill one shot #fic rec

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housebarrett · 1 year

Text

Mandy Sacs: Fitness Girls Shoot (2023)

#*images rock n roll is our epiphany #c: Amanda #mandy rose #mandy sacs #amanda saccomanno #wce

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skinnywalker · 2 years

Note

On my knees, BEGGING

For the slasher ladies and their female reader to go on a cute little date because theres not enough of these.

Honestly tho! There are so few 😖

Female slashers on a date with their girlfriend

Tiffany Valentine

Tiffany doesn't really care what you do as long as your together

You could be trapped in a metal crate and she will still be happy

She adores you to death! (Or amputation)

But if she had to choose she likes going to the mall for shopping dates.

If you wear make up, you'll stop in sephora and try on their free samples

If you wear braids she'll pick out different colors and you'll sit and watch a movie while she braids you

She'll carry all your bags just make sure to get her a few things too

She loves you so much she just wants to she you happy

Amanda Young

Amanda doesn't like to share you with the world

She sees the world as a horrible place full of ungrateful people

So when you go on dates you go late at night

She takes you to a park and you sit and watch the stars

Sometimes you talk but most if the time she's just listens to your breathe

These nights don't happen often since you both work so much but that's what makes them special

Carrie White

Library dates.

Carrie just like the comfort of you two snuggled together reading

You bring her tea and cookies as sink into big soft chairs

Sometimes she falls asleep in your arms sighing happily

You've taught her so much that her mother refused to through books

It's a good bonding time for both of you

Carrie is slowly learning to trust you

Jennifer Check

Jennifer wants to go to a drive in movie!

She wants to lay in your jacket barely watching the movie while she loving stares at your face

You only get half way through before she attacks you with kisses and you pull her into your lap

After the movie you go out and buy slushies

Ginger

Ginger just wants to do what you want to do!

Want to got get pizza? She's down. Want to the roller park? If it's what you want.

She just wants to sat and adore you

Sometimes you do get pulled into a concert or a photographing night with Brigitte but that's only a few times

Most of your dates are just hanging out and cuddling while some rock band is blasting

Amber Freeman

Amber wants to drink and dance

But mainly she wants to show you off

Show those assholes that she has this goddess for a girlfriend

She likes movies but mostly in the comfort of your own home

You might also just have walking dates where you get ice cream or popsicles

She lives to see the face of Richie when she pulls you into a deep kiss

Baby firefly

Baby wants to picnic in the graveyard

She pulls out her sunscreen puts up her hair and gets a nice tan

Yes she is shirtless and yes only you get to she her like this 😏

She brings a nice lunch of sandwiches and fruit

Tiny even packed you a cookie! How nice!

She talks about all the tourist she got rid off while she fawns over your pretty exposed shoulders

If you burn easily she'll insist to rub on your sunscreen for you

You cuddle together watching the sunset and listening to the cicadas

Angela Baker

Angela just walks to hike with you

She wants pick flowers and make flower crowns

She wants to hold your hand while the sounds of nature shrouded you

Your fingers interlocked, music playing of a walkman as you two throw rocks across a pond

Sometimes you play dolls in her yard and make them little dresses out of scrap clothe

She brings out lemonade with little mint leaves in them for flavor

Mainly she just wants to be outside with you

#slasher x reader #slasher thirst #baby firefly #baby firefly x reader #amber freeman #amber freeman x reader #amanda young #amanda young x reader #carrie white x reader #carrie white #angela baker #angela baker x reader #ginger snaps #ginger x reader #Jennifer check #jennifer check x reader #tiffany valentine #tiffany valentine x reader

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loverhymeswith · 9 months

Text

'Cause I'd Rather Feel Pain Than Nothing at All

Pairing: Rick Flag x GN!Reader

Summary: Inspired by the Three Days Grace song of the same name, this is an angsty little drabble that has been sitting in my drafts for a few months.

Word Count: 829

Warnings: Description of injury, angst

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Despite your clenched jaw, the lie slips out easily. Still, you avoid eye contact with Rick as he examines your bruised and swollen hand; his uncanny ability to read your emotions won’t serve you well right now. If he thinks for one minute that you’re badly injured, you’ll wind up on desk duty faster than you can say Bloodsport. That is, if either of you make it out of here alive.

“Really?” The word stretches out into the darkness, filling what little space there is between you. “Because it looks pretty damn bad to me.”

With so much cynicism lacing the colonel’s tone, your eyes involuntarily flicker upwards, landing on his familiar worry-worn face, illuminated as it is by the weak orange glow of your twin torches. Shadows dance across his battle-scarred features, eerily emphasising all his sharp curves and edges – a Picasso painting brought to life, albeit temporarily.

Thanks to the explosion rocking the building only minutes earlier, the two of you are trapped in what had once been the ground-floor comms-room, a mountain of rubble outside the door now separating you - somewhat ironically - from your squad of deadly prisoners. Those prisoners are undoubtedly enjoying their fleeting moment of freedom at your expense. If this situation doesn’t kill you, Amanda Waller surely will.

“Really. It’s probably just a sprain.” You tap the cracked GPS device somehow still strapped to your injured wrist and send out a silent prayer that Harley and the others will try to find you. And soon. Much like your ongoing attempt to convince Rick that you’re ok, the signal -- and your hope -- is weak.

The second lie draws Rick’s attention away from your hand, his hazel eyes finding you effortlessly even in the darkness. You quickly subvert your own gaze from the sweat beading across his filthy brow. It’s unfair that in such rotten conditions he still manages to look handsome.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the doctors, huh?” Calloused fingers brush across your knuckles. While it’s the ghost of a touch, you still find yourself gritting your teeth against the pain. Something is almost certainly fractured, but your hand is far from the only part of you that is wounded in Rick’s presence.

“If you say so.”

Spite tempts you to point out that hospitals and doctors seem like a distant fantasy when the pair of you might be lost down here forever. After all, any potential rescue attempt rides solely on Harley’s twisted moral compass. Between the two of you, have you shown her enough kindness? Perhaps she’ll leave you here to rot – and who could blame her?

But Rick is an optimist; he sees the good in people while you only see all the ways they can let you down. The colonel is no exception.

Careful not to jostle your hurting wrist, you snatch up one of the torches and aim the beam towards the door. The force of the fallen debris from the floors above has warped the metal in such a fashion that nothing short of another explosion is likely to free it from the frame. And you’re fresh out of nitro.

“Where was your head at?” Rick’s deep voice shatters the cloying silence descending over the room.

“Huh?” For the briefest of moments, you’d forgotten he was here. No easy feat considering his proximity, propped up beside you against the wall.

“Exactly. You’re somewhere else today. Distracted.”

He could be referring to any number of events: how you almost missed wheels-up because you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed; how you forget to check-out Harley’s weapons cache, leading to a meltdown of epic proportions from the princess of crime; how easily the guards got the drop on you.

Rick presses on. “You can talk to me, you know. If something is bothering you-”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off decidedly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Fine…

Has anyone ever said that four letter word and truly meant it?

From the flash of his eyes, it’s clear Rick doesn’t believe you.

You want to tell him the truth. You want to tell him that yes, your hand might be bad, but you’ve experienced far worse. That the pain you carry around with you every day has dulled your other senses, so much so that a knife to the gut would probably hurt less. But you don’t. Instead, ignoring the familiar and constant hurt throbbing deep in the cavern of your chest, you subtly shuffle away from him.

All things considered, the pain of your injury is a welcome relief, allowing you to focus on something other than the truth.

Because Rick Flag broke your heart without even knowing it. And now you’re stuck here beside him, waiting for almost inevitable death together in this dank, dark room.

Perhaps this was how it was always meant to be.

Joel Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @babblydrabbly @heresathreebee @phoenixhalliwell @weallhaveadestiny @lavenderluna10 @immyownlittlebitch @katjnordstrom96 @kirsteng42 @littlefreakingfangirl @s-u-t @xoxabs88xox @lacontroller1991 @mayhem24-7forever

#rick flag #joel kinnaman #the suicide squad #rick flag x reader #does this mean my hiatus is over?

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rreskk · 7 months

Note

Request: either Michael or Trevor with a plus size girl reader? Extremely vague request lol but I’d love to see what you come up with. I’m always craving some body worship in this fandom!! Thank you (and sorry if my English isn’t the best)

MICHAEL LOVERS, COME GET YOUR JUICES NOW!

Summary: You always felt insecure about your body, but the way he'd touch and look at you had made this fear completely vanish.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Plus sized!fem Reader/Michael De Santa

Word count: 844

His masculine hands hovered the skin of your shaky thighs. He had you lying underneath, body exposed and the natural light of sunset enhancing your bodily glow. His lips trailed slow kisses down your tummy rolls where it would shiver against his touch. The part of your body which you try and avoid showing, he was taking great care in loving you.

“Michael…” You whisper to gain his attention. But you earnt no response.

Michael reached the tip of your pussy, his warm breath penetrating you.

“C’mon… Mikey,” Another attempt of pleading, “I need you, so bad.”

He raised a thumb and inspected your wetness before smiling up at you. Although he was usually distant and… Sexually deprived, you’ve never seen him so romantic. He had jokingly touched you all night and here you both are, huddling his bed naked.

“So, you need me now?” He’d tease.

“This isn’t funny…” You wanted to shy away at his tormenting behaviour. He grinned at your reaction before hoisting you up by the waist. Your thighs began to cuddle his waist and Michael leaned over, hands exploring your body, favouring your thick curves that slid right through his fingers.

“C’mere.” He murmured, ushering you closer where he passionately kissed your wobbly lips.

Your hands tangled the back of his black suit. You tried to grip but it was loosened when he pulled away. Already whining at the loss of contact, it was soon replaced by the sound of his belt and trousers being shuffled around. He allowed you to help. Michael watched the way you’d threw his trousers aside and simply praise the sight of his cock that was throbbing unremarkably. Ever since Amanda failed to contribute to his sex-life, he found home in your touch, that attachment slowly becoming romance.

“God…” A small moan left his lips as you stroked the tip of his penis.

You’d whisper again, whispering words of encouragement, hoping he’d give into this game and fuck you nice and hard. You kept on whispering his name and adding pressure to the hand around his cock. It would have complete spasms within the reach of your palm, and without notice, he was already lining himself up, pinning your arms above your head.

“Mikey!”

He demanded you to be quiet, with that sly smirk, and pushed into you. Michael’s pupils dilated as your breasts shook together when being thoroughly penetrated. He stared down at your curves and thick features, finding it utterly beautiful as they’d all move with the tides of his thrusts. So much so, he couldn’t stand anymore space between you. Michael wrapped your legs around his waist and praised when you moaned louder and louder.

“Good… Good girl… Taking me in so well.” He’d lowly mention.

Another pant turned into breathless words. You squirmed and tried to reach for his wrists that held onto your stomach and breast.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” Michael met your hand, intertwining fingers and immediately soaking his heart out – something he always struggles to do. It was heaven to hear. You wanted to return his expressive speech, but a high-pitched moan stopped you. Despite being romantic and passionate, he was also rocking into you brutally.

“Fuck, fuck!”

“C’mon, [y/n], God! I feel so good…”

You nibbled your bottom lip and closed your eyes. The bed squeaked underneath you as he carried on fucking you perfectly. Your thoughts fell back onto his words, his occasional words of affirmation when in heat. Looking up at his blushed face, you made eye-contact, and you pulled him towards you, lips greeting each other’s. At first, he seemed hesitant, but Michael gave in and kissed back with such euphuism. His hands travelling up your body and beside your head, trapping you. He kept his body stable above you as them hips continued swerving with great strength. Your pussy was already dripping with the cum he caused from the constant edging earlier on. You couldn’t help but murmur your upcoming climax, in which he replied;

“M'yeah… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum too – “ His words broken at the impact of his suppressed emotions.

He steadily carried on before it was safe to pull out. Michael grinded his bare crotch against your thigh and watched the cum squirt out, painting your skin white. In the meantime, you had also orgasmed heavily. You’d moan his name and hold his head close to your neck. Mikey was breathing frantically and made little noise, but the sounds that did escape, it was small whines that sounded similar to the syllables of your name.

“Ah… Ahh, yeah.” He murmured in your neck, his body collapsing onto yours.

Though sore, you felt great. Your body felt worshipped. Michael’s arms were draped around you tightly and you couldn’t help but keep him close.

“I love you.” You finally managed to expression.

He went silent before glancing up and giving you a calm smile. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he loved you back. He just stayed in your arms and continued stroking your frame with his rough hands.

#grand theft auto 5 #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #michael de santa fanfiction #michael de santa x reader #michael de santa #michael townley #gta michael #my fanfic #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction #requests #there should be more michael fics #might change that #hes hot

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yemme · 5 months

Text

Leave The World Behind... (Spoilers)

This Sam Esmail Netflix movie is a gem... It doesn't just give us insight into what could be if our nation pushes the reset button... To have us become prey as Americans... and who will be ready. It dishes out some characterizations for societies stereotypes for a demographic.

Julia Roberts: Amanda, scene of her listening to R&B in the car (Blackstreet). You can tell she used to ride black dick in college. When George comes to the door the racism sets in... the man is wearing a suit with his daughter as a companion but FEAR sets in. Can't trust, doesn't believe black excellence can achieve this house even the expensive car. Finally that fear dissipates and leads to her wanting to fuck him down while her husband is outside.

Mahershala Ali: George, the docile negro. To acquire in this world one must play by a set of rules. It's evident he's done so. Non combative, don't rock the boat and accommodate. When his daughter talks to him while they're sleeping in the basement after the family returns... it's eye opening to his submissiveness. Are you prepared to stand strong for us because her strength will not tolerate his weakness.

Ethan Hawke: Clay, King Carefree... smoked all his brain cells away since his teenage years that he only functions with a wife assist. Hasn't thought for himself in ages.

Myha'la Herrold: Ruth, the problematic black woman. Her assertiveness is an issue. Dominance makes people uneasy. Honesty and intelligence seen as attitude. The hair wet commentary, can't just exist. Fast, have you ever fucked your students, hyper sexualized.

Charlie Evans: Archie... Grade A little prick with the weakest gene code. Killed the role of a young gamer, horny without a AK-47.

Vanessa Aspillaga: Salvadora, the housekeeper that no one ever listens to when speaking facts because somehow society believes speaking Spanish is a lack of intelligence and/or subhuman.

Kevin Bacon: Danny, straight shooter, military ready... but a big softy.

Farrah Mackenzie: Rose/Rosie... to be seen and not heard. Creating a bubble that you live in with blinders is a happy place. It's not just about technology but a way of life. It leads to selfishness where even a simple thought of caring about an outside entity is foreign, alien. Quintessential white woman.

It's giving...

#Leave The World Behind #Beautiful characters... beautiful...#MethodToMyMadnessYemme

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year

Text

First Afro-American ran for US President

“George Edwin Taylor ran for president a long time before Barack Obama.”

“Born in the pre-Civil War South to a mother who was free and a father who was enslaved, George Edwin Taylor would become the first African American selected by a political party to be its candidate for the presidency of the United States.

Taylor was born on August 4, 1857 in Little Rock, Arkansas to Amanda Hines and Bryant (Nathan) Taylor. At the age of two, George Taylor moved with his mother from Arkansas to Illinois. When Amanda died a few years later, George fended for himself until arriving in Wisconsin by paddleboat in 1865. Raised in and near La Crosse by a politically active African family, he attended Wayland University in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin from 1877 to 1879, after which he returned to La Crosse where he went to work for the La Crosse Free Press and then the La Crosse Evening Star. During the years 1880 to 1885 he produced newspaper columns for local papers as well as articles for the Chicago Inter Ocean.

Taylor's newspaper work brought him into politics--especially labor politics. He sided with one of the competing labor factions in La Crosse and helped re-elect the pro-labor mayor, Frank "White Beaver" Powell, in 1886. In the months that followed, Taylor became a leader and office holder in Wisconsin's statewide Union Labor Party, and his own newspaper, the Wisconsin Labor Advocate, became one of the newspapers of the party.

In 1887 Taylor was a member of the Wisconsin delegation to the first national convention of the Union Labor Party, which met in Ohio in April, and refocused his newspaper on national political issues. As his prominence increased, his race became an issue, and Taylor responded to the criticism by increasingly writing about African American issues. Sometime in 1887 or 1888 his paper ceased publication.

In 1891 Taylor moved to Oskaloosa, Iowa where he continued his interest in politics, first in the Republican Party and then with the Democrats. While in Iowa Taylor owned and edited the Negro Solicitor, and became president of the National Colored Men's Protective Association (an early civil rights organization) and the National Negro Democratic League, an organization of Africans within the Democratic Party. From 1900 to 1904 he aligned himself with the Populist faction that attempted to reform the Democratic Party.

Taylor and other independent-minded African Americans in 1904 joined the first national political party created exclusively for and by Africans, the National Liberty Party (NLP). The Party met at its national convention in St. Louis, Missouri in 1904 with delegates from thirty-six states. When the Party's candidate for president ended up in an Illinois jail, the NLP Executive Committee approached Taylor, asking him to be the party's candidate.

While Taylor's campaign attracted little attention, the Party's platform had a national agenda: universal suffrage regardless of race; Federal protection of the rights of all citizens; Federal anti-lynching laws; additional African regiments in the U.S. Army; Federal pensions for all former slaves; government ownership and control of all public carriers to ensure equal accommodations for all citizens; and home rule for the District of Columbia.

Taylor's presidential race was quixotic. In an interview published in The Sun (New York, November 20, 1904), he observed that while he knew whites thought his candidacy was a "joke," he believed that an independent political party that could mobilize the African American vote was the only practical way that blacks could exercise political influence. On election day, Taylor received a scattering of votes.

The 1904 campaign was Taylor's last foray into politics. He remained in Iowa until 1910 when he moved to Jacksonville. There he edited a succession of newspapers and was director of the African American branch of the local YMCA. He was married three times but had no children. George Edwin Taylor died in Jacksonville on December 23, 1925.”

Above written source=

George Edwin Taylor - 2014 - Question of the Month - Jim Crow Museum

The Brother tried and I knew all the Afro-Americans couldn't vote for him because voter suppression .

#george edwin taylor #african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #brownskin #afrakans #africans #brown skin #african culture #barack obama #african president #politics

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landslided · 5 months

Note

Sorry if it's boring, but continuing with LawRusso AU Johnny princess, I really like the "enchanted" movie and I can't stop thinking about Johnny being Giselle singing to the rats and cockroaches to clean Daniel and Sam's house lol

as a rule of thumb it is NEVER boring to send me asks, especially ones like these where i can have fun and think of AUs! and you picked a movie i love so this is just a win win for me!!

let’s get into it:

lawrusso enchanted AU is such a good idea im almost jealous i didn’t think of it myself!!

i think daniel and amanda got divorced amicably a few years ago and she still lives in los angeles but daniel moved back to jersey to be closer to lucille and he took sam with him (im imagining this as a story without anthony because it fits better, sorry anthony).

daniel still works as a divorce lawyer because that is just funny to me and it’s canon to the movie and he has this perpetual look of "im one shirt sleeve caught on a door handle away from snapping" look because being a single father is hard work and yeah, he and amanda co-parent but sam is with him most of the time and by moving here he’s always made himself more prone to special lucille larusso mother attacks of "you never visit even now that you’re so close" "you’re so skinny, do you cook actual food or just eat take out?" "are you coming for christmas? all your cousins will be there and also that nice girl you liked when you were a kid, judy? maybe it’s time to get back into dating, daniel!"

amanda has planned to come into the city to spend the holidays with her daughter and ex-husband and i see her as a platonic nancy role.

sam is in her full princess era and she’s making both her parents crazy with all the singing and dancing (and kicking furniture because she’s a karate princess)

meanwhile, in andalasia, johnny who is both prince(ss) and hero dreams of finding his one true love and sighs at his window. he’s been locked away in a tower by his evil step-dad kreese and he’s waiting for someone to come and save him (or at least just open the door of his magically locked tower because he can surely save himself).

carmen who happens to be a princess and hero herself has gone on a quest to save the lost prince of andalasia and with her help, johnny manages to escape the tower, defeat a forest troll and take back his throne from kreese’s claws. he and carmen tentatively get together (but deep down both feel this might not be the right fit for each other) and as johnny makes his way to his own royal wedding he’s sent to Real Life New Jersey and meets daniel and sam.

i kind of see giselle’s wedding dress for him but with pants for a more Realistic outfit but… screw realism i want johnny lawrence in that EXACT outfit!

also imagine scott mccall the equalizer soft mullet with a tiara, it’s just too good. ALSO imagine carmen IN THIS!!!!

you KNOW she would rock this!!

oh and yeeees, johnny summoning rats and insects in daniel’s apartment to clean and sam is SOOOOO excited because that’s a real life prince(ss) who also happens to be a great fighter and they do karate moves while also talking about johnny’s best friend, a chipmunk called bobby.

sam and johnny going on a shopping spree and buying a bunch of stuff and eating ice cream. johnny going to the hairdresser and having his hair cut to look more traditionally masculine (daniel doesn’t want to look into why it makes him sad) because he he keeps getting looks from people in the street for his dress and long hair.

johnny making clothes out of daniel’s curtains and daniel is all you could just ASK me for MY clothes you are not THAT much bigger than i am. johnny making a gi for sam out of pastel pink flower fabric from an old blanket and daniel is like okay… i have to admit that’s pretty adorable.

johnny in the park singing to daniel, who has been wondering if he should take his mom’s advice and try to get back with amanda, hoooow dooooes she knooooow you loooove heeeer (johnny stop, people are looking at us) and johnny has that giselle/animated princess innocence but there is still very much an edge of assholery to him where every time he can he embarrasses daniel as much as possible.

(carmen running around new jersey trying to find her prince(ss) and being like i kind of hate this i wish this was more sunny, also why do i keep getting questions about being on broadway what is a broad a way)

daniel and johnny fighting because johnny keeps saying carmen will come get him and daniel is so fed up with it ("no, johnny, it’s just not gonna happen." "no? is that the only word you know, larusso? no?! oh my god you make me so, so so!!!" "so what?" "so angry!" cue sparring in the living room because that’s how they deal with emotions )

johnny and daniel falling in love montage and then CARMEN AND AMANDA FALLING IN LOVE MONTAGE!!! YES I WILL SNEAK CARMANDA IN EVERYTHING EVER!!

kreese coming to new jersey to finish the job, daniel and johnny going to the ball and daniel giving johnny a true love’s kiss, kreese turning into a dragon and kidnapping daniel, johnny chasing them on the roof with carmen’s sword in his hand and finally getting rid of his evil step-father to save his one true love!!

"is this an habit of yours, daniel? falling off of stuff?"

"only when you’re there to catch me."

lawrusso new jersey happy ending and carmanda los angeles happy ending because amanda wouldn’t go to andalasia when sam is there and hey! carmen would love a break from being a fairytale hero! she wants to go to the beach!

daniel quits his job because it makes him miserable and he and johnny open a dojo together which sam is very excited about and lucille is so happy that her son has found someone and seems to be happier than ever.

they all go to andalasia once in a while to visit bobby and the other three chipmunks (you know who they are) and they all live happily ever after.

the end!

#thank you SO MUCH for this it was lovely #*asks #lawrusso #ask AUs

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farfromstrange · 10 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 17: Crisp Trepidation

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael is shaken up and you take care of him. But when Amanda comes around, truths start spilling out and you finally remove all the walls that have been standing tall between you.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, mentions of child abuse, blood, non-sexual intimacy, cursing, panic attack, crying

Word Count: ~11k (this is a beast but it had to be done)

A/n: So they finally talk!! It’s not a proper adult conversation because it didn't fit in here, but they do talk a little and they’re finally open with each other, which lays the foundation of The Talk that’s gonna follow. You're welcome! (It’s also a lot of dialogue and I’m not sure if it’s good, but I tried. Feedback is always appreciated!)

Michael’s house is eerily silent when you enter. He turns the lights on in the hallway and you lock the door behind you. You can never be too safe, especially not after what conspired earlier tonight.

You’re met with the sight of a cozy kitchen. His decor is minimalistic, but it fits. You like the colors, and you like the layout.

It's a nice home to live in, you note, if it weren't for the constant reminder of tragedy you know lies in the living room.

You suspect his bedroom is upstairs together with the bathroom–the stairs lead from the living room to another floor. It’s small, but it’s cozy and it seems like a nice place to live in. But the place is missing a personal touch, and that’s where you realize that he was really gone for eight years; it shows in every inch of his home.

You wonder what life before his wife’s death was like. Were they happy? How did he and Anna get along? You have no doubt he was a great father before. You’ve always wondered what life as a Kinsella looks like, but after hearing he was shot at and his nephew died, you no longer want to know. It’s dangerous and you don’t like the thought of him being subjected to it.

“You, uh–” He breaks off to catch his breath. “Sorry, you want a drink?” Michael asks.

You shake your head. “No,” you answer. “I’m good.”

He purses his lips, gets a glass, and pours some water from the tap into it for himself.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” you break the silence first.

He shakes his head.

“Okay, that's fine.” Your voice is soft when you reach out to touch his cheek again and say, “How about you take a shower then? It might help.”

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and he leans into the palm of your hand. His head is just as heavy as his heart. A pile of bricks drags him down further under the surface of the lake. He’s drowning somewhere he’s sure no one would find him if he disappeared. You’re the rock keeping him afloat, but once you’re gone, nothing is holding him back from following the current into oblivion.

Michael nods weakly in response to your question. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Shower sounds grand.”

You offer him a soft smile. “Do you need anything else before that? A hug, maybe?”

His hand finds yours at your side. He comes closer, his breath fanning across your face, and you move to tangle your fingers in the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I know I fucked up last night,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I...I never wanted it to end like tha.”

The dim light that fills the house reflects off the tears glistening in his eyes, and you can see the specks of green in his irises so much clearer now. The change in color always shows how he's feeling. Today, the sadness underlines the deep brown in his eyes, and that’s where you find yourself lost time and time again. He’s beautiful. The tragedy in him brings with it a certain beauty. A human and fragile kind of beauty.

Your throat dries shut. You reach out to cradle his cheek; the action carries the weight of your emotions, and yet it’s still not nearly enough.

“You didn’t have t’stay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to repay ya for bein’ there for me the way you always are, but–”

“Shh,” you’re quick to cut him off. “You have no reason to apologize, okay? Let’s just…forget what happened, just for tonight, so I can take care of you. Nothing else matters.”

His lip quivers as he bites down on it. “I can’t be alone,” your name is a mere breath on Michael’s lips, “And I don’t wanna be.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Michael.”

He catches your chin between his fingers. “Can I–”

You don’t let him finish. “Yes,” you say. It’s a breathy admission, asking for something you both need.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss at first. He still tastes the same as before, maybe a little more like coffee and you taste a lot more like tequila, but he isn't disgusted by the alcohol and caffeine mixture. The gentle brush turns into more when he takes hold of your face and pulls you even closer.

All the pain, fear, and uncertainty melt into a shared vulnerability. It's a kiss filled with longing, a desperate need to find solace in each other. You hadn't been apart for long, but you both believed each other to be over, to have lost the one person that makes life worth living; now he's kissing you again and it feels too good to be true.

Your bodies press together. You wrap your arms around his neck. The soft caress of his hands on your skin sends shivers down your spine, electrifying every last nerve ending. The kiss is emotional, not as passionate as it seems, but it is exactly what you need.

When you break apart, your forehead drops to his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into the silence.

He shakes his head, his lips finding your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought I lost ya,” he says. “And tha what happened was somehow my fault.”

You’re quick to look up at him. “No! God, no. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. We’ll… We’ll figure it out later, okay? Just not tonight.” It’s almost as if you’re begging.

You have both been through enough, you don’t need to add to each other’s plates with another burden to carry.

“Not tonight,” he agrees.

He seems to want the same as you, and you don’t blame him. He has other things on his mind right now.

You press another kiss on his lips before pulling away for good. “Now go take your shower. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Michael offers a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He tries to reassure you, but his own emotions betray him. He’s a very expressive man, even though he pretends he isn’t.

He squeezes your hand, slowly untangling himself from you and stepping toward the stairs that lead, as you’ve suspected, to the bathroom on the second floor.

So many things are still left unsaid between you, but it feels almost natural to be there for him, to kiss him, and be held by him. It makes you hopeful that there is a chance he might forgive you and you won’t end up hating each other.

You’re not sure where this night will lead, but he needs you. You keep reminding yourself that you’re doing this for the man you love and nothing else matters but being emotional support for him. If you stopped telling yourself, you would break, and he would join you. He’s broken enough as he is.

While he showers, you find yourself drawn toward the living room.

He has a lot of books, you notice. He reads. He told you once. His collection looks well-sorted, and the titles all seem familiar. You try not to touch or disturb anything. Everything is kept in order, so he has a system and you’d hate it if someone disturbed your system, and so you leave it be.

Then, your eyes fall on the fireplace set into the wall, and the bullet holes above it cause the blood to freeze in your veins. Of course, you remember what you read about Michael’s wife and how she was shot in this very home, but for a brief moment, you forgot.

His house feels so homely. You forgot he is staying in the very same place that holds a lot of trauma, closer to his family than anything else, and he admitted to feeling stuck there. With these obvious bullet holes, you wonder how he manages to spend even a few minutes in here, but this is Michael and he shoulders a lot without wanting to talk about it.

And you can’t say you haven’t stayed in a place that holds traumatic memories and scars from the past because that would be a lie. You know what it’s like to live in a place where the blood still lingers, but in a twisted kind of way, you feel like it will always be your home. Physically, at least.

You didn’t really listen in therapy, but your therapist said something along the lines of that, and that your dependence on the past is also the reason you’ve never really felt at home anywhere.

Michael is the first person you feel truly safe with, but you went right ahead and shattered that like any other broken relationship you’ve had along the way. You always do this.

Your fingers reach out to trace the scars left by the shooting. The wallpaper feels rough under your fingertips. You imagine the bloodbath, the tears, and the guilt that filled this space eight years ago. You find yourself staring at the floor and the carpet, wondering if someone switched it out because blood is hard to get out. You know what it’s like to try and scrub the crimson liquid out of a carpet, and it’s no fun.

You shake your head, quickly turning away from the ghastly reminder of the trauma that befell Michael and his little family, the same trauma that caused him even more from that moment on, and make your way back to the kitchen to occupy yourself with something else.

Time passes by, and Michael has been showering for a little over thirty minutes. You’re not used to him taking so long. After downing a glass of cold water, you make your way upstairs. There is no water running in the bathroom, only dead silence.

You swallow. What if he had a seizure and you weren’t there? In the bathroom, there are many edges he could split his head on. Your mind starts reeling with the worst-case scenarios, and it compels you to knock on the door to what you suspect is the bathroom.

“Michael?” you ask. “You alright in there?”

There is a moment of silence before he answers, “Yeah, grand.”

You sigh in relief, leaning your head against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

He whispers a quiet, “Yeah.”

You push the handle down and step into the bathroom. The mirror isn’t foggy yet, and the shower seems dry. Michael is sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his boxers, his eyes vacant as he stares at himself in the mirror.

Your brows furrow slightly. “Hey,” you murmur.

His head turns in your direction, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I can’t get the blood off,” he says. His voice sounds like a monotone line. “I tried, but I…I can’t get it off. I never struggled t’ get blood off before, but it won’t…it won’t come off.”

It dawns on you. Your eyes soften as you stare at him, trailing over the stains on his neck, cheeks, and forehead. There is an unused sponge next to the towel he wet to get the blood off, but he didn’t succeed.

You grab it, turn on the water in the shower, grab some shampoo, and kneel beside him. His eyes finally meet yours and you offer a gentle smile. You start scrubbing his neck with the sponge, and the blood almost instantly dissolves under your touch.

The blood washes down the drain, followed by some of his tension. His eyes close. You try not to be so rough; he doesn’t want to be reminded of what happened any more than he already is every time he looks in the mirror.

Eventually, most of the blood is gone. His skin is reddened, but the physical reminder is gone.

You stop to stroke his cheek. “Are you okay?” you ask again.

He nods weakly, but it’s a lie. Truth is, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling and it confuses him, which makes the numb pain in his chest so much worse.

Putting the sponge down, you take a step back. The water in the shower is warm now, you check, and you slowly start taking your clothes off.

Michael’s eyes fall on you and he frowns. “What’re you–”

You cut him off with a finger against his lips. “Take your clothes off,” you tell him.

He doesn’t question your intentions. He knows what you mean. With a grunt, he gets up and sheds his underwear. You’re already bare at this point, so you step into the shower first, making sure it’s comfortable for him when he steps in. His muscles need warmth, and his mind needs a break.

You pull him under the hot stream with a gentle tug of his hand. He has no choice but to succumb to your treatment; he’s exhausted, and your hands hold a magic he can’t get from anyone but you.

You gently use the sponge from before to glide across his skin, starting with his torso. Your touch is tender, massaging his sore muscles in the front and back, and whatever blood you missed before joins the leftover soap in the drain. The water turns clear, and the weight falls off his shoulders.

His skin itches and he still feels sticky with blood. He can’t get the picture of Jamie’s lifeless body off his mind. The memory is forever etched into his inner eyes, and he sees it clearly every time he closes his eyes. The darkness is bright red, the gunshots a melody in his ears that won’t stop, no matter how hard he tries to focus on the cascading water or your voice as you instruct him to twist and turn so you can clean him properly.

You probably can tell that he’s not okay, that he’s still thinking about what happened, but you don’t push him for answers. You don’t ask useless questions because it is clear that’s not what he needs right now. You respect his boundaries.

There is too much pain in his body, and he doesn’t know where to channel it all with his thoughts raining down on him like heavy bricks, hitting him in the head over and over again until he’s bloody and bruised.

He’s a mess, he can’t deny it any longer; he doesn’t want you to see him like this, but he physically can’t be alone. He doesn’t trust himself to be alone, and you’re the only one he can count on to care enough to leave him alone and just be there, which sounds ironic and makes no sense, but to him, it’s all that makes sense in his scrambled mind.

He called you because he knows you can be there for him while also giving him space. You broke up, or at least it felt that way, and he figured you wouldn’t come, but then you did and now he has to deal not only with watching Jamie get shot right in front of his eyes, but he has to deal with his feelings for you as well.

Though when he looks at you, he can tell you’re trying to keep the focus on him and not to speak of what happened, allowing a sense of tranquility to settle in between you. You want this to feel normal as much as he does, but there is no way you can erase what happened or forget just for one night, no matter how hard you both want to try.

It’s messy, but Michael can’t help but appreciate what you’re doing for him. You’re there for him, taking care of him without pushing him into anything he doesn’t want to do, and that’s exactly what he needs and deep down, it is the reason he called you anyway, even though his common sense told him not to.

The movement of the sponge against his back stops. He looks over his shoulder to find you staring at your hand on his skin and his eyebrows furrow.

Michael turns around to face you again. You snap out of it as soon as he moves, but there is still a glaze covering your eyes and turning the color of your irises darker than it should be.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You blink. “Sorry, I just…got lost in thought,” you lie.

He must not have noticed the bruise on his back. It lies close to his shoulder blame, looking almost like the imprint of a door handle. It's just a bruise, you try telling yourself, but you still stop and stare at it for longer than you should have.

A lump forms in your throat. The thought crosses your mind: it could have been him tonight. The terror of losing him, the idea of his life being snuffed out by senseless violence, sends a wave of panic through your body. Michael could have died tonight. A few inches more to the side and it wouldn't have been Jamie or Eric the bullets hit. He could have died and your last conversation would have been a fight that had no reason for turning into such a huge deal. It would have been your fault.

You take a moment to compose yourself, your hand gently retreating from the bruise on his back. It's haunting.

You've seen bruises before. You've seen worse, too. You've looked into the mirror before and seen the very same color on your own skin, and you covered it up because it was always just a bruise. But this is Michael, the man you love, and it proves to you just how fragile life is. It could end in an instant. You could have lost your life many times before. Your sister lost her life when she was just a toddler. Michael could have died at the hands of a gun tonight for seemingly no reason other than that he is a Kinsella, or maybe not even that's the case, and it slowly poisons you from the inside out.

Michael reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Hey, what's goin' on?” he asks. “You alright?”

He noticed you zoned out, but it's hard to breathe. It feels as if someone is sitting on your chest, not ready to budge. But this is not the place and time to panic. This isn't about you. You aren't traumatized. Lying to yourself is easier than admitting the truth. You are not the center of attention. It doesn't matter.

The things you keep telling yourself are enough fuel for the demons in your head to cruelly attack you further, but you signed up for this. You knew this would happen. You were a fool to even get involved in the first place and now look at you. You hate your mind and your body and the person you have become. It's not fair to him.

You meet his eyes. “You could have died tonight,” you whisper. You try not to break so he won't worry because it's the last thing he should do, but you're far too late for that.

Michael's expression softens, his thumb caressing your cheek gently. “I know. But I didn't,” he says. “I'm alive.”

His words, though comforting, don't ease your nerves. “It's not...I just can't wrap my head around it. You could have died tonight,” you repeat, and it hits you even harder. “Just...Dead.”

The weight of the guilt you carry threatens to consume you, but you push it aside, not wanting to burden him further.

He nods along, understanding very well what you mean, but he can't take the weight off your shoulders because he told you before that this is his life. “I know this is probably a lot to process...”

Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your voice. “No, no,” you insist. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let my thoughts wander like that. This is about you. I'm here to take care of you, not the other way around. Sorry.”

His smile, albeit gentle, also holds a certain amount of pity. “You’re incredible, you know tha?” he says.

You offer a small, appreciative smile in return, although it doesn't quite reach your eyes. The demons continue to torment you, but you steel yourself against their onslaught. This isn't the time or place for your own insecurities.

As you both stand in the shower, the water continues to cascade around you. Michael reaches for the sponge.

“I wanna take care of ya,” he says. “May I?”

You shake your head. “No. This isn't about me,” you are quick to respond. “I'll be fine.”

He steps closer, ignoring your protests. Gently, he takes the sponge from your hand. The sensation of his touch on your skin sends a jolt through your body.

As he washes away the remnants of the night, you allow yourself to lean into his touch.

“You matter, too,” he tells you. “I don’t know who told ya you don’t, but they were lyin’.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You can't talk. Instead, you step closer and wrap your arms around him.

He hugs you back, needing this just as much as you. The water continues to cascade over both of you, the steam creating a sanctuary within the confines of the shower. There's no need for words; his presence alone speaks volumes.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your tears mingling with the water. They're silent and he probably doesn't notice. His eyes are closed just like yours, and he's heavily focused on the sound of your heartbeat to ground himself, and his hold tightens.

Time seems to lose its meaning as you cling to each other. The water's warmth envelops you, cocooning you both in its embrace.

Eventually, the need for air pulls you apart, though you remain close, foreheads pressed together. Michael brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. He doesn't ask about it. He rarely does.

“Okay?” he asks.

You manage a small nod. “Okay,” you answer.

He kisses your forehead, then turns the water off. The bathroom is still warm, but without the water, goosebumps are quick to form on your skin. Michael wraps you in a towel first, urging you to dry off, and he follows shortly after.

The next few minutes pass by in silence as he disappears into the bedroom to grab you both some clothes, and he returns with a shirt and a pair of boxers, handing you the same along with a pair of fuzzy socks because he knows you tend to get cold easily.

You take his offer with a small smile and continue to get dressed as well. Meanwhile, he takes your sweatpants and your sweater and hangs them somewhere where the rain can dry. It’s still pouring outside, you can hear it rattling against the window, but you don’t mind the background noise. It’s soothing, in a way.

“You want tea?” you ask him once you’re back downstairs.

Michael’s sitting at the dining table, his brown eyes empty as they stare up at you. He nods, and you get on it without asking any more questions.

You find his tea pretty quickly. Your kettles are the same, so you know how to use them. When it comes to getting the mugs out of the cupboard, you take a moment to search for them because his kitchen is obviously sorted differently than yours, but you also find them quickly without having to ask him.

You feel as if you’re navigating through your own home, which is strange because this house holds many memories that aren’t yours, and they hold bloodshed and trauma that also isn’t yours; Michael has been shouldering it all for years, and there must also be happy memories hiding in some corners that he can never get back now that all is ruined.

You feel bad for him, but you know pity is not something you want. Everyone deals with pain, trauma, and grief differently, and he’s not the type of guy who likes to be belittled. He just wants to be treated like a human being, show love, and be taken care of every once in a while because he has never been nurtured before.

It’s strange how easily you can read him and yet he’s still not an open book, while he is grappling for even the smallest piece of information from you because he thought you were an open book, but it all turned out the pretense and delusion on your part.

For someone who likes to watch people and get to know them, you suck at giving back. But you’ve also never been loved like this before, let alone by a man like Michael. He also knows people and he always finds out what he needs to study them, so it was only a question of time when he would have found something connecting to your past.

You figure this is what you get for falling for a Kinsella, and no matter what you do, you can’t pull away because you feel so deeply for him, this love is impossible to break. Besides, you pushed him away because of you, not because he’s a bad person or you’ve lost interest, which also adds to your pile of guilt that you very much feel like you deserve to carry around.

When you place the mug of Chamomile tea before him, you stop beside him. He looks at you, looks at the mug, and then his eyes meet your chest which is at level with his head. He contemplates before slowly placing his cheek where your heart seems to beat out of your chest.

Michael leans against you, and you instantly wrap your arm around him while your other hand tangles in his hair. He does the same, wrapping his arm around your waist, afraid you might leave him or drop him if he doesn’t. But your hold is strong and he soon realizes that you don’t mind holding him like this, not at all.

He listens to your heartbeat, the familiar rise and fall of your chest that he missed so terribly the other night, and the exhaustion starts to turn into drowsiness. He wants to sleep, but he knows that if he does, he will dream about what happened and then his mind is going to play tricks on him and he’s going to feel all the pain at once, together with whatever is fucked up in his brain. He hates that he knows how his night is going to go, and he hates that you might witness it in person this time.

But knowing you, you still wouldn’t pull away. When it comes to him, you never pull away, only if it’s making you feel vulnerable. But taking care of him is not something that would make you feel vulnerable, it only makes you feel responsible, and that’s why you stayed. You can’t help but help others, especially the ones you love, and he knows you love him deeply, you just struggle–he can’t blame you for that.

“Maybe you should finish your tea,” your chest rumbles when you talk. “And then we can move to the couch and you can rest a little. How does that sound?”

You always make sure he’s comfortable with what you’re doing.

Michael nods, weakly leaning back to finish his tea, and you do the same. The liquid is hot, but he can’t drink it fast enough.

Once his cup is empty, you guide him to the couch, making sure he's settled before joining him. He sits next to you for a moment, fidgeting with his fingers. It's as if he wants to ask something or make a move, but he doesn't know how. So, you simply open your arms in silence.

He takes the invitation, lowering his head into your lap, and you instinctively wrap your arm around him, holding him tightly. The weight of the world seems to press down on him, but in your arms, he finds peace.

You start dragging your nails across his scalp.

He lets out a soft sigh, his body relaxing further against you. His hair feels soft under your fingertips, like silk, almost. His hand rests on your thigh while the other rests on your arm that is wrapped around him. He's cradled almost like a baby, and he seems content with that. You're all over him, you even smell like him; the comfort you provide is something he can't put into words, but it feels good and it's exactly what he needs to finally fill his lungs with oxygen and let go. Just for a moment, he thinks, he wants to shut his mind off and focus on something other than the shit show his life has become.

Your voice breaks the serene silence. “How are you feeling?” you ask softly.

He stirs, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment. “Empty,” he admits. “But hangin’ in there.”

You don't press him for more. Instead, you offer a gentle nod, silently acknowledging his answer. You continue to run your fingers through his hair like you did before.

As he begins to drift off, his breathing growing slower and more even, you hold him a little tighter, cherishing the vulnerability he allows you to witness. He didn't have to call you, but he did, and that shows that his feelings truly didn't waiver. With each stroke of your fingers against his scalp, you hope that it's enough to ease his troubled mind, even if just for a little while.

Your eyelids start drooping too, his weight and warmth dragging you down into the abyss with him. But you have always been a light sleeper, and sensitive to sound, too. There is nothing that can't wake you. Even breathing too loud could disturb your sleep, and you figure it's because you grew up as a vigilant child, but it could also be because of whatever is wrong with your mind. It never really mattered to you because, after some time of not being able to sleep, a person gets used to living like this, even if it's unhealthy.

Your eyes fly open when there is a knock on the door. You know you couldn't have imagined it because it happens again when you're a little more lucid.

Michael stirs. You gently move him off your lap and place him down on the pillows. It’s probably foolish to open the door on your own after what he got himself into, but he deserves to rest.

You take a deep breath before pushing the handle down. The woman standing across from you appears familiar, but you can’t put your finger on where you know her from at first.

“Hi!” you blurt out, crossing your arms over your chest. You introduce yourself and ask, “How can I help you?”

When the woman finally speaks, you realize where you know her from. The news articles you read online while researching Michael come back to mind and you can finally sort the face out.

“I need ta talk to Michael,” she says, her voice curt, and perhaps even the slightest glimmer of jealousy flickers in her eyes.

Amanda. She was the pretty brunette you saw in the Twitter thread about the Kinsella business, the owner of the car dealership, Michael’s former boss if you can even call her that. And she’s Jimmy’s wife, making her Jamie’s mother, and the same woman Michael told you are living next door to him. But she is–was–Jamie’s mother, and while you should feel bad, you also remember what Michael told you.

The way his family continues to treat him is awful and he doesn’t deserve it. He called you because he doesn’t want to be prodded by them, but Amanda still found her way over. You can’t blame her because she’s grieving, but you can blame her for everything else, the way they treated or saw him, and that makes you angrier than anything. You can’t feel bad for her when you don’t like her. Maybe that makes you a bad person, but she made herself the bad person when she and the rest of his family chose to treat the man you love like a pawn after he went through literal hell.

You know what it’s like to be expected to be there for everyone, to be the best and aim to please, and it sucks. He doesn’t deserve it. No one is a saint in this world and this life, especially, and Michael did horrible things in the past, but he’s working on himself and he has a good heart. You’re not so sure about Amanda and the rest of his family though.

Her eyes are red and she must have been crying, but you couldn’t care less.

Your expression tightens. “He’s resting,” you say. “It’s late, maybe you can come back in the morning–”

Amanda is quick to cut you off, and kindness seems to have gone lost on her. “It’s important,” she says.

“I know, but he had a rough night.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Amanda–I suppose it’s Amanda, right?”

She rolls her eyes.

“So it is you. I’m so sorry for your loss–”

“I don’t have time fer this. I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, but I don’t care. I’m gonna speak to Michael whether ya like it or not, so if you know what’s good for ya, yer gonna move out of my way now so I can–”

Just as she’s about to reach out and physically push you aside so she can enter, footsteps approach behind you and another hand finds its way to your elbow and pulls you back.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Michael asks, his voice a little groggy.

He stands between you and Amanda now, and her demeanor changes the second she lays eyes on him.

“Michael,” Amanda breathes.

He only briefly acknowledges her, taking more time to move you behind him to shield you from any possible danger (or in this case, Amanda’s personality).

“You have a minute? I need t’ talk to ya. Please? It’s about Jamie.”

Oh, so she can say please. She just hates you. You never met this woman and you don’t know what you could have done to upset her in the few seconds you stood across from each other, but she’s really starting to show her true colors.

Michael stiffens at the mention of the boy’s name, and he looks over his shoulder at you. You’re not sure what he wants to hear, so you simply stare back.

Turning back to Amanda, he sighs. “First of all, don’t touch her,” he says, and although it sounds calm, there is a certain power hiding in his voice that comes from deep within, a certain sense of protection. “She has nothin’ t’do with wha happened tonight, so don’t drag her into this. She never did anythin’ to ya. Calm down.”

“I just need a moment alone with ya,” Amanda retorts, defending herself. “Please, Michael.”

Michael shakes his head. His stern eyes divert and turn back toward you. He tells her to wait before pulling you aside.

“You want me to send her to hell?” you ask once she’s out of earshot. “Because I know I may not look like it, but I actually know how to punch someone.”

He chuckles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s alright,” he tells you. “I’m gonna be fine. Just give us a minute, alright?”

You’re not happy. For one, you don’t want to leave him alone, and two, he told you about how determined his family is to persuade him into doing things he doesn’t want to do, and that’s also a reason why you don’t want to leave him alone with her. But she said it’s about Jamie and maybe it’s not as deep as you think it is, just two grieving people talking about the life they lost. She’s a mother, she lost her child, and Michael lost a family member. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not as serious as you think it is and they just need a minute to talk.

You put your protectiveness aside and nod, although still hesitant.

“If anything’s wrong, you call for me,” you say. “I’ll be upstairs.”

Michael nods in response, leaning forward to press his lips on your forehead. You close your eyes. He’s good at calming you down, but even better at persuading you. You caress his cheek one last time before heading for the stairs, thinking going to the bedroom might give them enough space.

You glance at the two one last time on your way up, Amanda enters the house down, and he drags her out of your eyesight into the kitchen behind the wall. You sigh. Eavesdropping wouldn’t be cool, and why are you jealous anyway? Your mind is messed up, you think to yourself, and this is none of your business. So you sigh again, resisting the urge to be an idiot and make your way back upstairs to give them some privacy to talk things out.

Once upstairs, you find yourself pacing the room. It's difficult to silence the thoughts swirling in your mind. They threaten to consume you.

As you walk back and forth, you attempt to distract yourself by focusing on the mundane details of the room. The flickering lamp on the nightstand, the familiar scent of the sheets, and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. But these simple things do little to ease your mind.

You find yourself glancing at the clock; time feels like an eternity, and the silence in the house amplifies the turmoil within you.

Eventually, you force yourself to sit down on the edge of the bed, urging yourself to take deep breaths. You remind yourself that Michael knows what he's doing, that he can handle himself. Yet, a nagging voice in the back of your mind insists that something is terribly wrong and he needs you or else he will fall apart.

Minutes turn into what feels like hours, and the silence becomes unbearable. You consider going back downstairs, unable to stand the uncertainty any longer. But then the sound of the front door closing abruptly makes the decision for you.

You hesitate. Does that mean you can come back? There are no footsteps, only silence, even when you momentarily open the door to listen.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself before making your way back downstairs.

It’s your gut that is telling you to move, and you choose to follow it this time.

Walking into the kitchen, you notice that Amanda is gone, but her presence still seems to linger in the atmosphere. You can smell her perfume, and you figured they must have hugged, but then your eyes fall on Michael and your heart breaks.

He’s leaning over the dining table, both hands gripping the edges. His eyes are closed. He looks like he’s in excruciating pain, and it makes you worry about what conspired between him and his sister-in-law to change his mood this quickly. Talking about someone you lost with a now childless mother is one thing, but the way his face contorts holds more than just grief.

“Michael,” you call out for him softly. “Is everything alright?”

The only answer you receive is silence.

You reach out to touch his shoulder. “Hey, talk to me. What happened?” you ask.

Your hand doesn’t even brush him before he pulls away, shaking his head. He whispers something you can’t hear, maybe it’s a curse, but his eyes remain shut. There is something on his tongue waiting to be uttered, but he seems almost scared of saying it.

Your eyebrows furrow even more. The worry shoots straight through your veins, paralyzing you. You’re not sure what to do or what even is going on; you don’t understand and it’s frustrating because you just want to help, but he doesn’t seem to know what he wants.

Sometimes, when there is a truth to be shared, your mind shuts off, afraid of admitting it because then that truth will become real and you no longer have a defense to show for yourself. You know how it is because you live by that rule every damn day of yourself, and you only now realize how much it hurts to see someone you love struggling but not knowing why, and you could kick your own ass for being so naive.

“Michael,” you try again.

This time though, he cuts you off. “Jamie, he was…” He swallows. His voice breaks like a glass that just hit the cement. “He was…He was my boy.”

The words reach your ears and your brain begins to process them, but it takes a moment for you to realize what they mean. It’s not just any statement, it is the raw truth, and it’s a truth that hurts. It’s a truth that breaks.

You frown, your brain still busy connecting the dots, when he says, “Jamie was my son.”

His eyes fall on you, and that’s when it clicks.

Oh.

OH.

Michael grew up surrounded by violence. He was shot many times before and went through a lot in the past. He was there when his wife got killed. Watching someone get shot was nothing new for him. You never questioned his reaction to the events; he had every right to be shaken up because he’s only human, after all, but now that you think about it, his reaction hinted at how much the person who got killed meant to him and you didn’t even realize. He is downright traumatized, and someone who used to hurt people for a living would not have had that much of an emotional reaction except if the victim meant more to him.

Jamie was his son. Not his nephew, his son. It all becomes frighteningly clear to you. The fact he even shared it with you is one thing, but it’s a truth you don’t think is meant for the whole world to hear, and that makes it so much deeper.

You place a hand in front of your mouth. Tears well up in your eyes. You know you’re supposed to say something, but right now, you’re speechless.

You never lost a child, but you know what it’s like to lose someone as close to feeling like a child as it could possibly get, and you know how badly it hurts. And it hurts even more if you don’t get to grieve, or if people don’t take it seriously and expect more from you. It hurts, it’s vile and it paralyzes you.

How is he still standing?

“Amanda and I…We…It was a stupid mistake. A lapse in judgment. I never meant ta…But I was so full of hatred and self-pity and she…God, she can be so cruel. Tempting. And she…she was miserable too. We both were. And then we just…It was a fuckin’ bad idea,” he says. His voice is quivering and you’re only counting the seconds before he’ll break.

Michael is spiraling, but is there even anything you could do to stop him? He’s confiding in you, and if this is his way to get it off his chest, you don’t want to stop him, even though you can tell it hurts him. You’re shocked and confused and all you can do is listen.

“Never told Jimmy ‘cause that would’ve been…It was so stupid, but it kept happenin’, and then…then she got pregnant and I thought…I thought it’d be Jimmy’s, but then she tells me it’s mine, tha she’s carryin’ my child…I didn’t know what t’do ‘cause we swore we’d never tell anyone, so she just made him believe Jamie was his, but he knows,” he scoffs, “Jimmy…I know he knows. Jamie…Jamie didn’t know. I was Uncle Michael, but I was there and I watched him grow up as much as I could, and fuck! I fuckin’ knew he was mine just from lookin’ at him. I couldn’t…Couldn’t even deny it ta make me feel better. He was my boy.”

He pushes himself off the dining table, his eyes finally opening and meeting yours. The tears are instantly visible. You want to reach out, but maybe this is a line you should only cross once he’s ready for it, and he doesn’t seem ready right now.

“I was s’posed ta protect him,” his voice is barely above a whisper before it raises again, filled with agonizing guilt. “But I…I failed. And now…now he’s fuckin’ dead! Amanda’s right, I should’ve…I could’ve done somethin’, but I failed and tha’s my fault. Shit!” he cries out and his fist hits the wood of the table hard enough to make it shake.

He turns away. Now you know he’s crying, and at this point, your own tears are staining your cheeks. You can’t help it.

Michael swallows. “He was my boy,” he repeats, “and now he’s dead. He’s…He’s gone.”

And he watched him die.

“Oh, God–” He chokes up.

You call his name, but you’re not sure if it’s even audible. You step forward, letting your body do the talking, and you envelop him in your arms before he can break down on the floor. His needy hands dig into your hips as he hugs you back, his head dropping into the crook of your neck, and he finally lets it out. He held back all night for probably the very same reason he just bared to you–Jamie was his son, he watched him get shot and now he’s gone. He didn’t process it before, and Amanda probably forced him to face it and then put her first instead, and it all became too much.

He has every right to break down; you’re glad it’s in your arms and not on his own, or with someone who doesn’t understand. You’re not sure you can understand enough, but you’re trying to because you’re familiar with the pain, at least. Everyone deals with it differently, but you understand, even in silence. And so you hold him as he sobs into your arms, your tears mingling with his, but the room is only filled with the sound of his broken heart. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever seen before.

You hold him as tight as you can, making sure he knows you’re his lifeline and you’re not going anywhere. He’s not a burden, he just needs someone to take care of him. Who are you to deny him that?

He lost his son…It still hasn’t settled in fully, but it’s the brutal reality you have to look in the eyes the same way he does. It hurts, but he took the first step and admitted it, and maybe your touch is enough to at least piece him back together enough before he can fully slip away.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

His breath gets caught in his throat and he hiccups. You rub his back. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re not alone…”

You don’t tell him everything’s going to be okay because that would be some pretentious shit you don’t want to expose him to. You know it’s not something you want to hear after losing someone dear to you because you often know that it’s not true.

He cries until he has no more tears left, and his body is almost limp in your arms. You continue to hold him. His breath hitches, but his sobs quiet down. The tears continue to spill, but even those eventually start to subside. You’re standing there for a little while longer, giving him what he wants, letting him take what he needs, and his erratic heartbeat eventually aligns with yours as he focuses on his breathing.

“Sorry,” his breath is hot against your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have–” he says.

Michael leans back, rubbing his wet eyes. They’re swollen and reddened, and his lips are dry now. Your eyes soften. He’s trying to take the blame again; he’s trying to downplay his pain because he’s not used to being able to share and then not having to give anything in return. He hardly ever shares his feelings.

You sigh, your hands resting on his shoulders. Your eyes stare sternly into his, and he reminds you of a deer caught in headlights.

“Guess the cat’s out the bag now,” – he sniffles – “Sorry ‘bout tha. Yer shirt’s soaked. And…” A pained sound forms in the back of his throat when he sees your tears, and he reaches out to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head softly. “Don’t you dare apologize right now,” you say.

You take his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers with his. You guide him to a nearby chair and urge him to sit down while you grab him some water and a tissue. He doesn't protest, almost too weak to even move.

When you come back and clean his cheeks, his eyes are no longer vacant. He allowed himself to feel, and while the guilt becomes stronger now, it seems as if deep down, he acknowledges that he needed this. It was a huge display of trust you don't deserve, but he shared his truth with you and now you get to take care of him. He trusts you enough still; that's supposed to be a good thing, no matter how much you hate yourself for it.

You meet his gaze, your eyes filled with compassion and understanding as your hand rests on his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for,” you insist. “You don't need to apologize for telling me the truth. I can't even fathom how much you're hurting right now, but I'm glad you told me. So don't apologize. Not...not for this, not for anything, because you never did anything wrong. Jamie's death is not your fault. He was your son and shit happened and now it hurts like hell and that's okay. It's okay to let it out, to let yourself feel. You have to or...or you'll break. I know you're probably expected to move on right away, and that it's been like this every time you lost someone or something, but that's not right,” you say. “Your family...They should care about you and your pain too, so if not for them, take a break for me. You deserve to just let it all out. You deserve to grieve.”

His hand untangles from yours to cradle your cheek. “Don’t cry,” he says. “Not ‘cause o’ me.”

You place your hand over his on your cheek, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You don't have to worry about me,” you assure him. “I'll be okay. I just…feel for you, that’s all. You're the one who needs comfort right now, and that's what I'm here for.”

You feel his grip on your hand tighten, his eyes searching yours. The vulnerability in his gaze is raw, yet there's a glimmer of gratitude shining through.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You nod. “We’ll be alright.”

A moment of silence follows. He finishes his glass of water, slowly regaining composure, but his voice still breaks when he talks again. “Amanda wanted to know his last words,” he tells you. “We talked about boxin’ in the car and he made fun of Eric’s flat tire ‘cause he thought it was funny. He…he died quickly. He didn’t suffer or anythin’. Tha’s supposed t’ make me feel better, right? That he died quickly. But it…it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes it feel so much worse and I don’t understand why.”

You wipe your cheeks. Jamie was just a boy. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into this, and now a lot of lives are in shambles because of what happened.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can answer.

Michael shakes his head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You came,” he says. “You didn’t have ta, but ya came anyway.”

You shrug. “You called.”

Another tear slides down his cheek. Tears always find a treacherous way back once they’ve subsided. He groans, dropping his face in his hands.

Just when you thought he was out of the woods, the downward spiral begins again.

The whole day weighs heavy on your heart, and you're barely keeping it together as it is, but you soon realize Michael is worse off than you thought, and your blood threatens to boil over. He breaks the silence eventually with a bitter scoff that turns into a chuckle, somehow managing to send shivers down your spine that you wouldn't count as pleasant. Your eyes fall on him; you're confused and you frown, but the look on his face is just as alarming as it is unsettling.

“This is so stupid,” you catch him muttering to himself.

You tilt your head to the side. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“I'm such a fuckin' failure,” Michael's voice cracks.

You look at him, but whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t become any clearer. He can see it on your face that you’re not following. His jaw locks. He clenches his teeth and his fists; it must hurt how hard he’s doing it, but perhaps this is the whole point of his behavior. To hurt himself.

“I couldn't even protect my own son,” he says, his voice matching the bitter look in his eyes. “I let him down. Just like I let Anna down. She's my daughter, and I can't even properly fight for her. Couldn’t get my shit together, and after wha happened to Jamie... no court is gonna say yes t'me gettin' her back now. I fucked up again 'cause I was so caught up in my own feelings. I hurt ya, I hurt Anna, Allison, and now Jamie's dead. Everythin' and everyone around me dies.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It's a struggle to keep your composure, to hold back the torrent of emotions building inside you. “What?” you ask quietly, hoping you just misheard, but you didn't.

“You heard me,” he says, your name now sounding condescending rather than soft and sweet. “I'm a bad father and you can't tell me it didn't cross yer mind tha I'm a failure when I told ya the truth. It’d be a lie.”

“It wouldn’t be a lie,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, it would.”

“No…”

“Yes. Don’t act like I’m a saint or- or tha any of this makes me a good person.”

But the weight becomes too much to bear, and with a mix of desperation and anger, you finally let it all out.

Was this how you sounded the other night? You're appalled. The anger lands in your veins like an injection from a needle straight into your bloodstream, and the heat rises to your cheeks as your heart starts working double time.

“Like father like son,” Michael says, and this one is directed at himself. “Ruinin' everythin' in my way since the day I was born and I still pretended it was all gonna work out. And the worst part is, if I told anyone in my family, they'd agree with me 'cause they like rubbin' salt in every goddam wound. I don't even exist as a human being t’ them, and maybe I don't deserve t'be treated like one. I don't even fuckin' care anymore. I'm just...done. And Anna deserves better. I should’ve never tried gettin’ her back. She’ll only suffer. I–”

“Stop it!” you cry out, cutting him straight off like a knife, and he looks too stunned to speak. He has never heard you yell before.

The door of the fridge slams shut and your beer bottle almost breaks upon impact with the kitchen counter. The room grows eerily quiet, only filled with your labored breathing and a soft whimper from Michael's end when he looks at you and sees the pain in your eyes.

“Just stop with this self-loathing bullshit!” you snap.

The tears are right there, and you can't stop them, but you also don't want to because he is an idiot and you're sick and tired of hearing him claim things that aren't true. This is partly your fault. Rage makes you blind, but perhaps this is exactly what you two needed; you had to reach your breaking point to finally open up the way he did, and now everything's right there on the table, your heart bleeding out into the palm of his hands.

“You want to know what a bad father is?” You look at him, your eyes big and challenging. “I can tell you, Michael,” you say.

He stares at you, speechless.

“I've lived through it. I endured it day in and day out for almost nineteen years, and then, when I was free, I signed up for another two years of hell for the sake of being the person people expected me to be. A bad father is the one who killed my little sister. My three-year-old little sister. She was defenseless,” you say.

Michael’s jaw drops. “Jesus,” the word slips past his lips like a mere breath

But you’re not done. The words tumble out of your mouth and you can’t stop them. So you continue, “A bad father is the man who abused me, who made me feel worthless every breathing second of my life since I was a baby. A bad father is a man who played favorites and took his anger out on me, had two more children, and still used me as a punching bag just because I wasn't the daughter he wanted. A bad father is a man who constantly abuses his wife to the point she developed epilepsy and makes his children deal with the aftermath. That's a bad father!”

Tears stream down your face as the floodgates of pain open wide. You can’t see anything but the color red, sadness disguised as rage, and it all blurs together.

“You, Michael, you're not a bad father. You're far from it,” you tell him. No, you insist. He needs to listen because it’s the truth. “You're decent. You're human. You have a soul and a heart, which my father didn't have, and that's what a monster is,” you say. “You loved Jamie, and you love Anna. You're grieving, and you're hurting because you loved Jamie, and it's tearing you apart. I get that. Trust me, I do, because the little girl I was talking about, my sister? Yeah, I was the one who raised her, so when she died, it felt like I was burying my own child. You're allowed to feel all the pain you fucking want, but don't you dare compare yourself to a monster like my father is. You're not a bad father because you're nothing like him. So just shut up...please!”

You slack with your back against the kitchen counter. You said it all in one breath. You feel a little dizzy, and the panic makes your mind swirl. What did you just do?

You take a moment to process, but you can't, not really, because the wave of the endless ocean crashes into you and you've never learned how to swim, so you're drowning now, and no one seems to be close enough to save you. Not that you want to be saved, but it's your father's voice that's haunting you, and you keep seeing your own failures right before your eyes every time you close them. You have nowhere to go but to surrender.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “I didn't mean to...I just...I...”

You can't breathe. You collapse into a nearby chair, your body trembling as you struggle to regain control. Michael's eyes are wide, a mix of shock and realization filling them. The silence between you is suffocating, the air heavy with the weight of your revelations. But the air keeps getting thinner, and the water is up to your lungs by now. You feel like you're dying, and none of the things you keep telling yourself, the rational things, are working. You're officially lost at sea.

Michael reaches out to touch your shoulder, but you flinch away, instinctively recoiling from any physical contact.

Your breathing is rapid, and you feel the need to move. Without a word, you push yourself up from the chair and pace back and forth, your hands shaking.

“I'm sorry,” you begin again, and you try not to yell so much this time. “I never meant to hurt you the other night. I didn't want to push you away. I never fall in love, I keep people at a distance, and it hurts, but that's why I choose bad men to hurt me so it makes things easier.”

Your voice is thick with tears. “You're not like that. And I don't know what it's like to be loved or have someone so willing to protect me by my side,” you say. “It's just so scary, Michael! I panicked when you found the file, and everything just spiraled out of control. I wanted to tell you, but then I didn't, and I just reacted because that's what always happens. I never had anyone to talk to about it. I...It triggered me, and then I got drunk, and then I...I fucked up, okay? I've been carrying this burden for so long, and I didn't know how to share it, or how to trust anyone with the truth, so I kept it hidden. I was so alone..."

Your words spill out in a torrent, your sentences blending together as your desperation takes hold.

“It's been six years, and I've kept it all inside, the truth about what happened to my sister, the truth about our father. I have no proof,” you admit. “I tried finding it, but I eventually gave up, and I moved–and my other sister is all alone in that hellhole and I've been trying to get her back, but he...he told me he'd kill me if I ever got near her or that case again, and I stopped because I saw no point, but I...I got drunk–” Your voice cracks and you choke on a broken sob.

“It's dangerous to know, and I don't even know what I'm doing, but I thought it best to do it alone than drag anyone into it,” – You sniffle, wiping your cheeks furiously, but the tears continue to fall – “You were so caught up with your own shit, with Anna, and this could hurt you and her and I can't let that happen,” you say. “I couldn't...but I don't know what to do anymore. I'm scared, Michael. I'm so scared...”

The weight becomes too much to bear. Your legs weaken, and you stumble, your body threatening to crumble under the overwhelming weight of your pain. You start seeing dark spots from the leg of oxygen, and you start to think that that's it. It's over. Just as you're about to collapse, Michael moves swiftly, catching you in his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he says. “I've got you. Deep breaths.”

He can feel your body trembling against his. Your heartbeat is hammering against your ribcage. He can feel the weakness of your muscles due to the lack of air, and his fingers dig into your skin a little more to make you feel something other than the fear that is keeping the sobs stuck in your throat.

“It's alright…” He cradles the back of your neck and pulls you closer, urging you to listen to his own heartbeat to ground yourself. “You’re safe now. I'm here. Just breathe with me, slowly. In and out.”

You reach out for the lifeline thrown at you. Another wave hits you, but you make it to the surface to hold onto the rope. It's steady and strong, and you cling to it. With each breath, his steady rhythm begins to synchronize with yours, and the chaos within you starts to calm.

He brushes a gentle hand through your hair. “Shh,” his lips press to your ear, “Keep breathin’. That’s it. Good girl.”

You shudder. “I’m so sorry,” you whimper in his arms. You’re a mess of snot and tears, but he still doesn’t pull away.

“No,” it’s his turn to tell you, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I hurt you. I pushed you away–”

“Water under the bridge,” he says.

“No, that’s not how it should be! You should hate me. You should–”

His hands find your face and he holds you rather sternly, forcing you to meet his eyes, even though he looks blurry. “Hey, listen to me!” You try to struggle out of his grip, but he’s stronger. “Listen,” he says, “I love ya with all I have, and I haven’t said tha to anyone in a very long time. You were hurt, you were traumatized and in pain, and tha is not your fault, do you hear me? It’s not your fault. It never was.”

His words penetrate the chaos swirling within you, reaching the core of your being. The strength of his love and unwavering support begins to chip away at the walls you've built around yourself. It's a fragile and delicate process, but it's a start.

You take a shaky breath, allowing his words to sink in. His presence anchors you. The panic begins to subside. You sync your breathing with his.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Just keep breathin’. I’ve got ya.”

Michael lowers his forehead against yours, his hands never leaving your face, and you hold onto his strong arms, afraid he might not be there if you let go. “I know it's overwhelming,” he says, “But yer safe here with me. You don't have ta carry this burden alone anymore. I'm here, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect ya and help yer sister. But for tha, I need you to trust me and let me in.”

You sniffle, meeting his eyes with your teary ones. “Will you let me in, too?” you ask in return, your voice hoarse from crying.

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I’ll let ya in. I’ll tell ya anythin’ you wanna know. Just ask.”

You let out a shaky breath. The weight that had been pressing on your chest finally begins to lift.

“Thank you,” you whisper back. “For not leaving.”

Michael's lips curl into a soft smile, and he brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I'd never leave ya.”

You lean into his touch. As the minutes tick by, you both remain entwined. No words are needed. The softness of his touch and the steady rhythm of your breathing become a symphony, gently mending the cracks in your heart.

With your head resting against his chest, you listen to the steady beat of his heart. The world outside may be chaotic, but in his arms, you belong.

“I love you,” you confess. It feels like the first time you shared those three words to each other.

His grip on you tightens. “I love you too,” he says back without hesitation. “So fuckin’ much,” he says. “You have no idea.”

You realize something then: You were never alone. It just took you far too long to open your eyes and see him right in front of you. He has been there from the beginning and you didn’t realize. You were almost too late.

As it turns out, telling the truth isn’t as bad as you first expected it to be. At least not with Michael because he truly loves you and you believe him now that he would do anything to keep you safe. Why it took you so long, you don’t know, but you still curse yourself for it.

In the warm cocoon of his arms, you allow yourself to breathe. You allow yourself to finally let go of everything. “We have to talk, don't we?” you break the serene silence, your voice still barely above a whisper.

He nods. “Yeah, we do.”

“Okay–” You straighten your shoulders. “Let’s talk then.”

It has been a long time coming for you to finally trust each other enough to talk. It won’t be easy, but the stakes are higher now, and you have proven to be able to stand through everything together, so a little conversation would be the last thing to break you apart. There are worse dangers out there, and you would face them, together.

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

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin amc #reader insert #chaos theory #charlie cox

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