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liliacamethyst · 11 months

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Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)

Sequel to Web of Secrets

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.” He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates.

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?”

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

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1-800-kami · 8 months

Text

R U MINE? feat. gojo satoru

gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it.

that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…

“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”

IMPORTANT: part two is out! read here :)

content: 8k words, afab!reader, angst! fluff! heartbreak! n everything in between! implied smut, rich college frat boy gojo and hellcat driver geto 🤑, emotional rollercoaster, reader has a toxic ex, trust issues (?) gojo is absolutely insufferable, misunderstandings, use of words hoe, slut, etc., mutual pining, some jjk character cameos (wink wink) me writing very unfunny dialogue, no bc wtf is this, cheating implications, emo gojo (the worst warning of them all)

author's note: hello hello! my name is kami, i've been reblogging fics on tumblr for a while now but i've recently figured out how to work this hellsite, so i'm going to start posting fics that i write! thank you to those who enjoyed my nanami drabble <3 kisses 4 u all.

this fic IS split into two parts (update: part two is now out!! linked here 2 read) and there is smut in the second part. so just. prepare yourselves for that ig.

reblog and interact for a kiss ;)

“so… let me get this straight.”

“go ahead.”

shoko takes a deep breath, and you just somehow know that she’s pinching her nose in exasperation right now. “utahime dragged you out to a party in hopes that you would hit it off with somebody. you wander off on your own and later, she sees you and gojo–THE gojo satoru–giving you his number?!”

“uh, yeah. that’s exactly what happened.”

“do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?! that man bags hoes like they’re pokemon!” you readjust the phone against your ear and sigh at shoko’s comment.

“okay, first of all, never say that again. second, i rejected all of his advances. i didn’t even save his number.” you stare at the crinkled-up note in your hands, which proudly displays his number and a slick call me if you change your mind ;). you wonder if you could sell this paper to his fangirls–you’d surely make a little bit of cash out of it. “i’ve seen gojo around. i know that i shouldn’t mess with him. plus, he was drunk as hell at the party; i doubt he even remembers my name. to him, i’m just some chick that he’s frustrated at because she didn’t want to fuck him the second she saw him.”

“do you… do you share any classes with him?”

“i don’t think i do.. just, don’t worry about it, okay? i’ll throw away his number and we can put all of this behind us. here, i’ll do it right now.” you rip up the paper into a few pieces before tossing it in the garbage can. hopefully, you did it loud enough that shoko heard it through the phone. “i get that you’re worried for me. and i appreciate that, but i can handle myself.”

“just… no more mention of gojo anymore, okay? you’re right, y/n. let’s just put this all behind us.” shoko sighs, and you smile at that. problem solved. you threw away his number, and he’s most likely moved on to the next girl by now, so that was that. now, you just have to forget about satoru gojo.

all to never let yourself get hurt ever again.

it’s hard to forget about gojo.

not because of those dangerous blue eyes of his–getting anyone lost in them if they stare for too long. not because of his stupid silvery white hair, which makes him look like a mop, and sometimes like a paintbrush. not that stupid cocky grin of his, either…

...but because you’ve recently found out that he sits next to you for physics.

the revelation was truly disheartening. you thought you could avoid him for the rest of the year because as far as you knew, you shared no classes with him. however, you completely forgot about the fact that gojo never attends class in the first place, and you don’t even know what classes he’s in… because he’s never there. so finding out that the seat next to you in physics wasn’t just an empty seat, and it was gojo’s assigned one, was truly an experience.

“gojo.” the name alone makes your heart stop, and you drop your pen to look at the man your teacher was addressing. “finally choosing to attend class for once?”

speak of the devil.

there he was, in all his glory–the man you’d never thought you had to deal with ever again. the man who tried to butter you up with his corny sweet talk so that you would go home with him for the night. the man who persisted with talking to you, even though you were barely interested. the man, who, at the end of the night, insisted on writing down his number for you in case you changed your mind about him and gave him a chance.

you wanted to shrink into your seat and never resurface.

“good morning, yaga!” he says rather loudly, with no regard to honorifics at all. a few giggles could be heard across the classroom–though geto suguru’s voice was prominent–satoru’s equally as infamous bestfriend. “and yeah! it’s surprising, isn’t it?”

what’s also surprising is how gojo took a seat next to you. you thought that there was a mistake, that your teacher would scold him for sitting somewhere he isn’t supposed to sit and relocate him elsewhere. however, yaga just grumbles and begins the lesson, leaving you helpless and unable to look at the man next to you.

you swear he’s burning holes at the back of your head.

pleasdon’tremembermeisweartogodpleasedon’trememberme-

“you’re that girl from the party, right?” he whispers, and you’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your life. you slowly nod your head, turning to look at him, and he pouts. “y/n l/n. you never saved my number. hmph, i was looking forward to a text from you, too.”

“i’m surprised you even remember me, 'cause you were fucking wasted that night.” you twiddle your pencil, averting your gaze from the man. “and i never saved your number cause i threw the paper in the trash. it’s probably at a landfill somewhere, y’know.”

your words catch him off guard, and you laugh at how surprised satoru looks. it seems that’s definitely not an emotion he shows often. despite his initial reaction, satoru swears he could feel butterflies with the way your laugh sounds.

“not a common problem for a womanizer, huh?”

“what did you just call me?!-”

“y/n and gojo, do either of you have something to share with the class?” a dark blush of embarrassment covers your face, and somewhere in the back, you could hear geto snickering. gojo just smirks at yaga, seeming completely uanffected. “then i’d suggest you stay quiet the rest of this lesson. don’t make me separate you two.”

“i’d prefer that, actually…” gojo huffs at your comment, thinking of this as a lost opportunity if the two of you get separated. he does a once over at your appearance. you’re cute, but definitely not the party kind. you’re playing hard to get, and gojo finds it adorable–not a lot of girls go that way with him. however, gojo thinks you’re not just like any girl. there’s something different about you that intrigues him.

“did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?”

“how could i not? you’re so cute.”

“i thought you already learned from the party, gojo. i’m not interested in you.”

the light blush coating your cheeks says otherwise. he smiles cheekily at the way you tried to hide your reaction to his words. you’re an enigma to gojo… and he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. he thinks he’s made his decision.

he’s gonna do whatever’s possible to get your number.

when the bell rings 30 minutes later, you shove your notebook into your bag, eager to finally leave the class that you had with that stupid paintbrush. that is, until he stops you with a question. “what class do you have next?”

he’s relentless. “why do you care?”

“i want to walk you to your next class,” he says, and smirks before saying his next words. “it doesn’t really matter if you tell me or not. i’ll just follow you anyways.”

you sigh, absolutely exasperated with him. he’s like a fly who keeps invading your personal space—always coming back no matter how many times you swat it away. he’s right, though. damn him for being stubborn. “i actually have this period free.”

“oh, sweet!” he chirps, walking with you out the door, making sure to greet geto before he leaves the classroom. “let’s go to the courtyard. i’ll buy you a drink from the vending machine-“

“i was gonna do that regardless if you were here or not.” you give him a look, and you can’t help but tug on your sleeves when you see people whisper to each other as you walk the halls with gojo. of course you’ve heard the rumors. the man next to you is the most popular guy on campus. girls glare daggers at you and the guys call his name, although he barely even acknowledges them.

some common things that you’ve heard about gojo around the school are: “i heard he only talks to girls for sex,” “apparently his best friend geto is just as much of a player!” “i mean, who wouldn’t fuck a guy like gojo, though? he’s hot and loaded.” “that’s how he reels you in, though. he gets his hand in your pants and never calls you back again.” you know you should stay away from him, it’s common sense, but it’s hard to stay away from him when he’s the one who glues himself to your side.

“well, now you’ll get a free drink and we’ll get to know each other! isn’t that great?” he smiles and you just grimace at his words.

“i don’t need your money…”

“don’t care! can’t hear you!” he says, and you’ve seriously considered just making a run for it. at least you’ll lose him, and you’d finally be able to find peace for a bit. although, it would cause a scene, and gojo would probably end up finding you again somehow.

“what can i do to get you to leave me alone?”

that piques his interest, even though he looks slightly hurt by your question. he thinks for a bit, and smirks. “i really do want to buy you something from the vending machine.. and i want you to spend your free period with me. i’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day if you do.”

“do you promise? like, actually?”

“mhm! pinky promise!” you feel like you’re talking to a prepubescent boy.

“then sure-“ you’re about to agree, but he cuts you off with one more condition.

“i also want your number.”

you feel like you’ve been cursed by a god, because having the most popular guy on campus be interested in you has got to be the most chaotic thing to ever happen in your life.

“what do you have me saved as?”

the question comes from out of the blue, and you look up from the book you were completely absorbed in. you and satoru were at the school library, on a “study date” as he calls it, although it was more so just gojo inviting himself to wherever place you go, as per usual. this time, you have an exam to study for, and you explicitly told him not to bother you unless absolutely necessary.

you do have to say, though, he’s not annoying as you thought he was. he just nagged you way more the first day he sat next to you in physics so he could get your number. it’s been a few days since then, but still, you’d definitely be more efficient in your studies if you didn’t have him attached to your hip all the time.

“satoru, i told you not to bother me-“

“unless absolutely necessary. yeah, i heard you, and this question needs an absolutely necessary answer! contact names really say a lot about our relationship, y’know.”

“relationship? nobody ever said we were even friends-“

“don’t break my heart like that, babe. plus, you don’t call me gojo anymore! it’s satoru to you now,” his heart warms at that realization, and you scoff, especially at the pet name. “we are friends, unless you’d like to be something more...”

“if you say anything else i’m calling you by your government name. gojo satoru.” he looks especially wounded by that.

“ah! don’t do that, please. it feels like we’re a married couple and you’re really mad at me.” he cries and you can’t help but giggle at his words. you decide to entertain him a little bit, fishing through your pocket to find your phone.

he almost passes out at what he sees on your screen.

“it’s just my number? you didn’t even save my contact?!-“

the shushes from your fellow students and the librarians aren’t even enough to calm gojo’s agony and despair. it also does nothing to stop your laughter, either.

from that day on, gojo’s contact was forcefully changed from his number to “satoru” (he initially added a heart, but you deleted it, much to his disappointment) and one of his many selfies from his stupid instagram account. how the hell can a college student even have thousands of followers?! you think.

gojo just says that nobody can resist his shirtless post-workout selfies. you’re surprised that you didn’t slap him at his words.

you push him away.

everytime gojo buys your favorite drink, (it’s always on him, despite your genuine insistence in saying that you could pay for your drink just fine.) everytime he walks you to all of your classes each day, (he memorized your schedule just so he could do this) everytime he buys you your favorite foods on the rare instances that you let him take you out for lunch, (usually, this requires a lot of begging, and you mostly relent during class when you’re just exasperated and wanted to get some notes down.), and everytime he calls you by those stupid pet names of his, you think back to what the entire student body says about him, and you think back to your phone call with shoko, where she warns you to not associate with him so you don’t get hurt by anyone ever again, and you push him away.

you push him away even when you realize that if he just wanted you for sex, he would’ve stopped chasing after you when you didn’t text him after that night at the party.

and that thought alone scares you.

still, you’re not heartless. satoru’s been asking to take you out for a while, and you finally agreed to go today. he’s especially chipper about your agreement right now, walking with a slight pep in his step as he bit around his ice cream cone.

the park boasts some beautiful scenery today, and little children are out and about. still, you underestimated the weather, and the cold uncomfortably nipped your arms as you internally cursed yourself out for wearing just a shirt. you crossed your arms as a subtle way to shield yourself from the cold.

“don’t play coy with me, y/n. are you cold?” satoru says with a cocky grin, and you huff at his question. surprisingly, he drops the teasing act and unzips his sweater, handing it to you. “here, take it.”

“satoru-“

“i’m not doing this to flirt or whatever you’re thinking right now. you’re shivering, and i’m just concerned for you, so please wear it.” he deadpans, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him be so… upfront? you kind of like it. it’s not him teasing you or him being flirty. it’s just him showing that he genuinely cares for you as a friend. you take the sweater with a nod and put it on, ignoring how your heart is thumping as you take in his signature smell. cedarwood with a little bit of musk. it’s not an overpowering scent, but it still envelopes your senses.

“nevermind. you look so cute with my hoodie on. i feel like we’re in a j-drama right now, y/n!”

you take back everything you just said.

a few minutes later, you two are near the kids playground when you decide to take a break from walking, sitting on a nearby bench with gojo. the chirping of the birds and the wind passing through the trees is quickly overpowered by loud crying. crying from the child right in front of you, in fact.

you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but satoru beats you to it. he kneels in front of the kid, and coos, “hey, buddy. what’s your name, hm?”

he stops crying for a moment to look at gojo and shakily responds, “gumi-um, megumi fushiguro..”

“megumi, huh.” he clicks his tongue for a moment. “why are you crying, megumi?”

“i-i don’t know where my dad is!” he cries, and satoru looks to you for help. you just shrug, unsure of what to do with the lost kid, until gojo’s face lights up, assumingly with a great idea.

“he’s most likely just around here somewhere. you can wait with us, and we’ll help you find him! say, do you want an ice cream to help you feel better, megumi?” the boy hesitantly nods, and satoru gives him a thumbs up as he takes him to the nearby ice cream stand. you’re watching this entire scene unfold, absolutely enamored with gojo for the first time. you didn’t think he had a natural talent with kids—but the way he’s making megumi laugh while he happily snacks on his ice cream says otherwise. an outsider could look at you three and assume that you’re just a happy family.

you try to ignore how that makes you feel.

and as you wave goodbye to megumi once he eventually is reunited with his father again, (an intimidating man who gave you two an appreciative nod as he walked away with his son.) you realize something as you tug on the sleeves of your-satoru’s sweater.

you’re in love with gojo satoru.

and fuck, that revelation scares you more than anything. the last time you had given your heart to a man, he had crushed it repeatedly until you decided that you would never let yourself be vulnerable like that ever again.

and now, you're in love with your school’s notorious playboy—and it feels like you’re setting yourself up to be heartbroken again. you want disregard those rumors and shoko’s words so badly, but they still eat at the back of your mind even though the real gojo satoru is right in front of you, and he doesn’t match the characteristics of the gojo satoru in those rumors at all.

you also remember that he has one real best friend, geto suguru. you like to think that this is also what geto sees in gojo. the reason why he’s stuck around.

the reason why you want to stick around too.

you’re so busy in your head that you’ve just noticed gojo frantically waving his hand in your face. “earth to y/n? oh, good! i thought you had, like, a shock reaction from seeing megumi’s father. he looked a little scary, no?”

“he looks like if a muscle came to life and started talking.” you whisper, and he laughs in agreement. burying your hands into the pockets of his hoodie, you smile. you don’t want to think about your current revelation with gojo right now. instead, you’ll stick with the present. and right now, you like the present.

you just don’t want to think about what this means for your future.

it’s the weekend, and you’re doing some work at the local cafe, gojo-free for once. only god knows what the man is doing at three pm in the afternoon on a saturday. not like you should be thinking about him right now, though. his presence alone has caused you to be behind on your studies, and you need to make sure you catch up.

you have to admit, you were a little unused to the silence. usually, the silence would be filled with gojo’s endless banter with you, as well as his terrible, corny jokes that are so stupid you can’t help but laugh. his seemingly never-ending presence was annoying at first, but now, you’re starting to yearn for his company.

it further fuels the pit of uncertainty in your stomach, and you hate it.

shaking your head with a sigh, you take another bite of your pastry and continue typing up the report on your laptop. the looming thought of this report’s impact on your grade and the need to pass this class helps you forget about satoru for a while. once again, you get lost in your academics.

the ring of the cafe bell breaks you from your trance. it was a natural impulse of yours to glance at everyone who entered the cafe, but once you did this time, you felt your heart drop down to your knees.

it was your ex.

your ex boyfriend who destroyed the notion of love for you, because he made you feel it for a short time, only to throw it all into a pit of fire and leave you scrambling to find nothing but ashes.

if you had to find the true roots as to why you’re so afraid to pursue a new relationship–you always find your ex in the center of it. and now, he’s right in front of you. you have to face him again when you refuse to shamefully admit that you’ve barely even healed from the emotional scars that he’d left behind.

you feel as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around your throat, blocking your airways and your ability to speak.

out of all the days satoru wasn’t here with you, it had to be this one.

“y/n? is that you, sweetheart?” you wanted to vomit at the way he said your name. he had no right to say it so sweetly, when all he’s ever left behind is venom.

“i don’t want to talk to you.” you cringe at the way your voice cracks, and you avert your gaze from him.

“please, just hear me out for a minute, baby..” he coos, and you hate the way he talks to you as if you were a child. “i know i fucked up, and i can’t change our past… but i can change our future together. if you take me back, i’ll show you how much i’ve changed-”

you don’t know how many times you’ve heard that stupid line before.

“god, you sound like a broken record with how many times you’ve pulled that bullshit on me.” you spat, loud enough to draw commotion in the cafe. your ex has surprise written all over his face–most likely due to your non-compliance to his words. “what, do you say that shit to all your hoes?”

your ex looks around, shrinking a little when he sees all eyes are on him. “now, now, y/n, no need to be like that-”

“be like that… be like that?! you’re telling me to be civil when you’re the one coming in here wanting me back, spouting some bullshit saying that you’ve changed, when i told you to leave me alone already!” you scream, and you could feel the tears bubble up in your eyes. you look down, so you aren’t able to see how everyone’s staring at you with pity. god, you hate pity. it makes you feel weak and vulnerable. the two emotions you absolutely loathe. “i just want you to leave me alone, god. i hate you, why won’t you just-”

“you fucking bitch-” he makes a move to lunge at you, and you instinctively take a step back, pure fear enveloping your senses.

you never feel the impact, though, as you see your ex being restrained by the cafe worker.

you remember him. the man who took your order earlier. he was an older man with a warm smile on his face, although you noticed how his cheekbones were slightly sunken, and he looked a little overworked. you jokingly quipped earlier that he should get some sleep before thanking him for making your order. he just replied, i get that quite a lot.

the size difference between your ex and the man is enough to discourage him from fighting back. he makes quick work your ex, dragging him out the door while he hysterically screams profanities to you on the way out. you assumed the worker threatened to call the police, because your ex scrambled up from the ground and ran away. you hoped this was the last time you would ever see him again.

“are you okay, ma’am? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

you didn’t even realize that the worker was back inside the cafe. everyone was gradually returning to their own businesses, with the eerie silence being replaced by casual chatter once more. you also didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking, and you huff out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “y-yeah, i’m alright, and he didn’t hit me. i just… need a minute,”

you decide that you aren’t gonna get anymore work done like this, so you pack your laptop into your bag and slump onto the seat with a sigh. you bury your face into your hands. “is it a long story?”

“oh, don’t even get me started.”

he laughs at that, and you ease up a little. “i told him i’d call the police if i ever see him around here again.”

“that’s good to hear. though i’d prefer if i never see him in my life ever again.”

he hums at your words, and he turns to look out the window. “it’s getting dark out. do you want me to call you a cab?”

“no need, i’ll call my boyf–my friend. i’ll call my friend. he’ll uh, pick me up.” you’re still so shaken up you barely even register what you said to him. your eyes are frantic as you turn your phone on and look for gojo’s name in your contacts. you don’t know why you want him to pick you up out of everybody. you could ask utahime or shoko right now, but you just wanted nothing more but to see gojo.

the bell rings again, and you flinch at the sound. thankfully, it was just another customer. the worker sighs. “well, these orders aren’t going to be done themselves. just wave me over if there are any other problems, okay?”

you nod absentmindedly, and he turns to leave, but you stop him. “wait, sir, what’s your name?”

“kento nanami.”

“thank you so much, nanami. i appreciate it.”

“i’m just doing my job.”

“your job is restraining crazy exes of college girls and kicking them out?”

“‘it comes with the job description.” he teases, and you laugh lightheartedly. “and your name is?”

“y/n l/n.”

“anytime, miss l/n. again, just please… call me over if anything happens.”

“will do…” you say, pressing the “call” button on gojo’s contact. the anxiety is hitting you again, and you take a shaky inhale. you’re surprised at how he picks up almost instantly. “hey… satoru? yeah, can you come pick me up, please? i know i don’t normally ask you to do something like this but-”

“did something happen?”

“a lot happened, actually… i’ll text you the address. please, just come soon.”

“of course, y/n.” you could already hear him running out the door, hearing the roar of his car engine coming to life. “i’ll be there as soon as possible.”

he gets to the cafe in five.

you wave goodbye to nanami, thanking him once more as you get in the passenger seat of gojo’s car.

it’s not your first time inside here, but you still can’t help but admire how… expensive everything looks. or maybe you’re just looking around because you’re stalling, and you have no idea where to begin with satoru.

however, you notice that he’s not asking you what happened, and he’s not forcing you to explain anything to him. instead, he switches the gear shift out of parking and says, “do you want me to take you home?”

your eyes widen at his words, and you shake your head no profusely. the last thing you want to be is home alone right now, mainly because your ex knows where you live. you know he most likely won’t go that far with you, especially since nanami knocked some sense into him… but the possibilities still scare you. you take a deep breath before saying your next words.

“...can you take me to your house? i-i’m sorry for asking, i just don’t want to be alone right now cause i’m terrified and-”

“y-yeah. i’ll take you to my house.” he says, and you’ve never seen him so nervous in your life. it almost makes you laugh.

“i’ll explain everything later. i just… wanna be somewhere safe first.” somewhere safe. you find his house as a safe place. gojo doesn’t know how to react. his heart is thumping wildly out of his chest, but he makes sure to put your own comfort before his feelings.

“you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” he says, maintaining his cool by keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift.

“but i want to, satoru…” you say. you can’t believe you’re doing this again. you’re crossing so many territories that you were so afraid to cross because of your ex. now, you think you aren’t that afraid anymore. not if you have satoru by your side.

you place one of your cold hands on the gear stick, interlocking it with his. is he… shaking? “thank you for this.”

still. there are so many things you can’t say to him yet. you don’t know when you’ll be able to… or if you’ll ever be able to.

i love you. i love you but i’m too afraid to say it. i just hope that you’ll be able to wait for me.

“god, you’re killin’ me here, y/n.”

that pit of uncertainty in your stomach has grown so large you feel it's about to consume you whole. you don’t think you mind much, though.

the two of you are lounging at his couch after satoru insisted on telling you to make yourself at home. there’s a movie playing, with neither of you paying attention at all, takeout on the coffee table, two glasses and a bottle of wine after gojo didn’t know what drinks to serve, and freaked out by pulling the first expensive drink out from his parents’ alcohol closet. has he never properly invited someone to his home before?

“so in short, you had a crazy ex who saw you at the coffee shop… and he was begging for you to take him back, and when you went off on him he called you a bitch and tried to hit you…” he recalls, a huge grimace on his face. “tch. the cafe worker shouldn’t have let him go like that.”

“i’m sure he learned not to mess with me after getting humiliated in public.. and nanami did more than enough for me.” you retorted, and he gave you a sour look.

“oh, so you know the worker’s name now?” he says, and you could feel the tension build up in the air. oh. so he wants to do this with you? “what, is he your knight in shining armor?”

“he looks like he’s in his late thirties, satoru. i’m not into older guys,” you roll your eyes at his absurd questions and add, “what’s it to you anyway?”

“what’s it to me, y/n?” he repeats your words, and you could feel an argument coming, like you already didn’t have an exhaustive one with your ex. “you know how i feel about you-“

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is getting louder, all to hide your fear behind the implication of his words. you distance yourself from him on the couch.. much like how you distance yourself from letting satoru get too close to how you truly feel. “we’re not even together, satoru. you don’t get to control the guys that i talk to- hell, have you even seen yourself?”

you’re rambling, and all you want to do is shut up, but you can’t bring yourself to. “i’ve heard what our school says about you. y-you’re a playboy, right? and you only ever talk to girls because you wanna fuck them. i’m not stupid, satoru. i’m not different from any of them, right? you only chase after me because i’m playing hard to get and that pisses you off-“

“what… what are you even saying, y/n?” he asks, and it stops your rambling for a moment. you don’t know what you’re saying. you’re pouring out all the reasons why you’ve tried to push him away, the reasons why you were so afraid to give your heart to him. but now that you say them out loud, they sound outright stupid.

“i started coming to class just to talk to you, i memorized your schedule just so i can walk you to class every morning. i buy you all your favorite food and drinks… i had to memorize your favorites too, by the way. and i have shit memory.” he’s screaming at this point, and you’ve never had satoru scream at you. there are unshed tears in his eyes, and it’s all overwhelming to watch this unfold. “and when you called me, i drove as fast as i could to you because you never call like that and i was fuckin’ worried!”

“so let me ask you a question, y/n… would i do all these things for you just because i want you in my bed?! i’d do anything for you, and you know that!” he’s crying. the gojo satoru is crying, and it’s all for a girl. if you told this to someone in your school, they’d call you a shit-faced liar. gojo satoru doesn’t cry for a girl. he makes them cry.

“i’m sorry for being skeptical, satoru! i just can’t help it when there’s so many rumors about you wanting to fuck girls just for the shit of it – and i’m conflicted on whether or not i should believe them because i want you so bad and i’m scared you’ll end up just breaking my heart and i don’t want that to happen again-”

he cuts you off. “you… what?”

you’re confused at why he looks so surprised, but then you backtrack on your words and you gasp. fuck. why did i say that? you cover your mouth and look away from him, refusing to meet his eyes.

those stupid blue eyes that you know you can’t get enough of.

“y/n… can you please say that again? i don’t want to do anything if i didn’t hear you right.” his voice is soft now, and you swear that you’re dreaming. this isn’t real. right? i’m gonna wake up soon. you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, leaving half-moon marks in their wake. it doesn’t work, and you don’t wake up, and you know you have to accept the fact that this is very real and it’s happening.

this is the worst leap of faith you think you’ve ever had to take in your life.

“i want you so fucking bad, satoru. and i’m realizing that you’re not just the stereotypical rich playboy that everyone talks about on campus—you’re a really great guy, and i guess i’m just scared to face that-” you don’t even realize that satoru’s got you cornered on the couch, and you can’t finish your words as he slots his lips against yours. hard. it’s the most passionate kiss you think you’ve ever had in your life, and it’s got your breath taken away in seconds. holy shit.

you quietly moan against his lips as you kiss back, cupping his face with your hands and wiping his tears away. you wish this moment would last forever, but you pull away so you can breathe. you meet gojo’s eyes, and they’re clouded with lust and desire, but you could tell he’s still a little uncertain. “we’ll talk later… just take me to the bedroom already,”

gojo doesn’t need another confirmation from you, and he lifts you up to carry you to his bedroom, practically tripping on his feet the way there.

a few hours later and a noise complaint from the neighbors, it’s safe to say that gojo satoru was the best one you’ve ever had.

“god, i’m never letting you go, baby.”

he’s tracing hearts onto your bare back. it’s littered with bruises and red scratch marks just from a few minutes ago, but you’ve never felt better in your life. you stare at the man who invited himself into your life just from an encounter at a party, and you thank your lucky stars that you agreed to go with utahime that night. “is something wrong? you’re starin’ again.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to trust you. i’ve just been scared to open up my heart again, especially after him.” you don’t have to name “him” for satoru to understand.

“i’m sorry too. i just got angry about the rumors and i also disregarded the fact that you’re scared to love again after your ex did all of that shit and-” he pauses, and sighs. “sorry. i’m rambling again.”

he pulls you into another kiss, and this time, it’s sweeter, lighter, and full of love. “i’m going to show you what it looks like to really be loved, because it’s definitely not the shitty picture that your ex painted in your head. there’s way more to it than that.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“thank you, toru.” you whisper. maybe, one day, you’ll be able to find the courage to say it back. and it’s okay, because gojo is willing to wait an eternity for you.

he’ll wait an eternity for you to teach you how to love again.

“look at how beautiful you are…” gojo says, appearing out of nowhere as he wraps an arm around your waist. you yelp, staring at your boyfriend through the mirror. he’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, with no doubt it being very expensive. it compliments the glimmering rolex on his wrist, and the thoughts running through your head about him and his outfit sets fire to your stomach.

“look at yourself first, toru… god, we should just stay home,” you tease, turning around to pull him into a deep kiss. it’s a friday, and gojo’s taking you out to attend geto’s party tonight. the two of you are going for several reasons. he wants to introduce you to his bestfriend, since you realized that you’ve never actually formally met geto before. it’ll also be your first formal “couple appearance”, as if gojo being attached to your side all the time doesn’t say enough about the two of you already.

gojo pulls away, which surprises you. you pout at the expression on his face. “as much as i want to, suguru’s been bugging about you all week. i really do think it’s time for you to meet him,”

“hmph. alright.”

“i’m tearing that dress off of you the second we get home, though.”

“satoru!”

“what?! not my fault my girl looks so damn hot all the time!”

this night is going amazing.

when satoru walks with you through the front doors, arm wrapped around your waist and the dress you picked out for tonight glimmering, you feel a little shy. the guys all whistle at the two of you, and the girls whisper amongst each other, but you and gojo don’t care. in his eyes, you’re the only girl he sees. the only girl worth being with here.

“wanna go get drinks?” he asks you, cerulean eyes showing underneath his sunglasses. you nod, walking to the kitchen with him. you’re getting severe deja vu… you can’t believe you met gojo at the last party you were at. and now you’re at another party, with gojo as your date. you scan the crowd for utahime or shoko, wondering what you would say to them if they saw you with the man they specifically told you not to mess with.

it’s alright, though. shoko was wrong about those rumors, and gojo’s proving it to you.

“satoru!” the playful voice greets your boyfriend, and you turn to see geto suguru. you’ve seen him around campus, and he sits somewhere in the back of your chem class. you haven’t really had the opportunity to talk to him, though… and he looks a little intimidating.

“you must be y/n,” he says, offering you a freshly opened smirnoff from the drinks on the countertop. you thank him and grab the drink, taking a swig.

“yup! my lovely girlfriend,” gojo lets go of his arm around your waist to grab a drink.

“you probably don’t know this, but i’ve been his wingman.” he smiles at gojo, who’s pouting, like he’s preparing himself for what suguru is about to say. “he’s batshit crazy for you, its insane.”

“oh? do tell.”

“when the two of you got together, he left me a voicemail at like… four in the morning? anyway, he was screaming about how he was the happiest guy in the world… or something.”

“that’s because i was!” you’re laughing at how unashamed satoru is about this.

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” geto clicks his tongue, pulling out his phone. “and he’s reposted you on insta to like, every drake song-”

“alright, me and y/n are gonna go dance.” he interrupts suguru, and drags you away from his best friend with a yelp. “nice talkin’ to you, suguru!”

“hey, i wanted to know more!-”

“shh, you don’t need to know about all of that.” the two of you are in the living room, in the midst of all the bodies dancing and grinding against each other. he pulls you close to him, and you feel his hot breath against your neck. “you look so beautiful tonight, y/n.”

“same for you, handsome. let’s dance, shall we?” you wrap your arms around him and just sway to the beat. you’ve never been much of a dancer, but everything feels natural as long as gojo’s with you.

suddenly, the music changes, and one dance starts playing. you two look at each other, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. “have you reposted me to this song?”

“duh. it’s a classic.”

“can’t disagree with that.” you say, finding yourself grinding against satoru while wizkid’s part plays in the background. it feels like such a perfect night–you’re pulling satoru into a deep kiss, and he shoves his tongue down your throat while he’s leading you to a nearby couch. you’re seated on his lap, mimicking practically every couple in this party tonight.

suddenly, you pull away, and you whisper, “i need to use the bathroom.”

satoru smirks at your words, thinking that it’s a hint for something else, and you give him a sour face. “want me to join you-”

you hit his chest playfully. “that’s not code for anything, you perv. i actually need to piss.”

he’s pouting at your words, but he lets you off his lap anyway, and holds your drink for the time being. “it’s at the second door in the hall to your right. be quick, please.”

“no duh. i’ve got a cute date to come back to,” you say, walking away and traversing all of the bodies that smell like sweat and alcohol. you’re a little unused to this environment, but it’s alright. you fix up your makeup in the bathroom and freshen up a little, walking back to the living room to find satoru again.

you wish you never did.

you were gone for four minutes. five minutes max. you come back to satoru, and your breath hitches at the sight.

on his lap was a random chick that looked like every other girl at this party. she was practically naked, since her outfit didn’t do much to cover her skin at all.

fuck.

you remember the first time you saw gojo at the last party you went to. the sight wasn’t that different compared to the one now. there were girls all over him, all fighting for his attention. and yet, it seemed that night, his attention was focused solely on you.

what bullshit that was.

your eyes are blurry, and the music is muffled in your ears. white noise fills your senses, and all you want to do right now is run.

so you do.

you run, not caring if gojo saw you at all or not. you run out of the party, eternally grateful that you didn’t pick out heels for tonight and settled for much simpler shoes. you run, despite the fact that you drew geto’s attention. you were already out the door before he could ask what was wrong. you run, just wanting to get away from everyone and everything. you run with no particular destination in mind. you stop running when you almost get run over on a red light, the car honking at you–screaming profanities as it drives by. it breaks you from your trance, and you sit on the curb of the sidewalk, letting all of your tears out on what was supposed to be a perfect night.

of course gojo didn’t think that you were different. you were just like every other girl to him.

stupid. stupid. stupid. you’ve never felt so stupid in your life.

when geto sees you running out the door with unshed tears in your eyes, he immediately panics. what the hell happened?

he goes through every room of the house, trying to find gojo, when he hears a bunch of commotion in the living room. he runs there, pushing past everyone, only to find a total disaster inside.

he sees gojo screaming at a girl dressed like a stripper, who was on the ground with tears in her eyes. satoru looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel with how pissed he looks. there’s a crowd forming at this point, and geto knows he needs to intervene, so he drags his bestfriend away, who looks so distraught that geto could just wonder what the fuck happened.

they’re outside now, and its significantly a lot more quiet out here compared to all of the chaos inside. all the noise is coming from gojo—who won’t stop crying, and geto has no idea what to do or where to even begin. “fuck!”

“dude, what the fuck happened!?” satoru looks like he’s feeling every emotion at once. he looks pissed, pissed enough to punch a wall, and geto’s a little afraid that gojo might actually do that–or worst-case scenario, punch him. he’s crying, and geto hasn’t seen gojo cry ever since he fell off a swing in pre-k, so what happened must be really fucking serious.

“i don’t KNOW what happened, goddamnit! y/n went to use the bathroom and some slu- some girl came up to me and threw herself on my fucking lap! i was gonna tell her to fuck off but y/n saw before i was able to and now she’s gone and she probably thinks that i’m just some cheater when i’ve worked so hard to get her to trust me and-FUCK!”

he stops, trying to calm down a little, and gojo takes the shakiest breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life. the red in his vision starts to fade, but he still feels helpless. “i just don’t know what to fucking do, suguru.”

“i just saw y/n run out of my house a few minutes ago.” he says with a grimace, and he’s trying to figure out what to tell his bestfriend. “i’ve never seen you like this over a girl before. holy shit, you really love her, do you?”

geto thinks that gojo’s bloodshot eyes, the brutal names that he called that girl at the party, and the tears he’s shed for you are already an answer.

“this is your last chance to prove it to her, satoru.” geto fumbles through his pockets and hands him the keys to his challenger. gojo snatches them, hearing the car engine rumbling itself to life. the white-haired man thanks his best friend as he steps into the drivers’ side, with geto reassuring him, ‘ill deal with the chaos inside, you go ahead and explain yourself to your girlfriend’.

gojo swears that he’s never driven so fast in his whole life.

part 2 ;)

#kami writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru comfort #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x y/n

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lovexdeepspace · 2 months

Text

“life without you.”

summary; months after breaking up with them, they come for reconciliation.

warnings; heartbreak, break-ups

note; wowowow the first part to this blew up and i am so beyond thankful for all the love! after this comes more requests :D

!! divider by @cafekitsune !!

first part | angst ending

“we should probably see other people.”

༊*·˚. xavier

it had been a couple of months since you broke things off with xavier and the way his face had contorted into one of subtle shock made you feel, well, better about things. although it had pained you to say the words, knowing that he was instantly hit with something — be it guilt, regret, sadness, whatever — made you feel better knowing it meant he still cared enough about you.

though the months of silence that followed had you second guessing that notion, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself it was normal for this to happen and that you should take advantage of this time. you would never admit to anyone the many nights you would spend on your couch, waiting around late at night hoping that knock would come on your door and your sleepy hunter would be on the other side.

perhaps you ended up manifesting it one too many times, however, because now you stand pj-clad in your doorway with one hand on your hip and a raised brow as xavier held out a round, marshmallow-looking stuffed bunny to you.

“what’s this?” you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he was doing — you just wanted to hear him say it.

xavier’s lips pressed into a tight line as he avoided your eyes and muttered, “i really screwed up. i didn’t realize how good things were with you until i lost you.”

you stayed silent, motioning for him to continue when he glanced your way.

“i don’t deserve to ask you for forgiveness, let alone should i expect you to take me back,” he said, holding your gaze, “but i’d be even more of a fool not to try. i’m so, so sorry i put you in such a shitty situation.”

xavier pushed the bunny a little closer to you, brightening a bit as you took it into your arms. it was soft and downright adorable, a stuffed reflection of the man in front of you(though, again, something else on the list of things that wouldn’t be admitted by you).

“i don’t expect you to answer me any time soon,” he added quickly, filling the silence, “so i’ll just —“

“xavier.”

the blonde immediately shut his mouth, giving you his rapt attention. with a sigh you look from the bunny to him before extending a hand to him, albeit hesitantly.

“i was in the middle of watching a movie,” you said, earning a confused look. “do you want to finish it with me?”

if your heart wasn’t racing by that point, the way xavier’s face broke out in a grin before he grabbed your hand excitedly and pulled you into your own apartment had it pounding against your rib cage like a drum.

༊*·˚. rafayel

you recieved a torrent of snarky, snappy texts following your brief break-up with rafayel. he switched between gaslighting you that nothing was happening and that you were overreacting to him acting nonchalant about the whole thing; it was so bad that you had to block his number before you even got back to your apartment, which was a few blocks away.

it was weird to not have your phone blowing up all day long but, at the same time, the silence was a sort of reprieve while you dealt with the emotional repercussions of the whole situation. it allowed you some peace of mind and gave you the space needed to cope and, with the months that followed, grow more comfortable with not being in a relationship anymore.

you had finally found yourself at peace once again, keeping yourself busy with things to do like trying out the new restaurant downtown. as you were getting ready to head out, a knock came from your front door.

“just a minute!” you called, adjusting the collar of your blouse in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it. “oh.”

standing in front of you was rafayel and thomas, the latter giving you a sweet smile and a wave.

“nice to see you!” he chirped before giving rafayel a shove on the shoulder and gesturing to you. “i’ll be in the car.”

“good seeing you, too, thomas,” you called as he walked off, then turned to rafayel. “so. it took your manager forcing you for you to come see me?”

rafayel pouted at you and crossed his arms over his chest. “last i checked, you’re the one who blocked my number.”

you barked out a laugh, unsure as to why you’d be surprised about the audacity of this man. “well, maybe it’s because you tried to downplay my feelings!”

“well i’m sorry, okay?” rafayel retorted, matching your raised volume. “there, happy?”

“happy?” you echoed, running a hand down your face. “rafayel, if you really think —”

“you’re right.”

you froze, biting back the rest of your statement and raising a brow. “i’m right?”

rafayel nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “i fucked up. like truly, undoubtedly fucked up. and here i am, thinking i can just say sorry and fix it all but that’s not how it works. i’ve got this whole front to keep up to protect my stupid ego but. . .” he sniffles and you realize there are tears in his eyes but he continues before you can speak up.

“fuck my ego,” he spat, clearly more angry at himself with every word he spoke. “my life has been complete and utter shit without you in it. i thought i knew what i was doing but i was wrong and i can’t even begin to express how sorry i am. i don’t deserve forgiveness or anything from you but gods you deserved an apology and i hope this is at least somewhat sufficient.”

rafayel sniffled again, the tip of his nose reddening as he wiped at his eyes. you were shocked to say the least, rooted to the spot as you watched the man you always thought to be so invulnerable breaking down in front of you.

slowly you reached out and your hands pulled his away from his face. he looked at you with wide, teary eyes as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the few remaining tears away. he whispered your name and you sighed, feeling all the hardened feelings towards the artist and your breakup softening to mush.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning into your touch, and everything gets thrown out the window as you press a quick kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, then the corner of his lips.

“i missed you too,” you said quietly. “come inside — i’ll tell thomas that i’ll drive you home later.”

༊*·˚. zayne

his coldness towards you was to be expected but still stung more than you could’ve expected. what made the break-up even worse was that you had to do it at the hospital and she was present for it all. you had tripped over your words and felt like a fool but knew, deep down, it needed to be done to prevent you from spending another sleepless night.

you had accounted for the way you’d feel when you’d find his clothes in your laundry; you’d accounted for the way your heart would surge whenever the rare occurrence came that you’d see him out and about in linkon city; everything was thought out and prepared for to avoid feeling too harshly.

what you had failed to account for, however, was how you’d feel when you came home one day to find zayne sitting on your couch with at least ten different bouquets of flowers surrounding him.

first it was shock — you quite literally dropped all your belongings. zayne raised an eyebrow at your reaction as if it wasn’t incredibly surprising to see him sitting in your apartment after having months of no contact.

second it was realization — you hadn’t taken your spare key back. as soon as it hit you your shock wore off and you groaned, running a hand down your face. after a long day at work this was the last thing you were expecting and needed.

last came the indifference. you gestured to him, then to the door. zayne stood slowly and walked around the bouquets, heading for the door. you were surprised up until he shut the door and headed back to his original spot on the couch.

“zayne,” you deadpanned. “that was a sign for you to leave.”

“do you really want me to leave?” the doctor asked, his steely gaze sending shivers down your spine.

no. “why are you even here?” you asked, defeated, purposely avoiding the question. “months of not talking and you suddenly appear in my apartment? what gives?”

“i need to apologize,” zayne replied bluntly, gesturing to the plethora of flowers surrounding him. “did the flowers not make that obvious? are they not enough? should i have gotten more?”

he looked somewhat distraught as he looked around him and you shook your head with a sigh to cover up the way the corners of your mouth twitched. you’d hardly seen zayne so stressed let alone stressed over flowers and if they were enough for you.

“zayne, the flowers are lovely,” you assured him. “more than i know what to do with, though.”

zayne nodded slowly, a bit more at ease. he stood once more and walked over to you, stopping right in front of you. he took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye, though you noted the way his eyes flitted down to your lips for a split second.

“what i did, how i treated you, all of it was unacceptable,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but already feel him worming his way through your walls. “i don’t know what i was thinking — or if i was even thinking at all. you are the most caring, respectful, and loving partner anyone could ever ask for. i was so lucky to have you by my side and i foolishly messed everything up.”

you wanted to reach out and wrap your arms around him, truly, but he still looked as if he had more to say so you held yourself back for a moment longer.

“you are everything to me,” he said, “and i will do whatever i need to do to regain your trust, your love, everything. however long it takes — days, months, years, nothing else matters to me more than you.”

you were in awe of the man standing before you, so moved by his words and actions that you couldn’t help but wind your arms around him and pull him close to you. you could feel him relax in your embrace, something that nobody else could do no matter what. with your cheek pressed to his chest, you smiled to yourself as you felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head and his arms wrap tightly around you.

“since i went a little overboard with the flowers,” he mumbled, “do you think we should take them down to the hospital and give them out to the patients?”

there he was. your zayne. sweet, compassionate, loving zayne.

taglist; @chim-i @reialbert @circusclownsam @yegrnn @kreishin @xmikanx @frobin4ever @keitthen <3 & all the anons that requested this!

#love and deepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads xavier #lads zayne #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #zayne #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace

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penny00dreadful · 3 months

Text

STWG Prompt: I Couldn't Lose You

Happy birthday @hitlikehammers, you deserve the world!

AO3

“He’s dead.”

Something must have been wrong with his brain. Maybe all those hits to the head had finally caught up with him. Maybe his audio processing was fucked or he was hearing things.

He had to be.

Because there was no way in hell this doctor just told him Eddie was dead.

“He’s what?” Steve asked with a slight shake of the head, like that would dislodge whatever was making him hear this incorrectly.

“He’s dead, Mr. Harrington.” The doctor repeated, his fingers tensing around his clipboard.

Steve could feel the crease in his brow, his confusion was probably plain all over his face.

It didn’t make any sense.

“How could he be dead? He can’t be dead.” He replied. “I only just saw him.”

There was no devastation, no heartbreak, no clawing grief and no screaming agony.

Because it didn’t make any sense.

The doctor looked on in sympathy. “Mr. Munson took a very quick turn-”

“A turn of what?” Wayne snapped, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at this ‘doctor’. “How did he turn?”

Steve glanced behind the doctor to look into Eddie’s hospital room again. The empty bed, the crisp sheets, the quiet monitors. Flowers gone. Cards gone. Eddie’s stuff sitting in a chair near the door.

It was almost like he’d never been in there.

When did they have the time?

Steve and Wayne had only left his side for ten minutes. It was the first time Eddie had been left alone since he came into the hospital, half dead and bitten to hell.

And Steve and Wayne had come back to find a doctor waiting for them by the door.

A doctor that Steve didn’t recognise. In a town with less than 5,000 people.

“His fever got quite high-”

Wayne scoffed. “Eddie didn’t have no fever.”

“Sir.” The doctor sighed out, frustrated. “Your nephew was very sick. And gravely injured. Situations like these can turn fast.”

Steve and Wayne glanced at each other, the both of them seeing the same suspicion reflected in each other's face.

There had been no alert over the PA system. The nurses station hadn’t been scrambled. If Eddie had taken a sudden turn, if Eddie had died… a young twenty year old suddenly dropping dead would have had half the floor flooding in trying to save him.

Not to mention Steve was pretty sure that doctor, if he was even really a doctor, was breaking the Hippocratic Oath by telling him this information.

Steve wasn’t family, he had no right to that information. The doctor hadn’t even asked Wayne before he started talking, he just started talking.

Steve could be anybody.

Something super fucked up was going on. They needed to find Eddie and they needed to find him fast.

“I understand this must be very hard for you.” The doctor said with a solemn face. It was very convincing. He must have gone to acting school. “Would you like to see him?”

Steve’s mind screeched to a halt again.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s down in the morgue.”

Bullshit he’s down in the morgue. But Wayne’s face was remaining hard and with one curt nod, he began to follow the doctor down the hallway.

It only took a glance back for him to communicate that he wanted Steve to follow him, to come with them. Either as backup or as emotional support if it did turn out that Eddie was dead.

Which it wouldn’t.

Because it couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t fucking dead.

Steve also really didn’t like the idea of leaving this floor unmonitored. He just felt… there was something in the back of his head telling him that he needed to keep eyes up here.

As they approached the nurses station and by extension, the elevators, his saving grace turned the corner.

“Just one second.” Steve said to the two of them. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

Wayne snapped his head over to him and when Steve nodded in Robin’s direction there was a moment of complete and utter bewilderment on his face before he masked it.

With a small nod, he sent Steve off and Steve could see all of the questions running through Wayne’s eyes but he didn’t have time.

Robin’s eyes got wider and wider as he approached, opening his arms up for a hug and a weary, “Hey baby” before he pulled her into him, turning them so her back was to the doctor.

“Code Red. Eddie’s missing.” He whispered into her hair, keeping his nose buried into her neck to hide the movements of his lips. “They say he’s dead. We’re going down to the morgue. I need eyes up here.”

He just fucking hoped she’d be able to keep a straight face, that she’d get it, that she’d go along.

Though he should have never doubted.

Not for one second.

Robin was silent only for a moment before she ran a hand up and down his back with a little sombre nod. “Remember. Will’s body was found in the Quarry.” She whispered back.

Steve didn’t have time to figure that one out, Robin was untangling herself from him with a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll tell the kids.”

She turned his head to kiss him on the cheek and then gave him a light push back towards Wayne.

Steve leaned against the elevator wall and he stared down at the floor. The three of them were carried down in silence, but Steve’s mind was whirring.

Was Robin suggesting there might be a body down there?

A fake Eddie? Made to look dead?

But how could he tell? How would he be able to tell?

From what he’d heard, Will’s fake body was like a clone of him. Hopper had only been able to find out it wasn’t actually him by cutting into him.

There was no way he’d be able to get close enough to cut in. He probably wouldn’t even be allowed to touch. They might try to keep him at a distance.

And there was no way to warn Wayne about what might be coming.

The doors dinged open and Steve was out of time.

Down another hallway and through another set of metal doors, there was already a gurney out in the centre of the room covered in a white sheet, the shape of a body clear as day underneath, like they had been expecting them.

Despite, despite Steve knowing in his bones that that wasn’t Eddie. That that wasn’t his boy under there, the sight still sent his heart lurching.

He could feel the apprehension crawling through his skin and he almost asked them not to show him.

There were two doctors standing by the doors, almost like sentries, big and bulky. Their lab coats were too small on them and they were watching Steve and Wayne like a pair of bouncers.

The doctor they had travelled down with looked to Wayne and with his nod of approval, pulled the top of the sheet back.

Dark curly brown hair spilled over the side of the table. Skin so pale it was almost white in death glared across at them and it was Eddie.

It looked… it looked just like him.

Wayne took a shuddering breath in, took a step closer and was stopped by a hand on the shoulder.

“Hey man.” Steve snapped, far too loud in the cold metal room, unable to keep his own emotions out of his voice. Because what if he had been wrong? “That’s his family. Get your fucking hands off him.”

The ‘doctor’ holding Wayne back glared at Steve like he was ready to disappear him under a black bag.

“It’s alright son-”

“No, it is not alright.” If Steve needed to create a scene to get them their way, then Steve was going to create a fucking scene. “Do you know who my father is?” He asked, all but sticking his nose up in the air.

The corner of Wayne’s mouth ticked up ever so slightly. It made Steve’s skin crawl to invoke the status of a man he couldn’t fucking stand, but he needed to do something.

Steve wrenched the doctor's hand from Wayne’s shoulder and he wouldn’t be surprised if he got punched in the face for it, he was almost expecting it but the doctor who had led them down here spoke up.

“It’s- it’s okay, Vince.” He said, a little panicked, like he hadn’t really planned this far ahead and didn’t really know what to do in the face of Steve’s tantrum.

Wayne seized upon the opportunity to take a step closer and Steve followed in his shadow.

He had to know.

He had to know if that was really his baby lying on that cold and impersonal gurney.

Steve turned his back on the two guards and while the doctor they had come down with watched Wayne like a hawk as he reached a hand out to brush Eddie’s hair away from his face, Steve took his opportunity.

He kept his movements out of sight of the guards behind him, and kept them small enough so they wouldn’t draw the eye of the other doctor in front of him.

He slipped one of Eddie’s fingers into his hand through the sheet and twisted.

It went easily. Twisting around on itself without any resistance.

There was no bone in there.

It was like it was just full of cotton.

It wasn’t Eddie.

Steve closed his eyes and felt the tension drain out of him.

But then he heard a sniffle to his left.

Wayne.

Fuck, how was he gonna tell him?

How was he gonna get him out of this room so they could go find his boy?

They were running out of time.

“I have to go tell the kids.” Steve muttered, with as much sympathy as he could.

Wayne looked at him, his watery eyes searching, almost offended that Steve wasn’t more upset until it seemed to hit him that there was a reason for it.

Wayne searched his eyes again, asking a million, million questions, but he must have eventually settled on some kind of trust because he gave Steve a short nod before looking back down at the fake body, his gaze a little angrier than it had been.

Steve didn’t waste a second, couldn’t waste a second.

He turned and left the room as calmly as possible but as soon as he was out of sight of the guards, he ran as fast as possible without creating too much noise.

The ride on the elevator back up to Eddie’s floor was excruciatingly slow, everything was taking too long. Why was everything taking so long?

Eddie had to still be in the building somewhere.

They wouldn’t have had the time to take him out of the hospital completely, they would have needed the people, they would have needed to be sure no one saw them move him down to the ground floor.

The elevator dinged and the doors had barely started to open before Robin threw herself in, furiously jabbing at the button to take them back down.

“Rob, what the-”

“Lucas saw an ambulance pull into the ambulance bay from the wrong direction and it looks brand new, not like any of our usual rust buckets. Jonathan’s got the car running with Argyle standing by. Dustin and Mike think they’ve found the room he’s being held in downstairs but it’s locked.”

“Not for long it’s not.” Steve growled and Robin grinned at him.

“Thought you’d say that.” She plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bobby pins. Steve was forever finding them lying around his car, she always had some on her.

“Perfect,” he said, taking them from her.

“I can’t believe this is how you’re finally gonna use the lockpicking skills Eddie taught you.”

“I can. It sounds like something out of one of his stories.”

Robin snorted and the doors opened.

The hallway was thankfully deserted, except for Mike, standing at the end and waving them forward.

Steve and Robin followed him through the corridors until they ended up just outside the Ambulance Bay, Dustin hovering next to a closed door.

“In here, in here!”

“How do you know?”

“A nurse was talking to a janitor about why it was locked. He told her there were some chemicals being stored in there but you can’t store chemicals out here, there’s too many temperature variables and the weather-”

“That’s all we have to go off of?” Steve cut him off, but even so he still dropped to his knees and started to fit the pins into the lock.

“He’s in there, Steve. I know it. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Stop distracting me.”

“How do you know how to do that?”

“Enough questions, Roast Beef.” Robin pulled the brim of his hat down but then looked around and asked, “Where are the guards? Shouldn’t there be guards?”

“Erica had a seizure.”

“Erica had a what?!” Steve practically shouted, nearly losing his grip.

“Not a real one, obviously.” Mike sniffed. “But the guards were dressed as ambulance guys-”

“Ambulance guys.” Robin muttered.

“Yes. Ambulance guys and so they had to help. We screamed at them to help.”

Steve drowned them out, focusing all his attention on getting this fucking lock open. If it didn’t open in the next five seconds he was gonna break the fucking door down-

He felt the lock catch and with a quick turn to the side, the door gave a little creak as it opened ever so slightly.

Steve was barely on his feet again before he burst into the room, being met with cold concrete and steel shelves and a hospital bed awkwardly wedged in between them all, no monitors, no tubes, nothing but a pale body lying in a thin hospital gown.

“Eddie.” Steve called, making his way across in less than two steps, bending down to scoop him up. He was fucking freezing and knocked out completely. “Eds?”

He shook him just a little, hoping to get him to stir but Eddie didn’t stir, his head lolled against Steve’s arm and he was just dead weight.

At least he was breathing.

“Is he okay?”

“Why isn’t he waking up?”

“Did they sedate him?”

He shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Dustin and Mike’s questions.

“Where’s Jon parked?” He asked Robin, already heading towards the Ambulance Bay doors. “Can you take care of-”

“We’ll get Wayne, we’ll get everyone else. He’s just around the corner.” Robin’s eyes went wide at the sound of footsteps running towards them. “Go!”

Steve took off.

He’d thank Robin later, he owed her his life.

He clutched Eddie tight to him, shielding him, curved over him and nearly tripping over himself when he heard a door slam somewhere behind him and shouting echoing around him.

But then he saw the car.

Jonathan was behind the wheel and as soon as Steve turned the corner he started revving the engine, while Argyle threw the back door open, twisting over the passenger seat to get to it.

It was a little less than graceful, stuffing Eddie into the back seat and practically falling in on top of him as Jonathan took off, tearing out of the hospital with the door still open and Steve’s legs still hanging out.

But they got away.

They’d made it away.

For now.

Steve was able to pull himself fully inside, slamming the door closed behind him and cradling Eddie into his lap.

“Where am I going?!” Jonathan shouted back at him, one eye on the road, one eye in the rearview mirror.

There was no one following them so far.

“I don’t know! I don’t- The cabin!” Steve shouted back. “Get us to Hopper's cabin!”

“This is fuckin’ wild, dude.” Argyle whooped. “Born free!”

Eddie let out a soft little noise, rubbing his face into Steve’s shoulder and curling in on himself. His skin still felt like ice under Steve’s fingers.

“Stevie?”

Steve looked down at him, surrounding him as much as he could, rubbing up and down his arms trying to bring some warmth back in. “Yeah, it’s me baby. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Eddie hummed against his neck.

“They stole me.”

“And I stole you back.” He pressed his lips against Eddie’s forehead. “I’m not letting anyone or anything take you from me.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“I don’t care. I couldn’t lose you. Not again. I couldn’t.”

Eddie grinned up at him. “You didn’t.”

“No,” Steve whispered back. “I didn’t.”

AO3

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #penny00dreadful #eddie x steve #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic

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surftrips · 4 months

Text

BAD REPUTATION | LUKE CASTELLAN

HEARTBREAKER — CHAPTER 02

pairing luke castellan x fem!ares!reader

summary y/n is challenged by campers and her growing feelings for luke castellan.

author's note thank you for all the support on this series! i made a masterlist here so you can easily find the parts <3 as always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist and lmk your thoughts :)

→ installment of this au read for context

Luke Castellan found it increasingly harder and harder to hide his feelings for you. He could no longer make eye contact with you without his face turning an embarrassing shade of red. In fact, he could hardly look at your face because somehow his eyes would always end up darting toward your lips, or even lower if you were wearing a certain tank top that day.

“My eyes are up here, Castellan,” you quipped at him once.

Quite frankly, it was ruining his own reputation around camp as the best swordsman and a stoic warrior. If word got out that he fell to his knees at the hands of an Ares girl, what would people think of him?

As stories of your excellent skills got around, so did rumors about you. Everyone was interested to hear whose heart you had broken next, all because of that first fateful incident with a camper named Connor.

Connor, son of Apollo, thought that he could challenge you to an archery competition. He had bet that if he won, he could take you out on a date. How could you resist the urge to prove him wrong?

A small crowd had gathered to watch the two of you. Some people rooted for Connor, trusting that his combat skills would be stronger because of his father. However, the innate strength and talent from your own godly father allowed you to become familiar with the bow and arrow rather quickly.

“Careful, or one of your siblings will have to heal you later,” you warned.

“Oh, I think you’re the one that’s going to end up at my cabin later,” Connor responded snarkily.

You hated losing. It wasn’t an option for you. You didn’t care that Connor technically had the upper hand here, you were going to beat him regardless.

The rules were simple: there were four targets. Whoever hit the most points, won.

Connor went first, hitting an impressive 34 points.

“Beat that, pretty girl.”

You tried not to cringe at his nickname for you, and confidently walked up to the front. You quickly scanned the crowd, eyes landing on the brunette-haired boy you didn't realize you were looking for. Luke smiled at you, and suddenly everyone else faded away.

Turning back toward the targets, you lined up your bow and arrow and took the first shot. You hit eight points, which was not bad, but you were going to have to do better in order to win.

Trying to hone in on your training, you closed your eyes for the next shot and trusted your instincts. You heard the arrow hitting wood and before you could open your eyes, cheers had erupted from the crowd. Bullseye.

With 17 points left to beat Connor, you had to hit at least another bullseye. And you did just that.

Turning to Connor, you said, “Any last words before I take this final shot?”

“What time am I picking you up tonight?” he said, not losing hope just yet. You had to give it to him and his tireless persistence.

Your eyes focused in on the last target, until all you could see was the gold center. It kind of looked like the sun, and reminded you of a certain someone. You released the arrow, but at the last second felt your finger flinch.

Shit, you thought. But the crowd had already begun cheering again, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You had hit eight on the last one, just enough to win.

“Okay, who’s next?” you declared triumphantly, not missing the disappointed look on Connor's face.

After the competition, Luke walked over to congratulate you on your win.

“Hey, that was sick!” He placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, thanks!”

“You’re not beating yourself up over that last one, are you?”

“Wh- how’d you know?” You were silently cursing yourself for not making that last bullseye and blowing Connor completely out of the water.

“I know you, Y/N. Don’t look so surprised.”

“Okay, well, what am I thinking right now?”

“Hmmm,” he pretended to be lost in thought. “Dinner?”

“You know me so well.”

Ever since then, various people at camp had challenged you to their own duels in an effort to ask you out, just for you to beat them time and time again.

You weren’t sure why anyone thought you would be interested in them, when you had not once expressed a want for any sort of romantic entanglements. Because that’s all they were to you, entanglements. Complicated messes that were hard to get out of.

“Okay, I need boy advice,” Annabeth announced.

“No,” you responded. This was the first of many sleepovers you, her, and Clarisse would have together.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“That’s my advice, do yourself a favor and just don’t.”

“Okay, what’s the story?” the young girl asked.

“I dated this guy once. Long story short, all men do is disappoint you. It’s not worth it.”

“I second that,” Clarisse joined in.

“Wait- who do you like?” you asked, processing Annabeth’s original question.

“Oh, forget it. I’m not gonna tell you guys now,” she responded.

“No, you have to tell us!” Clarisse insisted.

When Annabeth didn’t respond, you and Clarisse began throwing pillows at her.

“Stop! Stop!” she giggled. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you guys.”

You and Clarisse waited with baited breath as Annabeth formed his name in her mouth. “Percy.”

Chaos ensued. You’re pretty sure that you squealed loud enough to break glass and Clarisse nearly woke up the cabin on the other side of camp. Luckily for you guys, it was a weekend that many of the campers had gone home for.

“Why are you guys cheering?” Annabeth asked, confused.

“Because we’re happy for you! Your first crush is so exciting!” Clarisse said.

Annabeth had always been like a younger sister to you and Clarisse, and you couldn’t help but be happy for her, despite your personal feelings about love.

“Y/N, what do you think?” Annabeth turned to you.

“I think you don’t even need our advice. Just be yourself, I’m sure he already thinks you’re amazing.”

The young girl beamed at you. “I thought you were anti-boys.”

“I am, if it were up to me, there would be no boys here.”

“Not even Luke?” Annabeth asked, feigning innocence.

“Well, is he a boy?” you responded.

“Yeah, but not just any boy….” Clarisse joined in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you sat up on your elbows in bed.

“Y/N, just admit it! He’s different!” Annabeth said.

“No, he’s still just a boy,” you said, trying to convince them, or yourself.

Annabeth and Clarisse looked at each other knowingly, but dropped the subject before upsetting you further.

The truth was, the thought of Luke Castellan terrified you.

At first, you didn’t want to admit it. There was no way Luke Castellan liked you, and there was absolutely no way that you liked him back. Not in any universe, above or on earth. Not after you had made it your whole mission to swear off boys completely.

Sure, you constantly picked each other as partners in Capture the Flag, sat next to each other over bonfires, and talked to each other everyday, but nothing friends didn’t do.

You tried to be oblivious to his longing glances at you, the way his face lit up when he saw you, but Annabeth and Clarisse were not shy in pointing out each time he smiled at you like you hung the moon and stars.

For years, Luke had repressed his emotions for fear of being perceived as weak. But each time you came around, he wondered if love could even be equated to weakness if he had never felt anything stronger.

Liked by lukecastellan and 170 others.

tagged annaaabeth and clarisse

ynuser with the girls 🏹💕

view all comments.

annaaabeth love youuu

clarisse so much fun!

lukecastellan ur foul for that last pic

ynuser whose side are you on

percyjackson second pic is me to you when i don't get invited to the sleepover :(

—

TAGLIST: @ravisinghs-wife @jules-loves-lukecastellan @favreader23 @clydeisalsoellie @yuminako @luxreziaa @eddiesdrummergf @whataprettyshadeofred @grace-928 @girls-and-guts @supercutszns @noodlesketchbook @birdiewriteslit @mitskiswift99 @idontevencare1223 @randomnpc456 @lucycarlisleswife @angelicdanvers @imguce @anitatvd (please lmk if you want to be added or i missed you!)

#bad rep series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x you

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daycourtofficial · 1 month

Text

Like he’s just your understudy

Summary: based on this request - Can Azriel tamper down his jealousy over you going on a date?

Author’s note: have some fun, level headed jealous Az. 😘

“Is your whiskey that bad brother?”

Cassian’s chipper voice grates on Azriel’s ears. He looks down, unaware of the intense grip he had on his glass. His shadows were tight around him, turning him into a ball of darkness.

“Cass, leave him alone. You know why he’s upset,” Rhys’s voice floats over to the two of them before picking up his wine glass.

Mor looks confused, looking to Cassian or Feyre to explain.

“(Y/n)’s out on a date right now,” Feyre says softly, trying not to add fuel to Azriel’s state.

Cassian chuckles, hitting his brother on the back. “Not happy for her? He was quite good looking-“

Azriel’s head whips towards him, “you saw him?”

Cassian smile falters just a tad, “uh, yeah. He came by to pick her up - even came in and talked to Rhys and I for a minute.”

Azriel’s shadows go wild at this news - searching frantically around the house for someone who wasn’t there.

“And why wasn’t I told?” His grip tightens again, fingers straining against the glass.

Rhys waves a hand, an amused smirk on his face. “You were up brooding in your room.”

Azriel’s eyes snap to Rhys, deciding then that maybe he didn’t need two brothers. “I was not brooding-“

“Then what were you doing?” Mor’s amused voice interjected.

The eyes of his family were watching him as he met her question with silence.

Azriel couldn’t take it - their knowing looks, their smirks, their laughs, as if what he felt for you was some joke.

He couldn’t stand watching you, a beacon of light, trail off to light up someone else’s night.

He scoots his chair back, slamming his glass down. He gets up, about to leave his family and their insistence on family dinners, when Amren speaks up.

“They asked about you before leaving.”

His head snaps over to the newly turned fae, unsure if he can trust anything coming from her.

“It’s likely because I wasn’t here,” Azriel dismisses.

“Feyre and Mor weren’t here - they didn’t ask about them.”

Azriel looked at Nesta, the one person who saw through everyone else. Nesta, the person you were closest to besides Azriel. Nesta, who would never lead Azriel down a path of heartbreak.

Nesta returns his gaze before saying, “they’re down at that new restaurant on Third Avenue.”

Azriel gave her a quick nod before moving past everyone, walking through the foyer, and out the door.

The male that had asked you out at Rita’s was incredibly nice. He was tall, fit, and had the cutest dimple next to his mouth.

He was currently telling you a story about his younger sister, who was only eight years old. He seemed to care about her a lot, as he told you that he spends every Thursday night with her playing dress up.

He checks all of your boxes, he’s incredibly swoon worthy, and you two even share the same sense of humor.

But his eyes are the wrong shade of hazel, his jaw cut in just the wrong way, no wings adorn his back, no shadows skitter about him.

You knew pining over Azriel was a fruitless endeavor by this point. You were being so obvious about your feelings - it was clear he was ignoring every glaring sign you sent his way in favor of keeping you from further embarrassment.

Your date had excused himself to go to the restroom. He was gone for approximately fifteen seconds before someone else slides into his empty seat.

“Make up an excuse to leave. Let me take you out instead.”

You had no idea where he came from, or what he was saying as you look up to find Azriel, his hazel eyes molten gold in the candlelight.

“What?” You ask, noting the irriated look he was donning as he sniffed the air.

“Look, I - just end your date early, tell him you’re sick.”

Your eyes widen at him, looking around to make sure he hadn’t come back. “Az are you nuts? Why?”

He blows out a breath, leaning forward on the table.

“Because I am a selfish fool of a male who thought you didn’t feel the same way I feel about you. Now, if I’ve completely made a fool of myself, do tell me now so I can at least throw myself in the Sidra and die with dignity.”

Wide eyes peer back at him, “what do you mean ‘the way you feel about me’?”

Azriel sighs, looking in the direction your date went off to.

“Fuck it. I yearn for you. I want you in any conceivable way. I’m in love with you. And if I’m too late, I’ll just live with that for the rest of my life.”

Azril sighs in defeat as you stare blankly back at him. He looks up to see your date coming back to the table, a bit confused by the new presence.

He starts to stand, his wings drooping, all his determination gone as he says, “have a good night.”

He starts walking away when a hand gently wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“What’s going on?” Your date asks as he approaches the table.

You start to stand, the table clattering as you do so. “I’m so sorry,” you say, and Azriel can’t look at you, can’t watch your mouth form these next words. “There’s a bit of an emergency situation, and I have to go. It was lovely meeting you.”

Before Azriel could process that you rejected someone who wasn’t him, you were pulling your coat from your chair, tugging him out the door of the restaurant, and you didn’t lighten your grip until you were out in the street.

“So, about that date? Does now work?”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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cherry-leclerc · 3 months

Text

back to you ☆ cs55

genre: fluff, oldmoney!reader, strangers to lovers

word count: 3.1k

Fixated from the moment he first saw you, Carlos stays missing someone whom he never even properly met. But that all seems to change one night when you unexpectedly show up to a business dinner.

req!... i'm such a liar lmaooo (iykyk). hope you enjoy, my lil anons :) hope this heals some of the heartbreak we all endured today !!(*bashes head against keyboard*)

It almost seemed like you had something up your sleeve, a tactic to retrieve all of his attention away from the camera shoved right in front of him - media duties.

“Hello guys, just wanted to come on here to say that I think we gave it all we could during today’s race but there is definitely always room for improvement…” Blah, blah, blah.

He can’t quite figure out what he’s saying because his brown eyes are attached to the pretty girl walking right in front of him. Not behind him, trying to catch up. Not besides him, begging for a photo. Nope, right in front of him as if you could care less that you have one of the most popular drivers to ever exist almost chasing after you.

He could hear you mumbling about God knows what to the girl walking besides you. The Spaniard feels like a total creep when it comes to him becoming more alert to possibly catch your name. As you were saying? The media team manager stares back expectantly once Carlos blanks out. Though it wasn’t that unusual.

The 29 year old flickers his gaze back to the camera and then back to where you were, only except, you’re gone. Out of sight and his heart stops for a nanosecond.

“Onto the next week. Vamos.”

“So then, you have your upcoming shoot for the new fireproofs, testing, stimulator - if we have time, interview at…”

Carlos tunes out as he blinks at the never ending list as if it were just another Monday. Charles nods attentively, though he also looks far too uninterested. They were exhausted.

“And dinner tonight to meet our new sponsors.”

“Another one?” Charles asks, a slight crack in voice as he tries to pretend he wasn’t at all annoyed. “We just had one last night.”

Maria musters up a stern look. “Yes, again. They’re a lovely family, so we want to impress them with two well-behaved drivers.” The Ferrari boys swallow their laughter as they nod their heads. Got it.

It takes all of Carlos’ remaining willpower to get ready for dinner that night. On the way to the small Italian restaurant, he second guesses even showing up. He could fake a fever. A sore throat. Shaking his head, he curses as he steps out of his custom Ferrari.

“Oh good, I thought it was just going to be me,” Charles jokes as soon as he spots the Spaniard. Carlos chuckles before greeting the team. About 10 minutes go by before the Monegasque grows impatient as a child. I could have finished watching my movie.

“Shut up,” Fred murmurs before abruptly standing up from his seat. “Ah! È così bello rivedere finalmente te e la tua famiglia!” Choking on his champagne, Charles scrunches his nose before flying up and introducing himself. Carlos bites back a smile as he follows his lead.

And there he sees you, standing elegantly with a silk dress that looks as soft as your skin. You’re smiling sweetly at everyone, stepping in to not just shake their hands, but also go in for a small hug. Your mother and father repeat the same action, though they later focus all of their attention on Fred and Maria.

The Monegasque kicks his teammate’s shin. Carlos winces as he shoots fiery daggers. “We hit the jackpot.”

“What?”

Charles' shoulders drop theatrically. “Are you kidding me? Are we looking at the same girl right now or are you just blind?”

But he did see you, and he never quite forgot about you since that day. He could feel the tips of his ear burn bright red as you made your way over to him and his teammate. Charles, so nice to meet you, the green eyed boy beams before going in for a hug. You smile from ear to ear.

“Nice to meet you, too! I must admit; I’m a little starstruck right now.” Charles blushes fast as he stutters his way around such a compliment, even if he’s received thousands of the same one before. “Ah, this is Carlos.”

“Hello,” he feels himself saying. “Carlos, nice to meet you.” As soon as you look up at him, his breath hitches and fears you might feel his sweaty palms flourishing against your soft ones. And if you do, you choose to ignore it as you share a small smile, the kind you share when you see someone after 15 years.

The kind that seems forced.

“Ditto.”

With one last glance, you excuse yourself before making your way over to where your parents and Fred chatter about upcoming plans. Carlos blinks. “Wow. No hug,” Charles points out. “That’s weird. She was basically giving them out for free.”

“Be quiet.”

The remainder of the night you kept to yourself, occasionally inputting your own opinion with a polite smile drawn onto your fruit punch lips. Very well mannered, Fred would approve as you would bow your head with shyness. Carlos quirked a brow of curiosity.

He wondered what he might’ve done wrong. Had he been too forward? Cold? Often, his parents would claim he could be like that sometimes, so maybe? He wasn’t clinging onto the fact that he was the only one who didn’t receive a warm greeting from you, but he was left with questions.

“E tu, tesoro?”

“What about me?” you repeat, hair fanning along your face like a shiny curtain. Maria chuckles. How do you feel about being a part of this new chapter? You think about it for a second before settling with the safest answer. “Very proud, there’s nothing better than tying links with such a superior team.” Fred roars with genuine laughter as he pats your father’s shoulder. Smart girl.

“Why fine jewelry?”

“Pardon?”

The inquiry was directed towards your parents - who would clearly have the answer - but his eyes were trained on you, leaving you to fend for yourself. Lips part slowly as you connect with Carlos’ intense attention. “I’m curious, that’s all. I’m delighted we have you as our sponsors, but I was just wondering what made you dive into the business? Must be hard.”

Squinting your eyes, you click your tongue. It’s in our blood, your father’s voice cuts your train of thought. It’s what we do, what we love. But his warm gaze sticks to you like hot glue. You clear your throat before returning to your wide smile.

“I think it’s safe to say that diamonds are beautiful. They are scarily so crystal clear that for a moment one might search for a trace of color. And then they do come in other colors, so it’s really no problem,” you say, soft chuckles circling the table. “But I believe it’s also safe to say that we don’t often think about how they got here, shining around many ring fingers.” Your mother approves as she shows her mind-blowing diamond cut.

“Miners are the answer. They work hard - get their hands dirty - because they know that while it may not be easy to find such precious things…” His eyes roam your lips before dancing back up to your orbs. “It’s very well worth it.” Taking a sip from your glass of wine, you raise a brow. “That’s why.”

“It doesn’t even feel that tough to wear these pieces,” Charles squeaks as he slips on a white gold bracelet around his wrist. “They’re breathtaking.”

Clapping, you squeal at his words. For a moment, Carlos thinks about punching his teammate for getting to see your good side. They’re great, thank you again. You just tip your head towards him to confirm you heard, and slide away. Carlos sighs.

“This is ridiculous. She can’t even look at me.” The Spaniard bites his cheek. “Do you think she hates me?”

“For doing what?” Charles asks, face pinched with confusion. Carlos huffs, arms flying up.

“I have no idea!”

“Well…I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

“No.” He groans. “Can you picture how awkward that would be? There’s no way.”

“Suit yourself.”

Pouting, the brown eyed boy zigzags his way into the studio, mentally preparing himself for hours of blinding lights. “Buongiorno, Carlos!” Spotting your father with his arms wrapped around his wife, he walks over with a tired smile. How are you guys? “We’re fine, son, thank you for asking. Tell me, are you excited for this weekend?” He instantly stands up straighter.

“I am. The Tifosi are always great to be around. Gets hectic, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I can imagine. My wife and daughter are always amped up when it’s finally Monza’s turn.” He hums, almost as if he’s reminiscing. “Tell you, my baby would beg for us to take her to cheer on her favorite drivers. It’s kind of a full circle moment so don’t mind if my wife gets emotional.”

“Stop,” your mother sniffles as she shares a grimace. Told you, your father mouths. Carlos laughs.

“I completely get it, it must mean a lot to all three of you. Maybe that’s what makes this partnership work all the more.” Your fathers winks, large fingers wagging over at the Spaniard. Working over time. I respect it.

“I see why my daughter likes you.”

Carlos halts. “Sorry?”

The older man pants, seeming comedically defeated. “Are you kidding me? She adores you! You've been her favorite driver since you joined Formula 1.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Her love towards the sport had a huge impact on us to join as sponsors, but to be fair, we probably still would have done it. Like I said, it holds a special place in our hearts.”

“Buongiorno,” your soft voice echoes, skipping happily to greet the Ferrari team. Everyone’s energy quickly picks up as you flow with such easiness, skirt wrapping around your waist, making you seem like the only flower in an empty garden. Talk to you in a bit, you cheer as you make your way up to your parents. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you spot the grumpy brunette. Like always, he can physically see you create a wall around yourself, keeping you from him. He felt like the Beast drooling over the rose inside the glass. “Good morning, Carlos. Logo looks good,” you hum, dark red pedicure pointing at your last name printed onto his fireproof. “Can’t wait to see how it looks on Charles.”

His jaw ticks. “Why don’t I call him then?”

“That would be lovely.”

He’s jealous. Of course he fucking is. He might have found out your whole act is a facade but that didn’t stop him from feeling this way. He could have been your favorite at one point, but what about now? It sure as hell didn’t seem like it.

“She wants to see you.”

The Monegasque furrows his brows. Who? But as soon as he notices his teammates' sour face, he registers the reason for his bad mood. “Stop pouting. You look like you just sucked on a lemon.” Carlos shoots a deadpan expression. “This has gone too far. It’s obviously bothering you.”

“What? You nagging?”

“Okay, ouch.” The green eyed boy takes a small step towards the Spaniard. “You don’t like it that she’s ignoring you because you like her.”

Carlos jumps off the couch. “I do not!” Charles hums.

“Oh shit, good, then I could ask her out.” He beams. “I wouldn’t want things to get weird between us.” Carlos' heart almost jumps out of his chest as he grows nauseous at the thought of you saying yes. He continues. “I’m telling you; I have a good feeling.” The brown eyed boy clenches his jaw. “It’s like this - I could see myself marrying her, having a baby heiress-”

“Okay fine, I like her!” He pants. “She drives me so fucking crazy. Whether she looks my way or not, she makes my head spin. Ever since I saw her at the Canada GP, she’s been imprinted into my brain like a lecture I’ve been told over and over, time and time again. It makes me sick that she seems to almost get sad when she’s around me. The way she can never look at me the way I’ve always looked at her. And I’m…” He looks down at his race boots. “I’m too afraid of ruining something that I don’t even have a chance at.”

The Monegasque pats him on the shoulder, lips stretched out into a teasing smirk. “Now, was it that hard to admit your feelings?”

It was that hard to admit his feelings. He thought about it for the first time since he met you. Confess everything that’s been locked away deep inside of him; claim his feelings like some kind of gold medal. But then he saw you radiating pure perfection and he would turn the other way. You hated him, he’s sure.

“Alright Carlos, push, now push.”

He could taste it - sweet victory that he badly craved. If he played his cards right then he could get second place, which was pretty good in comparison to past results.

The Spaniard tries to not feel too upset about coming in third and waves up at the Tifosi who let out blood curdling screams. Pride rushes through his veins as he walks onto the podium, he didn’t even mind all the attention. Especially the kind you were gifting him with.

The way you smile so big that your perfect teeth shine up at him, eyes crinkling like a love letter. Cheekbones slightly pink from cheering so loud but also from the bright sun. He swore he was on some kind of drug.

Making his way back into the motorhome after all the interviews, he bumps into you and your parents. “Like it?” he asks as he displays his trophy.

“Definitely,” your father beams. “You deserve it, son, enjoy it.” After a few more affirmations, he and your mother walk away. Brown orbs find your own.

“Have fun?” He tries to ease his deep voice, to appear more outgoing, to not scare you away. And yet, you nod, looking down.

“He’s right. You totally deserve it.” And for what seems like the first time, you bless him with your warm stare. “Felicidades, Carlos.” Pink paints his cheeks. You speak Spanish? Your eyes grow wide as you feverishly shake your head. “I-I- I don’t, but I’ve picked up on a few things here and there…”

“From me.” He tilts his head. “You actually pay attention to me.”

You can’t help stutter like a broken record. “Of course-e, I ha-ave ears.” You show them off like a weak justification. “See?” you squeak. Playing with the hem of your dress - that had him swallowing a string of moans the moment you walked into the garage that morning - you slowly started backing away. “I should go now…” You point towards the sliding doors. “See you later?”

But he knew there would be no later. Fuck, this was the most you’ve spoken to him since, well, ever. He wouldn’t let that slip away so easily. Even if his heart got bruised along the way.

“Did I do something for you to hate me?”

Your brows narrow like a little kid. “You think I hate you?”

“It’s okay if you do, I suppose, but I’m just lost as to where that happened? Did I-”

“I don’t hate you,” you softly speak up, eyes shut in disbelief that you’ve made him feel that way. You blink back at him. “I promise you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Okay, he confirms.

“Why can’t you talk to me then like you do with everybody else? Why can’t you even spare me a passing glance?”

His voice sounds desperate now, he knows it, but he was desperate. Now you were embarrassed that he continues to bring up more and more of your poor behavior - but it was never intentional. You twirl a strand of your hair before releasing it.

“You intimidate me.”

The Spaniard squeezed his fist around the trophy. For a moment, he thought he would dent the steel. Your stomach drops at the sight and he feels guilty for proving you right. He lets out a shaky breath.

“I’m not a bad guy, y’know? I’m sure it may seem like it, but…” He licks his lips. “I’m not.”

Doe eyes flutter like butterfly wings. “I believe you, Carlos.”

“Good. Now, would you please tell me why you always escape when I’m around?” You softly curse as you pinch your hand for a second.

“I wasn’t lying; you do intimidate me. But not in the way you might think.” Like an angel, you make your way closer. “You’re my favorite driver, you know that?” The Spaniard’s brown eyes grow wide. You laugh. “Ever since you-”

“Joined Formula 1.”

Your jaw drops. “My father ratted me out?” Panicking, you pace the room back and forth. You could only look at him for a couple of seconds before planting your stare at anywhere else that isn’t him. “I told him not to say anything! Oh God.” You let out a maniatic chuckle. “I swear it’s just a tiny crush, it’s not even that deep - I’ll get over it!”

Now it’s his turn to geek out. “You have a crush on me?” Crap, you groan, biting down on your nail. He didn’t mention that part, did he? Brown strands of hair shake back and forth as you sigh.

“Forget I said anything, I am so sorry for making things awkward-”

“I’ve seen you before.” What? The 29 year old winces. “At the Canada GP. You were walking with a friend.” Synthia, you whisper to yourself. “I was being filmed for feedback on the race and you were about 5 steps in front of me.” You counted? “I said about - and for months, you were all I could think about. You sort of stuck to me like a nostalgic scent. I don’t know why I felt the need to talk to you, I mean, it’s never happened to me before. I looked away for a second and you were gone.” He shares a lopsided smile. “Then I saw you again.”

“And I blocked you out.” You bite your lip. “Shit, Carlos…I had no idea you felt this way.” He shrugs.

“It’s my fault. I never told you.” Still, you try to reason but he only brushes you off. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” you whimper. “I acted like a complete snob and belittled you.” Your heart breaks at the image. “And you’re telling me it’s been mutual all along?”

“Looks like it. This is good though.” How? The brunette winks as he pulls you in. “Because now we do know and I can take you out sometime?” You quirk a brow.

“It works just like that?”

He hums, comfortable with the two trophies pressed up against him. “Only if you want it to be like that.” You can practically hear your crazy heartbeat with the way he’s looking down at you - as if he’s just discovered a previously nonexisting star. With soft hands pressed onto his suit, your eyes twinkle.

“Just like that, then.”

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prongspoet · 4 months

Text

broken hearted | luke castellan.

first time writing for luke, so hope this is okay! tell me what u think in the reblogs i would love to know and get more luke asks!

summary: the curse of cabin 10 makes aphrodite!reader pretend to date her best friend so she doesn't have to cause a heartbreak to her actual crush. even though, at the end of it, she's the only one who had her heart broken. major inspo from this concept.

"You're staring." y/n' best friend, luke castellan, head counselor of the hermes cabin, pointed the fact out, side eying the girl right at his side, after looking at the boy sword training in front of them.

"he's staring back." the aphrodite girl said with a grin. the sunlight bathing her head making it comfortingly warm. luke would know, since he was the one caressing it while she laid down next to him. both of them on the grass, enjoying the late afternoon at camp. "so..."

michael dawson, ares' kid, was, in fact, staring. luke couldn't blame him, the way his best friend looked made everyone pay attention to her. she didn't even had to try. and still, the swordfighting happening in front of them made luke even more sure that mike needed a way so she could notice him. not naturally, but somehow, it worked, since the girl payed attention to him as soon as he started.

"oh well, like mother like daughter, huh. " he continued, in a mocking tone, holding his laugh, raising himself by his elbows, before taking one of his hands to the girl's arm. "your siblings wouldn't be too happy to see the goody two shoes dating an ares' kid, would they?"

"gods, don't fucking say that." she giggled, hiding her face with both of her hands. she went quiet for a second, still staring at the boy. "ares' kid or not.." y/n sighed, pouting slightly. "mike's nicer than the others, he wouldn't deserve to be a guinea pig."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i have to do.” the girl muttered, with a soft sigh. she couldn't blame her mother, she worshipped aphrodite; her beauty, her power, her knowledge and her actions. that didn't mean that she enjoyed the judgment. the need to make someone else feel miserable just because she could. it wasn't fair. "the first love heart break thing."

"i'm glad i'm not in his shoes, that's for sure." the boy whispered, with a chuckle, still trying to be as quiet as possible. his thumb caressing her arm incessantly. it made her skin burn. in a second, y/n abruptly raised her chin, getting supported by her elbows, getting muffled groan from luke, once it hit his ribs. "what is it?"

"you could be!"

"am i your first love, daisy?" he raised one of his eyebrows, with a mischievous grin stamped on the boys face. the scar in his eye making itself more clear. "you should have told me sooner- ouch!"

"shut up, hero. listen to me!" he knew that tone. and as anyone else who had a single bit of sense, he kept quiet, wanting nothing more to hear her insane idea. "we could pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend." the smile on her delicate face kept getting bigger as she explained her brilliant - yet not completely effective - idea. "i could pretend to break your heart. no one gets hurt, i can stay with mike after is over, and my mom ends up being proud of me!"

the aphrodite girl stared at him expectedly, hoping he would buy her insane plan, hoping he could save her from doing something he never imagined her doing it. luke got quiet for a minute. his eyes were darker than usual. he couldn't stand that. y/n knew her best friend well enough to know that he meant to say something. he never truly did. "you shouldn't be looking for her approval."

"i'm not searching for approval i'm just trying to prove myself.."

"you don't have to prove your devotion to her by doing this." his tone stern, more quiet. colder. "you burn offerings for her every single day. you pray, you're always expressing how incredible she is."

"you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

and suddenly, the idea seemed more appealing than ever. she wasn't using her charmspeak on him. no, luke knew how sugary and sweet y/n's words could be when she wanted to. at that moment, his best friend was just being honest. and even though he could retribute that feeling, luke felt that he needed to do it. just for her.

"yeah," he nodded. defeated. "fine, i'll do it."

"really?" the girl hugged him tight. more excited than ever. "thank you boyfriend!"

"yeah, yeah." he grinned, letting her rest her head on his chest, carefully watching y/n closing her eyes, like nothing else would ever bother her. "just don't be too mean when you dump me."

pretending was easy.

they've always been stuck to each other. having dinner with each other. burning offerings with each other. planning capture the flag with each other. training, swimming, talking, sneaking out to parties. always with one right after the other.

it wasn't supposed to be different, they just had to make it more believable.

"we should be holding hands," y/n pointed out as the couple walked calmly to the main area, where dinner was starting. "silena asked me why we never hold hands if we're dating, so i thought we could make it more..."

"real, yeah." luke nodded, grabbing her hand right the next second she spoke. "c'mon, girlfriend, hurry up." he grinned, and she couldn't help but grin back. "i'm starving."

luke could do that. he could kiss her in front of people, and tell everyone the way they got together. he could hold hands with her, caress her back and almost have a heart attack when she kissed him behind his ear. he could live with that, yeah. it was normal. it was pretending.

until it started to change. suddenly. quickly.

he noticed her. the eyes, the shape of her face, the way her eyebrows moved when she laughed, and the look she gave him every single time she entered a room he was already in, and luke couldn't help but pay attention at her soft hair, how excited she became while looking at pretty flowers, and especially, how her fingers felt against his own scalp when they needed to do some pretending. she was an aphrodite kid after all. y/n was charming. y/n was lovely. y/n was his girlfriend, at least for a while.

and she couldn't help but notice him either. how his scar looked more bright when they. the subtle, yet attentive and gentle way he taught her how to hold a sword, how to train, how to fight. the infuriating way at how he held her chin up slightly, every single time, before sealing his lips against hers.

and for once, neither of them were pretending.

the bonfire started earlier that night, but the couple came to it late; y/n helped one of her sisters who was in a small crises, and her sweet caring boyfriend waited for her by the aphrodite cabin's door, holding her hand as soon as she got out, so they could sit together at one of the logs, full of campers, chartering, telling stories, and enjoying the peacefulness that the simple event emanate.

luke choose one of the back logs for a reason, it was darker, harder to anyone else to see them. even so, as soon as the boy started to leave little pecks at her jaw, he was able to hear some whistles and exclamations. teenagers were gonna be teenagers after all.

"alright," y/n sat upstraight, taking a deep breath before continuing. "you can't do that here."

"i'm just having fun!" the boy said with a mischievous grin. he knew way to well what he was doing. she hoped he would do it forever. the teasing, the almost getting caught made her heart sink every time. "you are my girlfriend after all."

"don't get ahead of yourself, hero." she muttered, grinning at him, before sealing lips with him again. "i still have to break your heart."

"are you sure about that?" he furrowed his eyebrows, pretending to be offended, but getting right back at his job pretty quickly. "i'll just enjoy it until the time comes then."

she laughed, taking her head back so he could have full access to her neck, delicately taking one of her hands to his scalp. and he noticed how much he loved that sound. so much in a way he wished he could bottle it up so he could taste it every time he felt miserable. that wasn't possible. but y/n promised that as long as they were together, he was allowed to make her laugh any time he wanted to, if if meant getting him happy.

that's why it hurt even more when he did what he did.

when he revealed himself to be the traitor.

"come with me."

"i'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" she cried out, feeling her heart beating faster than ever. "you're not thinking straight. you're not. you're not like this, i-" the words got caught up in her throat. y/n felt like she could pass out at any minute. "i know you luke." her voice was a mere pleading by then, hoping with all her soul he would hear. "you wouldn't do this to me."

"you mean a lot to me, daisy, but this is fucking different."

he was different, and she finally noticed. his eyes darker, his tone stern, and the way he held himself up, like he was prepared for a fight.

y/n would never fight him.

and he would never fight her, right?

and when luke turned his back against her, letting the aphrodite girl caught up with a sob, furrowing her eyebrows, feeling the tears already soaking up her eyes, y/n thought she understood.

maybe aphrodite didn't buy it. and even if she did, she knew it started out with a lie. y/n was playing house. thinking she could be smarter than her mom, she could prove it to everyone else how that curse was a lie, and that nothing would happen to the one that didn't completed it.

but it did happend.

no demigod could ever stand out a god. y/n was no exception.

and she finally understood that.

by the end of the day, y/n went back to her well known cabin, shamefully, missing her radiant aura and pretty smile, hiding a shattered heart in her pocket.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke x reader #percy jackson #percy Jackson x reader #aphrodite!reader #demigod!reader #- gabi writes

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pacifymebby · 8 months

Note

I cry when people yell at me(parent issues™️) and I was wondering how the peakys would react to that, like I can handle most things but yelling is like a big nono for me, would they be concerned or tease me for that, I don't think they will but I'm interested on how they'll react to it for the first time it happens, or if I yell back for the first time? You just do a great job at writing these characters💛

( im sorry if this is too personal or whatever)

AN: not too personal my lovely dw, here at Pacifymebby dot Tumblr dot com we (me) totally specialise in ✨ fanfiction as therapy ✨ haha. Sorry these have taken me ages to do. I'm also a crier when men shout at me so I hope I've written this how you wanted!!!!

Tommy

🌿 Is genuinely very shocked when, mid argument, you start crying. You've seen so much worse than this, you've witnessed some terrible things because of him and his brothers, the fights they get into every week. Only last week you'd watched with as calm a demeanour as one could manage, whilst Arthur had a violent breakdown and smashed a chair up at the dinner table. You'd not shown a shred of fear. But now, here you are, silent, heartbreaking tears streaming down your face and why?

🌿 because Tommy raised his voice at you.

🌿 you couldn't even remember what you'd been arguing about now. You'd seen red and blue fear in your mind the second he'd raised his voice. You'd watched him lose his temper with you, his jaw tense, his face going red as he yelled at you, his expression so angry, so cold and unforgiving. And it had shocked you. Tommy had never raised his voice at you before. You'd seen him shout at his brothers but he'd never shouted at you.

🌿 and the sight of you suddenly drained of colour, your skin taking on that strange bloodless translucency as you starred back at him wide eyed and fearful... it shocks him. You're looking at him like you don't recognise him and suddenly there's a lump in his throat.

🌿 He reaches out for you but you flinch away from him, backing away slowly and then suddenly fleeing, running away, vision blurred by your tears. You don't really know where to go and you can here him calling after you, but his voice raised shouting down the hallway for you only makes it worse. Only adds to your fear.

🌿 you're certain that you're in trouble so you don't stop even when he calls after you. Thing is he hasn't even said he's sorry. Hasn't realised why you're running from him.

🌿 "Y/N love for fuck sake what're you doin... we need to talk about this... Y/n stop!"

🌿 He's chased you out to the gardens, still shouting, still not getting the hint... it's only when he shouts again, louder this time, screaming your name across the lawn that you freeze. His voice seems to shake the whole world and it strikes the fear of god into you. So you stop. And he thinks thats the problem solved, that you've stopped running away from him now so he can return to you and you can talk like grownups.

🌿 but when he gets closer to you you back away some more, and even when he warns you to wait for him you edge away. Every step he takes you take one back until you find yourself backed up against a tree, looking at him with all this fear in your eyes.

🌿 He's careful as he approaches, one arm out to you, trying to coax you back to him... he can see that something has absolutely terrified you but it's only when he gets close enough to touch you, only when he brings his hand up to fix your hair that he realises what you're scared of.

🌿 "Don't hurt me!" You gasp, eyes squeezed shut, your body rigid with fear as you bring your hands up to protect your face. And it's that which makes him realise. That movement, that fragile tremble in your voice as you beg him not to harm you that breaks his heart.

🌿 and the realisation hits him like a freight train, chokes him. He can't believe you're frightened of him. He can't believe it's him who has caused you all this terror. You're trembling, your hands shaking the way a rabbit shakes when it knows it's being hunted.

🌿 He let's out a sigh, closes his eyes and tried to steady his own shaken nerves. He doesn't want to scare you anymore.

🌿 "Y/n, angel listen to me girl, I'm not going to hurt you..." he says, his voice a gentle caress as he takes your trembling hands in his, draws them away from your face and places them on his chest. He holds then both to his heart underneath his hand and with the other he cups your cheek. Makes you look up at him, catches your tears with his thumb and brushes them away.

🌿 "I scared you," he says looking at you ever so mournfully, he feels so guilty and you can see the hurt in his eyes. It just makes you feel worse and you shake your head trying to apologise. You can feel his heart beating beneath your hands, it's racing, his adrenaline too high and you feel guilty yourself because you made him angry.

🌿 "I'm.. I'm so sorry Tommy I made you angry I shouldn't have pissed you off its not..." but he cuts you off, finger pressed to your lips to hush you as he steps closer to you, his body so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. His head is bowed to look down at you.

🌿 "Shh now angel I'm talkin yeah, my turn to talk now eh so listen to me..." he's being ever so gentle, his hand holding your hip, the other tucking your hair behind your ear and stroking your cheek. He doesn't look harsh or sharp anymore, instead of anger his eyes are full of love. "Don't you apologise to me sweetheart, please don't do that... I'm sorry I shouted at you angel, shouldn't have done that but listen to me now eh cause this is important..."

🌿 You can't take your eyes off him, you're still shaking, still crying, your hearts still racing, but you're not frightened anymore. He's looking down at you with such an intense honesty, you can see the remorse in his eyes when he talks to you in that sweet gentle voice.

🌿 "I will never hurt you alright, I promise... even if I'm angry yeah, even if we're havin a blazing bloody row, I won't ever lay a finger on you like that sweetheart, I won't ever hurt you.."

🌿 You'd probably start crying all over again, burying your face in his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you and hold you tight. His hand stroking your back as he bows his head to place a kiss on yours. He'd cradle your head against his body and rest his chin in your hair. Close his eyes, hold onto you tight and treasure the feeling of you in his arms.

🌿 "You really fuckin scared me Tommy..." you'd sniffle struggling to calm yourself down.

🌿 "I know angel, I know and I'm really fuckin sorry alright..."

Alfie

🐻 He didn't mean to shout, Alfie's never raised his voice at you before because he doesn't believe in shouting at women and girls. He has a very firm, traditional view on that and he's stubborn about it too. No swearing, shouting and hitting women and girls.

🐻 The only reason he shouted is because he panicked, you were wandering around in a daydream so you hadn't noticed the tension in the bakery when you'd entered through the back door on your way to see your beloved. Tommy Shelby had just left, informing Alfie that he'd set up a trip wire to ensure his safety, that if he tugged on the string in his hand he would pull the pin from a grenade which would blow up half the bakery, starting a monstrous fire which would probably kill all inside. All those barrels of rum would go up in flames.

🐻 And you were one step from tripping that string which Tommy had tied to the leg of Alfies desk all, "I'll let you deal with this, have a think about what I've said whilst you work eh, careful though, its a delicate procedure..."

🐻 So when he'd seen you Alfie hadn't thought twice, shouting "Y/N stop! Stay there, fuckin don't move!" and luckily you'd frozen. Your body going rigid as the fear struck you like lightning.

🐻 He'd startled you for sure but more than that the sound of his voice ricochetting around the room, the voice of a man who was usually so tender and gentle with you, always so protective of you.. He'd never spoken to you like that and hearing it now struck ice cold fear into the very bones of you.

🐻 Alfie doesn't even notice at first, doesn't notice how you've gone white as a sheet, can't even move, he's too worried about that wire, too busy trying to work out what to do. Hoping there's a chance Tommy was bullshitting him. Hoping that actually there's nothing to fear.

🐻 And poor you, you're just stood there, hand clutched over your mouth starring at your love in shock. You don't know what to do because you don't want to embarrass yourself by bursting into tears over a little shouting, but you already know it's too late. Alfie really scared you, and he's never scared you before.

🐻 So you can't hold it back, you're trembling all over with the effort of fighting your tears, some have already escaped, you've swallowed down a sob already but it's the fact that Alfie's not even looking at you. The way he shouted at you so sharply, so harshly, and he isn't even looking at you now. You're struggling to reason with your own anxiety, convinced that you've done something wrong, that he hates you...

🐻 but then he hears it. The sound of your choked sob, one you'd tried and failed to hold back. And once the first escapes the damn breaks and you're in floods of tears. You don't move, frozen to the spot but your hands are over your face and your crying so mournfully that the sound sends an icy shard through Alfie's heart. Suddenly the hidden explosive is the least of his worries.

🐻 "Fuck," he grumbles to himself, telling himself off for snapping at you, "gentle Alfie what have I fuckin told you man, sometimes yeah you have to be fuckin gentle..." he's grumbling to himself as he reassesses his predicament. He knows he needs to get to you and get you to safety but he knows he can't get to you without risking your safety.

🐻 So he sighs. "Ziskeit, my dear, y/n poppet I'm sorry yeah, didn't mean to shout at you ziskeit, didn't mean to shout.. that was just me you know... panickin right, but I shouldn't have shouted at you yeah lovely girl I'm sorry..." he's making his way towards you very slowly and very carefully, talking soft and gentle, hands out because he doesn't want to startle you. His eyes flickering with concern between you and the wire you almost tripped.

🐻 "See my ziskeit, down there right by your feet yeah, there's a wire right and I need you to be very careful cause it's very dangerous yeah..." he doesn't want to scare you more than he already has but he also doesn't want you to move and accidentally set it off.

🐻 When he finally gets to you he doesn't hesitate to wrap his big arms around you and give you the warmest, tightest bear hug. He holds you firm against his chest, strokes your hair and cradles your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His beards tickley on your cheek and you're all wrapped up in the comfort of his musky scent.

🐻 "There, there my little ziskeit, s'alright now yeah, your Alfie's got you my darlin an he ain't lettin you go.."

🐻 He takes your hands from your face, won't let you hide and then he wipes your tears away with his thumbs. You can't just turn the waterworks off though and the tears keep coming.

🐻 Alfie feels so guilty.

🐻 But he'd hold your face in his hands and put his forehead against yours, looking down into your watery wounded eyes with such an intense devotion.

🐻 "Didn't mean to scare you poppet, please don't be scared now yeah, I'm here, I love you... I didn't mean to shout."

🐻 He'd probably call Ollie or one of his trusted men for help, he'd be instructing them on how to undo and disarm Tommy's trap, all the while still holding you and hushing you. The contrast between the way he barks orders at his men and then turns to you with the most tender, soft voice, shushing you and stroking your hair.

🐻 Promises he'll never shout at you again, but also, because he knows what he's like he also promises that if he does raise his voice at you, it won't be because he's angry and it won't be because he hates you. It'll be because he'd a stupid old man who forgets himself sometimes.

🐻 You'd sniffle, this shy smile on your lips as you tell him "you're not a stupid old man..." and he'd just chuckle, kiss your nose and brush your hair away from your tear stained cheeks, probably catching another tear on his thumb. "I am for making my ziskeit cry, but, you have my word now don't you girl, ain't ever gonna make you cry again..."

🐻 It's a big promise but Alfie is truly devoted to you and so protective of you that he really does hold it against himself forever. He's always viewed himself as your protector so the idea that you were scared of him is horrifying to him. He really does intend to keep his promise.

🐻 Will set a rule in the bakery and the warehouses that if you're around nobody is to raise their voice for any reason. He'll spin some bullshit about how it's very fucking rude and inconsiderate to shout when there are women and children present. If anyone breaks that rule Alfie will not hesitate to silence them in his own special way.

Arthur

🍂 It's probably not the first time this has happened let's be real here, this is probable not even the first time this has happend this week...

🍂 Arthur's emotions aren't exactly the easiest thing to endure... for either of you. He has a quick temper and he doesn't know how to express himself. If he's scared he turns to violence, if he's upset, he turns to violence, if he's angry, violence... even when he's happy or excited something usually gets broken, he usually forgets himself, talks too loudly... shouts...

🍂 And even though you're used to Arthur and his loud, uncontrollable and often unpredictable ways, you've never been able to get used to his yelling. You've always been easily startled and people yelling, raised voices has always set you on edge. And when someone shouts at you well, you always cry. You can't help yourself and you feel so stupid for it sometimes too... especially when it's Arthur who has made you cry because you know you should be used to it by now. You know what he's like... when he shouts and you start crying you always feel like a stupid child who can't control her own emotions.

🍂 But Arthur understands how that feels. It's not like he can control his either...

🍂 So of all the Blinders Arthur is the most sympathetic. It's not just that he feels terribly guilty for making you cry, it's that he hates how bad about yourself it makes you feel too and he wants you to learn not to be so hard on yourself.

🍂 So, he's always trying his best not to shout, for whatever reason... sometimes he comes home ecstatic about something that happened at the Garrison, he's half way through shouting through the house for you when he cuts himself off.

🍂 "Nah what have I fuckin told you Arthur Shelby, indoor voice for y/n, nice, gentle indoor voice..."

🍂 But of course this is Arthur and no matter how hard he tries he forgets himself and loses control on the regular. And when he does you also lose control... Arthur is an intimidating man at the best of times and when he shouts he is so fucking scary... especially when he's shouting because he's angry, and especially if he's shouting because he's arguing with you...

🍂 When that happens you probably don't just cry, you burst into tears, really dramatically... you'd shrink away from him, curl up on the floor crying your heart out, shaking, sobbing into your skirts and then when he realises what he's done it hits him in the gut and he does cold, panicks. He feels so guilty for scaring you again and rushes to try and hug.

🍂 Gets down there on the floor with you and bundles you up in his arms. His whole demeanor changes in an instant, all the fight knocked out of him in seconds as he rushed to comfort you.

🍂 Cradles you to his chest, rocking you to sooth you as he apologises over and over again. "For fuck sake darlin come here, fuckin 'ell I'm such a bloody idiot, I'm sorry my darlin I'm fuckin so sorry alright... didnt mean to scare you girl, y'know I love you don't I, ain't gonna hurt you, didn't mean to scare you just forgot meself that's all, you're alright my girl, I've got you eh, your Arthur loves you very much an he's very fuckin sorry for being such a fuckin dinlow eh..."

🍂 You'd be clutching at his shirt, sobbing into his chest, doing your best to calm yourself down, mentally chastising yourself for being so stupid because you know he didn't mean it, you know it was an accident, that you're safe with Arthur, that he won't ever hurt you... but even so, he scared you so much...

🍂 you'd push yourself up in his lap and try to wipe your tears away, probably trying to pull away from him and act as though everything was fine even though all you want to do is nestle deeper into his embrace and hold onto him until your heart stops racing.

🍂 And Arthur knows you well enough to recognise what you're doing so he isn't going to just let you go and pretend you're fine.

🍂 "Right now where dya think you're goin darlin..." he'd start, catching your hand and tugging you back into his lap, his arm locking around your waist, the other hand using his sleeve to dry your eyes. "Look at me yeah, got all the time in the world eh so I don't know what you're rushin off for darlin..."

🍂 "S'alright I'm alright now Arth was just being stupid wasn't I, you didn't scare me it's fine just bein..." but he'd cut you off shaking his head, giving you that frown which means 'dont give me all that rot y/n, I know you.'

🍂 "Nah," he'd say, "now don't start with all that shit now darlin, not wi me eh, I did scare you and you ain't stupid for bein scared neither... you ain't stupid at all..." "but..." when you try to argue he holds your face in both hands, your nose pressed up against his, his scruffy hair tickling your cheek as he gets right up close to you. His eyes are so intense when they lock with yours. "No buts now sweetheart, I fuckin scared you, I know I did and I'm fuckin sorry for it too... I'm the one who lost control so I'm the one who has to apologise right love, so I'm fuckin sorry yeah sweetheart, I hate scaring you an I never wanna do it again yeah... need to start using me fuckin brain eh love..."

🍂 But you hate seeing him put himself down so you're there holding his face in your hands too, looking up at him with such intensity, such stubbornness, it would be infuriating for him if he didn't currently feel so guilty. "You're not a fuckin idiot Arthur... don't call yourself stupid alright..."

🍂 For you and Arthur these scenes always end in the most loving of embraces, him holding you tight against him, you sitting in his lap on the floor, the two of you holding onto one another so carefully, so lovingly, your eyes locking as you tell eachother again how much you love one another. Your lips meeting in a desperate adoring kiss. One neither of you want to pull away from.

🍂 "Fuckin love you my darlin, don't even mean to upset you eh, I'll try harder yeah, Indoor voice from now I promise..." he says in as close to a whisper as Arthur Shelby can manage, kissing your face all over. Kissing away the last of your tears.

🍂 He always promises he won't shout at you again, you always promise you'll stop crying when he does. Both of you know that in a couple days time you'll be going over the whole routine again.

John

🌼 For all that John is a very laidback man, he has a temper on him and he has a very strict sense of morals, right and wrong (despite all of his moral activities) and when he feels strongly about something he will argue about it... and he has a temper on him.

🌼 When he loses his temper things can get messy, too emotional... He doesn't usually lose him temper with you though and so when he does it comes as even more of a shock.

🌼 He doesn't mean to start shouting at you, he already knows you don't deal well with it... Your voices have both been raising slowly as the arguments been escalating and when he finally starts really shouting you shout right back...

🌼 He didn't even realise he'd shouted until he heard your voice shouting back... suddenly cracking because you're trembling, because you've been fighting back your tears and they've just escaped.

🌼 He sees the tears streaming down your face and realises that you aren't even shouting because you're angry, your shout was one of fear. A "Stop it! Stop fucking shouting at me John fucking stop it!" Your hands over your ears as you shout at him from across the kitchen table, your eyes desperate with heartache and fear.

🌼 For a second you're looking at him with real upset and shock, like you don't recognise him at all, like he isn't your John anymore...

🌼 He feels terrible. He's gripped with guilt, a pain in his throat squeezing and aching, he's choked up by tears in his own eyes. Sometimes feelings are too big and John can't handle them.

🌼 Views himself as being the good family man, a loving, caring husband, a protective father, the man who looks after everyone, provides for them, so the idea that he could have done to his wife the one things she really can't handle, disgusts him. He's really disappointed in himself and he's determined to make it up to you.

🌼 He'd raise his hands up in surrender, his eyes full of guilt, his cheeks a little flushed as a tear escapes his eye, he's stepping away from the table, approaching you cautiously.

🌼 "Am sorry flower, I'm sorry..." his voice is wobbling but he's talking quietly now, as if lowering his voice like this is going to make up for the violence of his shouting at you moments before... and it does a little, or at least, his sudden effort to be gentle and careful calms you, lets you know you're not in danger.

🌼 He'll wrap his arms around you carefully, waiting for you to come to him, waiting for you to let him hold you. But when you feel the outline of his embrace you crumble, throwing your arms around him, sobbing into his neck as he closes his hold around you a little tighter, keeping you secure.

🌼 He'll hush you and rock you, doing his best to calm you down, all the while apologising for losing his temper.

🌼 "I'm so sorry little flower, I shouldn't have shouted at you, shouldn't have lost me temper that was fuckin stupid of me wasn't it..."

🌼 Lots of kissing your hair and your forehead. Will hold you as long as you need to calm down.

🌼 Will wipe your tears and tap your nose. Will hold your face in both his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, forehead to forehead promising you very passionately that he'll never shout at you like that again. You can see it in his eyes how strongly he feels, he's got tears in his eyes and he's perhaps crying a little too. He's talking but his jaw is clenched and the words are forced through his teeth so they come out really shaky but certain.

🌼 You catching his tears on your thumbs and brushing them away. The two of you eventually smiling at that, making a little joke about how over emotional you both are.

🌼 If you try to apologise for having cried, or if you try to joke about your tears, how silly it was of you to cry just because he shouted at you he will shake his head, cut you off all "no, no... no way flower, you ain't silly for cryin, you ain't supposed to like bein shouted at and your husband definitely ain't supposed to be shoutin at you like that neither..."

🌼 He'll be extra sweet to you for many days to come, bringing you flowers, talking particularly gently to you too. Lots of affection, hugs, kisses, holding your hand whenever he can, layering it on thick so that you know he still loves you... he knows how sensitive you are and knows that you'll still be worrying about the argument days later, so he'll do as much as he can to show you he loves you.

🌼 Once during a particularly heated family meeting Tommy shouted down the table at you for something you said, John was livid, white as a sheet with rage as he put his arms around you and stood protectively behind you. He was glaring so sharply his stare could have sliced Tommy open. Later you heard them scrapping when everyone else had left.

Bonnie

🍀 Bonnie is such a calm lad, he never shouts even when he's threatening other people. He's not the kind of man who raises his voice unless he really has to, he's usually the quietly threatening, controlled anger, spitting his threats through gritted teeth, not yelling...

🍀 It would take one hell of an argument, you'd both be feeling fragile and desperate, both of you shaking with he strength of the heartache and distress you're feeling.

🍀 Whatever you're fighting about it's been brewing for awhile so you both have so many thoughts, so many troubled feelings you need to get off your chest...

🍀 And when he does shout its because he feels a sudden panic, has a sudden fear that he will never be able to explain himself, never be able to make you understand... it's a truly desperate shout, almost a plea... "Would you just listen to me for a second love I'm trying to..."

🍀But he doesn't even finish the sentence, the second he realises he's yelled at you he feels a wee bit sick, his hands shaking and suddenly he can't speak at all. He's watching you, you're frozen, starring back at him with these terrifyingly sad wide eyes...

🍀 he can see he's just broken your heart.

🍀 For a moment theres silence, you're just starring back at him in shock, he's watching you, scared to move or say another word because if he does he's worried something between you will break. That you're both hanging on by a thread.

🍀 And when the thread snaps and you come back to life, your hand rising to cover your mouth and catch your sob, your eyes closing as your whole body shivers with the effort of fighting back tears, Bonnie watches you with this hollow weight in his stomach, this cold lump of guilt.

🍀 Swallows a lump in his throat, his voice quiet and shaky when he speaks again.

🍀 "Fuck, fuck I'm so sorry dove... don't cry, don't cry dove I'm sorry," he's speaking softly, hesitant to try and hug you because he saw the fear in your eyes and he's not sure you want him to come any closer now. "Please forgive me y/n I'm sorry, can I..." he trails off reaching for your hand, tugging you gently into his arms.

🍀Whatever you were fighting about it simultaneously ceases to matter to him and also becomes completely unsolvable...he's scared youre never going to look at him the same way again. He's supposed to be your man, your protector, the one person you can always trust and now he's let you down, he's scared you... he really resents himself for that, can't forgive himself for scaring you.

🍀"I'm sorry little dove," he'd whisper, his voice soothing, his breath brushing your cheek as he promises he won't shout like that again, "s'okay sweetpea, s'alright..." but he doesn't feel like its alright.

🍀 He'll hold you as snug as he can, but carefully too, treating you extra delicately, he's really hesitant to hug you too tightly or kiss you in case you're scared of him now.

🍀 "Don't be scared of my dove, you're breakin me heart," he says it with a teasing little smile, trying to get a giggle from you or something but you can hear the heartbreak in his voice and you know he's really telling the truth.

🍀 When you settle down a little you nuzzle into him, "Sorry Bon..." you sniffle trying to dry your eyes, caught out and speechless when he catches your hands in his and, strokes his thumbs over your palms. "What you sayin sorry for eh sweetpea? Am the one whose sayin sorry now..." he chuckles, holding your palm up to his lips and kissing your hands.

🍀 Even if you feel better quickly, soothed by Bonnie's sweetness, he won't feel better about it. The guilt will stick with him for a long time, one of those memories that comes back in the middle of the night and makes him cringe.

🍀 He's extra soft with you for the rest of the day and the morning after too, treating you like he's scared you're going to break. He speaks quietly and gently and he'll treat you with such tenderness, holding you at every opportunity, holding your hand even if you're just sitting together. Any excuse to kiss you or tell you he loves you.

🍀 Because he knows how upset you get when someone yells at you, if anyone else ever makes you cry by raising their voice at you Bonnie's fierce protective side will snap and he will be raring to defend you. You have had to talk him down from fights because of this.

Isaiah

🐀 He'll be so shocked when you start crying... he's seen you witness so much "worse" than shouting before... so he really wasn't expecting you to burst into tears when a drunk man at the bar raised his voice at you. He turns with a frown, brows tugged in in confusion as he blinks at you struggling to process the sight of you with tears streaking your face. He honestly didn't think anything could phase you...

🐀 For a second he's stunned but he soon snaps into action... "For fuck sake man now look what you've done!" He groans turning to the man behind your tears, "gone and made me girl cry ain't you... now I have to hurt ya..." he says with a cruel grin, as if he hadn't been intending on hurting the stupid cunt who'd been eyeing his girl up with lecherous eyes all evening anyway. "Don't get me wrong like... I wanted to anyway yeah, you've just given me a good excuse..."

🐀 Once he's satisfied he's fucked the stupid bastard up enough, he turns his attention back to you. He's not expecting to see you still crying, in fact he'd kind of been hoping he'd just imagined it, been hoping he was just going crazy like Arthur... but he isn't, and you are still crying.

🐀 And Isaiah isn't good with crying girls, doesn't know what to do about all those tears, feels totally at a loss.. especially because he's never seen you cry before.

🐀 will try to joke about it, not teasing you harshly, just making a little joke about how 'easily' scared it turns out you are... "You had me fooled mousy..."

🐀 This earns him a pretty firm slap from Ado who's jaw has just hit the floor... "Fuck sake dinlow whatre you doing making it bloody worse!" She'd be all arms crossed and shaking her head, muttering about how men these days are all the fucking stupid same.

🐀 but her slaps gotten through to Isaiah at least who is looking at you now with a somewhat more awkward smile, but he takes your hand and offers you a hug. This is the most stunted a conversation with Isaiah could possibly be and you're beginning to feel a whole different kind of anxious.

🐀 "Right for fuck sake, I've had enough of this.." Ada cuts in, "you.. give your girlfriend a fuckin hug alright," she'd say pointing at Isaiah and then pointing at you, "and you.. god sake girl get yourself a better fuckin boyfriend eh?"

🐀 "Alright Ada piss off yeah I've got her, she's alright now ain't you mousy..." Isaiah would groan, he's embarrassed by Ada pointing out his flaws but hes showing it as frustration instead. He will take her advice onboard however, he isn't that stupid.

🐀 He'll put his arm around your shoulder and squeeze you into his side steering you outside for a cigarette and some cool night air. He knows you'll be embarrassed about crying so he wants to take you somewhere quiet.

🐀 "Sorry for laughing at you doll you just took me by surprise... ain't like you is it... crying..." he'll say gently, he's sharing a cigarette with you, taking a drag or two and then placing it between your lips carefully. This is something he only does when he's trying to make you feel extra close and cosy with him.

🐀 He's quite curious about it, wants to understand why you cried, wants to know what it is about raised voices that you just can't deal with. And this curiosity isn't so that he can mock you, it's so that he can help you. He never wants to see you cry like that again so he wants to help you get over your fear...

🐀 He will offer you lots of reassurance, "you know I'm always here for you love, won't ever let anyone hurt you yeah... so even if someone does shout at you you ain't got nothin to be scared of yeah?"

🐀 He'll remind you that now you're with the Peaky Blinders you're always going to have someone near by to protect you. That men like "that cunt inside" will think twice about raising their voice at you...

🐀 Will hold your hand for the rest of the night, giving it reassuring squeezes at seemingly random moments. His affections will be subtle but constant all night and he'll make sure you feel safe.

🐀 If ever he shouts when you're nearby he'll remember himself quickly, apologising to you as soon as he can, making sure you're alright. If other Peaky lads chastise him for this he'll sock them round the back of the head no hesitations.

🐀 He's too easy going and because he doesn't want to shout at you, he avoids arguments like the plague, he'd rather just let most things slide until an issue absolutely has to be addressed because he's worried that if he gets swept into a row with you he won't be able to stop himself from losing his temper. He isn't sure yet whether this tactic is going to serve him well.

Michael

☘️ Its a heated argument, one which really give meaning to the phrase "blazing row." You and Michael are both furious with one another over a disagreement which has been stewing and bubbling away for weeks. One about Tommy Shelby and the unreasonable pressure he puts on his younger cousin.

☘️ When the row started it was because you wanted Michael to stand up to his cousin, you'd tried to encourage him to put his foot down, to start saying no every now and then when Tommy's demands crossed boundaries, but Michael didn't want to. he said you didn't understand the family, that you were sticking your nose into something which doesn't concern you.

☘️ And because you care so much about Michael you can't let go, won't back down. And because he cares about you and doesn't want you winding up in trouble Michael refuses to back down too. And thats how you end up screaming at one another in the middle of breakfast one morning.

☘️ He's so angry he doesn't notice that you aren't just shouting to match his fierce temper. He doesn't notice that you're trembling all over, that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are wide and white - more like a deer in the headlights than a dragon.

☘️ The argument would peak with you unleashing all your fear and hurt, all your desperation into one shattering scream, "Leave me alone Michael for fuck sake leave me alone!" you shout over your shoulder when you go running off into the garden and he follows. HE doesn't listen however and it takes you picking a rock up and throwing it in his direction for him to get the message and let you go.

☘️ You run away for the rest of the day, go disappearing down the lane storming into the park up the street, finding a bench or a tree to sit beneath, hugging your knees to your chest and sobbing into your skirts.

☘️ Meanwhile at home Michael is pissed off, pacing, getting angry, damaging furniture as his temper gets the better of him. He's fuming, he can't get his head around why you ran away. Why you were so upset. . He thinks you behaved childishly and doesn't understand why you ran off like a little girl...

☘️ It takes you both a long time to calm down and when you do you really don't want to go back to the house, so you go to Polly's instead, you don't tell her about the row but you drink tea with her and wait for Michael to turn up. (Pol assures you he always comes to her when you've been fighting)

☘️ And when he does show up that evening he's been drinking whiskey and his mood is bitter and self pitying.

☘️ "Let me guess Michael my boy, you and y/n had a row... she got upset, she ran away, she..." "Came here," he smirks shaking his head with a small self deprecating smile, "hiya love..."

☘️ He won't apologise for shouting because you were shouting too, and because Michael never apologises for anything. But he will pour the two of you some tea and try to talk to you a little more softly than before.

☘️ "You worried me love, running away from me like that...gave me a scare..." "You were shouting at me," you shrug sullenly. He would be struggling not to let his temper flare again. "You were shouting at me too to be fair love... and anyway, you're not a little girl are you, you don't run away from someone just for shouting..."

☘️ You'd bristle, getting defensive, fresh tears glossing your eyes then, a painful lump in your throat when you realise he doesn't understand and maybe isn't going to.

☘️ "No," you say, voice catching in your throat, "but what kind of man likes screaming at his girl?" When you ask him that he won't be able to ignore the guilt he feels. He'll be struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat too and he'll reach for your hand across the table, brush his thumb over your knuckles as he looks you in the eyes, tries to find an unspoken equilibrium between the two of you. Something to two of you can hold onto despite your differences.

☘️ "Alright," he says finally, let's out a little sigh and squeezes your hand. "No more shouting eh how does that sound?"

☘️ When you nod your head, your smile forming slow but wide, he mirrors your warm expression and leans back in his chair, tugs your hand across the table so that you'll stand and come sit down in his lap.

☘️ "No more shouting it is then y/n," he says holding your waist in his hands, feeling closer to you at last, enjoying the comfort of your familiar shape beneath his hands. He'll point to his cheek then all, "come on love, give us a kiss eh? Forgive me?" and he'll wait until you do lean in to place a kiss on his cheek before he catches yours in his palm and steers your mouth towards his.

AN/ hope these were what you were hoping for lovely, I honestly am not sure I've done your request justice but I don't think I can write much more so sorry about that :/

Taglist:

@jomarch-wannabe @zablife @call-sign-shark @marwwfairy@toddlerbodybag@mollybegger-blog@inalovesrabbits-blog @elina-777@impossibleheartflower@liliac-dreamer@everysage@itsghostgirlyo

#tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #bonnie gold x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagines #isaiah jesus x reader #alfie solomons x reader

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

Text

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #kas!eddie #established steddie #pre-S4 relationship #presumed dead #(but obviously NOT)#happy ending #steve mounts a one-man rescue/retrieval mission because he's heartbroken #eddie recognizes the love of his life because in light of everything he HELD ONTO THAT LOVE #steddielovemonth #love is the only thing we can take with us #stranger things

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macfrog · 8 months

Text

hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. …said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you’re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

----------

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ash5monster01 · 3 months

Note

Can I get Drew Starkey with prompt 2.??

First Love

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Drew Starkey x FemReader

Warnings: mentions of heartbreak, fluff, established relationship

2. You find an old love letter from your high school sweetheart, do you reach out?

word count: 2k

Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always brought up old memories. Thoughts to a time that didn’t even feel like you had lived it anymore. So much had changed, things you never really expected too. It’s weird that it feels so much heavier this year. Maybe since it had been ten years. A decade later and your life was not what you had wanted or expected it to be. Which explains why you pull the box stuffed away in your closet out. A layer of dust covering the top and you slowly blow it away as you pull the lid open to memories you hadn’t revisited in a very long time.

It’s the big things you notice first. The pair of roller skates you seemed to live in sophomore year of high school. A stack of year books with worn covers and faded signatures on the inside. A hoodie, one from him that overtime just became yours. Then it was the pictures. So many pictures it made you realize just how much of your life had been intertwined with his. It may have been ten years since but it was still ten years together before. Trying your best to avoid your young smiling face you find a stack of letters, rubber banded together with handwriting that is all too familiar. You knew it maybe wasn’t the best idea to read one, open old wounds, and yet you can’t stop yourself from freeing one of the envelopes.

Hello my love,

Did I happen to mention just how beautiful you looked today. I didn’t hear a single thing in Calc class because you kept brushing that perfect hair out of your face and across those shoulders. All I could think about was the smell of your perfume and wishing my head was buried in your neck. If I fail it’ll be all your fault but I wouldn’t really mind. It’d be worth it if it meant I got to keep looking at you. Just a degreeless loser with the most perfect wife. That’s right, I said wife, because I’m going to marry the hell out of you. It’s my only dream, out of all my successes in life you will always be my best one. Remember that.

Love Drew

The tears that spring to your eyes are not intentional. It was just that you had almost forgotten just how much he loved you. It was still your biggest regret that you never got to tell him just how much you loved him too. Maybe he had a girlfriend or even a different wife now but that still never stopped you from checking his Instagram and watching all of his latest movies. Which is why you’re so quick to pull up his account and scroll through the posts. He had grown up so much. He wasn’t that young 19 year old boy you used to know. He was a man now, a man you had let go of in order to not hold him back.

It’s when you accidentally double tap the screen and the heart appears do you feel your stomach drop. In instant panic you realize you’ve just become one of those crazy exes who still looks at their old boyfriend’s profile. Yet you shouldn’t feel this way. Drew was always your closest friend after all. So in order to make yourself look less crazy or possibly even more crazy, you hit the message button on the top.

Hey, was just reminiscing. So proud of all the things you have done. Hope all is well.

The internal cringe is enough for you to throw your phone across the room and pray that his famed status will keep him from ever seeing any notifications from you. Yet that isn’t proven true when your phone dings with a text from an unknown number on the other side of the room. Nervously picking it up, you prepare for whatever the text may hold.

Hey, it’s Drew. I’m really hoping this is still your number 😅

I got your DM but it feels weird messaging you of all people over Instagram

The second text comes through as you’re finished reading the first one, nerves tingling through your entire body. You hadn’t expected a DM back, let alone a text. Yet here you both were and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You were the one who reached out first after all.

It’s still me! I would have texted but obviously your number did change

You know how awkward it seems. Texting him professionally as if he isn’t the only person in the world you are most comfortable with. You don’t have time to dwell considering another text comes through.

Yeah, I actually had to ditch it after a crazy fan incident. I would have given you my new one but honestly I figured you didn’t want it.

Of course I’d want it, no matter what you’ll be important to me

You don’t want to come off as flirty but it was true. Even if your relationship had been ten years ago. Drew held your heart and gave you every first experience of love in your life. That never goes away, he would carry those firsts around with him forever.

You home? I’m in town and I’d love to meet up

It’s not the text you expect to come after the one you just sent. Knowing Drew was so close now made you even more nervous. It had been so long. Were you really even ready for that kind of confrontation? Then again you didn’t want him to think you were still all torn up especially after you reached out to him. So you sucked it up and texted back.

Yeah! We could meet at our old place, 4 o’clock?

See you then

And just like that, you not only revisited your past memories, but were truly going to step in it. Ten years ago this was your normal routine and it was weird how getting ready for this still felt so natural after all this time. This time you put a bit more effort into your appearance. If you were going to see Drew for the first time after all these years, you had to look good.

So with your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you find yourself walking to the center of town. The bustle of familiar faces walking along the streets, colors of red and pink covering every storefront you can see. You register completely that you’re doing this on Valentine’s day. The anniversary of when you left him ten years ago. Right in front of the old diner stands Drew, bundled up and holding a single pink rose in his hand. He doesn’t see you approach right away which makes you smile just slightly.

“Hi” you hum out, all emotions leaving you but happiness. You never would’ve thought seeing him in person again would bring you this much peace. He jumps just lightly before his head swiftly turns to face you.

“Hi! There you are” he grins and you can’t help the small laugh that falls from your lips. Suddenly he’s holding the pink rose forward. “This is for you, since it’s Valentines after all”

“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” you tease, fingers curling around the stem and lightly brushing his own. You can’t believe how long it’s been since you’ve felt his touch. Red covers the boys cheeks as you pull the flower close and take in its scent.

“No, well if you want. Yes, maybe. I don’t know anymore honestly” he flusters out and all you can do is giggle as you take a step closer to him.

“I’ll be your Valentine, considering I have been many times before” you tell him with a smile and he sighs in relief, comforted just as much by you, as you are of him.

“Let’s go inside, I don’t want you to freeze” he says, hand falling on your back and guiding you towards the door. You obey, heading straight for your old designated booth. Drew watches as you slide carefully into your side before he sits down himself.

“Look at you movie star” you grin at him after a moment, taking in his grown and handsome appearance. A fresh blush covers his cheeks as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“I’m no movie star, not quite yet” he says and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, Drew I see your face everywhere I go. Edits of you pop up on my tik tok now. Who would’ve thought my high school sweetheart would be everyone’s celebrity crush by now” you say, knocking your foot with his and he laughs lightly.

“To be honest it shocks me. At the end of the day I still am the bad guy on my claim to fame show” he says and you just smile, taking all of him in.

“That buzzed hair, been so long since I’ve seen you with shaggy hair. It’s weird how different you look and yet you’re still completely the same” you don’t mean to be sappy but sitting here of all places with him will make you like that.

“Yeah, I kinda wanted to grow it out but with filming schedules I’ve had to keep it shaved down. Maybe after though” he says running a hand over his head and you just grin.

“I can’t wait” and the sentence isn’t meant to imply you’ll be spending time together in the future, yet Drew can’t help but think of that.

“Why’d you reach out today?” he cuts to the chase and the smile quickly falls from your lips. “And don’t give me some classic bullshit response. I want the truth”

And you consider your options before finally choosing to speak.

“Every Valentine’s day I go through our box of things. Mementos of our time together, because if I’m being honest, I’m not really over it. I know I left you but it wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It’s because I didn’t want to hold you back” you saw no point in lying, he deserved the truth. Even after all these years.

“You never ever held me back” he says after he lets your words sink in and you sigh, hands coming up to tug at your hair.

“It doesn’t matter Drew. I know you, you would’ve chosen me over going to LA. Chasing your dream, becoming a superstar, I wasn’t apart of that” you tell him and Drew sighs, taking a moment to think of his next words.

“You were apart of that. You always were, because none of that mattered compared to you. You were always my greatest accomplishment” and the words from that letter ring through your mind.

“Do you still love me?” you finally ask, needing to know exactly what was going through his mind.

“I never stopped” he says and finally a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Do you think I could be apart of it now? So I stop accidentally liking your instagram posts?” you ask and a belly laugh falls from the boys lips across from you.

“If you’ll have me” he says, hands reaching across and cupping yours into his own.

“Always” you tell him with a grin and just like when you two were 16 and first started to come here, he lifts off his seat and leans across the table to meet you. Searching his eyes you meet him halfway and slowly press your lips against his own. Kissing him like this again for the first time in ten years feels like a fever dream but it was perfect. He was perfect and still tasted faintly of cherries and coffee. He was the only thing you ever truly wanted.

And you got him back.

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last-herondale · 1 month

Text

Almost Pt. 2

Bucky POV (W/ FemReader)

Angst, heartbreak, sadness

Tw: some mild curse words

AN: Hellooooo. I had an idea for a part two! Two fics in one week? Who do I think I am? 😳 anyway here is Bucky’s point of view on what happened after part one! Will link below! Maybe this will be a new series? Idk feeling ambitious 🤣

Part 1

Part 3

Enjoy 🤘🏼

It had been six weeks since Steve’s party. Six agonizing weeks of silence. Forty-two days of not hearing your voice. One thousand and eight hours of not seeing you smile at my stupid jokes. Sixty thousand, four hundred, and eighty minutes of not seeing the light dance in your eyes whenever you saw me enter the room. Three million, six hundred thousand twenty eight, and eight hundred seconds since I saw you walk away from me during that party after confessing your love for me.

You said you needed time. I respected that. I understood that.

After you bared your soul to me, I told you what I thought you needed to hear. That I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. It was difficult to stand there and see the light die from your eyes as I said these things. It was painful to see you cry, knowing that I had been the one to cause you that pain. But it was devastating for me to realize that despite how much I loved you, how much I cared for you, that the words I said were still true. Agonizingly so.

I expected that this type of honesty would destroy our friendship. Even though I still held out hope in my selfish mindset that we could continue on like we had in the past. Spending our free nights together, laughing, joking, having fun together, sharing memories, crying, hugging, everything we used to do…

But of course, those dreams had not come into fruition.

When you volunteered to be shipped out of the country for a mission the day after Steve’s party, I knew it was to get away from me. And despite my frustration and worry about you leaving on some dangerous mission without me in the state you were in, Steve assured me that you would be fine. He didn’t know the extent of what happened, but Steve being the inquisitive son of a bitch he is, he was able to connect some of the dots at least. Surprisingly he didn’t lecture or judge me. I was expecting to get an earful from him about how I treated you, led you on, and hurt your feelings, but in return I got nothing.

The mission was only supposed to last for two weeks, but as the days grew longer, the whole team was on edge when the two of you didn’t return. Steve kept communications with Tony, and he would pass along the messages to the rest of us. “They hit a snag. They are safe but they are bunking down for a bit.”

I felt like I was on pins and needles. I just needed to know you were safe, that you were okay. I must have looked worse for wear around the tower, because even Nat noticed and had a conversation with me in my room. It was a little strange. Having her back in my apartment, alone, her fiery gaze still as piercing as it was when we were together. But those feelings I held for her were gone. Something else lingered there, a fondness for the time we had, but nothing more.

I knew she was your best friend, so I assumed you told her everything about what happened at the party, but when she came into my apartment with a stern gaze on me, arms crossed and all, all she said was.

“I don’t know what happened the other night at Steve’s party, but you need to stop moping and get a grip.”

“I’m fine. Stay out of it,” I said with an icy tone.

Nat just rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger at me. “If you don’t feel anything for her, then stay away or get your shit together. She cares about you too much to walk away from you, Bucky.” Nat’s voice grew softer as she thought of you. “Whenever she comes back, and she will come back, she needs to heal. She cannot continue to be your emotional support puppet. It's draining her, James. Every time she returns from hanging out with you I see less and less of her return. She cannot continue to give you all of her heart when she is receiving none of it back.

“So for her sake, please, let her go.”

It was a hard thing to hear, but it was necessary. I stopped driving myself mad with when you would return. It was difficult, maddeningly so, but after another week I was able to distract myself enough with other things… other people. I did a few missions here and there, nothing that took me out of the country, but it filled some of the time I had to think about you.

I spent time with Nadia, the girl I had gone on a few dates with, the girl I had broken your heart over. Our relationship was purely physical. She was another distraction, someone to pass the time with. She didn’t seem to mind the distance I put between us. We weren’t exclusive by any means, and she was free to explore all of her options, but that was as far as that would go. Not that I could ever tell you this, even though I wanted to.

That was the shittiest part of it all. I missed you. Constantly. I missed talking with you about every single part of my day. I missed hearing about your day, or the silly little thoughts that swirled in your curious head. I missed spending my weekends with you, staying up until the sun rose, seeing you curled up in a ball on my couch, sleeping so peacefully. The ache in my chest never ceased, but I was able to drown away the thought of you for moments at a time.

And then you returned.

It was like a blow to the heart, seeing you standing in the kitchen, casually making yourself a bowl of cereal. Your skin seemed tanner than when you left. Clearly you had been somewhere where the sun kissed your skin for long periods of time. You looked beautiful, even just in your morning casual wear. You hadn’t noticed me yet. I was frozen in the entryway, trying to think of something intelligible to say to you, when Steve walked in through the other way. He too had not noticed me yet, his skin also sunkissed and a bit long.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before any sound could come out, I watched as my best friend slid his arms around your waist, turned you around in a swift and gentle motion, and kissed you. Ice filled my veins and it felt as if a rock had dropped in my stomach. I staggered backwards a bit, hiding myself more in the darkness of the archway as I saw the scene unfold.

Steve was kissing you. His hands were gentle around your waist, and although you were taken by surprise in the moment, you stood on your toes to be more on his level. You cupped his face and smiled. You were smiling. You looked…happy.

I slipped away back down the hallway and into my room before I could see more. The image of my best friend kissing the love of my life was burned into my mind. I sat on my bed in a disgruntled mess, fighting the strange waves of feelings that were swirling in my body.

You were finally back. You were safe. At that I was able to release the tension in my chest that I had been holding since you left. And then… Steve. What had changed during those six weeks you were gone? Was it serious? Did you love him? Did he love you? These questions paced back and forth inside of my brain until I was nearly dizzy.

It was the memory of Nat’s voice that stuck out amongst my own thoughts. “Let her go.”

You had been happy in that kitchen. Steve was a good man, too good to play with someone’s feelings if he didn’t truly feel something for them. Steve was good for you. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? The reason why I broke your heart in the first place? To set you free to find someone that would love you in all the ways I was incapable of doing. Why was I mad that you had done that? Why did I want to punch Steve for kissing you?

I clenched my fists as I sat on the bed. My body shook with so much emotion. In the torental storm that was my mind, I tried to focus on one memory. The only one that mattered. That night on the balcony. You had stood there, hair swirling in the breeze, more beautiful than the night sky. And you said it.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words calmed me. The memory of that night grounded me. Your tears. Your sadness. Your anger. I caused that. “I’m in love with you.” That is what you told me. And even though I wanted to scream it back, to shout it from the roof that I loved you too, instead I denied you. I threw it back in your face to save you from what I am. I hurt you, and this was my punishment. Seeing you pick up the pieces of that love that I shattered and give it to someone who would nurture that love.

I sat there thinking and thinking, until my head was pounding. I laid down on my bed, the image of you kissing someone else burning in my head.

“I’m in love with you too,” I muttered to myself.

Then, as tears began to silently fall down my face, I began to laugh.

#reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #fan fic author #fic writing #james bucky barnes #fem reader #marvel #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #heartbroken #angst #angst prompt

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jordyn14 · 7 days

Note

Hi can you please write a Joe x reader where they’re getting ready for a wedding (or some other formal event) But Joe is playing catch with their son and reader keeps telling them to come inside and get ready and Joe keeps saying 5 more minutes

Pairing: Joe Burrow x fem first person

Words: 2739

Notes: I have been swamped with finals this week and probably most of next week as well, but I’m still trying to find the time to write. I hope you enjoy!! <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

“I’m almost done doing my hair, can you put Benji’s shoes on?” I called out to Joe who was just in the room building legos with our 5 year old son a little bit ago. As soon as I finished curling the last strand of hair, I flipped all of my hair to the front and looked at myself in the mirror for the millionth time and to my pregnant belly which was showing through my dress. About a week ago I started to show and I couldn’t wait to have another kid, especially if he or she was anything like Benji.

Today is the day one of my good friends get’s married to her high school sweetheart, and I am so excited. When we met at college my first year, I always talked about how I wanted a love just like hers. For one, their relationship was so stable. There was never a time when they wouldn’t trust each other or went behind each other’s backs because their relationship was built around honestly and loyalty. I never thought I would have that kind of relationship until I met Joe. People always talk about love at first sight, and I didn’t believe them until I experienced it with Joe.

After a few seconds of not hearing any response from Joe or Benji and not hearing the clattering of legos as they tried to make something new, I peaked my head out and saw the empty bedroom. I raised my eyebrow in confusion since Joe said they were all done and didn’t need to do anything else to get ready except put shoes on. Thinking that maybe they were one step ahead of me, I headed out of the room and downstairs where I searched and searched and found no sign of either of them.

All of a sudden, I could hear them playing outside. “That was a perfect throw dad!” Benji yelled from outside. I couldn’t help but smile as soon as I heard him and headed for the back door. I should’ve known that they were outside. As soon as Joe found out we were having a little boy, he bought all kinds of sporting equipment for kids so his son could try out every sport with him to decide what he liked best. Joe bought baseballs, basketballs, soccer balls, golf clubs, volleyballs, tennis rackets, and of course footballs. Every day leading up to the day our son could actually really use all of the equipment, Joe talked nonstop about how much he wanted him to grow up.

As soon as I turned the corner and looked out of the huge glass sliding door, I saw Joe and Benji throwing a foam football around the yard. The first thing that caught my eye was my perfect husband in a suit. Yes, a suit. Even though I knew the jacket and tie would come off towards the end of the night, I was so excited when he told me he was wearing one. Joe looks great in almost everything he wears, and he wears some pretty questionable things, but a suit always looks absolutely amazing. I could barely take my eyes off of him and the way his fluffy hair hung on forehead. Oh and that smile. It never left his face when he was with the people he loved.

After practically drooling over my husband for a few seconds while I walked to the door, I looked down at little Benji who used all of his might to throw that foam football all the way up at Joe who looks huge compared to Benji. It was adorable seeing him use every ounce of strength to muscle it up to him. Benji is a lot like Joe in the way that they are both extremely competitive. In baseball, Benji wants to field every grounder and hit home runs every single time. When he doesn’t, he cries. It’s heartbreaking to see him so worked up over something as simple as him not getting a hit or not being the best on the team yet even though he’s the youngest, but then I remember that he’s a lot like Joe in pretty much every fiber of his being. Benji is sensitive as well as competitive, and Joe’s been helping him so much with his little emotions.

When Joe caught the ball which was a perfect throw to his chest, he had the biggest and encouraging smile on his face and leaned his arm back to throw it back gently. Although I couldn’t hear Joe because he wasn’t yelling like Benji was, I could see him say, ‘that was great, Benji. This time, make sure to step with your left foot like I taught you.’ Benji jumped a little bit and yelled with a laugh, “oh yeah, I forgot!” Joe just chuckled and threw the football back to Benji who caught it.

When I got closer and Joe saw something walking towards him, he looked over at me and as soon as he saw me, his face lit up and he gave me that adorable and toothy smile that I love so much. The way he let out a relieved breath to see his wife coming over to him, the way clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, and the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of me made butterflies fly around in my stomach. Even though we’ve been together for years, it still feels like a little teenage romance. It always feels young and alive. I also couldn’t help but notice how his cheeks flushed red when he looked me up and down repeatedly, keeping his eyes on not only my pregnant belly but my face extra long.

As soon as Benji heard the door start to open, he looked at the door super quick and instead of throwing it to Joe like he was about to, smiled up at me, showing me that big gap in his teeth where he lost his first ever tooth just a few days ago. Just to make sure Benji didn’t wake up that night when the ‘tooth fairy’ came, Joe dressed up as a little fairy and went into his room to put the money under his pillow, although I said I could do it since I would be a more convincing fairy. Luckily Benji didn’t wake up to see just how different the tooth fairy looked in person.

“Did you see me throw the ball? I’m getting better!” Benji said and looked back to his dad and threw the ball. This time, he stepped with his left food and threw it perfectly to Joe. “You’re getting so much better at throwing. Pretty soon, you’ll be just like your daddy on the field.” I said with a smile. Watching them together brought me so much Joy, especially watching Joe be a dad, which he’s always wanted. “Really?” Benji said with a shocked look on his face. Joe chuckled at benji’s reaction. “If you keep practicing, I can guarantee you that you’ll be the best football player around. But right now, we need to go or we’ll be late.” I said, trying to get them to come inside and finish getting ready, since Benji now had dirt on his hands and they both had dirt on their shoes.

Right when I said this, Benji’s bottom lip stuck out slightly but was about to walk over to me when Joe said, “aw, 5 more minutes?” I glared up at Joe jokingly. Of course he decided to do this now when we had to go somewhere. We both held eye contact as he gave me those adorable puppy dog eyes, and then I looked to Benji who looked excited. “Yeah, 5 more minutes! Please mommy?” He asked me. Benji looked over at me and then to Joe who was still giving me those pitiful eyes. The next thing I knew, Benji was copying Joe and was now giving me puppy dog eyes as well. After a few seconds, I caved. “You guys are impossible. 5 more minutes if you promise to put on your outdoor shoes so I can clean up your good ones.” I said. “Okay!” Benji said and ran over to me.

Like his life depended on it, he took off his shoes and ran inside of the house, not wanting to waste any of those 5 minutes I gave him. “Grab your dad’s shoes too!” I called out to Benji who disappeared. While Joe headed over to me, I heard something hit the floor extremely hard and was about to run in to see if Benji fell when he yelled, “I’m okay!” Joe and I both let out a laugh as I turned to him as he was taking off his shoes. After picking up Benji’s, I grabbed Joe’s shoes from him. Joe then leaned down and placed a kiss on my lips.

“Thank you, we’re just having so much fun.” Joe said, wrapping an arm around me to pull me closer to him. “I know. I love watching you guys have fun. And you know what, you are a fucking dilf. Guaranteed, I will have the most handsome and sexy man at the wedding tonight.” I laughed. Joe reached down and squeezed my butt. I let out a little yelp, not expecting it, and slapped his arm while laughing. “Oh yeah? Well you’re going to be the most gorgeous and sexiest woman at the wedding tonight.” Joe said with that smirk on his face.

Just as Joe and I closed the distance between us and were about to kiss, Benji ran between the both of us and back outside so he could continue playing with Joe. Joe and I just looked at each other, wishing we had more time alone. “C’mon, we only have 5 more minutes!” Benji giggled and threw the ball up to himself so he could play catch with himself. “Okay, okay, I’m comin’.” Joe said and placed a kiss on my lips. Before he went over to Benji, he leaned in close to my ear until I could feel his breath on my neck. Shivers ran down my spine and I could feel my cheeks heating up. “We can continue this after he goes to bed tonight.” Joe whispered in my ear.

I sucked in a small breath and smiled like crazy as he backed up from me with that smirk on his face and went to play with Benji. I looked away from Joe and took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. The things this man did to me. He really didn’t even need to do anything special to turn me on or make me feel like the luckiest girl in the entire world. He did that with just one look. With one look he could make me weak at the knees and feel so confident and beautiful.

Once I calmed down, I walked inside and washed both of their shoes until they looked brand new. The whole time I was washing them, I looked outside to Benji and Joe who were giggling, laughing, running around, and having an amazing time. I couldn’t stop smiling as the realization of just how perfect our amazing life was. After 10 minutes, I headed back outside.

As soon as I opened up the door, Benji started walking over to me after tossing the ball to Joe. This time he wasn’t as bummed. “Oh come on, 5 more minutes?” Joe begged, throwing the ball from hand to hand and spinning it on his palm like he always does during football games and practices. Once again, Benji just looked at his dad with a shocked expression on his face at the fact that he asked for another 5 minutes.

I bit my lower lip and tried my best to hide my smile and instead look mad at Joe, but I couldn’t. “Please. We’ll be well behaved the whole time and I won’t ask to leave early.” Joe begged. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him. “Whether or not I let you have 5 more minutes, you’ll still ask to leave early.” I said with a laugh, knowing Joe always asks to leave early at almost every single event we go to. Hell, he even asked to leave our wedding early so we could have some alone time together and not be surrounded by friends and family.

“I’ll eat all of my veggies. I promise!” Benji added in, trying to get me to give them 5 more minutes. Looking down at how adorable Benji looked, I caved again and was about to walk back inside. “Come and play with us. If you do, I won’t ask for any more time.” Joe said. “Yeah, come play with us! Come play with us!” Benji jumped up and down and ran over to me. I laughed as Benji grabbed onto my hand and tried his best to drag me with him. He let out a few grunts so I walked with him. “Okay, but only if you promise to eat up all of those green veggies and if you, Mr Burrow, act half as well behaved as Benji.” I said. “Yay! Ok, mom, be Ted, and I’ll be Ja’marr. Dad, you already know who you are.” Benji said as Joe tossed me the football he was holding.

Joe and I just looked at each other and laughed at what Benji said about Joe already knowing that he was in fact Joe Burrow in this game. Doing what Benji said, I walked over to Joe who gave me a wink, loving that I got to be his center. I rolled my eyes at him and punched his stomach jokingly. Joe grunted a little bit at the contact, not expecting it, and then smirked down at me. “Y’know, this games going to be more fun with you as my center.” Joe said while I turned around so my back was facing him. I laughed and bent down a little bit.

Then, I felt Joes hands on my butt and turned around to look at Joe. I put a hand over my mouth to try and stop myself from laughing at how this looked. “Well this looks familiar.” I said and started laughing. Just as Joe was about to make a comment about what I said, Benji asked, “what does that mean? Ted’s his center.” Both of our eyes widened a little bit and I looked back over to Benji who looked confused. “We sometimes play this game when you’re at school buddy.” Joe said, coming up with something quickly. I looked back at Joe with a shocked expression and sighed. Even if Benji had no idea what we were talking about, it was still weird hearing him say that to our son.

“Oh, that makes sense I guess. Alright, snap the ball!” Benji said excitedly and got ready to run and catch the pass from Joe. Shaking my head, I bent down a little bit again and once again felt Joe’s hands on my butt, but this time he gave it a little squeeze. Joe clapped his hands and then said, “Set, hut,” before I snapped it to him and he got set up to throw it to Benji. With a smile on his face the entire time, Benji ran to the side and caught the pass from Joe. “Touchdown!” Joe yelled and held up his hands. Just as Benji was about to stop, he slipped a little bit and fell straight towards the concrete patio.

“Ow.” Was all Benji got out as he came in contact with the ground. Both Joe and I started to run to Benji at his reaction, thinking he got hurt and was about to cry, but all he did was stand up and throw the ball at the ground like Joe does when he runs one in. Joe and I laughed before I looked down and noticed the big hole in Benji’s pants from skidding his knee against the concrete. Just as I looked down, Benji looked down at the hole in his pants and his bloody knee and said, “Oopsies.”I let out a little laugh while shaking my head and turned to Joe who was still laughing at Benji’s celebration. “Oh brother,” Was all I said, knowing we were going to be late to the wedding.

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