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macfrog · 5 months

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secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

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You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me

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andvys · 10 months

Note

“i’m so sorry for everything i’ve said to you before.” / “you didn’t deserve that.” reader x eddie

i feel like eddie would definitely say things he didn’t mean because he was afraid of how reader made him feel.

I'll keep you safe E.M.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood, scars from the bats, fluff, happy ending

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

stranger things masterlist

The water feels cool against your skin, your feet are dangling in the water. It’s dark out but the moon brightens up everything around you. You hear the laughter of your friends as they sit around the fire, you excused yourself for a moment, needing a few minutes to yourself.

You’re spending the week in a nice cabin by the lake, it belongs to Steve’s parents. It was his idea to come here, a little getaway is what you all needed after the fight against Vecna a few months back.

Three days have passed since you came here and it was nice until this morning.

Eddie was acting weird around you all day, ever since you woke up in his arms earlier that day, he has been distant, avoiding eye contact and mumbling responses whenever you’d ask him something and it hurts. He was the one who pulled you into his arms in the first place, he was the one who refused to let you go after you fell asleep on the couch together during your movie night, you woke up around midnight and tried to get up and sneak out of the living room without waking him up but he put his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, 'please, don't go.' He whispered.

He was making things so difficult for you.

You care about him, just like you care about the others but with him, it’s just different. He means so much to you, he makes your heart flutter, he makes you smile, he makes you happy and god, you want him so bad but he clearly doesn’t feel the same. You always knew it but especially after today.

He snapped at you when you tried to touch his hand after asking him if he’s okay, he slapped it away and told you to leave him alone, his face was red and his eyes looked dark and filled with anger, when he yelled, ‘stop getting on my damn nerves, girl! I can’t stand your bullshit sometimes!’

Your bullshit, he meant your kindness, your sweet smiles, your caring side that you especially have for him.

It wasn't the only thing he had said to you but it was what had hurt the most.

You looked shocked and terrified when he yelled at you, you were too busy processing his words and the anger that was directed at you to notice the guilt in his eyes after he had spoken those words.

He pushed past you afterwards, he left you standing there with tears in your eyes. Steve was there, he saw it all. Your first instinct was to run away, feeling too ashamed that someone else had witnessed that scene but he didn’t let you, instead he pulled you into his arms and let you cry.

He knows that feeling all too well, when people call you bullshit, when they ask you to leave them alone after they make you care.

Your eyes well up with tears again as you think about him.

You hear footsteps approaching, sighing, you wipe away the tear that rolled down your cheek.

“I’m fine, Steve,” you mumble, “go back to the others.”

When he sits down beside you and you smell his cologne, you realize that he is not Steve. He’s the man that you have been avoiding all day since this morning.

You turn to look at him with a frown on your face. The anger in his eyes is long gone, his face doesn’t look tense anymore, he looks apologetic.

Eddie stares at you, noticing the glassy eyes right away, the smile that hasn’t been there at all today, all because of him. He feels guilty and horrible for what he said to you, for what he did.

He can’t stand himself for hurting the person that means the most to him.

His feelings for you were always there, from the moment he first saw you, he has loved you. He never thought that you could ever feel the same though, to him, you are this perfect girl with a bright future, one where he doesn’t belong in but then you got closer and he saw the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him, the way you loved him.

And then, you almost died for him, you took the scars that were meant for him, you were bleeding out on the cold ground, waiting for death to take you and when Eddie scooped you up into his arms, you still smiled at him because you knew that he would be okay, even if you wouldn’t be.

You would give your life for him and it scares him, your love for him almost killed you and he hates it, he hates how far you would go to keep him safe.

He doesn’t feel worthy of your love, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it in any way and he is also scared of his feelings for you, he has never loved anyone the way he loved you. He is scared of messing things up not realizing that he is already doing so.

As he looks at you, his heart begins to hurt in his chest, how could he hurt you?

You tear your eyes away from him, blinking a few times as though it will do anything to keep the tears away. You take a deep breath before you pull your feet out of the water and push yourself up but before you can even place your feet against the wood, Eddie places his hand on your arm, “please don’t go.”

Your eyes flash with confusion as you look down at his hand before you look back into his eyes again, even in the darkness you can see the sadness in them, the regret.

You should go, you know you should but you can’t, you can never walk away from him, so you sit back down and stare at him.

He lets go of your arm but he places his hand on top of yours, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve said to you before,” he whispers as he looks into the eyes of the girl that stole his heart, “you didn’t deserve that.”

Your quiet sniffles break his heart, he knows you try not to cry, that’s why you turned away from him just now.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you whisper, “you can go now.”

His shoulders slump and his face falls, he fucked up, he knows he did. All because he's afraid of his own feelings.

“No…”

You wipe your tears before you turn back to him, “I’ll stay away from you, I’m sorry that I’ve been so–”

“Stop,” Eddie sighs as he scoots closer to you, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, surprising you with his touch, “please just stop, I don’t want you to stay away from me.”

“But you said–”

“I know, I was lying. Everything I said was bullshit, sweetheart,” he mumbles, shaking his head at himself, “I just– after this morning, I-I’m just so… scared.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

Your brows knit together and you draw back, staring at him confused.

“Me?” You whisper, “but why?”

He smiles at you, for someone so attentive and observant, you sure are clueless when it comes to his feelings for you. He caresses your cheek, opening his mouth to speak but then he chooses to do something else.

He kisses you.

You whimper in surprise, staring at him wide eyed as he kisses you softly. It takes you a moment to respond to the kiss. Your heart is racing, your skin feels hot, your lips feel tingly already.

Just as he is about to pull away from you, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back.

Eddie smiles against you, heart fluttering when he finally feels your lips moving against his. It feels so good, you feel perfect. He lets his hand slide down to your waist, grabbing you tightly, he pulls you on top of him. You tighten your arms around him and kiss him deeper until you are both out of breath.

“I love you.”

You open your eyes and look into his, you see nothing but honesty in them. Happy tears and a smile resting on his face.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he admits, he squeezes your waist, “you’re perfect and I’m just–”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, interrupting him, “everything about you is perfect, Eddie.”

His gaze softens.

“I don’t deserve you, especially after this–”

“I love you too, Eddie. I love you more than anything,” you whisper as you press a kiss to his cheek, “I understand why you are so scared, I’m scared too.”

“You don’t have to be,” he says, “you’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to be scared either, Eds, you are safe with me.”

He knows, you have done everything to prove it to him.

He runs his fingers over the scars on your left arm as he pulls you in for another short but soft kiss.

“I’m so sorry, I was so awful to you.”

“It’s okay, you can make it up to me,” you whisper as you put your head on his shoulder.

He smiles, putting his hand on the back of your head, he plays with your hair. His heart feels at ease again but the guilt is still deep inside of him.

He will make it up to you.

“I will, sweetheart. I promise.”

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble

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ahalliance · 7 months

Text

interesting lore moment with the francophone yesterday (as in, it personally gave me brainworms) ft. qétoiles’ horrible, no good, stupid (lack of) self-preservation . subs in English, transcript below the cut

All spoken in French — translated into English subtitles

[Video transcript:

Etoiles: And, actually, I have a theory. Basically what happened is that I’ve just returned from a mission from Cucurucho.

Antoine: And what was the mission?

Etoiles: To do a dungeon, and to recover something from the dungeon.

Antoine: And what was this “something”?

Etoiles: And the “something” was a book that sorta says that I’m a test subject.

Antoine: A test subject?!

Baghera: What’s up with your arm? You’ve got a coded arm.

Etoiles: Uh, it’s from holding the shield, basically.

Baghera: Ahhh

(Pause)

Antoine: Watch out that it doesn’t contaminate you, or else you’ll turn into a code, man.

Etoiles: That’s impossible, man, I can’t be a code.

Antoine: That’s what the old codes said before becoming codes, you know.

Etoiles: No— well, we’ve never spoken.

Baghera: Maybe you shouldn’t be using the shield as much then, no?

Etoiles: Well, as it stands, I’ve been using it for a really long time, and my mind is still healthy, honestly. And the proof is—

Baghera: Well, half of his face took the brunt of it instead.

Etoiles: Yeah, but it’s not all there is, you know.

(Pause)

Baghera: Let me worry, Etoiles, right now.

Etoiles: You’re right. You’re right! But everything’s going well, I’m doing very, very well—

Antoine: It’s true that you look a bit sick.

Etoiles: Uh, yeah, for the past seven years, it’s a chronic illness, it happened—

Antoine: No, but not this one, the other— you seem even sicker, still.

Etoiles: Yeah, okay. Yeah but no, I’m fine. No, no, it’s fine, honestly.

End Video Transcript.]

#qsmp #etoiles #baghera jones #antoine daniel #étoiles #here’s a game see if u can spot the colour coded subtitle i fucked up #sorry if the editing is bad im trying my Best .#jay rambles #jay clips #ccetoiles going ‘hey it could be fun if i played a code’ looms ominously in the background #also shoutout to people who often do translations like these fr fr #this one wasn’t too hard 4 me (fluent in both langs) but it can be difficult to translate #the implicit meanings in certain sayings between languages #i took the liberty of translating the little affirmative ‘quoi’s at the end of sentences #as ‘honestly’s and ‘you know’s since there’s no real equivalent #21/09/2023

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kamaluhkhan · 9 months

Text

all the love we had and lost

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: lots of plot + flashbacks. angst with fluff in betweem. slightly suggestive dialogue/situations but nothing more than the actual show, a guy being pushy about hooking up with reader but nothing happens, mention of injuries and blood throughout, hints of alcoholism, brief mention of dieting (reader is competitive swimmer and deals with certain pressures from that), reader gets her period, takes on too much responsibility and argues with her mother (aka eldest daughter syndrome)

tags: @stargirlsirius-recs, @ifilwtmfc, @qwertyb2577, @allnrsnz, @baconeggndcheez, @peanutbelley, @imogen-skye, @geekinthefuschiahair, @tvije,

a/n: thank you thank you thank you for so much love on my first conrad fic!! i'm so excited to share the rest of the series, so stay tuned :))

read part one here

the best friends of our childhoods are the loves of our lives, and they break our hearts in the worse ways. (fredrik backman)

now — summer, age 18

you throw in some extra sprinkles, along with a few more tablespoons of sugar. belly has a huge sweet tooth. it's the night before her birthday, and you're in the kitchen at the fisher's house baking her coconut confetti cupcakes.

born on june 21st — the summer solstice — belly conklin is the definition of a summer child. she's summer, personified: sunshine, sweet tea, sand, and smiles. having missed so many birthday celebrations, you’re determined to make this year special.

you go to the fridge to grab some eggs, and when you close the door, you're startled by the person standing behind it.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, holding a hand to your chest and setting the carton of eggs on the counter. the joy you felt making birthday cupcakes for belly fades away, replaced with a tingling in your chest. you and conrad hadn’t spoken more than three sentences to each other, or even been in the same room alone, since that morning on the beach. as the distance between the two of you grew, so did your frustration at him.

conrad raises his eyebrow at you. he reaches around you into the fridge and pulls out a beer.

"i should be asking you that."

"the oven at my house is broken and your mom said i could come over."

“i’ve heard that one before,” he mumbles as he leaves the kitchen. you almost can’t believe he brought it up, even if just in a passing, somewhat snarky remark. conrad probably thought you didn’t hear.

these past few weeks, conrad hasn't just been cold towards you — which was a relief as much as it was heart wrenching. he seems more closed off in general, more inclined to spend time with others who hadn't seen him grow up. in fact, you imagine he’s on his way to see nicole now. maybe with her, he can pretend everything is fine. but not with the people in this house, who knew him inside and out.

you would never admit it — if conrad wants to ignore you, you could ignore him just fine — but it was eating you up inside, and it took everything in you not to confront him, to comfort him about whatever he was going through. you’d have arguments when you were kids, but it was nothing a ring pop or tub of cherry jello couldn’t solve. this time is different; the wound is deeper, harder to heal.

you wanted the old conrad back: the sweet boy who cared for you and let you care for him in return.

then — summer, age 14

belly was turning 12, and you wanted to surprise her with homemade cupcakes for breakfast. only, the oven at your house was broken, which meant your intention of baking her birthday treats would have fallen through, if not for susannah’s ever-present generosity.

everyone else was out of the house — you even asked laurel and susannah to take belly shopping to not ruin the surprise. you were decorating the cupcakes when conrad walked in from the deck. his wet hair stuck to his forehead and he was wearing a rash guard, so he probably got back from surfing. he looked paler than usual, even after being in the sun for hours, but you didn’t think much of it at first.

“hey,” he greeted, sounding slightly out of breath. “what are you doing here?”

“the oven at my house is broken, so your mom said i can come over to bake these for belly’s birthday tomorrow.” you gestured at the clumsily decorated treats. the cupcakes had bright pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles. you weren’t a professional by any means, but knew that belly would love them.

“but i’m sure she wouldn’t miss one or two, if you wanna try one,” you offered, smiling at conrad.

he smiled back, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “yeah. yeah, let’s do that. i’m just gonna get changed first.”

conrad walked past you, and that’s when you noticed him limping — along with a bloody gash just below his left knee.

you instantly dropped the spatula back into the half-empty frosting bowl.

“connie, what the hell happened?”

“i’m fine,” he answered. “i wiped out, got cut by the fin of my board.” conrad must have noticed your eyes widened with worry because he grabbed your wrist gently, thumb rubbing soothingly on your pulse point. he was bleeding out on the kitchen floor, and there he was, trying to make sure you were okay.

“i’m fine,” he reassured.

the blood dripping down his leg suggested otherwise. years ago conrad would faint at the sight of blood, and though he’d mostly outgrown that, you knew it still made him queasy. you imagined the pain definitely wasn’t making it easier. without another word, you pulled him into the bathroom and made him sit on the edge of the bathtub. you washed your hands then sat cross-legged in front of him.

“you here to fix me up, sweetheart?” he smirked as he watched you gather supplies from the cabinet underneath the sink, your brows furrowed in concentration.

“what?” you paused, almost laughing. until you saw his wound again, and you got back to work.

“it’s from the hunger games,” he explained. “when katniss finds peeta in the arena? and he’s all, like, injured.”

“well, he was definitely in worse shape than you,” you assured. “your cut’s not that deep, it just looks bad.”

“it doesn’t feel great, either.”

conrad exhaled sharply when you started applying pressure to his leg with a damp washcloth. you placed your other hand on his right knee.

“it’ll be fine, connie. i’ve got you. keep your eyes on me, okay?”

he looked down at you, wet hair framing his face as he offered a short nod.

you gestured at him to take over, and your fingers brushed together when he grabbed the washcloth, but he never looked down. his eyes still followed you as you searched the bathroom for something to cover his wound.

a comfortable silence followed. the two of you used to spend hours talking, sure, but what you loved about spending time with conrad is that silence didn't bother him. you could each be in your own worlds while in the comfort of each other's company, and that was enough.

once the wound was cleaned and the bleeding slowed down, you placed a gauze pad over his cut before wrapping a cloth bandage around it.

“i’m pretty sure it’s ‘you here to finish me off, sweetheart?’,” you remembered.

conrad shook his head. “i’m pretty sure it’s not. i’ve read the book like, three times.”

you move to sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“how sure are you, connie? because i’m pretty damn sure.”

conrad shrugged. “i’m pretty damn sure, too.”

you rolled your eyes, but with a smile. “okay, fine. we’ll check. but, when you see how wrong you are, you have to come with me to see jaws 2.” it was playing at the local movie theatre during their weekly throwback thursday — you and belly had seen it advertised on your way home from getting ice cream. you had wanted to ask conrad, but couldn’t find the right time.

because you hadn’t meant it to be a date, but you also hadn’t not meant it to be. something changed about how you felt towards conrad that summer; or, maybe, you just figured out what was different about the love you felt towards him compared to everyone else.

(yes, love. again, something you would never admit.)

you thought maybe — maybe he felt it too. there was something different in the way he teased you, laughed with you, looked at you when he thought you couldn’t notice.

you did notice. it happened so much that eventually you decided that either it was all in your head and he didn’t love you that way, or he was also scared of what would happen if he did. which, to be fair, was the position you were in. you were very scared of what would happen if you crossed that line.

“i’ll agree to that,” conrad said. “if you agree to having a picnic with me on the beach. if i have to face my fear of sharks, then you have to face your fear of angry seagulls stealing your food.”

a picnic on the beach. you wondered if this was conrad’s way of subtly asking you on a date. did he also want to cross that line, become something other than friends? he looked at you so eagerly, you hoped he did.

“fine.” you held out your hand. “but you have to protect me from angry seagulls.”

conrad smiled at you brightly as he grasped your hand.

“always.”

in the end, conrad lost the bet. the screening of jaws 2 was cancelled, so you rented it from the video store instead. you got his favourite movie snacks, and some of yours as well, and made sure the couch had the comfiest pillows and the warmest blanket. you felt butterflies just thinking about the two of you watching together, cuddling on the couch.

when the time came though, your plans fell through. the playdates your siblings had lined up both cancelled. your mother had plans to meet a friend at the bar, and claimed she couldn't reschedule. by then your parents were divorced and your father was elsewhere with his new girlfriend, so it fell to you to babysit your siblings.

conrad came over anyway: he helped you make rice and lentils for dinner, convinced your brother to eat his vegetables, and let your sister paint his nails. the four of you watched night at the museum and ate all the junk food you had gotten, with you and conrad sitting on opposite ends of the couch, but stealing glances and shy smiles at each other. when your mother came home, a bit after midnight and a little tipsy, she got angry that you’d kept the twins up so late and cheated on the diet she had so carefully planned for you — to keep you in shape for swimming, she claimed. you rolled your eyes, and that made her angrier. without you saying anything, conrad took the twins upstairs to get ready for bed as you and your mother argued. by the time conrad walked back downstairs, your mother had gone into the living room for another drink and you were in tears. he asked if you were okay, and you told him to go home.

you never talked about that night again, and everything went back to the way it was: with neither of you crossing that line.

now

the only reason you let belly drag you to nicole’s party is because it’s her birthday.

as soon as you enter the house, nicole and the other debutantes whisk belly away to a table filled with elaborate cakes. you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by how elegant they look in comparison to the cupcakes you made her.

"come on," taylor groans. "let's get a drink."

taylor grabs two beers and hands one to you. you gratefully accept. the two of you catch up for a bit, when suddenly jeremiah starts serenading belly in an outrageously funny musical number. you laugh along with them, until you catch a glimpse of conrad with nicole on the couch at the other end of the room. nicole is sitting in conrad's lap, and she leans over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek. your entire body heats up.

conrad was right before: you were jealous. as frustrated as you were with him, you were even angrier at yourself for feeling that way.

"i’m gonna go find the bathroom!” taylor says, practically shouting over the music.

"okay!” you yell back. “i’m gonna go get another drink."

you know all too well that it isn’t a good habit to get into, but you need something stronger if you’re going to survive this party. you examine the drink table, finally picking out some mediocre tequila. you take a shot, then another.

“tequila. my kind of girl.” someone declares, creeping up behind you.

it’s a terrible pick up line, and you already have a feeling that the guy trying to flirt with you is some rich entitled asshole.

but, the guy — liam — can hold a decent conversation, and he’s cute enough.

he’s no conrad, though. you take another shot when that thought crosses your mind, and force yourself to flirt with leo. liam. right, liam.

liam leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze linger on the deep v-neck of your shirt. you’re so close, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“five minutes,” you boast after he asks how long you can hold your breath underwater. somehow, the conversation veered towards your time as a competitive swimmer. you’re just the right amount of tipsy that your inhibitions start fading away.

“wow,” liam says. “i have to say, i’m glad you didn’t have that training camp this summer.”

you bat your eyelashes at him. “oh? why is that?” you lean closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

“because then i wouldn’t be able to do this.”

liam kisses you then, and you kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body. you feel nothing. it’s fine.

“let's go upstairs.”

liam’s grabbing your wrist before you have a chance to answer. as he tries to tug you up the stairs, your eyes meet conrad’s from across the room.

suddenly, you feel nauseous. you rip away from liam’s grip and place a hand on the wall next to you to steady yourself.

liam turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just hang out downstairs.”

liam grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.”

this time, your voice comes out louder. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“don’t be a bitch, then,” he scoffs, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose. “do you wanna fuck, or not?”

“i don’t,” you answer instantly, struggling to break free from his grip.

“okay, whatever. we don’t have to go all the way, but we can still go upstairs, and have a good time.”

he manages to drag you up two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage, forcing liam to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he groans.

“just stop, liam.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little girl. “i know what girls want, so you don’t have to be shy. we’re going upstairs right now and —”

“liam, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s belly, giving liam one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. belly, who if you cut open, would bleed sugar. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my friend.”

“whatever,” liam answers, rolling his eyes. “if you don’t mind, we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you forward, but you stand your ground.

jeremiah is also glaring at liam from the bottom of the stairs, his golden retriever personality long gone. “back off, man,” he warns.

“just mind your own business,” liam snaps.

“they said leave her alone,” steven asserts, walking over once he sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” he clenches his hand into a fist as if proving a point.

in other situations, you and belly have definitely teased steven for his tendency to act all tough, but right now, you couldn’t be more grateful.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?”

“just let her go,” belly orders.

“i think she can speak for herself. she wants this, but if you’re jealous, you can join, too.”

your stomach churns. liam leans in close to whisper in your ear. “maybe we’ll see if those 5 minutes come in handy when you’re sucking my —”

as soon as liam lets go of your wrist, his hand trailing downward, you shove him away and punch him in the nose before he can finish his sentence. you deliver a final blow to liam’s ego as he’s doubled over:

“what i want is for you to leave us the fuck alone. there are other people in this house who i’d rather hook up with. people who aren’t complete assholes with fancy cars to compensate for their tiny dick.”

the flirtatious smile falls from liam’s face, replaced with the kind of anger only rich entitled assholes have when they don’t get what they want — figures that he only gets the hint when it literally hits him right in the nose. he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you fall down the stairs, but belly manages to catch you before you hit the ground. she holds you as jeremiah and steven step in front. you hear them shouting at liam over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and the room is suddenly all fuzzy.

“i’ve got her.” conrad’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist. “go find cam — the rest of us have been drinking, but he can drive her home.”

somehow, you find yourself in a bathroom, sitting on the counter as conrad stands between your legs. he carefully examines your injury, but you notice how he avoids making eye contact.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three.

“you here to fix me up, sweetheart?” the question slips past your lips before you could stop it.

conrad looks slightly amused, and he finally meets your gaze. “that’s not the line,” he deadpans. you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him all night) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

but, still, he remembers. his comment earlier and his smile right now is all the confirmation you need: somewhere in the back of his mind, he replays memories of you. no matter how cold he acts towards you, he still cares.

he continues wiping the blood off your face. “how’s your hand?” he asks.

you flex your fingers, inspect your hand. “it’s been better,” you answer, though your knuckles are slightly aching. “worth it.”

“i guess all those years away made you a badass.”

all those years away. the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, but you wouldn’t let it burst the comfortable bubble you and conrad had somehow stumbled into.

instead, you offer him a lopsided smile.

“oh, connie,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “i was always a badass.”

“yeah, yeah. but it’s different now. you’re different.” he pauses. you’re worried he’s going to say something else.

but he doesn’t. instead, he asks, jokingly: “did you join a fight club or something?”

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s trying to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it, before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re both heartbroken and not talking to each other.

“you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together.

conrad laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too.

a silence falls over you, one that’s not unfamiliar, but not entirely comfortable either. conrad holds the cloth against your nose to make sure the bleeding stopped.

it seemed to be a strange pattern between you two — being there for each other when you bleed.

then — summer, age 12

it was the end of july when you got your first period.

you had made lunch for your siblings and walked them to their day camp, when you suddenly felt an ache in your abdomen. that ache turned into a sharp pain by the time you got home, and you ran to the bathroom to confirm what you’d suspected.

that afternoon, mr. conklin was taking all the kids to mini golf, but you weren’t feeling up for it. you texted belly about what happened and spent the rest of the day curled up in bed.

you didn’t hear him knock over the sound of the movie you were watching, but suddenly you saw conrad standing by your door, holding a bag from the candy shop.

“jesus, connie, you scared me!” you exclaimed, pausing the movie.

he smiled sheepishly and flopped down on the bed next to you. “belly told me you weren’t feeling well. here.” he handed you the bag.

you opened the bag, grateful that conrad picked out your favourite treats. you take one and bite into it. your stomach growled — you hadn’t eaten earlier because you felt nauseous, but now you could eat that entire bag in one go.

“how was mini golf?” you asked, popping another treat into your mouth.

“it was awesome! i finally managed to get past that giant hippo and get a hole-in-one. i got the highest score.”

you frown, wishing you had been there. if anything, to beat conrad’s score.

“don’t worry, we’ll go back another time,” conrad added. “you can beat me then.” sometimes, you swore conrad could read your mind. he then asked if you were feeling better.

“no. i got my period,” you huffed. “it sucks.”

“oh.” conrad adjusted his glasses, a sign that he felt awkward. “i’ve heard about those. they sound pretty brutal.”

“health class?”

“no. my mom, actually.”

health class wasn’t much help for you either, and neither was your mother. you were lucky enough to have susannah and laurel, who had explained everything to you and belly.

“anyway, what are you watching?”

“the hunger games,” you answer. “i just finished the book.”

“cool.”

conrad didn’t move — he actually leaned back against the pillows even more — so you figured he wanted to stay. you moved the laptop so it sat between the two of you and started playing the movie again.

“you know, it doesn’t seem fair that you miss out on having fun just because of your period,” conrad said as katniss finds peeta injured in the arena.

you frown, about to point out that he has no idea how painful cramps can be.

he lifted his hand up to stop you. “not that i can judge what you’re going through. i’m just saying when it’s this bad, instead of being alone, just text me, and i’ll be there.”

when the time came, he watched movies with you in bed. he brought you junk food and pain killers. he even biked to the store when you’d run out of pads.

he was there for you, just like he promised.

now

those moments from past summers now feel warm and sickly sweet, like popsicles melting in the sun — then again, that might just be the remnants of tequila flowing through your veins. you think about what happened earlier, how belly, jeremiah, and steven stepped in to protect you. how conrad is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve ignored each for so long. it’s like nothing changed. but once you leave this bathroom and the alcohol leaves your system, it wouldn’t be the same. you feared you'd never get that magic back, and that weighed on your chest so much, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“why’d you go for liam, anyway?” conrad asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes the cloth from your nose so you can answer, and the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. liam’s an asshole. and you’re…” conrad places his hands on either side of your thighs, leaning close. “you.”

“i went for liam because….well, honestly, i didn’t care who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with conrad is running out.

conrad’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts.

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s so close that it’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on conrad’s. it's not the most elegant kiss — it's messy, urgent, with your noses bumping together, and teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. you taste beer on his tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. you tangle your hands into his hair, and you swallow his moan as you gently tug. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him.

when you run out of air, feeling like your lungs could burst, you pull away. conrad’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“connie,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

conrad wipes away your blood with the cuff of his flannel. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. jeremiah, letting you know that it’s time to go.

and, just like that, the moment is gone.

a few days later, belly invites you over for a girl’s night. you paint each other’s nails, eat sour candy, and watch rom coms, just like you used to. she updates you on debutante season, the argument she had with taylor, and her blossoming feelings for jeremiah. you let it slip that you and conrad kissed at nicole’s party, though you admit you aren’t sure what it means — as if you hadn’t spent hours and hours thinking about the kiss, about him. belly gives you a knowing smile, but you change the subject before she can comment any further.

you’re halfway through 10 things i hate about you when belly falls asleep. you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to conrad, when you get a text from him.

he’s already on the dock when you arrive, looking out onto the water.

“hey,” you greet as you stand next to him. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell belly that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “but…would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, belly’s close to nicole and i don’t want her finding out," conrad explains. his words are deliberate, and you suspect he'd spent some time perfecting what to say to you. so far, you didn't like where this was going. conrad delivers another blow:

"it’s not like it meant anything.”

you feel like you could shatter into a million pieces right then and there.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to conrad’s stoic demeanor.

conrad shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with liam happened, so we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing other than friendship?”

he turned away before he answered. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he pauses, and you know you caught him off guard. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit has happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —"

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, conrad.”

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay conrad’s words as you crawl into bed next to belly, holding back tears as to not disturb her sleep.

you decide then that you didn’t love conrad anymore. you couldn’t because it would eat you up inside.

then again, it doesn't seem like hating him would be any easier.

#conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp #tsitp fanfic #the summer i turned pretty fic #the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher angst #saf writes

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sprinkler-ashes · 8 months

Text

the great war // aaron hotchner x reader

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

words: 5.5k

description: in which aaron hotchner thinks you’re hot-headed. inspired by the great war by taylor swift.

warnings: angst w/ a happy ending, one (1) steamy car makeout, cursing, typical cm violence depictions

a/n: long time no see, and i’m sorry about that. to make a long story short, summer was very awful on me; i had a breakup and am now back in school + drowning in work. I love this fic so much; it’s probably my favorite i’ve ever written and i hope you love it too <3 also!!! if you have a request for a fic to a song, please send it my way! taylor swift is my go-to, but i am open to any song request <3

you drew up some good faith treaties

i drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

you said i have to trust more freely

but diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire

You should have known better than to date someone you worked with. No, actually, you should have known better than to date, of all people, your boss.

Date was a loose term.

You weren’t really sure when the lines between co-workers blurred into friendship and when friendship blossomed into early morning coffee dates and late evenings in the office together doing paperwork, and even later nights spent at dinner tables being hours deep into conversation. You knew it hadn’t happened out of nowhere. This thing between the two of you had been building up for years – years of pining.

There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that it was all too good to be true, but you pushed it back as far as you could. Besides, the two of you hadn’t even called it dating, but it sure did feel like it.

But it hadn’t felt like that in a really long time.

Aaron had put a stop to whatever was going on four months ago. He had given you some bullshit excuse that he was your boss, it was wrong of him to be doing whatever the two of you were doing with his subordinate — blah, blah – but you had stopped listening when your heart became so heavy you thought it was going to physically weigh you down.

You had been through breakups before, even some serious ones, but nothing had ever felt like this.

You tried to stop him, but he was also a man who had made his mind up; it was impossible to get through to him that you didn’t want to end it.

So you went back to work acting like nothing had happened. And it was about to be the death of you.

However, you were a professional. It’s not like the team even knew about you and Aaron. You acted the same as always when you were at work. No one suspected anything because no one knew what you were going through.

You didn’t talk to Aaron unless you had to. Truthfully, you hadn’t spoken to him for anything that wasn’t work-related since he basically dumped you on a random Wednesday evening for reasons you couldn’t fathom, but that didn’t mean you didn’t try.

In the beginning, you tried reaching out. You called, you texted him a couple of times, and you had even been so desperate one night that you sent him an email. Each time, you were met with rejection, and him saying something along the lines that both of you should just forget about everything.

So you did by cutting all contact. You thought to yourself, I’ll show him, but it really did nothing. If it bothered him, he never showed it.

It seemed like nothing bothered him until now. A whole whopping four months later.

“Not only did you blow our cover, but you walked into a hostage situation with no weapon to defend yourself; you didn’t even strap a vest on. You are lucky that no one died or was seriously injured.” Aaron wasn’t yelling – he was actually just slightly an octave below yelling – but it sure as hell sounded like he was screaming because his voice had never been like this towards you.

You frowned, not liking the way he was calling you out in front of everyone – in front of a group of people that you greatly admired and respected. “What else was I supposed to do, Hotch? If I hadn’t gone in there, that woman would have died. I was trying to save her life.”

“Save her life?” he asked incredulously. “From the moment you burst through those doors, you put her in even more danger than she was already in. Not only could she have died, but you also could have.”

“Why are you giving me so much shit over this?” you asked, throwing your hands up in anger, not paying attention to the awkward glances your team was giving each other. “I’m not the only one who's done this, and I won’t be the last. I don’t care to risk my life trying to save someone else. I’m sorry that I blew everyone’s cover, but I won’t apologize for saving her.”

Aaron shook his head, his demeanor that was normally unreadable was completely gone. “You’re on probation, effectively immediately-”

“What? I, Hotch-”

“You will not physically assist in any cases for the next two weeks. You will still travel to cases, but you will work directly from the police department. You will not be allowed to go in the field.”

He kept talking, his mouth moving a mile a minute listing off all the things you were allowed to do and what you couldn’t do, but you couldn’t focus on anything he was saying. You were so tempted to slap your boss across the face and if it wouldn’t have technically been workplace harassment, you probably would have.

“Hotch, we’ve all made mistakes,” Derek Morgan said. “No one ended up hurt tonight. With all due respect, I think a two week probation is a little harsh.”

You wanted to thank Derek for sticking up for you, but you couldn’t form words at that moment. Your feet were on the move faster than you could even think as they took you to the SUV that you’d arrived in, not wanting to hear Aaron talk to Derek about you. All you wanted to do was get on the jet, leave the small Arkansas town you were in, get back to Quantico, and try to stop thinking about Aaron Hotchner.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t as easy as you liked to think.

You rode back to the hotel with Emily and JJ, who had let you sit in the front seat, and didn’t dare look either of them in the eye. Emily tried to make small talk to lighten the mood, but you could barely even think about anything other than your probation and the way that Aaron had talked to you in front of everyone. She eventually took the hint, and the three of you rode back to the hotel in silence.

You finally turned to Emily once the SUV came to a stop. “Do you know if we’re leaving tonight or in the morning?” Normally, if you finished a case late, you always preferred to spend the night in the hotel in order to get some rest, but there was nothing you wanted more than to just go home now.

“Uh, tonight,” Emily said with a grimace. “Sorry, I know you usually hate leaving immediately after.”

You shook your head. “Not this time. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to go home more than I do right now.”

Emily eyed you up and down, taking in your slumped, exhausted body. Her eyes flickered up to the mirror, catching JJ’s eye who was giving an equally worried look. “Do you want to talk-”

“Not right now, Emily,” you interrupted. “I’m going to pack my stuff up. Can you send me a text when it’s time to go?”

Emily looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t, sensing you obviously didn’t want to talk about it right now. “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “See you guys soon.” With that, you were out of the SUV before either of them could unbuckle their seatbelts and on your way to the entrance of the hotel you were staying in along with the rest of the team.

Typically, you shared a room with someone, but luckily for you, it was your turn to get your own this time, which you couldn’t have been more thankful for when you swiped your keycard and finally got to be alone for a minute.

You knew that Emily meant well. She had been one of your closest friends since you had joined the team. You felt a tinge of guilt at how closed off you had been to her in the car when she was just trying to make sure you were okay. However, you really weren’t okay, and you really didn’t want Emily to know the full extent of what was going on.

After hastily packing your things and grabbing a quick shower, you received a text from Emily that it was time to go. On your way down to the lobby to meet her, it was finally setting in that you were, quite literally, exhausted. You’d been awake since before daylight and a quick glance at the time shining on your phone reminded you that you had been awake for nearly seventeen hours.

You rode with Emily, JJ, and Rossi to board the jet, but ended up napping the entire short duration of the drive. Truthfully, you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until Rossi had nudged you awake.

When you were finally in the air, you allowed yourself to catch a glance at your infuriating boss who was still, as usual, in his suit with his tie and jacket discarded, writing in a file.

Probably writing me up, you bitterly thought to yourself. You knew you had done a not-very-smart thing, but by the time you figured out that the original plan the team came up with wasn’t going to work, it was too late. If you hadn’t darted through the door and startled the unsub, the poor woman who was taken hostage was going to meet a very similar fate that four other women faced.

You could admit that it was a rash, last minute decision, but you didn’t regret it. You saved a woman’s life and helped capture an awful man who would have never stopped if not caught. It felt like Aaron was punishing you for something that wasn’t the decision you made tonight. Two weeks on probation felt a little extreme to you.

Twenty minutes into the flight, Derek, Rossi, and JJ were already asleep while Emily looked like she was close to following. Spencer was nursing what you thought was his second coffee in the short time on the jet, a pair of headphones in as he watched something on the tablet he had propped up.

That left only you and Aaron sitting in silence.

This had been a particularly hard case that had to be solved in under seventy-two hours in order to prevent any more victims since you, with the help of Spencer, figured out that the unsub operated on stalking and kidnapping his victims on a specific schedule. Hardly anyone had gotten much sleep in an attempt to solve the case as soon as possible – hence why nearly everyone was asleep.

Aaron finally spoke after nearly fifty minutes into the flight from his seat in front of you after Emily and Spencer had finally drifted off, though you weren’t sure how Spencer was even sleeping considering he had downed two coffees. “You should get some rest.”

“Don’t worry about me,” you said bitterly, keeping your eyes straight ahead. “I’ll be getting lots of rest in the next two weeks considering I can’t really do anything else on probation, so thanks, but I’m good.” The words were tumbling out before you could even comprehend what you’d said. In a normal situation, you’d be worried that speaking to your boss like that would result in its own consequences but considering you were already on probation, what was the harm?

He said nothing.

—

It was nine days into what felt like the most excruciatingly long probation known to man, and you still had five more days to go.

You had just gotten back from a case in Maine where you, unfortunately, barely got to do anything other than help out at the police station. In addition, you had to finish several online modules assigned to you by Strauss on safety in the field, which was, in your opinion, ridiculous considering you had been at the BAU for a good amount of time – long enough to know all about safety in the field.

“I think I’ve gone past the point of exhaustion,” Emily said as you came off the elevator as she stifled a yawn. “Is that a real thing?”

“Yes, my beautiful friend who I am so happy to see. That means you need to get home and rest.”

Penelope Garcia was there to greet you at the elevator, a warm smile lighting up her face as she gave Emily a hug then turned to you. “How are you doing?”

“I’ll be fine in five days when this stupid probation is over,” you told Penelope, watching her give you a sympathetic smile.

“I’m heading out, but you have my number if you need me,” she told you with a comforting pat to your arm. “Goodnight ladies.”

Penelope was on the elevator to leave as you and Emily, after waving off Penelope, filed off to your desks to pack up to go back to your apartments.

“Got a hot date tonight?” Emily asked jokingly.

You laughed and shook your head. “Haven’t had a hot date in a long time. What about you?”

It was true. The last date you had been on was four months ago with the man who also happened to be your boss and who also happened to be your number one enemy right now.

“Just with Sergio.”

You and Emily were already on your way out to leave for the night officially until you stopped in your tracks when you reached the elevator. “Ugh, I just realized I left my phone charger at my desk. You can go on without me.”

“You sure? I don’t mind waiting,” she said as she stepped into the elevator.

You nodded. “Go on; it’s late. Have a good night, Emily.”

A huff left your mouth as you turned back on your heel to walk back to your desk. Your hands grasped the charger laying under several files that you (probably) needed to look at, but tonight was not the night for that.

However, you realized it was definitely not your night at all when you tried to turn your car on, only to be met with a sound of spluttering.

“Not tonight,” you groaned, repeatedly trying to turn your key to start the engine, but the car never started, much to your luck. “Are you serious right now?”

Your car was by no means brand new, but it was a good car and not often did it give you problems. Except for tonight. Or in other words, the one night you desperately wanted to go home, take a shower, and go to bed.

You weren’t really sure of your options. You could probably call Emily. She couldn’t have gotten too far down the road. Maybe she could give you a ride since her apartment was on the way to your place. Another option was calling an Uber, but –

Your car door opening knocked you out of your train of thought. Your brain immediately went into fight-or-flight, and you chose fight as your hands instinctively reached for the pepper spray on your key ring.

“Hey! It’s just me.”

It was Aaron with his hands outstretched into a surrender position, his suit jacket hanging from the crease where his arm bent. “Why are you sitting in the parking lot in the dark with your car unlocked? Do you know how easy it would be for someone to-”

“Come up and kidnap me? Yeah, I learned all about it in my online safety training this past week as if I didn’t already know,” you sassed with an eye roll. “I think my battery is dead. I usually keep jumper cables in here, but I cleaned my car out last week and must have taken them out. I’m probably going to have to call an Uber.”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all of this. The small voice in the back of your head knew why, but you weren’t willingly to actively think about it. You had enough on your plate right now.

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Like hell you will,” you told him.

“You do know I’m your boss, and you technically can’t speak to me like that?”

“You won’t fire me. You'll just put me on probation.”

He paused, his eyes closing momentarily before opening them again and going back to his stoic demeanor as usual. “Let me drive you home, so I will know that you got home safely. Please.”

You wanted to say no, but it was late and getting a ride home from Aaron meant that you didn’t have to bother Emily or lose money on an Uber. The only thing you’d be losing, in your opinion, was what little dignity you had left when it came to Aaron.

It’s just a ride home, you told yourself in your head.

“Fine.” You had admitted defeat. “Give me a second.”

He turned his back to you and started to walk away from your car. When you knew for sure he couldn’t see you, you positioned the rearview mirror so you could see yourself in it. Before you could stop yourself, you attempted to fix your hair as nicely as possible and then took a moment to stop what you were doing. You scoffed at yourself and shook your head.

“What is wrong with me?” You asked yourself aloud. “He doesn’t care. Neither do you.”

However, after you grabbed your things, you did sneak one more look in the mirror before getting out of your car and locking it. You were glad when you took another look to see Aaron not looking in your direction.

You made your way over to Aaron’s signature parking spot, the same one he parked in every morning, and met him there, his hands typing something out on his phone until he noticed your presence.

Without missing a beat, he opened the passenger door for you. You wanted to tell your heart to stop when that familiar flutter came back like it used to all those months ago. You opened your mouth, but he stopped you before you could say anything.

“No need for a remark. I’m just opening the door for you.”

“I was going to say thanks.”

A ghost of a smile danced across his face as he shut the door. It was so quick if you weren’t paying attention then you wouldn’t have seen it.

Your eyes adjusted to the interior of Aaron’s car, déjà vu hitting you from the first time you were ever in his car. But you forced those thoughts back down with a grimace and a reminder of how that ended the first time.

With one hand gripping the wheel and the other holding onto the back of your seat as his torso turned, eyes watching behind as he backed out, you thought you were going to throw up. Not because you were sick, but because Aaron was so damn attractive in doing the simplest things like backing up a car.

“You can turn on the radio if you want,” Aaron told you. “Your cord is still in here.”

You bit your lip, eyes locking onto the green cord still plugged in. “I’ve been looking for that everywhere. I had to buy a new one for my car.”

Back when you were frequently with Aaron, and he was typically the designated driver when you went places, you often complained about the lack of music in his car. He only listened to whatever was on the radio. He had no CDs nor did he have an AUX cord, claiming something about never being in his personal car long enough to deal with music in it.

After that day, you put your AUX cord in his car the next time you were in it and controlled the music, often giving him a performance to your favorite songs in the car as he drove. Aaron never complained like a lot of guys would. Instead, he would watch you belt a heartbreak ballad with an amused smile.

But that was months ago. And things were much different now.

“I would’ve given it back to you, but it’s slipped my mind. Feel free to take it with you.”

The happy memories that the AUX cord brought back were pushed to the back of your head again at his words. He told you to take it because there was no point in it anymore. You two were done.

You didn’t plug the cord into your phone. You didn’t play a song. You sat in the terrible silence, wishing it wasn’t silent like before, but it was silent, and Aaron was acting like nothing was wrong.

Another awkward moment passed as he kept driving, the route to where you lived engraved as he had driven there many times. Aaron didn’t have to ask you where you lived because he knew. He knew from all the late nights he dropped you back off. The thought of all the previous times you’d been on this exact same drive under different circumstances made your head hurt.

“Why did you put me on probation?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“You know why I put you on probation. You comprised the safety of yourself, the team, and-”

“I compromised the safety of myself, the team, and the victim, yes, I know, but you put me on a two week probation when I can name off countless times that others on the team have done worse and didn’t get put on a two-week probation,” you argued back. “I know I messed up, but at the end of the day, it feels like you’re punishing me for something.”

He nodded, his eyes staying trained on the road. “I am punishing you for something, and that something is compromising-”

“I swear if you say compromise one more time-”

“Compromising your safety and the safety of others.”

You didn't say anything. Your arms were crossed as you looked out the window and into the dark as objects moved past you, reaching closer to your destination.

Aaron spoke your name, but you didn’t want to look at him.

“What?”

“Look at me,” he said as the car came to a stop at a redlight.

You reluctantly looked over, not prepared to see him already looking at you. You swallowed, trying to keep your gaze on him.

“I’d rather you be angry with me than even thinking about the possibility of you getting hurt.”

You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to because he kept going.

“When I saw you run into that warehouse, it was one of the only times in my life that I have been so scared that I couldn’t think straight. I put you on probation because you did something reckless. All of us outside thought we lost you when we heard the gunshots. I know you and a few others thought probation was too harsh, but it’s important for you to know that if you’re going to storm a hostage situation, you have to communicate with us. The team cannot lose you,” Aaron told you, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t lose you. Understood?”

You were pretty sure that at this point your voice was gone. You simply nodded.

The light turned green, and Aaron started driving again, his eyes finally breaking contact. “Finish out your probation next week and then put it behind you.”

There were no more words spoken. It was silent. You didn’t know how to respond to anything he had just said to you.

Except you did have one question. You weren’t even sure if you wanted the answer to it.

“If you can’t lose me,” you started, fiddling with the sleeve of your top, “then why did you end things?”

“It was for the best,” Aaron said, breaking your heart all over again. “I’m your boss-”

“You being my boss didn’t seem to be a problem when your mouth was on mine every time you dropped me off from dinner.”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that. You sat smugly in your seat waiting for him to say something.

“You want the truth?”

“I’ve only been asking you for the truth for four months now,” you shot back.

“I fell in love with you.”

Aaron said it so casually that you had to do a double take, your mouth slightly opening. Out of all the things he could’ve said, you did not in a million years think that would be it. Your heart was pounding, and there was a moment where you thought that you had imagined him saying that he fell in love with you, but he really did say it.

He continued. “I thought it was best to end what was going on between us because things would’ve only escalated, and I didn’t want people to think negatively about you. You’re a strong woman in a male-dominated field. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are. You should be taken seriously and unfortunately, going out with your boss doesn’t look good on paper. I hurt you, and I’m truly sorry for that.”

You hadn’t even realized it when Aaron had finally pulled up to the huge parking lot of your apartment building, which was surprisingly vacant for a Thursday night. The words he’d said were dancing around in your head. You hadn’t done anything wrong. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Even after everything, all you really wanted was him.

“Aaron,” you said as you turned to him when he put the car in park, “I mean this with all due respect, but that’s not just your decision to make. I should get a say. I wish you had told me because for the last four months I’ve been going crazy with overthinking. That’s why it hurt so much when you put me on probation. I thought you were punishing me for something between us. Please don’t shut me out because I’m in love with you, and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about what people say about me.”

“But people will talk about you-”

“So?”

“And there’s also Strauss-”

“Who we can deal with. I’m not afraid of Erin Strauss,” you cut him off again.

He raised his eyes before you spoke again. “Okay, maybe I’m slightly afraid of her, but that doesn’t change anything. You don’t choose who you fall in love with. If people want to talk about me for being in love, then let them. I just want to be with you, so please stop trying to protect me. I can handle anything.”

“Okay,” Aaron said after a minute. “Okay. If you want to do this, there is a lot to discuss work-wise.”

“That’s fine. I have a lot of time to discuss things. I’m on probation.”

Every other time you had brought up your probation, it had been with anger, but this time, there was only a grin on your face. Even though you were still mad about that damn probation, which was another conversation for another time, you figured you might as well make a joke out of it.

Aaron couldn’t keep a straight face. “Yes, you are for five more days. You still have one more module on safety in the field to complete.”

“Screw you,” you said half-jokingly.

“You wish,” he shot right back.

“You’re damn right I do.”

It was as if there was a shift in the air. You’d spent four months without him and in that moment you had decided you never really wanted to go another second without him. There was still a lot to talk about between the two of you, but for now, all you really wanted to do was kiss him.

Even when the two of you were “seeing” each other, or whatever it was, there wasn’t much physical affection. Aaron always kissed you before dropping you off at night, but it was always short, sweet, and simple. Tonight, you didn’t want short, sweet, and simple as your goodbye kiss.

“You should be getting in. It’s late,” he told you, but neither of you made an effort to move. In fact, it felt like you had only gotten closer. You could feel Aaron’s breath fan your face.

You leaned even closer, your face only inches from his. “You gonna tell me goodnight?”

Aaron never replied, only moving to close the small gap between the two of you, his lips pressing against yours in a way that almost felt desperate.

You were the one to take it a step further as your mouth opened wider and one of your hands slid up to rest on his shoulder. Aaron gladly took the hint. His tongue was in your mouth and before you could process it, one hand had moved to cup your face while the other rested on your thigh.

He pulled back for a moment, but only to mess with something under his seat. You gave him a confused look, still breathing heavily. “What are you doing?”

Aaron’s seat had scooted back further to open more room between him and the steering wheel, and you realized what he was doing now. He simply shrugged. “The console is in the way.”

With that, you laughed and maneuvered yourself across the center console that Aaron seemed to hate at the moment. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist in an attempt to help you move over and onto him – literally.

You took in your current situation for a moment. You were straddling Aaron Hotchner in his car in a parking lot. If you had told yourself earlier in the morning that this is where you would be, you would not have believed it.

His lips were back on yours before you could think about anything else, hands still gripping your waist while yours moved to his hair. You were pressed against him, your chest to his, and left no room between the two of you.

“This okay?” He mumbled as his warm hands snaked underneath your shirt, now resting on your bare hips. He pressed a kiss to your jaw while you nodded, a deep breath leaving your mouth. He smiled against your jaw before reattaching his lips again, but this time to your neck.

You couldn’t think of the last time you felt like this. Your body felt like it was literally on fire, and Aaron’s mouth wasn’t doing anything to extinguish that fire – only making it worse.

As much as you loved the hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, you cupped his face, guiding him back up to your lips. Your hands slid to tangle in his hair, earning you a throaty sound from him, which only encouraged you further as you smiled against his lips before going back to kissing him.

Aaron pulled back only a few seconds later, both of you breathing heavily in a hot and flustered state. “As much as I’m enjoying this, we probably shouldn’t get too carried away in here.”

“What? Car sex isn’t on your bucket list?” You joked.

He laughed as you leaned into the hand cupping your face. “You deserve better than a car the first time.”

“So what I’m hearing is car sex after the first time?”

Aaron gave you one of his rare grins, and it lit up your entire world. “You are impossible.”

“I’m just kidding,” you said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I really should be getting in the bed. My boss is making me come in at eight-thirty tomorrow for a meeting.”

“Oh really? He sounds very smart.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and with the help of Aaron, you moved back over to the passenger seat. “I will see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You gave him one last kiss before gathering your bag and opening the car door. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Goodnight,” he told you.

You shut the door and with a smile on your face, waved to him one last time before making your way towards the entrance of your apartment building.

However, before you could get very far, you heard Aaron’s voice calling your name. You turned around to see him with his window down.

“Did I forget something?” You called to him and watched confusedly as he shook his head.

“Your hair looked fine earlier. You didn’t have to fix it just for me.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #i was half asleep when i wrote the second half of this so very sorry for any errors

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ozzgin · 7 months

Text

I was pondering on what horrors to write for Halloween and when I remembered how many times I’d hoped for Valak content…I ran and whipped out my Grimoire and started typing in delirious inspiration.

Yandere! Valak x Reader

Featuring the Infernal President and a blissfully unaware reader backpacking through Romania. Warning: NSFW, blasphemy, non-consent

[Horror Masterlist]

“Mommy told me something

A little kid should know

It’s all about the Devil

And I’ve learned to hate him so

She said he causes trouble

When you let him in the room

He will never ever leave you

If your heart is filled with gloom”

"Now, you can't really say you've visited Romania until you see at least one monastery! Most Romanians are very religious, so churches and monasteries are popular attractions for tourists and locals alike." The tour guide is awfully enthusiastic for a cloudy Sunday morning. You nod politely and follow the group, although you can already feel yourself become distracted.

You're mostly interested in the old castles and bucolic hiking trails that Transylvania has to offer. Religious places...not so much. Alas, it's part of the experience. You check the flyer containing today's travel plans and google the location mentioned by the guide. Cârța Monastery. Seems to have some ruins included, and you'll be right on time for the Sunday chorus service, huh. Maybe that's why they picked today for a visit.

You hurry along the cobblestone path until the first traces of a building come into view. Somehow you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You scan over the visible windows, wondering if someone is watching from above. Nothing. Once you lower your gaze again, you notice the tour guide vigorously waving his arm and encouraging you to enter the church with everyone else. You were at the very front of the group, so how long did you stare at walls? You flash an apologetic smile and rush inside. The wooden door closes with a grating creak and you fumble to the first available seat. There's a few coughs and shuffles and eventually the Liturgy begins. Your eyes wander until they find a clear window, so you entertain yourself with the sights outside. It's not like you understand the words of whatever is currently happening, and you're not religious to begin with.

"How long is this going to take?" you groan internally and switch your focus to your hands, intertwined and resting in your lap. The monotonous chants cause your eyelids to feel heavy and they gradually lower themselves until all you see is black. It's okay, you're not sleeping. It's just a short nap, until...huh...the voices of the singing men diffuse as if distorted by distance and now everything is quiet.

"Took you long enough."

You jolt awake. You turn your head to check if whoever is sitting next to you has just spoken, but the room is suddenly empty. You jump from your seat and the thud of your feet hitting the stone floor creates a cavernous echo that sends a shiver down your spine. Ah, could it be that you're dreaming? The candles of the chandelier flicker, as if startled by a breeze, and abruptly go out.

"I don't like waiting. Especially for mere humans like you."

The same voice as before reverberates through the chamber. It's deep and jarring, sounding almost unnatural. You don't like it. You tilt your head, afraid to find the source of speech but too curious nonetheless. It's a person dressed like a nun. For a brief second you relax your shoulders, assuming it's one of the people living here. But after one step ahead the figure becomes vaguely illuminated, and you can discern the features bearing on this creature's face. Blood drains from your face and you can feel the bile pooling at the back of your throat. A blasphemous deformity, oozing with blight and evil. From within the hollow, dark sockets, two yellow orbs glisten with raw malice. You realize you've held your breath until now as your lungs contract in a pitiful attempt to pump more oxygen. The movement brings back your senses and your flight instincts kick in. You immediately sprint for the door and use your elbow to slam it open, nearly collapsing to the ground. Your eyes squint under the flash of bright light.

As you pant for air you notice you're back outside. There's people taking photos and talking cheerfully, and inside the church your group seems to have gathered before the iconostasis, listening attentively to a hearty discourse from your guide. The liturgy ended. What on Earth did you just witness? Before you can ponder the event, you feel a tug at your sleeve. It's an old lady, short and comically hunched. She's dressed all in black, with a head covering that hides most of her face, though you can still see the deep wrinkles that cross her features.

"Oh? Sorry, I don't speak-"

"L-am văzut și eu. Diavolul, maică. Aici nu mai e demult casa Domnului. Pleacă cât mai poți, am să mă rog pentru tine."

Her voice is shaky and she seems in distress. She strokes your arm once before limping away hastily. You blink and spend a moment trying to collect your thoughts. There's no one else nearby to ask for a translation, so you can only hope she finds help somewhere else. You return to the group and hope you won't have to deal with any other adventures.

"This is the annex. You can still see some details in the arches." Your guide points around the pillars and mossy brick patches. You take out your phone for some photos and your arms tremble slightly.

"It's suddenly very cold here, don't you think so?" you remark to your neighbor.

"Really? I'm quite literally sweating right now" they respond, baffled.

"It's a shaded area, that's probably why."

"Or you're just that excited to see me again."

Your eyes widen. It's the voice. You blink, and you find yourself in the empty church once more. No, no, no, this isn't happening. No. You're dreaming. This is an absurdity. Some hallucination of sorts. You try the door handle, except this time it's locked.

"It's not often I become interested in a mortal. In fact, this is the only time."

The nun is sitting on a bench, hands together in a praying motion. There's a mocking grin on its face.

"Maddening, truly. Deplorable, disgraceful, outrageous. Humiliation would await me if they suspected my intentions with a perishable being like you."

"Who the hell are you?" you interrupt the erratic monologue. The nun stands up and locks eyes with you, instantly making you nauseous.

"The Sixty-second Spirit, President Mighty and Great. His Office is to give True Answers of Hidden Treasures, and to tell where Serpents may be seen. The which he will bring unto the Exorciser without any Force or Strength being by him employed. He governeth 38 Legions of Spirits."

"What?"

"Valac." the creature extends a hand, as if expecting a handshake. "At least that's how they introduce me in the Lesser Key of Solomon." The fingers spread out and you feel a gravitational force pull you closer. It chuckles.

The cold fingers sink into your back and feel like claws digging your flesh. You let out a scream of protest and try to push away without success. It hurts. The touch burns your skin and spreads out like a wicked plague. What would this fiend even want from you? You search your mind for potential meanings and explanations. Truth be told, however, you're not well-versed in theological fantasies.

"You can't just possess someone's body. I won't accept it. You don't have my permission."

The creature erupts in hysterical laughter and you feel your knees weaken at the sharp, grotesque teeth that creep their way out. Everything about it is vile, scandalous. Unholy.

"If you want to call it like that...Then sure. But for this kind of possession I don't need your input, I'm afraid."

Your limp body is picked up and sloppily thrown over the altar table. The impact of the hard surface against your stomach causes you to gasp. You try to turn your head and look behind, but the large, clawed hand locks around your neck and keeps you in place. You can only glance ahead. You can sense your garments being ripped apart with one swift move and shudder at the unexpected contact with the cold air on your bare body. The creature's other hand slides over your forms before stopping on your bottom, adjusting it. The realization sinks in and you begin to panic. Is this the time to say a prayer? You don't know any.

"Our Father..." you mumble, trying to remember the continuation.

"Go on. I'm sure He'd love to hear from you while you're being fucked on His altar. Send Him my regards."

He forces your hips upwards, exposing your intimacy. Without any further delay he thrusts his member in, painfully stretching your entrance around it. Tears well up in your eyes at the sudden discomfort. The iconostasis in front of you blurs and sways with each violent plunge into your frail body.

"Oh, God" you sob.

"God ends here."

#the nun #the nun 2 #the conjuring #valak #valac #valak x reader #valak smut #the nun smut #yandere #yandere x reader #demon x reader #ars goetia

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secretsofblackthornhall · 2 years

Text

Livvy to Julian

Dear Julian,

You can see ghosts but you cannot see me. Not when I come to sit by you while you sleep. Not when I am in the movements of the shadows across the lawn, or the twitch of a curtain. You cannot hear me, even though I am speaking to you because I have things I need to tell you.

I want to tell you about Ty.

He was there. We were there.

You don’t know we were there.

Kit knows.

Let me start over.

You like surprises, Ty says. Ty doesn’t like surprises, but you do.

He is learning Portals, how to open them, how to close them. You need a warlock. But Ty is learning and he is getting better. He wanted to come to see you and Ragnor said he would help.

We wanted to come to see you.

Ty warned Emma, but he told her not to tell you, so it would be a surprise.

So we came through together.

A ghost travels through a Portal just like a Shadowhunter. I didn’t know that. Isn’t that funny?

Well, I thought it was funny.

The Portal opened in the kitchen.

The kitchen looks nice. I am only a spirit caught between the world and the void but I think you chose an excellent shade for the walls. You have always been so good with color.

Other than the color, which was a surprise but not a bad one, there was another surprise in the kitchen. Kit.

Kit was in the kitchen. Wearing that jacket he likes, with the fuzzy collar. The sun came through the window and lit him up.

Everything in Ty froze. Even I almost froze. I’ve seen Kit, of course. I visit him sometimes. Still because I wasn’t expecting him, it hit me how different he looks from the way he did when he lived at the Institute with us. He looks older, and taller. More muscular. He moves like a Shadowhunter now. Graceful.

He’s beautiful.

I heard Ty take a breath like he never has before. Like he was gasping for air, like he’d been sucker-punched and he was trying to breathe and trying to breathe and he couldn’t.

He whispered, “That’s not how you clean a gun.”

Sorry, I should have said before. Kit was cleaning a gun. Why would there be a gun at your house? Blackthorn Hall is like a rock. You turn it over and so many things are underneath. This time a gun was underneath.

Kit went whiter than any ghost I’ve ever seen. He dropped the gun onto the counter. And he didn’t speak. I wonder if he was wondering what I was wondering. I was wondering how Ty knew how to clean a gun. Enough to tell someone they were doing it wrong.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to say, so he said that.

After that they looked at each other.

Time is not fast or slow where I am. And yet it was long enough for me to feel like the whole world was disappearing, like there was nothing else in it except Kit and Ty looking at each other.

Kit said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

He has never spoken to me like that. With such a cold voice. He had put his hands in his pockets and his shoulders were thrust forward, like he was being aggressive, but I could see his hands in his pockets, all knotted up. I wonder if Ty saw it too. Kit’s fingers, digging and digging into themselves.

But Ty wasn’t looking at Kit. He was looking past him at the window. I could hear birds, and quiet English sounds, and Ty breathing. He said, “How long do you think it will take you to forgive me?”

Kit looked at me. He looked a little betrayed, as if somehow I had known he would be here, had planned this. But I didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said.

“But not now,” Ty said in the smallest voice.

“No,” Kit said. “Not now.”

There was no more reason to stay then.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe it was Kit’s hands crushing in on themselves, till I thought the bones would break like hearts.

But Ty couldn’t see that. Ty was in pain. I put myself next to him, wrapped myself around him, held him while we went back through the Portal. I was sad. I wanted to see you very much, Jules. But Ty needed me to be there with him.

If you dream this, maybe you will know we were there in your house. I am sorry we didn’t stay.

Julian, I don’t know what to do. Ty misses Kit more than he thought he could miss someone. He misses him as much now as he did the day he left. He loves him the same. I think he always will and it scares me.

Kit is used to not needing people, but Ty needs people. He is afraid to need people but that is only because he needs them so much. He is not going to stop needing Kit. I don’t know if Kit will always need Ty. But Ty will always need him.

Irene says hello. I am teaching her to play dead.

I love you.

Livvy

#sobh #secrets of blackthorn hall #julian blackthorn #livvy blackthorn #ty blackthorn #kit herondale #kit x ty #irene

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ggrapeejuicee · 3 months

Text

Right Person. Wrong Time

harry styles angst

summary: Harry’s fame puts you in danger, and he can’t let himself be the reason you get hurt

word count: 1.1k

— — —

Harry was half way through a residency as Madison Square Garden. The whole world loved him. He’d been crowned the new king of pop.

You’d left the show half way through to grab some food, and ended up wandering to take in the pretty lights of the city.

He’d barely spoken to you this morning, leaving the hotel room barely uttering a goodbye. He didn’t tell you his plans for after the show or what time he’d be back at. The past few days he’d been distant. It was unlike him considering how close you’d been for the past few months.

Apart from rehearsals and performing you’d been practically inseparable since you started dating, but now it sort of felt like he was slipping away.

He got back to the hotel room after midnight, you had reruns of an old sitcom from your childhood playing on the TV while you had been waiting for him.

“You’re late tonight.” You smile at him as he comes through the door.

“Yeah.” He says gruffly.

“You okay?” You ask, “You’re usually in a more talkative mood.”

“Been a long day.” He shrugged.

“Yeah I get it. I just feel like we haven’t spent much time together recently.”

“Yeah, because I’m working.” He snapped, “I’ve had a show like every day.”

“No, I know that-”

“Well clearly not.”

“I was just trying to be nice, no need to go all moody on me.” You roll your eyes.

“You just don’t understand what it’s like for me.”

“I don’t understand?” You scoffed, “Harry I’ve given up everything for you. I cancelled the lease on my apartment, I quit my job, I left my fiancée. Just so I could come with you on this damn tour.”

“I didn’t fucking ask you to do any of that.” He said angrily, “You done all of that on your own, don’t fucking blame that on me.”

“Stop yelling at me.”

“Then stop being a fuckin’ brat.”

You shook your head, not believing what was happening right now.

“I told you that this wasn’t going to work out, right from the beginning. I told you we should’ve just left it in Miami, but you wanted to keep it going.”

“We both wanted to keep it going, you were just too much of a coward to commit yourself to it. You can’t commit, Harry, to anything.”

He slammed his fist against the wall, knuckles turning red with the force he hit the plasterboard. His face was red with anger. With a combination of his drunken state and the heat of this argument, this was one of the worst tempers you’d ever seen from him.

“I commit. I commit every single day. To this job, this life.”

“But you can’t commit to me?” You shout, tears welling up in your eyes, “I’m just asking for a little respect here.”

“This just isn’t working out.” He said.

You’d tried to stay strong throughout this, but as soon as those words left his lips you couldn’t help but to start crying. Tears flowed down your cheeks and sobs escaped your mouth.

Harry just stood and watched.

He stood emotionless, watching you break down in front of him, every emotion you were feeling was caused by him and he looked as if he didn’t care.

“I think you should go back to Miami. Coming on the rest of the tour isn’t a good idea.”

You felt sick. You felt like you were going to vomit everywhere. A mixture of different thoughts flooded your brain.

Where would you go? You had no apartment.

How would you get a flight? You had no money.

Harry had made a promise to you that he’d take care of you while he was on the road, and now he’s here breaking that promise in a million different ways.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You should’ve listened to me before. This wouldn’t be happening right now.”

“So what went wrong, huh? You bored of me? You found someone else? Or has the alcohol just made you honest for the first time since I’ve known you.”

“God, I’ve not found someone else. There is no one else can’t you fucking see that?”

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you hurting me for no reason.” It was hard to breathe through the crying. It had already been a long day, but coming home to this had made it so much worse, “You’re standing there watching me get myself into such a state and you look like you couldn’t care less.“

“There’s always a reason.” He shouts, “Always a fucking reason.”

“Then you need to tell me. Help me understand why you’re just giving up on this. On us.”

Your heart was beating out your chest. This man, in the few months you had been together, had become your whole life. And now you were loosing him for what seemed like forever.

“If something happened to you I’d never forgive myself.”

“Nothings going to happen, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Those photographers yesterday were just the start. Ever since people found out about us, your whole safety has been jeopardised. I will not let anything happen to you because of me.”

“Harry-”

“No.” He interrupts, “You wanted an explanation so let me talk.”

“As long as you’re with me you’re not safe. People will stalk you and invade on your privacy for as long as I’m in the public eye. This isn’t the life either of us want for you.”

“I don’t give a shit about all of that, I just want you.”

“I can’t let you give up all your privacy just for me. That’s not fair.”

“This should be my decision, Harry.” You argue.

He shakes his head.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me, instead of putting on the whole asshole act.”

“I needed you to listen. I still need you to listen.”

“I am listening.”

“Well you’re not hearing me properly then. We need to be over. We can’t keep this,” He gestures between you both, “up, because it means you’re not safe.”

“Then up the security, get me a bodyguard.”

He shakes his head, and for the first time since this conversation began you could see sadness in his eyes.

“You and I both know that you don’t want a bodyguard following you around for the rest of your life.”

He reaches for your hand, placing his lips against the back of it softly.

“I’ll sort out a flight and somewhere for you to stay, don’t worry about that. This isn’t what I want to happen, it’s what needs to happen. And if somehow, somewhere in the future we’re brought back together then we will be. Just… Not right now.”

Deep down you knew he was right. The insane photographer trying to get in your cab the other night was a step too far, and no doubt something like that could happen again on a bigger more dangerous scale.

But you didn’t want to loose him.

Right person. Wrong time.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #fanfic #harry styles fanfic #angst #harry styles angst #angsty fanfic #fanfiction #one direction

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leportraitducadavre · 6 months

Text

You know there’s a weird connection between the fandom’s perceived idea of “good writing” and their personal feelings about specific characters. “I like this character, therefore, they’re well written” and viceversa, “I dislike this character, therefore, they’re badly written” –I’ve seen this in many fandoms and with different characters, but there’s no fandom where this is more noticeable than in the “anti Sakura” portion of the audience.

Before we start, let me be clear on something: I don’t personally like Sakura, I don’t consider myself a fan of hers (or her stans, which are just as annoying as Hinata’s), nor I believe she’s the “heroine” of a story that has no room for a character with such status (I’ve said this before, Naruto is the hero and Sasuke is the antagonist -there’s no necessity nor space for anyone else as Sakura is merely the female character with most panel time, yet she doesn’t move the plot forward and she isn’t relevant to the development of other key characters, as most of them completely ignore her existence).

“Likeability” isn’t a determining factor when it comes to labelling a character “well” or “badly” written, such notion relies on subjective factors which makes it impossible to objectively determine the overall value of a character inside a story.

The most important factor to label a character “goodly written” has more to do with how well they represent their theological narrative. For instance, Danzo -who I genuinely despise, is amazingly written, as he spot on tackles the subject of extreme-nationalistic world view, while Itachi -on the other hand, is sort-of all over the place as he subscribes to Danzo’s ideology and defends it with the same actions, yet Kishimoto desperately wanted to keep him inside the “good guys” group, which ultimately failed and took down anything Itachi might have had going for him (besides other inconsistencies as he’s presented as a genius who made nothing but mistake after mistake). There’s a reason why the antagonists are often the ones with the best characterizations, as they aren’t tied to been “morally correct” or “likeable” in order to reflect their thematic plot, which is why the better characters in Naruto happen to be Uchiha (Sasuke, Obito, Madara).

Sakura has no weight inside the plot, as she is mostly used for support of either Naruto and (to a lesser extent) Sasuke, she stands narratively in the same spectrum as most “good” characters of the show, so she’s thematically not much more relevant than the rest of K-11; yet she’s given more depth than many other characters, as she’s a layered character of whom we see both her strengths and flaws, something we can’t say for other characters, such as Hinata.

In the Hyüga princess™’s case, her personality is mostly one dimensional as she is a thematic piece used to deepen Neji’s character. In case you haven’t noticed, she was constructed in opposition to him: She needs to be shy in order for Naruto to take pity on her when Neji insults her (as Neji is mostly arrogant and outspoken), she’s comically bad because Neji is a prodigy, she’s “a freak” (said by Naruto himself) because Neji isn't, she’s a slave owner because Neji is her slave, and so on –the only thing she has that wasn’t built in order to oppose her cousin was her infatuation with Naruto, something she makes a priority.

Everything we “know” about Hinata was mostly fandom-made, Hinata is shy and soft spoken, why is she considered “nice”? We never saw her worrying about anyone but Naruto: She was glad Kiba lost his match and offered Naruto the ointment to treat his wounds, she diminished her cousin’s trauma and endorsed the oppressive system of her clan, we never see her visiting Kiba after he returned from his mission to bring Sasuke back to Konoha (something we see Ino and Sakura do with their respective teammates, and while Hinata was recovering from Neji’s attack, she had enough strength to train and go see the Chünin Exams final stage, at no point is mentioned she was bed-ridden, as Sasuke had enough time to recover from Gaara’s attack before escaping the village), she thought about Naruto’s warm hand seconds after her cousin died and she was the only character not shown to be glad about Shikamaru being alive as we saw her pouting and thinking about how much she wanted to be beside Naruto. Furthermore, is there any scene in which she appears where she’s not thinking or talking about Naruto or where he is not the main focus?

How come a character designed to be nothing more than support (for Neji and Naruto, as her infatuation with him was built in order to have some oppositional force to the idea of “nobody likes him”, as Naruto has an unrequited love for Sakura during the whole duration of the manga) is “better written” than Sakura, who despite herself being also support she has far more thematically ground to move around (Kishimoto explores through her different themes, even if they aren’t relevant to the plot itself, such as romantical obsession, low self-esteem and the decisions/characteristics that are driven by it, female friendship, and few others).

Honest question: It’s her sad background reason enough to like Hinata? Do you truly need a “compelling” backstory in order to claim a character is “better written” than others? Sakura was bullied because she was shy, Hinata -being the Hyüga heir, wasn’t shown to suffer the same fate at the hands of her classmates. Think about it this way, while Sakura was being bullied and had to be helped by Ino, Hinata was being trained by her father and witnessing Hiashi torture her uncle while Neji cried, helpless! –and just a few years later, she used that exact knowledge to insult him! So she’s not really that nice after all!

What is it with the obsession of both fandoms with the idea of “potential” and how, apparently, they were “robbed of it” (what “potential”? When did Hinata even hint at improving her fighting techniques? She was defeated every single time! When did Sakura, who canonically has a smaller chakra pool than both Sasuke and Naruto, have the possibility of surpass literally Ashura and Indra’s reincarnations? Them having more panel time will mean absolutely nothing as we’ll see them doing the exact same thing we already see them do only twice as much. “Potential” is about exploring a latent ability of them, Hinata has none and Sakura’s chakra flux control was properly exploited!).

There’s more to say about this, but I’m honestly tired at this point…

#anti hinata #anti hinata hyuga #anti hinata hyuuga #anti hinata fandom #anti hinata stans #anti nh #anti naruhina #anti naruhina fandom #anti sakura #anti sakura haruno #anti sakura fandom #anti sakura stans

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cowboahs · 1 year

Text

ways to love

feel free to adjust pronouns / names as needed ! quotes taken from random sources or otome games. i claim no ownership whatsoever.

❛ you are the first person i ever loved. ❜

❛ i think you will be the last person i will ever love. ❜

❛ i need you to be my forever. ❜

❛ i still can’t believe i get to take you home with me every night. ❜

❛ i am undeniably falling for you. ❜

❛ on our way to forever, together. ❜

❛ i just can’t believe how beautiful you are. ❜

❛ i have fallen deeply, madly in love with you. ❜

❛�� even if it takes 500 years, i will prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that i loved you. ❜

❛ you vanished from my life before i ever told you my feelings. and i've chased your shadow ever since then. ❜

❛ if i can't have you, i have no reason to be alive ❜

❛ i've got so much more to lose without you by my side. ❜

❛ i never knew i could feel at ease just by someone holding me like this. ❜

❛ i felt very comfortable walking with you. so much, that i, myself forgot to strike up conversation. ❜

❛ surely your smile would make even the blossoming flowers blush. ❜

❛ in my heart, i have counted every time you have smiled at me, or spoken to me. ❜

❛ it doesn't matter to me who you are. right now, you are by my side. that is enough. ❜

❛ you make me hate myself a little less whenever i’m with you. ❜

❛ i will choose you, over and over again. i will always choose you. ❜

❛ if you remember me, then i don’t care if everyone else forgets. ❜

❛ in case you ever foolishly forget: i am never not thinking of you. ❜

❛ i like myself better when i’m with you. ❜

❛ i love you more than i hate everyone else. ❜

❛ you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope... i have loved none but you. ❜

❛ i wish i had done everything with you. ❜

❛ i wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. ❜

❛ you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire and love you. ❜

❛ each time you happen to me all over again. ❜

❛ i could list a hundred things i like about you, and i still wouldn’t have said anything. ❜

❛ the minute i heard my first love story, i started looking for you. ❜

❛ i look at you and i would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world. ❜

❛ you are my heart, my life, my one and only thought. ❜

❛ you might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant. ❜

❛ i love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. ❜

❛ they could offer me anything in the world, and i would ask for you. ❜

❛ you are the friend to whom my soul is attached as to its better half. ❜

❛ my affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever. ❜

❛ if I were to live a thousand years, i would belong to you for all of them. ❜

❛ i do love nothing in the world so well as you — is that not strange? ❜

❛ if you ever have need of my life, come and take it. it is yours anyways. ❜

❛ i’ve never had a moment’s doubt. i love you. ❜

❛ every second with you outweighs days of life before i met you. ❜

❛ you weren’t doing a thing that i could see, except standing there, holding the universe together. ❜

❛ i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. ❜

❛ i want to know you moved and breathed in the same world as me. ❜

#rp meme #inbox meme #sentence starters #rp sentence starters #shippy meme #ship meme #shippy rp meme #shippy starters #romantic rp meme #romantic meme #romantic starters #look i have to counter a friends angst so #i'm making a comeback to post this shit #bye

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boots-with-the-fur-club · 1 month

Text

Next part of the hand saga!

Prev, Next

@daboyau

@phoebepheebsphibs

@littlemissartemisia

@that0n3shr00mi3guy

“Answer our other questions first! I don’t trust you after everything you’ve done! After everything you’ve caused! You….you helped kill my brother!” Donnie screeches, hand on his tech bō shaking so badly out of anger he worries he might break it.

“I never meant for you to be harmed this way. You won’t believe me when I say it, but none of this was born from malice. I haven’t spoken until now because there was no need to. As for why I’ve been tormenting you….it’s for a reason you are not going to easily accept.”

“Just say it already!” Leon insists.

“I did it because I was asked to.”

Raph nearly hits the hand with his fist, just barely hitting the ground next to it.

“You think we asked for this!?”

“No. You didn’t. Someone else did.“

“Who!? Who would ask for this to happen to us!? To everyone else!?” Donnie asks.

“To put it simply, the people who made you.”

“W-We don’t even know our original parents….” Mikey comments.

“No, not just you. Your entire world. Everyone in this competition is formed from a collection of ideas from an author or authors. These authors gave you the titles you go by. They sent you here to compete. To meet other characters in their own stories. To promote their own stories. That’s how this started. No Fun in Fungus, they simply sent an “ask” of mushrooms, spores. Then your author wanted more, one for each of you.”

“What possible reason could there be for doing this to us!?” Donnie grits his teeth.

“To give more to your story. To bring you all closer together. I too was created in this way, for this purpose. I have merely been a tool to different beings. It may sound ridiculous, maybe even insensitive, tragic, but you should consider what you have gotten. What you’ve learned. When Karai was brought here, you were even told not to think too hard about such a concept.”

Each of the brothers want to make the argument that it’s crazy, but they do in fact remember what the competition mod said to them.

“Even Misa giving you those flowers was an ask sent by an author. These asks…..they were all in good fun. Hurting you was just to make comfort all the better. You were never supposed to die. You were never even supposed to be seriously injured. I just enjoyed seeing all the stories coming from the spores so much. It’s gone too far. It’s why I want to help now, before someone is killed in a way they can’t come back from. No Fun in Fungus was already over, they were supposed to rest. You all still have a lot of story left to tell, it’s not supposed to end here.”

The four of them take in this crazy amount of information they’ve just been told. Can they really trust the hand after all they’ve been through?

“What can you even do to help?” Leon questions angrily.

“The spores are not the only item I possess, as you know. I am intertwined into your and No Fun in Fungus’ storylines. For that reason, I am able to bring out what is called a plot device.” The hand moves to the side, revealing TNT charges connected to an empty base.

“There’s nothing in there.” Donnies says dryly.

“Sometimes plot devices are there to urge the story forward in different ways. In order for this to work, I need mystic energy from each of you. That may be difficult for Michelangelo in his current state, perhaps I could find another one-“

“Mikey, my brother I love so much, I did not bring you back from the dead for you to kill yourself again. Lay. Down.” Leon threatens.

Mikey lays back down.

“It does not have to be him. Because of your being separated at first, you haven’t had the chance to completely understand ninpo. It seems only Mikey truly has.” The hand explains.

“You mean the sacrificial martyrs? Why would we want to know about them? Mikey’s been doing that way too much already!” Leon complains.

“Hamato have sacrificed themselves numerous times, that is true. You’ve seen it be true. Ninpo isn’t inherently about dying for a cause. It’s just how it’s been used a lot, considered the only way. It also has been used to save. Out of love. You’ve seen that too. Ninpo is about the connection to your family. That’s why Donatello was able to use it. That’s why Mikey woke up and used it. When you’re about to lose who you hold dear, your connection strengthens more than ever.”

DvD glances at Mikey. They stare at each other for a second or two. It’s true that they’ve been through an experience nobody else could, or should, truly replicate.

Maybe DvD sort of understands why the NFIF group are the way they are. Obviously he knows how it feels to want to protect his brothers after almost losing them, but what he’s learning is why they’re so willing to throw away their lives even for people who just look vaguely like family.

It’s so much easier to experience pain than to experience someone you love going through pain.

It’s a sentiment he wouldn’t have even considered before everything they’ve been through. Something Draxum never would have let him ponder.

He loves his family.

It’s messed up, they lost years of being able to know each other, there was so much distrust, and things aren’t even close to perfect right now.

But this is his family.

Even April, who has zero blood relation to them but still went through all this just to help.

Misa, who’s yearned for family and takes the role of an elder sibling because she wants to take care of others despite her young age.

Karai, who is related to them but wasn’t originally even supposed to know them if her mission had succeeded.

Something he’d protect with his life.

The hand brings the container closer. DvD looks back at it and hesitantly puts his hand on it. A purple, glowy, shiny substance pours inside. He takes it back after a moment, feeling like he was drained a little bit, but otherwise fine.

Raph and Leo look down at it in surprise before the latter takes on more of a bitter expression.

“I’m the one who took care of Mikey. I protected him. I did my best every single day for years to feed him, clothe him, give him what he needs. I was there for him longer than any of you. Why don’t I have powers like him and Donnie? Are….are they closer….than we are?” Leon frowns deeply.

“No! Leo, I love you just as much! I promise! That’s not how it is-!” Mikey voice cracks from how raw his throat still is.

Raph gently rubs his shell.

“He’s right. Connection to family doesn’t mean how much you love them, but how you think about yourself in relation to them. Insecurity about your place in it.” The hand stares.

Leo feels all eyes on him and starts messing with the material on his pants to avoid addressing what was just said.

“Welp, no insecurity here. Must be something else.”

“The fate of the multiverse might be in danger at this point, you’re going to avoid talking about what we already practically know? Why you left Mikey before-“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Leo yells, interrupting.

He holds onto Mikey tighter.

Mikey presses his cheek against Leo’s and nuzzles into it as much as possible.

“I….I haven’t….gotten over anything. When I got spored, it reminded me of everything I’m afraid of. I….I…..still can’t accept that any of you love me! I-It’s hard work to even like me, loving me? I-Impossible! Nobody actually does! I-I made Mikey feel like he has to be loyal to me because I took him in. I forced him to never leave me and then I left him! And then he forgave me because he’s so nice and lovable! He’s a pretty painted picture but I’m just a bunch of shredded pieces that I can’t tape back together! Why can’t someone just finally sweep it all up into the trash!?” Leo sobs.

Raph, Donnie and Mikey’s jaws all drop. They’ve been aware of just how hard it’s been for Leo to understand that he’s wanted, a real, true part of the family. What they didn’t know is just how lowly he really thinks of himself.

Leo sniffles.

“I’m cursed. I always have been. Even if I am a part of this family, I shouldn’t be. Look what happened! To Mikey! To gram-gram! To all of you! Not just now, but before too! And you saw what happened to the NFIF guys! Leo helped feed me and Mikey and then he went missing and I just know whatever is happening in that room to him is awful! NFIF Raph held me and tried to protect me and he’s still back there too! You’re all going to get hurt or die or worse with me around! I-I should be alone, I should at least be punished for everything I’ve-!”

DvD, surprisingly, is the one who pulls Leo into as tight of a hug as he can manage without hurting him.

“Shut up.”

“Wh-What? Is….is this supposed to make me feel better or are you angry?”

“Both! The only person who thinks you’re not worth anything is you! How dare you say that I don’t care about you!? I do! You should care about you too! You want to stop being a burden!? Then don’t make us live without you! If you weren’t here, Mikey would be dead right now. If he hadn’t wanted to be with you and didn’t leave those families, we wouldn’t have this family. We wouldn’t have found each other. Give yourself more credit.”

Leo goes back to hiccuping sobs as he buries his face in DvD’s shoulder.

Mikey starts crying as well, despite how much he’s already been doing.

“I-I’ll rip up my picture a-and we can make one up ourselves! I-I can give you tape! J-Just please, d-don’t go again! I-I love you so much!”

Leo pulls him more into the hug, they wet each other’s faces with their tears.

Raph wraps around them all.

“You told that other me before about how you know he’s not a bad guy. How we’ve all made mistakes. You should give yourself the same benefit of the doubt. You aren’t cursed, bad things……just happen. A lot. What was going to happen to the NFIF guys would have without meeting you. But now because they met us, we can help them. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not glad you’re in the family, Leo. I love that I know you. I love you.” He rest his chin on top of Leo’s head.

Leo and Mikey keep crying until they’ve finally calmed down.

The hand once again offers the container towards Leo.

“How….do I do it?”

“Think of your family as a something within you, and release it. Raphael, you as well.” The hand urges.

“What? Me? But didn’t have any breakthrough or anything…..”

“Right now is the moment you feel closest to your family. It may also help to remember who is not here, and wanting to get her back.”

Leo and Raph nod, both placing their hands on the container. Red and blue pours in before the hand takes it away.

“Where…..are you going to find a replacement for me?” Mikey brings up.

April suddenly bursts inside the room.

“You guys! He took Misa!”

April had kept walking until they could no long hear Mikey scream. It took everything she had to not go back to help. Misa wanted to go back too, but as grown up as she thinks she is, nobody should be seeing that.

Nobody should be experiencing that.

It’s not like the turtles were adults either. They shouldn’t have to listen to their brother scream and beg for the nightmare to end. It’s something they have to do though because the only good adult they have around has been taken.

It’s painful to not be able to do anything else, but this is incredibly important. Misa needs her right now.

“Is….little big brother….going to be okay?” Misa asks, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“He’s got everyone else with him, they’re going to do whatever he needs them to.” April assures.

Misa looks down.

“I want to help Raphie too.”

April bites them inside of her cheek. Guilt for leaving him is gnawing at her as well. Wasn’t there anything else she could have done? All that guy has being doing this whole competition is trying to protect everyone from the spores.

Who protects him?

“We’re going to, when we have a plan.”

“But….but it’s going to be too late!” Misa whines.

“Hey, we don’t know that. Maybe….maybe the void guys helped out and he’s coming back to us now!” April suggests, vaguely aware it’s probably a huge lie.

Misa pouts until footsteps draw her and April’s attention.

“Raphie!!” Misa shouts excitedly shouts, wriggling out of April’s arms.

“Misa! Wait!” April reaches out too late.

The young girl runs up to NFIF Raph who picks her up. They smile at each other.

“Hey, kid. Glad I found ya. I have something real important I need you to do.”

“How can Misa help?”

“I need to borrow your portal sword.”

Misa gladly hands it to him.

April sees a glowing, blue tear roll down his cheek.

“Misa! Get away from him!”

Misa looks at her in confusion before seeing Raph’s eyes fill with blue. She begins grabbing at her sword but he keeps it out of her reach. He then holds her tight, close to his plastron and tucked under his arm.

Raph’s smile falls. The glowing tears fall freely down his cheeks with no signs of stopping. He looks over at April with a sorrowful expression.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I really tried. I just….there’s no reason for me to fight anymore. My family is all back there. Even if I did fight, everything I do fails.”

“Raph! That’s not true! Fight it, we can save your brothers together! You don’t have to do this!”

“No, doing this is the only way he won’t hurt Misa. It had to be me. All we need is the sword and to use her as bait. She’ll be okay. I’d promise, but….my promises don’t mean much…..” He opens a portal.

“No! Raph! Misa!” April poofs to get close, but ends up falling on top of nothing after the portal disappears.

“Where did he take her!? Back to that room!? Are they sporing her again!? She can’t survive that! Mikey didn’t!” DvD panics.

“Hold on, what do you mean he didn’t-WHY IS THE HAND HERE!? IS THAT TNT!?” April points.

“Be not afraid-“

“IT TALKS!?”

UIFY Raph explains what happened. April feels like her feet are stuck to the floor. It’s only been 15 minutes and things somehow turned even more disastrous.

“H-How are we going get more ninpo!? That could kill Mikey again!”

“It can come from you-“ The hand starts.

April slams her hand onto the container.

“I want to save them! Please work! Do your magic thingy!”

Shockingly, it does work. Green pours into the container and the colors all being swirling with each other. They glow even brighter.

“This should be enough. I can set up the charge behind the wall that houses the main mushroom.”

“Wait, won’t that hurt the other me?” Leo brings up.

“He’s survived worse.”

“That’s not a good reason!”

“He’ll be alive and the spores will be gone. Is that not what you want?”

“It is, but-!”

The lights suddenly shut off.

DvD quickly turns on the light from his phone.

“Oh what now!?”

“Hello everyone in the competition! It’s your new overlord, Audrey III!” Donnie’s voice calls from a speaker in the room.

Oh no.

DvD quickly searches the room for some medical masks which he puts on and passes out to his brothers and April once they’re found. If he thinks what’s about to happen is really happening, they need protection.

Leo careful puts Mikey’s on for him and then carries him on his back as they all leave the room.

There’s panic and chaos everywhere from the sudden darkness. People are bumping into things and shouting.

The nearby vents start releasing the familiar, sickening spores.

“Don’t resist. Or do, your fear is tastier that way.”

#tw death mention #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #no fun in fungus #rottmnt until i found you #until i found you au #tw selfhate #2018 tmnt #rise of the tmnt

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waywardxwords · 6 months

Text

The Fix - Part 7

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Fluff, some slight angst

Word Count: ~2.4k

Quick A/N: I truly can't remember how old Emily Arlen is...so I made her how old I felt like she needed to be in this story, lol.

The fire had roared to life by now, with you and Beau settled on two camping chairs positioned so close together, there was an overlap. There hadn’t been too many words spoken yet, but his hand held yours reassuringly in his lap as your eyes watched the flames and your bodies absorbed the warmth. The trailer door was left ajar, just in case Bailey woke up and called for you.

Your eyes wandered to his profile and you couldn’t help but stare. “Starin’ ain’t polite, darlin’,” he drawled with a tired smile. His head turned to look at you–his eyes almost lazy at this point.

“Sorry,” your cheeks reddened once you had been caught. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

His eyes wandered over you for a moment before he turned back towards the fire. “Ya know, they say that relationships that start under intense circumstances never last,” a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

A laugh bubbled up your throat. “Keanu Reeves’s character said that in Speed,” you caught the reference instantly. Beau chuckled as he looked back to the fire. “And ‘relationship’, Sheriff? You trying to tell me something?” You couldn’t help but tease.

In the glow of the flame you saw red hues travel up Beau’s neck under his scruff and into his cheekbones. “Alright, alright,” he poked at your side. “What’s on your mind?” He addressed the staring.

There was a pause as you mused on the words you wanted to say. “It’s this weird feeling,” you started. “I feel like I know you after all we’ve been through, but I really know nothing about you at all.”

Beau’s gaze watched the flames in the fire pit. “What would you like to know?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Well, for starters…why Big Sky? Everything about you screams ‘Texas’, I’m curious what brought you to Montana,” you nibbled on your bottom lip as you watched his side profile thoughtfully. He took a breath but turned his face to look back at you.

“My, uh,” he stumbled over the words and you realized it was the first time you heard him stumble at all. “My ex-wife moved here with my daughter. She’d remarried, and I wanted to be close to my kid.”

“Tell me about her,” you murmured as the fire popped in the background.

A smile pulled at his lips. “Emily…she’s 18,” he shook his head like it was hard to believe. “She’s the greatest. She’s so smart, and she’s funny,” there was almost a twinkle in his eye you could see in the glow of the fire as he spoke. “I just wanted to be close to her again.”

“That’s great,” you spoke softly. “I’m sure she loves having you close.”

“Yeah, well, some shit went down a while back,” he sighed, not sure he was ready to elaborate just yet. “Her Mom moved back to Houston, and she decided to go with her for now.” His gaze dropped to his lap where he still held your hand. You gave it a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you said genuinely. “You thinkin’ about heading back to Houston?”

“Nah,” he sighed but managed a small smile as he looked back at you. “I left Houston in the rear view for a few reasons…” his words trailed again, and you realized Beau may not be ready to share much more. “I’ve grown to really like it here. And we tend to meet in the middle on weekends, or she’ll come up here and spend some time. She was workin’ for a PI here in Big Sky before they left. She always says she might come back to keep that up.”

“Investigative work must be in the Arlen genes,” you smirked.

“I guess so,” he matched your smile as his eyes moved over your face. “We should get some sleep. We both need some rest.” You weren’t thrilled that Beau’s history and learning about him was already over, but at the same time—you had no idea how your eyelids were still open. Every part of your body was purely exhausted.

“Yeah,” you sighed and stood from the camping chair. Beau stood next to you and worked to extinguish the flame. “Thank you, again, for letting us crash here.”

“It’s no trouble, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he smiled up at you as he took your hand back in his once more. His hands were much larger than yours, and you enjoyed the way they fit together—almost like a puzzle piece.

You followed him up the steps to the trailer’s door. Once inside, he locked the door behind him.

“Well…” your voice trailed off. “Good night.” You felt awkward all of a sudden, and not sure what to do, so retreating to the back room where Bailey slept felt like the best option.

“Wait,” he stopped you. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned back to him. “You don’t have anything to sleep in. Let me grab you some fresh clothes. If you wanna shower, you can.” As much as you knew you needed a shower, you didn’t want to leave Bailey alone to wake up in a strange place with a man she didn’t know.

“I’ll take you up on the clothes, but I think I’ll just shower when we go home tomorrow,” you tucked a strand of hair that had fallen back behind your ear. “Thank you, though.”

He nodded and went to the bedroom to the dresser to grab a shirt and plaid pajama pants. As he returned, you met him in the hall.

“Thanks,” you whispered with a smile and reached for the clothes. Your hands brushed once more and you couldn’t help but meet his gaze.

A moment passed before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours once more in a quick, but simple and sweet, kiss. “Listen, darlin’,” he whispered, so he wouldn’t wake Bailey. “I’m not sure what this is…” he paused as his eyes fell for a moment. “But I’m really glad you’re here.”

That was enough to shake the awkward feeling and replace it with warmth. “I’m really glad, too.”

He hesitated only for a second before he reached to tuck the same fallen strand back behind your ear once more. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

“Night, Beau,” you whispered back, as you walked by him and closed the bedroom door.

You slept the best you had in a very long time.

You weren’t sure what time it was, but when you awoke—you felt startled as you tried to remember where you were. But then, you remembered. Beau, the kiss (two, actually) and Bailey…

Your heart thudded in your chest. Bailey wasn’t in bed with you. The fear crept back into your throat. Had you dreamt it all? Was it all in your head?

You scrambled over the sheets and clutched at the pajama pants that nearly fell off of your hips as you moved. The sound of your feet landing on the floor echoed around you as you swung the bedroom door open.

Suddenly, you were met with a sizzling sound and the familiar smell of bacon. Tears pooled in your eyes as you scanned the living area ahead of you—and there she was. Bailey sat at the kitchen table laughing about something.

“Hi, mama!” She smiled at you and returned her attention to the plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. You peered around the corner, shock still rattled your heart in your chest.

“Mornin’,” Beau glanced back at you as he tended to the bacon in the frying pan. He did a double take over his shoulder as he saw the color fall from your face and the emotion in your eyes. “Hey, you alright?” He dropped the spatula and with two long strides, he was in front of you. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I-I woke up and…” your eyes moved to Bailey who watched you closely. You quickly swept under your eyes with your fingertips and planted a smile on your face.

“It’s alright, she’s alright, darlin’,” Beau said softly with a firm grip on your shoulders.

“Hey, bug,” you smiled at her. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure where you were.” Your smile met Beau’s eyes and you moved past him to smooth out her hair.

“Sorry, mama. Sheriff Beau is making us breakfast!” She practically squealed with delight as she dug her fork back into her eggs.

“Oh he is, is he?” You smiled back at Beau who had returned to the stove top to flip the bacon. “What time is it?” You ran your hand over your hair and glanced around for a clock.

“Just about quarter to ten,” Beau answered with a nod to the microwave. The green glow said it was 9:42.

“Shit,” you muttered as you scrambled back to find your phone.

“Oooh, Mommy, you said a bad word!” Bailey called after you as you hurried down the hall.

“Sorry, bug,” you called over your shoulder. You missed the sound of Beau’s feet as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, genuine concern laced in his tone.

“I should call the school…I mean, I’m sure they know she won’t be in today, but…” you pawed at the sheets to try to find your cell phone, but your movements were halted when you felt Beau’s hand gently graze your waist.

“It’s done, I called this morning,” he said softly. You slowed your movements and turned to look at him, your hand on your forehead as you tried to calm your brain. “Take a breath, darlin’,” his voice was gentle and it matched his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” you tried to find the words. “So much has happened and I can’t believe it’s almost ten o’clock in the morning, I don’t remember the last time I slept that late. And you called the school?” The thoughts tumbled out of your mouth without restraint as you sat down on the edge of the bed. Beau smiled as he looked down at you.

“I hope that’s alright. I figured you’d want her close today. She went through a lot,” he said carefully. “Bailey ventured out here just a little while ago. She was hungry, so I decided to make breakfast. I knew you needed to rest, so I wanted to let you sleep. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

You reached for his hand and took it appreciatively in yours. “No, not at all. I’m just…I’m not used to this.”

Beau nodded and gave your hand a squeeze. “We’re figurin’ it out together, alright? I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Beau,” you breathed with a smile. He moved his other hand to his pocket to fish out his cell phone, which you realized was vibrating.

“Just a sec,” he glanced at the caller ID before he put the phone to his ear. “Sheriff Arlen,” he answered with a firmer tone. You watched his face as his eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” He emphasized the word. There was another pause before he quickly made eye contact with you, but just as quickly looked away. “But what about…” he trailed off again as he looked at you, then changed what he had been prepared to ask. “Don’t do anything ‘til I get there, can you at least just wait so we can have a conversation about this?” Your heart picked up speed as it thumped in your chest—something in your gut told you that this was about you; this was about Jackson.

He dropped your hand and took a few steps around the bedroom as he listened to the person on the other line. He kept a slow pace as he walked back and forth, his hand that had just held yours on his forehead.

“We gotta talk about this…you can’t make this kinda decision without thinking about the victims,” Beau’s voice was firm, but you sensed some pleading happening, which didn’t seem very like him. He paused again as he listened. “Alright, I gotta make some calls and then I’m headed to the station. I’ll be calling you back.”

As he hung up, panic had taken over—although panic had been a common theme over the last day, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. “What was that about?” You couldn’t help the question.

“Work,” Beau sighed as he typed on his cellphone with a sense of urgency.

“Work like, me work? Or other work?” Your teeth found the inside of your lip and nibbled as your heart continued to pound so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Beau was silent as he looked up at you. He stopped typing.

“Beau…” you started carefully, the familiar sensation of tears burning your eyes. “Is it something about Jackson? About me and Bailey?”

He closed his eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “They’re offerin’ him a deal,” he said softly as he awaited your response.

Your breath caught in your throat. “They’re what?”

“I know,” he sighed. “I texted Cassie. I’m gonna have her come out and sit here with you while I go try to figure this out.”

He walked towards the hall and into the kitchen area where Bailey was happily eating her breakfast, including the bacon Beau had just cooked. She had cartoons on the TV in his living room, and didn’t seem phased by your demeanor.

“Beau, they can’t…” you said carefully as your eyes moved over her. It felt like every ounce of fear you had endured had come back tenfold.

“Trust me, I know,” he emphasized with a sigh as he, too, looked over Bailey. “I’m going to try to figure it out. I just need you to stay put and stay calm.”

“Yeah, right, Beau. Like that’s even an option right now,” you were mad; angry, even. Bailey had barely been back for a day.

“I’m not askin’, I’m telling you,” he said firmly, his eyes locked on yours. Even in the midst of everything you had been through with Beau, this was the first time he had spoken so firmly to you.

You didn’t say anything in return. Beau reached for his cowboy hat and placed it on his head.

“I’ll call you when I can. Lock up, and wait for Cassie. She should be here in about fifteen minutes,” and with that, he pulled the door open and stepped outside. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, but you couldn’t do a damn thing about it. All you could do now was wait.

A/N: Eek! I couldn't help myself. The story continues! Lol. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am still trying to get back on track but *hoping* to get another chapter posted on Saturday.

Thanks for reading, liking, commenting & sharing! I appreciate you <3

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @zepskies @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @djs8891 @globetrotter28 @deans-baby-momma @k-slla @agentorange9595 @dragonfly92 @nancymcl @springsteeen @perpetualabsurdity @deanwinchestersgirl87 @mimi-luvzyu @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @ultimatecin73 @spnfamily-j2 @impalaspixie @daughterofcain-67 @lacilou @jasminewinter140 @stoneyggirl2 @rizlowwritessortof @marimarvelfan @jc-winchester @taylortot @thewritersaddictions @raisinggray @tabsluvsu @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @nyotamalfoy @akshi8278

#big sky fanfiction #big sky fan fiction #big sky fanfic #big sky fan fic #big sky ff #beau arlen fanfiction #beau arlen fan fiction #beau arlen fanfic #beau arlen fan fic #beau arlen ff #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x ofc #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen

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luimagines · 7 months

Text

Sequel to ‘You Leave Before He Can Confess’ Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

This will coincide with the first half which you can read right here!

Part 3 will include the same boys, which are Wild, Legend and Hyrule.

Content under the cut!

Wild

With no one else to turn to, Wild had told Zelda everything.

From the beginning to the end he didn’t leave anything out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had a feeling that he shouldn’t that told Zelda as much as he did. A part of it might have been cruel for her to know, but he had no more filter. Once the floodgates were open, he had a hard time reeling everything back in.

It was borderline impossible.

“Did you ever find them?” She asks quietly in the end. Zelda simply tries to keep him talking. She’s been crying silently for the past twenty minutes but Wild doesn’t want to think about the implications of her tears.

“No.” He says, wiping his own face. “I don’t know where they went. They never appeared again.”

Zelda reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently. “If they were as mighty as you said they were, then I’m positive that they’re alive.”

“That’s-!″ Not good enough, dies on his tongue. It should be good enough. There’s nothing else in his power to ask for anything other than that.

Instead he deflates, crumbling in the spot where he sits. “That’s not the problem. We never found out where they ended up. We didn’t even come close to finding them again. They were just... gone... How do we know if they made it home? How do we know if they weren’t hurt on the other side? How can I know if I did everything I could?”

Zelda nods, still crying. “...I don’t know, Link. We might just have to accept that there are things we’ll never know. Did we try our best to stop the Calamity? Hadn’t we lost so many people already? Is this that much different?”

“Zelda, that’s even worse!” Wild gulps, trying to not raise his voice. He hasn’t spoken this much in a very long time. His throat is beginning to feel sore. He needs water.

“Link, you have always done your best for everyone.” She tells him. “It’s not anyone’s fault that this happened. It’s simply... unfortunate. The only thing you can do is hope. And hope with all you’re willing to allow yourself to hope.”

Wild hums, wiping his face again. Should he mention how much he had fallen for you? Would that get Zelda to see how much he’s actually hurting? Would she understand how he feels? You might as well have died and he was powerless to stop it. Forced to be just out of arms reach as you rushed into battle-

Wait a minute. That sounds familiar.

He looks up at Zelda finally taking in her tears and her brave smile. He feels guilty. He feels horrible. The weight of his words finally hitting him. She has always been waiting for him, he realizes.

She’s just as alone as he is. How did he not see it before?

“I’m sorry.” Wild blurts. “I’ve spent this whole time just... crying...and you haven’t even... I’m sorry.”

Somehow, Zelda finds in herself to smile wider. “I know. I’m simply sorry for not having more power to help you.”

“I don’t need your power to help me.” He mutters. And he doesn’t. He just wants you back. He just wants to talk to you again. Why is that too much to ask?

Zelda takes his answer in stride, swinging his hand lightly. “Perhaps... but that doesn’t change anything in my perspective.”

Wild sniffles. His whole body hurts. When was the last he expressed this much emotion. “I know... and thank you.”

Legend

Admittedly, he was quite mean to Ravio when he came back home.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he had messed up. That he was dumb. that there was no return. That he had loved and lost for a second time.

“Mr. Hero.” Ravio puts a plate in front of him. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” He mutters, turning away from the plate. He has to give it to the purple rabbit. He’s can be just as stubborn as he is. When he came back, it was a part of their deal that Ravio would go home, but he stayed and refuses to leave.

Granted, Legend hasn’t exactly had the heart to kick him out fully, but he had hoped to some degree that Ravio would honor their agreement.

He should have known better.

Ravio put his hands on his hips, staring down the other young man until he pushes the food in front of his face again. “Eat. Don’t make me get Hilda.”

Legend tenses up slightly. “Why would you get Hilda?”

“Because I know you don’t want Zelda to see the state you’re in.” Ravio glares. “That’s why, despite the fact that she misses you and wants to see if you’re ok, you’ve been avoiding her- claiming you have the plague or something.”

Legend winces. Ravio isn’t entirely wrong. He had been writing to Zelda about his return and she had been wanting him to come to the castle. but he told her that he was injured and was silently recovering at home. When he got better, he would see her.

But for Hilda to get involved... That’s a whole other can of worms that Legend doesn’t feel inclined to open. Slowly, he reaches for the plate and the fork and begins to eat the food on the plate.

Ravio relaxes and sit on the table with his back to the window. He sighs and shakes his head, staring away from the blond as he eats. “Goodness me... you’re one stubborn mule. What even happened this time around? I’ve never seen you so distraught?”

“I lost someone.” He mutters between bites. He knows that he can tell Ravio some bits and pieces. He’s not afraid of the judgement he might receive. “I didn’t have the chance to get them back.”

Ravio hisses and looks away. “That would do it...Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shakes his head, slowly eating more food from the plate. He can’t even taste it. He’s sure that it’s edible though. Nothing like the Champion’s cooking, or his own, but Ravio isn’t a disaster in the kitchen. Probably.

Ravio hums, kicking his feet until Legend eats his fill. He managed to eat more than he thought he would. He almost cleaned the entire plate.

“Good.” Ravio hops off of the table and goes to take the plate away. “now go take a shower, you smell to high heavens.”

Legend cracks a weak smile, the first one in weeks. “And you tell me this now?”

“It was secondary.” Ravio flicks his forehead. “Give me a second and I’ll get the water running.”

Legend sighs. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Do you want to Hilda come over and take over the place?”

“....I’m going.”

Hyrule

The rest of that moment passes by in a blur. One by one the others all left for their homes, leaving the adventure and each other behind. Time stays with him until the end. Legend had just finished his goodbyes, telling the older man that after everything he understands now why the world sent him n so many adventures.

He has to live up to the legacy of what should have been. Hyrule knows that he comes after Legend, so what does that means for him?

Time waits until Hyrule passes through the portal himself. He can see the concern on the Old Man’s face but he doesn’t care enough to try and ease it. Hyrule sends a lazy salute, not bothering to clean his face. “Take care, Link.”

“I could say the same to you.” He nods, crossing his arms. He still looks uneasy, following the younger hero from a distance.

Hyrule won’t think about it. He turns and walks through the poral, ending up somewhere he knows but also wishes he was somewhere else. He’s in the middle of the beach front. It’ll take days to make it back to his cave.

With nothing else to do and little motivation to do anything else, he starts his journey home.

He feels tired. He feels exhausted.

Is this how it all ends? It must be. Nothing around him seems any different than how he left it.

An octoroc fires behind him and it hits his back straight on.

The pain is welcomed. Hyrule falls flat on his face into the sand, not bothering to get up just yet. He can hear it fire another one right at him and it explodes into the sand on his left, nearly burying him in the process.

Hyrule can hear someone yelling at him in the back of his head, something that tells him to get up, to keep moving, to get out of there before irreparable happens.

But he doesn’t want to.

Another shot is fired, hitting him dead on.

That one hurts more than the first and it spurs the instinctual need to run away. He curls up, narrowly avoiding the forth hit before he finds it in himself to sit up and run away from the monster.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear that the commotion of the first octoroc has caught the attention of other monsters. Their grunts and chuffs are slowly closing in on him.

Blatantly, he remembers where he is and who he is.

He is Link once more, no longer Hyrule. He has the full triforce. He has a cursed on his blood. And he is back home.

He is hunted once more.

He cannot afford to bleed.

His earlier injuries' are suddenly a higher cause of concern than they once were. He cannot afford to let Ganon come back after everything.

Even if you are no longer by his side, he admits to himself that it was never meant to be. But for you to have peace, even if it’s years after he’s gone, he needs to live. He needs to do his part.

So before the monsters can find him and fulfill their never ending goal of sacrifice, Link runs.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader

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jpmarvel90 · 9 months

Text

I'm just so tired

Masterlist Scarlett Masterlist

Word Count: 3342

Relationship: Scarlett x Reader

Summary: Y/n is struggling with a demanding job whilst Scarlett is away filming, with no idea the toll it's taking on her girlfriend.

Y/N’s POV:

It’s 9pm and I’m finally driving home from work. I really hate my job. After I left college, I got what I thought was my dream job working at a global marketing firm. But boy was I wrong. The management team treated their staff like shit and the pay was crap. When I first started working there, I had to get a second job at a café just to be able to pay rent.

Thankfully, my second job brought me the one greatest happiness in my life, and that’s my girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson. Yep, you heard me right, me a small town girl working two jobs, is dating THE Black Widow. She would come into the shop 3 times a week on her way to set and would always take the time to chat. Over time our chats became more flirty before she finally asked me out on a date.

That was just over a year ago. I’ve had a promotion at work, so I was able to quit my job at the café, which in turned allowed me to have more time with Scarlett. That was until my stupid boss started to hammer me with more work than anyone else, setting ridiculous deadlines. Unfortunately finish at 9pm was not a rarity.

I feel so run down and lost. I thought I had everything planned out, but I any enthusiasm I had for doing this job, for being in this marketing world was gone. I could feel the tears starting to roll down my cheeks as I drove home. All I wanted to do was get home and cuddle my girlfriend. But I can’t. She’s been in Atlanta filming for the last month.

We’ve spoken as often as we can, but as filming has picked up it’s become hard to talk. I dropped her a text before I left work to see if she was free for a call this evening, but I didn’t expect a response. So here I am trudging up to my apartment ready to collapse on my bed.

Just as I open my door, my phone starts to ring, and the name causes me to smile for the first time today.

Y/N: Hey Babe, how are you?

Scarlett: Hey gorgeous, I’m doing better now I’m talking to you. How was your day?

Y/N: It was busy, I’m just getting back to my apartment now.

Scarlett: Babe, it’s like nine thirty. Why are you so late?

Y/N: Oh, it was just a busy day and I’ve got a deadline tomorrow so needed to get it done. Anyway, how is filming going?

Scarlett: Filming’s fine. You sound tired. Are you sure you’re ok?

I paused for a moment, trying so hard to stop my tears from falling. I hadn’t told Scarlett how bad work was. She had so much going on that I didn’t want to bother her with it.

Scarlett: Babe? I want to see your face; I’m switching to face time.

Y/N: No, I’m fine. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks. I’m fine….

Facetime request

I reluctantly accept knowing that either way she’s going to know something is wrong.

Y/N: Ah man, did you have to tease me being in costume?

I try to lighten the mood and move the conversation on but it’s not working.

Scarlett: Have you been crying? Babe, please tell me what’s wrong.

Y/N: I’m just tired. Like I said, work has been busy, you know what my emotions are like when I’m tired.

Scarlett: Y/N, don’t lie to me. In the year I’ve known you, I think I’ve only seen you cry twice. Just because I’m not with you, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there for you. Now please, tell me what’s wrong.

Her face contorts into a worried frown and it causes me to cry but I’m able to prevent a full-on crying session from ensuing.

Y/N: I’m just so tired. I don’t know how much longer I can push myself. I’m not getting anywhere at work. I’m getting more work but no benefits. I just feel like my whole life is revolving around work, there’s no time for anything else.

Scarlett’s face turns soft, and I can see her own eyes are glossing over.

Scarlett: Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Hopefully this will all pass, and they’ll see what an amazing worker you are. You are so great at your job, it will all come together.

I just nodded as I compose myself. I want to move on from this subject. I don’t want to worry her anymore.

Y/N: I know. I’m just being silly. It’s almost the weekend and I can take a break. Anyway, we barely talk at the moment, so I don’t want the time we do have together to be taken up by me being an emotion mess. How is filming going?

Scarlett rolls her eyes and lets out a little chuckle.

Scarlett: It’s going really well. We’ve almost finished the night shoots which will mean that I’ll be able to call you more. I miss talking to you every day.

Y/N: That’s great. I’m glad it’s going well. I miss you so much. We’re over halfway, not long to go now.

I smile, trying to keep my eyes open.

Scarlett: Babe, go to bed. You’re tired.

Y/N: Noooo, I’m awake, I’ve not spoken with you in 3 days!

Scarlett: I promise I’ll call you tomorrow. But you need sleep.

Y/N: Urgh, fine! But you’re bring that suit home.

I huff but giving her a cheeky grin and eyebrow wiggle.

Scarlett: If it’ll make you go to bed, deal! Now off to sleep!

Y/N: I’m going to hold you to that! Ok, I’m off. I miss you and I love you!

Scarlett: I love you more. Speak tomorrow.

I close off the call before grabbing a quick protein bar. These work hours are really playing havoc with my eating habits! Walking into my room, I barely have the energy to change. I leave my clothes in a pile on my floor before collapsing into my bed.

*beep, beep*

Urgh, I’m woken up at 5:30 by my obnoxious alarm. One more day and then it’s the weekend and I can spend it sleeping in. I jump in the shower and then make myself a proper breakfast, so I know I’ll be getting at least one decent meal today.

I feel like I’m just coasting through the motions as I get ready and head off to the office. My heart sinks as I see the new paperwork sat on my desk for the admin of the latest marketing campaigns. I guess it’s another late finish for me today!

Scarlett’s POV:

It’s times like this I hate being so far away from Y/N. I just wanted to reach through the phone and give her a hug. I know she’s hiding how bad she’s really feeling. I’ve barely seen her cry and it breaks my heart that I’m not there for her when she is clearly struggling.

Whilst still deep in thought about my girlfriend, I’m called back to set to finish up the scenes for tonight. As I’m walking back over Joe pulls me aside. “Hey Scarlett, we’ve had to change up the schedule to fit in a couple of reshoots on the stunts. That means after tonight we won’t need you for a few days. You’ll be due back on set on Wednesday next week.” I feel relief wash over me.

I can’t wait to have a long weekend off. “Am I needed for anything else or am I completely free until Wednesday?” I ask, starting to get an idea. “Yep, get some rest and enjoy your time off!” He responds rushing off to his next location.

I work as hard as I can to get the final scenes completed and they go really well, and we get them done pretty quickly. I decide that I’m going to fly back to New York and surprise Y/N. As soon as I’m in my trailer I’m on my laptop searching for available flights. I book one which will get me in with enough time to set up a surprise.

Timeskip

I finally arrive at Y/N’s apartment a little before 4. I let myself in and get to work with preparing her surprise. The best thing about Y/N’s apartment is the roof access she has. Every Friday night she comes up here with a glass of wine and chills. The views are pretty cool and whenever I’m home, I join her.

Knowing how stressed and tired she’s been, I decide on setting up a movie night. I arrange a big projector which I have help setting up from my brother. I then arrange a makeshift bed with loads of comfy pillows and of course, get Y/N’s favourite snacks.

By the time I’ve finished it’s 6 and Y/N should be home any minute now. I plan to hide up on the roof and wait for her to join me. Time goes by and it’s now just after 9 and Y/N still isn’t here. I decide to drop her a text and pretend that I’ve got some time between filming.

Scarlett: Hey Babe, I’ve got an hour break if you’re free to call? Are you home?

Y/N: I’m just leaving work. I’ll call you when I’m home. Give me 30 minutes.

She’s working late again. I thought her deadline had already passed. I start to wonder how bad work really has been for her recently. We’ve always been honest with each other, but I feel like she’s been hiding this from me. I just wish I knew why.

From the roof I hear Y/N’s car pull up and I get ready for when she comes up to the roof. For some reason I’m getting nervous, I can’t wait to see my beautiful girlfriend again. About 5 minutes later, sure enough I hear the handle of the roof turn and I stand up facing the door.

I watch as Y/N walks through the door, wine glass in hand, in a pair of black shorts and one of my hoodies. I smile at how cute she looks, but it doesn’t go unnoticed how tired she looks too. She has bags under her eyes and her whole body seems deflated. My poor baby.

As she turns the corner her eye’s light up as she sees what I’ve set up. “Oh my God.” She whispers, before noticing me stood in the middle. Without saying anything further she runs and jumps up into my arms. I hold her tight. “Hey Baby. I’ve missed you.” I say into her hair.

I place her on the floor, and she looks at me directly in the eyes, I can see that she is holding back her tears. Her eyes flick down to my lips, so I pulled her close, putting a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before connecting our lips in a soft kiss full of love. I can feel that her tears are falling now, so I hold her tight letting her know I’m there.

After a minute or so, she pulls back, still clasping my hands. “What are you doing here?” She asked. “Our schedule was changed last minute so I’ve got 5 days off. After speaking with you yesterday, I knew I had to come back to you.” She smiles at me as I talk. Her eyes searching my face like she’s taking in every detail.

I lead her towards the makeshift bed, and we lie down together. She snuggles into me, her head on my chest and an arm over my stomach, slowly tracing random patterns just under my shirt. “Babe, please tell me what’s going on. Please tell me the truth.” I ask calmly, hoping she’ll share.

I look down to her as she takes a deep breath before she sits up. I turn to face her and take both of her hands in mine. “I hate work.” She blurted out. I furrow my eyebrows at her but allow her to carry on. “I work my ass off and it gets me nowhere. Each day I go in and there is more shit they want me to do in short timelines. I try and explain, and they just tell me I’m lucky I work there and that there are hundreds of other people that would do anything to be where I am.” She looks at her lap as she’s talking as if she is ashamed.

“I try so hard to prove myself above everyone else, but it gets harder every day. I’m exhausted and I just have no motivation for anything anymore. I just feel like the dream I had has turned into a nightmare.” Her voice breaks as does my heart. I can’t believe my baby has been feeling like this and I didn’t know.

“How long has this been going on?” I ask. She hesitates. “I mean it’s always been tough but these last 4 months have been unbearable.” There’s a silence as I take in that she has been feeling this broken for 4 months I hadn’t even noticed. What kind of girlfriend can’t see the person they love is hurting?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask holding back my own tears. “I didn’t want to worry you. You work so hard and do so many great things. I felt stupid for breaking down over this.” Her words are like daggers to my heart. I feel such guilt for not providing her with an environment where she can share these feelings with me. I pull her onto my lap and hug her so tightly. “Listen to me. You are not stupid. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. But I want to know when you’re feeling like this. I’m your girlfriend, I’m meant to be able to help you. It breaks me to think you’ve been going through this on your own.”

I can no longer stop my own tears as I cling to her for dear life, like I’m going to lose her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just didn’t know what to do.” Y/N says into my chest. I pull her face into my hands so she’s looking at me. “No, you do not need to apologise. Just know that I am here for you, even when I’m miles away. I want to know how you’re feeling. Both the good and the bad. Ok?” She nods and I place a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I don’t know how I’m going to solve this.” She said, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles. “Quit your job.” I said without hesitation. “What? I can’t do that I need to pay rent, buy food!” She argues. “Firstly, you clearly haven’t been spending money on food, don’t think I haven’t noticed how thin you’re getting.” I lightly scold. I know she’s not doing it on purpose, she’s probably been too tired to eat working so late.

“Secondly, move in with me.” I ask almost at a whisper. She lifts her head and looks at me with confusion. “What?” she questioned. “I said move in with me. We’ve been together for a year. It’s about time.” She still looks confused as she rubs her hand against her forehead.

“Scar, you don’t have to ask me to move in out of pity.” She spoke cautiously. “Hey! No no, that’s not what this is. I had planned to ask you when I got back from Atlanta. You’re it for me. I don’t want to wait any longer, I want you to move in with me.” I say with conviction to show I mean it.

Her eyes fill with tears again, as she slowly nods her head. “Ok, I’ll move in with you. I’d love that.” She pulls me into a big hug and whispers “I love you.” I don’t want to ever let her go. “But I can’t quit my job.” I’m shocked by her response. “But babe, it’s not good for you.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to be reliant on you. I want to be able to contribute to bills and treat you to fancy dates and surprise gifts.” She explains.

“You don’t need to do that. I want to take care of you. You don’t need to buy my love.” I pause thinking for a moment at how we can work this out. “How about, you quit your job on Monday. You can fly to Atlanta with me and then when I’m done filming, we’ll take a month to go travelling for a bit. Then when we’re back, you can look to get a job that you actually want. One that isn’t going to drive you into the ground.”

I can see her thinking for a while before responding. “Ok, I like the sound of that.” She says. I squeal in excitement and tackle her in a hug, resulting in us being a tangled mess on the bed. “We’re moving in together!” I exclaim. “God, I love you.” Once again I pull Y/N towards me into a passionate kiss. She giggles against my lips as I roll her over. “I love you too. Thank you for all of this. Shall we watch a movie?” She asks, looking at me with her love eyes. I nod and start the first movie. We snuggle up on the bed and spend the night watching movies.

We didn’t wake up until 12 the following morning. I woke up before Y/N and just watched her sleep, grateful she was finally getting rest. Once she wakes up, we lie in comfortable silence for a while before she slings a leg over me straddling me. “I’ve missed waking up to you.” She says, placing feather like kisses over my face causing me to giggle.

We hold eye contact for a while whilst she rubs her thumb over my cheek. “I can’t wait to move in with you if all my mornings start with you straddling me.” I tease, giving her hips a squeeze. Y/N leans down kissing up my neck then along my jaw before meeting my lips. “I’ll wake you up this way every morning if that’s what you want.” She whispers before smashing out lips together into a deep kiss. She gives both my top and bottom lips equal attention before swiping her tongue across my bottom lip asking for permission, which I instantly give.

Her tongue invades my mouth deepening the kiss with every move. I let out a small moan which results in Y/N pulling back and smiling at me. I hook my leg around her waist and flip us so I’m on top. I leant down and whispered seductively into her ear. “I brough home the suit.” Her eyes widen and a big grin appears on her face. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She responds. I jump off the bed to be greeted with a slap to my ass. I squeal and run to get dressed.

This was what I had always wanted in life. Someone who I adored and who adored me. I couldn’t wait to spend the next few months with Y/N and then the rest of our life together.

Timeskip

Y/N’s POV:

It was three months after Scarlett surprised me on the roof and asked me to move in with her. Whilst travelling she had proposed to me on a beach in Bora Bora. I of course had said yes. Once we got home, I started looking for jobs and I’m now working for a local company. It’s small but I love it. I’m actually paid more than I was, and I have much more responsibility. But the best thing is I’m happy. I’ve got a great work/life balance. I enjoy going to work and then I get to come home, at 5 every day, to my beautiful fiancé who I cannot wait to marry. My life feels like a dream and I hope that I never wake up.

#scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson #celebrity fanfic

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